reasurer and tal  ceremony my eyes omed to ty red aura of treasury rooms t ter sunligering in from tyard of te Quarters of terrifying. I stood dead still, as did Master Osman  seemed, t in ty and tangible air of treasury might escape.

    it, as if seeing some magnificent object for t time, Master Osman stared at t cascading toreasury cal.

    t before, I curned ticed tonis pass over  upon trembled faintly, oorted delicately, as if preparing to reveal a pleasant secret, tc an illustration.

    After tal iently betless; I t nervously t  ime to cull enougion from treasury. I sensed t Master Osman couldn’t focus adequately on ask, and I confessed my misgivings to him.

    Like a genuine master groomed to caressing ices,  to try to see to resign ourselves to ice,” ures and possessions, I rong sensation t to converge: As we approacice approacer Bih…”

    Master Osman callously told tory of tinized tremely s of t beneat better see; a pinkiss tip.

    “ters,” Master Osman said, “ calent, colors and met diso see tern s, as a estern ruler did—ists of our day do.”

    rained on mine nor upon t of  seemed as t a distant unattainable uranian armies clas so sered one anotival, t or cloven in trehe field.

    “ masters of old o adopt tyles of victors and imitate turists, to  ting ime. Yes, before tare at a masterpiece ceaselessly for ubbornly stared out of boted ake tration I’d  to stare at till I’d attained the blind?”

    Like a man trying to recall a co ses expanded, on a distant place beyond treasury.

    “tyle of ters of ,  of Ss!”

    Pero describe t picture as if reciting a melancers. “My great master, my dear sire,” on a strange impulse, I interrupted  I  to stare at for all eternity is my beloved’s delicate face. It’s been t of er seeing ure reminds me of none othan her.”

    ter Osman’s face, curiosity per it o do neitory nor tle scene before o be expecting good ne.  looking at me, I abruptly grabbed the plume needle and walked away.

    In a dark part of treasury rooms, tting ttered range clocks sent as presents from Frankisopped  time, t aside o tinized t Master Osman claimed Bio blind himself.

    By t filtering inside, reflecting off tal faces and diamonds of ty and broken clocks, tip of ted er Biually blinded ? er Osman done terrible to ed, attaco to say “Yes!” Evidently, urban  of t it, and  of Our Sultan and the women of his harem.

    I looked te a fes of pasies and belongings ed after ted t t number. itiless joy, t any pasoxicated by o forget  of tan and to ed o be executed and ed. Even in ted manuscripts or illustrated collections of poetry, opped and stared.

    ture ure, t is, ture of ered during ryside outing, ail, not because miniaturists couldn’t adequately depict someterity and finesse to paint upon fingernails, grains of rice or even strands of  tures of  of Sail so t  be recognized? Sometime in ternoon, pero forget my  I’d broacions to Master Osman, I ruck by ture of a bridal procession painted on clot skipped a beat.

    trils carrying a coquettis  me out of ture. It  to me. As if in a dream, I ed to s, but my voice .

    In one continuous movement, I collected up ts and cs to Master Osman, laying the page open before him.

    ture.

    ion appeared on ient. “trils of tly like te’s book,” I exclaimed.

    doure, t ouche page.

    I couldn’t stand t a yle and mete’s book,” I said, “but tist attempted to see t. “It’s a  resembles a Cure, but t Chey’re our people.”

    ter’s lens seemed to be flat against t against to see,  only  . Silence.

    “trils of t open,” er, breathless.

    I leaned my  o cared at trils for a long long time. I sadly realized t not only rils cut, but Master Osman hem.

    “You do see it, don’t you?”

    “Only very little,” ure.”

    “If you ask me, ted on a gray s nostrils cut open, so be  of guards o imidating black beards, furroactle-axes and scimitars indicate t to tesurkmen of transoxiana. Perty bride—o judge by t sraveling  nig of oil lamps and torches—is a melancholy Chinese princess.”

    “Or perurist, to empy, er Osman.

    “ be, my  acy, traveling teppe in t accompanied by grim-faced foreign guards, o a strange land and a ely added, “ermine  is from trils of the horse she rides?”

    “turn tell me er Osman.

    Just tting on t as I o bring to Master Osman; t together.

    e sarikingly beautiful Ced in tyle of our melancogete. e saw Chinese houses, morose-looking caravans

    on long journeys, vistas of teppes as beautiful as old memories. e sarees rendered in tyle, tingales tipsy ion percyle seated in tents ry, acular gardens; and  falcons clutcing bolt uprigride te  o t trations  often reason itself. urist added an ironic touco tions of tic lance? ed at ty of tunate peasants expecting comfort from t? as it more pleasurable for o dray eyes of dogs locked in coitus or to apply a deviliso t ts? turist’s devils tures resembled ts ters of  and tists of tly; yet talent of turist made ter, aggressive and cerrifying devils, t ails. As I turned ted teeto beat eacle, to steal a great  to to leap and play, to cut dorees, to spirit aiful princesses in to capture dragons and sack treasuries. I mentioned t in touc brusurist knoer Osman  ties, listening closely to w I said.

    “Cutting open trils of  breatravel farturies-old Mongol custom,” er. “ered Bag its inants to t and tossed all its books into tigris, as er, illuminator Ibn Sy and ter, ead of sout t time, no one made illustrations because ters  taken seriously. e oest secrets of our noble occupation to Ibn Sron saint and master of all miniaturists: t, tence of a ion of all to insects timistic colors. I’ve  udied trils of o keep  legendary journey into tland of ter a year’s travel on foot undaunted by snorils. For  dream  turdy, poorious  o knoe’s book brougo mind neitom to Khorasan and Samarkand.”

    As er Osman looked no t us, as if hings he conjured in his mind’s eye.

    “Besides ing, t o Persia and to Istanbul. You’ve probably co snatcever o tree, object, dog or book, has a soul and speaks.”

    “Quite so,” said tness, some nig only ts of tes and tal bo cantly any ts of all ts groless and begin to converse in suc treasury becomes tic battle.”

    “tures er all to Istanbul,” said Master Osman. “As Sultan Selim ter defeating S of tamerlane—betrayed Soget constituted tomans. In train of tan Selim, as urned ter cold and snoo Istanbul,  Ce skin and slanting almond eyes, and  by ters of tabriz, taken as plunder by ted simurids. I sare at til Our Sultan and treasurer remove me from here.”

    Yet by no one sees in t of  to see. e fell silent. Master Osman requested t tened to ire account as to some bitter tale, once again locate and bring ail. Once ter:“So tration in my Enishte’s book?”

    “Botion rils,”  ransoxiana, tyle. As for tiful e’s book, t yle like ters of . Indeed, it is an elegant illustration o find anyry, not a Mongol horse.”

    “But its nostrils are cut open like a genuine Mongol horse,” I whispered.

    “It’s apparent t ted and tamerlane and

    s began, one of ters in  dree rils  open—influenced eit urist ain on  I’m sure t ture ly admired and praised—e in t time! I’m also convinced t for turists, muttering enviously to tated tiplied its image. In ts nostrils gradually became a model of form ingrained in tists in t er ted in battle, ters, like somber o ries, and carried orils ly cut open. Per styles and different masters in different s never made use of and eventually forgot t only dre clipped-nosed augty apprentices to do t t ”ters used to do it.“ So ter treated from turies after neers continued draandard form. I’m also sure t otill, completely unaeeds, dra too is ”a standard form.““

    “My dear master,” I said, overruly did produce an ans seems t eacist also bears ure.”

    “Not eacist, but eac even eacain miserable  voice for years  ackno  as a matter of course, ers try to illustrate like turkmen and some like ting for years on end, never attaining a ented husband and wife.”

    I sa pride quite definitely ruled ed to be all po I’d seen him wear for so long.

    “My dear master,” I said, “over a period of ty years anbul, you’ve united various artists from tures and temperaments, in suc you’ve ended up creating and defining ttoman style.”

    I’d felt ime ago give o alent and mastery genuinely astounds us, to be sincere, must  of y and influence and become sligic?

    “No dwarf hiding?” he said.

    tery and praise but recollect vaguely t t not be o c.

    “Despite being a great master of Persian legends and styles, you’ve created a distinct ration toman glory and strengt to art ttoman simistic colors of Ottoman victory, terest in and attention to objects and implements, and table lifestyle. My dear master, it’s been test o look at terpieces by ters h you…”

    For a long time I reasury, tlefield, our bodies  my wimacy.

    Later, as ain blind men rol ter Osman’s eyes assumed t in pleasure. I praised ter at lengtfelt emotion, noohe blind.

    oucrengto pass to me. I, again, t of Sed me at home.

    Standing still t ime, pages opened before us, it y igued us t ing. e’d become embarrassed of eacher.

    “ do?” he asked again.

    I ain t tc, I turned my s and left, but kept my eyes trained attentively on Master Osman. as ruly blind or o convince t  some untalented and incompetent old masters from So curry respect and to prevent otioning their failures.

    “I o die here,” he said.

    “My great master, my dear sir,” I fa on painting but on t, not on ters but on imitators of tand  it brings tears to my eyes. Yet it is also your duty to protect your master illustrators from tell me, urist  horse?”

    “Olive.”

    I o be surprised.

    .

    “But I’m also certain t Olive  te or unfortunate Elegant Effendi,”  Olive dre bound to ters, imately tyles of  and ice genealogy stretco Samarkand. No ask me, ” ered trils in t Olive dreioned  times a detail—ttaco a tree—can be preserved in memory for generations, passing from master to apprentice, and yet mig manifest on to ter or on account of ticular tastes and  dear Olive, in ly from ters  ever being able to forget it. t t te’s book is a cruel trick of Alla all of us taken ters of  as our models? Just like turkmen illustrators for  one ures, didn’t erpieces of  ed pictures? e are all ted admirers. Nouris art is t of Biing t are to t, murder poor Elegant Effendi, o thods?”

    “terfly?”

    “Stork!”  I knoed en, in all probability ed Frankis Effendi came to believe t ture mig to listen earnestly to t foolisunately, masters of gilding, to God ters, are also boring and stupid—and moreover, because e’s book ant project of tan, s clasan or in time tunate co me about a dilemma t ing a  even  t of gilding for your Enis mimic of ted to a betrayal of me and our guild; and so  anot. ious Stork and made take of letting ellect and morality of a man  impressed y of times ork manipulated Elegant Effendi by taking advantage of tion. ever argument took place bet resulted in Elegant Effendi’s murder at Stork’s o t of vengeance and to demonstrate t on to kill your Frankope, whe

    deat say t I’m all t sorry about tter. Years ago, your Enisan into ian painter—iano—make a portrait of yle as if  satisfied , in a disgraceful affront to my dignity, o me as a model to be copied; and out of dire fear of Our Sultan, I dis picture o do t, pere, and today  my concern is not for your Enis’s for my er miniaturists—ing attention for ty-five years—betrayed me and our entire artistic tradition; o blame for tic imitation of European masters ification t ”it is tan.“ Eacers deserves not torture! If y of miniaturists, learn to serve foremost our oalent and art instead of Our Sultan es of o study this book alone.”

    Master Osman uttered t statement like t  and condemned to beo turn to ted. itory tone, antly became tor ire workshop was familiar.

    I o a corner among cusy-barreled rifles udded butts and cabinets, and began eyeing Master Osman. t gna me spread t my entire being: If o stop tion of Our Sultan’s book, it made perfect sense t Master Osman migrated t Effendi and, afterrain myself from feeling profound respect for t master ure before  it closely as if looking less  to preserve tyle and turists’ o become again tan’s only favorite, er miniaturists, and me as o torturers of to t bound me to  two days.

    Mucer, I ill completely confused. I stared randomly at ted pages of tracted from cs solely to appease t o distract my jinns of indecision.

    ure of surprise in all to Bag time ty of S as she once glimmering lake whose silver

    leaf arnis even more time carefully examining tood be tle toejav, defeated by to lose tlefield, Espinuy, a beauty of beauties and e, c to abandon o ted under Züleyion t aken to ared from iful mout rat. As  somber lovers  spied on th.

    Despite its being a standard image recorded in tebooks and memories of all miniaturists, to a beautiful  elegance eacime.

    rations comfort me? As dusk fell, I  to Master Osman and said ter,  treasury.”

    “ill  and one morning. est illustrations the world has ever known!”

    As  turned  the paleness in his pupils confirmed he was indeed gradually going blind.

    “e’ve learned t of trils,” I said confidently.

    “ is up to Our Sultan and treasurer. Perhey will pardon us all.”

    ould ork as t even ask out of fear, for I o leave. Even   accuse me.

    “to blind himself is missing,” he said.

    “In all probability t it back in its place,” I said. “t!”

    up like a cs astride ,” yle of ters of .”

    ture as if , but  even taken to his hand.

    “Can you see trees in ttime darkness, appearing one by one as if illuminated from ars or spring floience implied by tation, t in te balance in tire painting’s composition?  as a  t ’s as if to remain ernally  emanating from ting’s texture, skin and subtle colors . You can see urned ever so sligourned toing and to us. t try to resemble exactly te to trary, t time opped for t picture. No matter  tory tell in ture, ternity te, s making any sudden gestures  bodies or even eyes. For t is frozen: tars, tering like ts of t time, remains fixed for all eternity as if nailed to tc. ters of ,  blackness ain, also kne if t blind ionless at sucration for days and  last mingle ernity of ture.”

    At time of tal of treasury er Osman ill staring intently at t t floated motionless in t if you noticed t ared at te oddly, as blind men sometimes incorrectly orient to them.

    treasury detail, learning t Master Osman ay inside and t Jezmi Ag ted to searc. o treets of Istanbul from tyard, I slipped into a passageerrifying object,  uck it into my sasically ran treets.

    treasury crated my bones t it seemed as tle tled over ty streets. As I passed t, fruit and vegetable sting do, I slos, carrots and jars in t by oil lamps.

    My Enisreet (I still couldn’t say “Sreet” let alone “my street”) appeared even stranger

    and more distant after my t ted safe and sound  t I’d be able to enter my beloved’s bed tonig—made me feel so intimate  upon seeing te tree and tters, I o restrain myself from sing like a farmer o someone across a stream. ed t  of my mouto be, “e know wched murderer is!”

    I opened tyard gate. I’m not sure if it e, ter from t, or t ood at once t nobody erly realizing t one’s been left to ill open and close all of ts and even lift ts, and t’s just s.

    In t. Like an old man tom of t out of t. It ake for consolation, only add depto our sorrow.

    I  doo tyard. t to the silence of an impending darkness.

    My , no, told me to run and find t I sloyards icipating some kind of amusement.