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bodies； brown eggs and legendary sky…blue horses。 The world was faithful to
the illustrations and legends that I’d avidly scrutinized over the years。 I beheld
Creation with awe and surprise as if for the first time； but also as if it’d
somehow emerged from my memory。 What I called “memory” contained an
entire world： With time spread out infinitely before me in both directions； I
understood how the world as I first experienced it could persist afterward as
memory。 As I died surrounded by this festival of color； I also discovered why I
felt so relaxed； as if I’d been liberated from a straitjacket： From now on；
nothing was restricted； and I had unlimited time and space in which to
experience all eras and all places。
As soon as I realized this freedom； with fear and ecstasy I knew I was close
to Him； at the same time； I humbly felt the presence of an absolutely
matchless red。
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Within a short period； red imbued all。 The beauty of this color suffused me
and the whole universe。 As I approached His Being in this manner； I had the
urge to cry out in jubilation。 I was suddenly ashamed to be taken into His
presence； drenched in blood as I was。 Another part of my mind recalled what
I’d read in books on death； that He would enlist Azrael and His other angels to
summon me to His presence。
Would I be able to see Him？ I wasn’t able to breathe out of excitement。
The red approaching me—the omnipresent red within which all the images
of the universe played—was so magnificent and beautiful that it quickened my
tears to think I would bee part of it and be so close to Him。
But I also knew He’d e no closer to me than He already had； He’d
inquired about me from His angels and they’d praised me； He saw me as a
loyal servant bound to His mandments and prohibitions； and He loved
me。
My mounting joy and flowing tears were abruptly poisoned by a nagging
doubt。 Guilt…ridden and impatient in my uncertainty； I asked Him：
“Over the last twenty years of my life； I’ve been influenced by the infidel
illustrations that I saw in Venice。 There was even a time when I wanted my
own portrait painted in that method and style； but I was afraid。 Instead； I later
had Your World； Your Subjects and Our Sultan； Your Shadow on Earth；
depicted in the manner of the infidel Franks。”
I didn’t remember His voice； but I recalled the answer He gave me in my
thoughts。
“East and West belong to me。”
I could barely contain my excitement。
“All right then； what is the meaning of it all； of this…of this world？”
“Mystery；” I heard in my thoughts； or perhaps； “mercy；” but I wasn’t
certain of either。
By the way the angels had e near me； I knew some sort of decision had
been made about me at this height of the heavens； but I’d have to wait in the
divine balance of Berzah with the mass of other souls who’d died over the last
tens of thousands of years until the Day of Judgment； when the final decision
about us would be made。 That everything transpired the way it was recorded
in books pleased me。 I recalled from my readings as I descended that I’d be
reunited with my body during my burial。
252
But I quickly understood that the phenomenon of “reentering my lifeless
body” was just a figure of speech； thank goodness。 Despite their sorrow； the
dignified funeral congregation that filled me with pride was astonishingly
organized as it shouldered my coffin after the prayers and descended into the
little Hillock Cemetery beside the mosque。 From above； the procession
appeared like a thin and delicate length of string。
Let me clarify my situation： As might be inferred from the well…known
legend of Our Prophet—which states “The soul of the faithful is a bird that
feeds from the trees of Heaven”—after death； the soul roams the firmament。
As claimed by Abu ？mer bin Abdülber； the interpretation of this legend
doesn’t mean that the soul will possess a bird or even bee a bird itself； but
as the learned El Jevziyye aptly clarifies； it means that the soul can be found
where birds gather。 The spot from which I was observing things； what the
Veian masters who love perspective would call my “point of view；”
confirmed El Jevziyye’s interpretation。
From where I was； for example； I could both see the threadlike funeral
procession entering the cemetery； and with the pleasure of analyzing a
painting； watch a sailboat gaining speed； its sails gorging on wind as it tacked
toward Palace Point； where the Golden Horn met the Bosphorus。 Looking
down from the height of a minaret； the whole world resembled a magnificent
book whose pages I was examining one by one。
Still； I could see much more than a man who’d simply ascended to such
heights without his soul having left his body； and furthermore； I could see it
all at once： On the other side of the Bosphorus； beyond üsküdar； among
gravestones in an empty yard； children playing leapfrog； the graceful
progression of the Vizier of Diplomatic Affair’s ca？que propelled by seven pairs
of oarsmen twelve years and seven months ago； when we acpanied the
Veian ambassador from his seaside mansion to be received by the Grand
Vizier； Bald Ragip Pasha； a portly woman in the new Langa bazaar holding a
huge head of cabbage like a child she was about to nurse； my elation when the
Divan Herald Ramazan Effendi died； opening the way for my own
advancement； how I stared as a child from my grandmother’s lap at red shirts
while my mother hung the laundry to dry in the courtyard； how I ran to
distant neighborhoods in search of the midwife when Shekure’s mother； may
she rest in peace； had gone into labor； the location of the red belt I’d lost over
forty years ago （I know now th