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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第章

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There was a shop; which I understood to be a coffeehouse; at the end of this 
narrow street we were passing down。 Perhaps the swordfight stopped as soon 
as it’d begun。 Crowds of men were hooting as they entered and left; at first I 
thought they were looting; but no; they were destroying the coffeehouse。 They 
carefully  took  out  all  of  the  ceramic  cups;  brass  pots;  glasses  and  low  tables 
under  the  light  of  the  torches  of  the  onlookers  and  destroyed  them  all  as  a 
warning。 They roughed up a man who tried to stop them; but he was able to 
get away。 Originally; I thought their target was only coffee; as they themselves 
claimed。 They were condemning its ill effects; how it harmed the sight and the 
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stomach; how it dulled the intellect and caused men to lose their faith; how it 
was the poison of the Franks and how Exalted Muhammad had turned down 
coffee  even  though  it  was  offered  to  him  by  a  beautiful  woman—Satan  in 
disguise。 It was as if this were the theatrics for a night of instruction in moral 
etiquette; and if I finally made it home; I thought I might even scold Nesim; 
warning him not to drink too much of that poison。 
Since  there  ing  houses  and  cheap  inns  nearby;  a 
curious crowd formed in no time; made up of idle wanderers; homeless men 
and   no…good   mongrels   who’d   snuck   illegally   into   the   city;   and   they 
emboldened these enemies of coffee。 It was then I understood that these men 
were  the  henchmen  of  Preacher  Nusret  Hoja  of  Erzurum。  They  intended  to 
clean up all the dens of wine; prostitution and coffee in Istanbul and punish 
severely those who veered from the path of Exalted Muhammad; those who; 
for example; used dervish ceremonies as an excuse for belly…dancing to music。 
They  railed  against  the  enemies  of  religion;  men  who  collaborated  with  the 
Devil;  pagans;  unbelievers  and  illustrators。  I  suddenly  recalled  this  was  the 
coffeehouse on whose walls drawings were hung; where religion and the hoja 
from Erzurum were maligned and where disrespect knew no bounds。 
A  coffee  maker’s  apprentice;  his  face  spattered  with  blood;  emerged  from 
inside;  and  I  thought  he  might  collapse;  but  he  wiped  the  blood  from  his 
forehead and cheeks with the cuff of his shirt; melded in with our group and 
began to watch the raid。 The crowd pulled back a little out of fear。 I noticed 
Black  recognize  somebody  and  hesitate。  By  the  way  the  Erzurumis  began  to 
collect  together;  I  knew  that  the  Janissaries  or  some  other  band  armed  with 
clubs was on its way。 The torches were extinguished and the crowd became a 
confused mob。 
Black grabbed me by the arm and had the theology student take me away。 
“Go  by  way  of  the  backstreets;”  he  said。  “He’ll  see  you  to  your  house。”  The 
student wanted to slip away as soon as possible and we were almost running 
as we departed。 My thoughts were with Black; but if Esther’s taken out of the 
scene; she can’t possibly continue with the story; can she now? 
 
 
   
380 
 
I AM A WOMAN 
 
I can hear your objections already: “My dear Storyteller Effendi; you might be 
able to imitate anyone or anything; but never a woman!” Yet I beg to differ。 
True; I’ve wandered from city to city; imitating everything into the wee hours 
of  the  night  at  weddings;  festivals  and  coffeehouses  until  my  voice  gave  out; 
and  thus  it  was  never  my  lot  to  marry;  but  this  doesn’t  mean  I’m 
unacquainted with womenfolk。 
I  know  women  quite  well;  in  fact;  I’ve  known  four  personally;  seen  their 
faces and spoken with them: 1。 my mother; may she rest in eternal peace; 2。 
my beloved aunt; 3。 the wife of my brother (he always beat me); who said “Get 
out!” on one of those rare occasions when I saw her—she was the first woman 
I fell in love with; and 4。 a lady I saw suddenly at an open window in Konya 
during my travels。 Despite never having spoken with her; I’ve nursed feelings 
of lust toward her for years and still do。 Perhaps; by now; she’s passed away。 
Seeing a woman’s bare face; speaking to her; and witnessing her humanity 
opens the way to both pangs of lust and deep spiritual pain in us men; and 
thus the best of all alternatives is not to lay eyes on women; especially pretty 
women; without first being lawfully wed; as our noble faith dictates。 The sole 
remedy  for  carnal  desires  is  to  seek  out  the  friendship  of  beautiful  boys;  a 
satisfactory surrogate for females; and in due time; this; too; bees a sweet 
habit。 In the cities of the European Franks; women roam about exposing not 
only  their  faces;  but  also  their  brightly  shining  hair  (after  their  necks;  their 
most attractive feature); their arms; their beautiful throats; and even; if what 
I’ve heard is true; a portion of their gorgeous legs; as a result; the men of those 
cities  walk  about  with  great  difficulty;  embarrassed  and  in  extreme  pain; 
because; you see; their front sides are always erect and this fact naturally leads 
to the paralysis of their society。 Undoubtedly; this is why each day the Frank 
infidel surrenders another fortress to us Ottomans。 
After  realizing;  while  still  a  youth;  that  the  best  recipe  for  my  spiritual 
happiness  and  contentment  was  to  live  far  from  beautiful  women;  I  grew 
increasingly curious about these creatures。 At that time; since I hadn’t seen any 
women  besides  my  mother  and  my  aunt;  my  curiosity  assumed  a  mystical 
quality;  my  head  seemed  to  tingle;  and  I  knew  that  I  could  only  learn  how 
women  felt  if  I  did  what  they  did;  ate  what  they  ate;  said  what  they  said; 
imitated  their  behavior  and;  yes;  only  if  I  wore  their  clothes。  Therefore;  one 
Friday;  when  my  mother;  father;  older  brother  and  aunt  went  to  my 
381 
 
grandfather’s  rose  garden  on  the  shores  of  the  Fahreng;  I  told  them  I  was 
feeling ill and stayed at home。 
“e  along。  Look;  you’ll  entertain  us  by  mimicking  the  dogs;  trees
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