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My tears subsided。 I wiped my nose。 I saw the black dog wagging its tail in
friendship as I left the cemetery。 Sometime later； I settled into our
neighborhood； renting one of the houses where a relative on my father’s side
once lived。 It seems I reminded the landlady of her son who’d been killed by
Safavid Persian soldiers at the front and so she agreed to clean the house and
cook for me。
8
I set out on long and satisfying walks through the streets as if I’d settled not
in Istanbul； but temporarily in one of the Arab cities at the other end of the
world。 The streets had bee narrower； or so it seemed to me。 In certain
areas； on roads squeezed between houses leaning toward one another； I was
forced to rub up against walls and doors to avoid being hit by laden
packhorses。 There were more wealthy people； or so it seemed to me。 I saw an
ornate carriage； a citadel drawn by proud horses； the likes of which couldn’t
be found in Arabia or Persia。 Near the “Burnt Column；” I saw some
bothersome beggars dressed in rags huddling together as the smell of offal
ing from the chicken…sellers market wafted over them。 One of them who
was blind smiled as he watched the falling snow。
Had I been told Istanbul used to be a poorer； smaller and happier city； I
might not have believed it； but that’s what my heart told me。 Though my
beloved’s house was where it’d always been among linden and chestnut trees；
others were now living there； as I learned from inquiring at the door。 I
discovered that my beloved’s mother； my maternal aunt； had died； and that
her husband； my Enishte； and his daughter had moved away。 This is how I
came to learn that father and daughter were the victims of certain
misfortunes； from strangers answering the door； who in such situations are
perfectly forthing； without the least awareness of how mercilessly they’ve
broken your heart and destroyed your dreams。 I won’t describe all of this to
you now； but allow me to say that as I recalled warm； verdant and sunny
summer days in that old garden； I also noticed icicles the size of my little finger
hanging from the branches of the linden tree in a place whose misery； snow
and neglect now evoked nothing but death。
I’d already learned about some of what had befallen my relatives through a
letter my Enishte sent to me in Tabriz。 In that letter； he invited me back to
Istanbul； explaining that he was preparing a secret book for Our Sultan and
that he wanted my help。 He’d heard that for a period while in Tabriz； I made
books for Ottoman pashas； provincial governors and Istanbulites。 What I did
then was to use the money advanced by clients who’d placed manuscript
orders in Istanbul to locate miniaturists and calligraphers who were frustrated
by the wars and the presence of Ottoman soldiers； but hadn’t yet left for
Kazvin or another Persian city； and it was these masters—plaining of
poverty and neglect—whom I missioned to inscribe； illustrate and bind
the pages of the manuscripts I would then send back to Istanbul。 If it weren’t
for the love of illustrating and fine books that my Enishte instilled in me
during my youth； I could have never involved myself in such pursuits。
9
At the market end of the street； where at one time my Enishte had lived； I
found the barber； a master by trade； in his shop among the same mirrors；
straight razors； pitchers of water and soap brushes。 I caught his eye； but I’m
not sure he recognized me。 It delighted me to see that the head…washing basin；
which hung by a chain from the ceiling； still traced the same old arc； swinging
back and forth as he filled it with hot water。
Some of the neighborhoods and streets I’d frequented in my youth had
disappeared in ashes and smoke； replaced by burnt ruins where stray dogs
congregated and where mad transients frightened the local children。 In other
areas razed by fire； large affluent houses had been built； and I was astonished
by their extravagance； by windows of the most expensive Veian stained
glass； and by lavish two…story residences with bay windows suspended above
high walls。
As in many other cities； money no longer had any value in Istanbul。 At the
time I returned from the East； bakeries that once sold large one…hundred
drachma loaves of bread for one silver coin now baked loaves half the size for
the same price； and they no longer tasted the way they did during my
childhood。 Had my late mother seen the day when she’d have to spend three
silver pieces for a dozen eggs； she’d say； “We ought to leave before the chickens
grow so spoiled they shit on us instead of the ground。” But I knew the
problem of devalued money was the same everywhere。 It was rumored that
Flemish and Veian merchant ships were filled with chests of counterfeit
coin。 At the royal mint； where five hundred coins were once minted from a
hundred drachmas of silver； now； owing to the endless warring with the
Persians； eight hundred coins were minted from the same amount。 When
Janissaries discovered that the coins they’d been paid actually floated in the
Golden Horn like the dried beans that fell from the vegetable…sellers pier； they
rioted； besieging Our Sultan’s palace as if it were an enemy fortress。
A cleric by the name of Nusret； who preached at the Bayazid Mosque and
claimed to be descended from Our Glorious Prophet Muhammad； had made a
name for himself during this period of immorality； inflation； crime and theft。
This hoja； who was from the small town of Erzurum； attributed the
catastrophes that had befallen Istanbul in the last ten years—including the
Bah？ekap？ and Kazanj？lar district fires； the plagues that claimed tens o