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of your stature besides honesty and virtue？ ＇Hasan cackled！＇ My ing to visit
your father for the sake of painting； however； does not amount to harassing you。
This would never even cross my mind。 I make no claim at having received a sign
from you or any other encouragement。 When your face appeared to me at the
window like divine light； I considered it nothing but an act of God’s grace。 The
pleasure of seeing your face is all I need。 ＇“He took that from Nizami；” Hasan
interrupted； annoyed。＇ But you ask me to keep my distance； tell me then； are you
an angel that approaching you should be so terrifying？ Listen to what I have to
say； listen： I used to try to sleep watching the moonlight fall onto the naked
mountains from remote and godforsaken caravansaries where nobody but a
desperate han keeper and a few thugs fleeing the gallows lodged； and there； in the
middle of the night； listening to the howling of wolves even lonelier and more
unfortunate than myself； I used to think that one day you would suddenly appear
to me； just as you did at the window。 Read closely： Now that I’ve returned to your
father for the sake of the book； you’ve sent back the picture I made in my
childhood。 I know this is not a sign of your death but a sign that I’ve found you
again。 I saw one of your children； Orhan。 That poor fatherless boy。 One day I will
bee his father！
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“God protect him； he’s written well；” I said； “this one has bee quite the
poet。”
“”Are you an angel that approaching you should be so terrifying？“” he
repeated。 “He stole that line from Ibn Zerhani。 I could do better。” He took his
own letter out of his pocket。 “Take this and deliver it to Shekure。”
For the first time； accepting money along with the letters disturbed me。 I
felt something like disgust toward this man and his mad obsession； his
unrequited love。 Hasan； as if to confirm my hunch； for the first time in a long
while set aside his good etiquette and said quite rudely：
“Tell her that if we so desire； we’ll force her back here under pressure of the
judge。”
“You really want me to say that？”
Silence。 “Nay；” he said。 The light from the oil lamp illuminated his face；
allowing me to see him lower his head like a guilty child。 It’s because I know
this side of Hasan’s character as well that I have some respect for his feelings
and deliver his letters。 It’s not only for the money； as you might think。
I was leaving the house； and he stopped me at the door。
“Do you let Shekure know how much I love her？” he asked me excitedly and
foolishly。
“Don’t you tell her so in your letters？”
“Tell me how I might convince her and her father？ How might I persuade
them？”
“By being a good person；” I said and walked to the door。
“At this age； it’s too late…” he said with sincere anguish。
“You’ve begun to earn a lot of money； Customs Officer Hasan。 This makes
one a good person…” I said and fled。
The house was so dark and melancholy that the air outside seemed warmer。
The sunlight hit my face。 I wished for Shekure’s happiness。 But I also felt
something for that poor man in that damp； chilly and dark house。 On a whim；
I turned into the Spice Market in Laleli thinking the smells of cinnamon；
saffron and pepper would restore my spirits。 I was mistaken。
At Shekure’s house； after she took up the letters； she immediately asked
after Black。 I told her that the fire of love had mercilessly engulfed his entire
being。 This news pleased her。
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“Even lonely spinsters busy with their knitting are discussing why Elegant
Effendi might’ve been killed；” I said later； changing the subject。
“Hayriye； make some halva as a present of condolence and take it over to
Kalbiye； poor Elegant Effendi’s widow；” said Shekure。
“All the Erzurumis and quite a crowd of others will be attending his funeral
service；” I said。 “His relatives swear they’ll avenge his spilt blood。”
Shekure had already begun to read Black’s letter。 I looked into her face
intently and angrily。 This woman was probably such a fox that she could
control how her passions were reflected in her face。 As she read I sensed that
my silence pleased her； that she regarded it as my approval of the special
import she gave to Black’s letter。 Shekure finished the letter and smiled at me；
to meet with her satisfaction； I felt forced to ask； “What has he written？”
“Just as in his childhood…He’s in love with me。”
“What are your thoughts？”
“I’m a married woman。 I’m waiting for my husband。”
Contrary to your expectations； the fact that she’d lie to me after asking me
to get involved in her affairs didn’t anger me。 Actually； this ment relieved
me。 If more of the young maidens and women I’ve carried letters for and
advised in the ways of the world attended to details the way Shekure did； they
would’ve lessened the work for us both by half。 More importantly； they
would’ve ended up in better marriages。
“What does the other one write？” I asked anyway。
“I don’t intend to read Hasan’s letter right now；” she answered。 “Does
Hasan know that Black’s returned to Istanbul？”
“He doesn’t even know he exists。”
“Do you speak with Hasan？” she asked； opening wide her beautiful black
eyes。
“As you’ve requested。”
“Yes？”
“He’s in agony。 He’s deeply in love with you。 Even if your heart belongs to
another； it’ll be difficult ever to be free of him now。 By accepting his letters
you’ve greatly encouraged him。 Be wary of him； however。 For not only does he
want to make you return there； but by establishing that his older brother has
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died； he’s preparing to marry you。” I smiled to soften the weight of these
words and so as not to be reduced to being that malcontent’s mouthpiece。
“What’s the other one say； then？” she asked； but did she hers