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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第章

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pit  into  which  he’d  been  cast  by  his  jealous  brothers。  I  quite  enjoy  painting 
this scene from the romance of Joseph and Zuleyha; for it reminds us that envy 
is the prime emotion in life。 
There was a sudden lull。 I sensed their eyes upon me。 Should I cry? I caught 
Black’s eye。 That vile scoundrel; he’s peering at us; like someone who’s been 
sent here by Enishte Effendi to uncover the truth。 
“Who  could’ve  perpetrated  such  a  horrendous  crime?”  cried  the  oldest 
brother。 “What kind of heartless beast could’ve slaughtered our brother; our 
brother who wouldn’t dare harm an ant?” 
He  answered  this  question  with  his  own  tears;  and  I  joined  him;  feigning 
grief while I sought my own answer: Who were Elegant’s enemies? If it hadn’t 
been me; who else could’ve murdered him? I recalled that some time ago—I 
believe  it  was  when  the  Book  of  Skills  was  being  prepared—he  would  get 
involved in arguments with certain artists inclined to dismiss the techniques 
of the old masters and ruin the pages we illustrators had labored extensively 
over;  thus  they  would  spoil  the  borders  with  the  horrid  colors  used  to 
embellish more cheaply and quickly。 Who were they? Later; however; rumors 
began  to  spread  that  the  enmity  had  arisen  not  for  this  reason;  but  out  of 
petition for the affections of a handsome binder’s apprentice who worked 
on the ground floor; but this was an old story。 And there were those who were 
annoyed  by  Elegant’s  dignity;  his  refinement  and  his  erudite  feminine 
demeanor;  but  this  had  to  do  with  another  matter  entirely:  Elegant  was 
slavishly  bound  to  the  old  style;  a  fanatic  about  the  coordination  of  color 
between  gilding  and  illustration;  and  in  the  presence  of  Master  Osman;  he 
would; for instance; point out the nonexistent faults of other miniaturists—
mine  in  particular—with  gentle  conceit。  His  last  quarrel  had  to  do  with  an 
issue  about  which  Master  Osman  had;  in  past  years;  grown  quite  sensitive: 
royal  miniaturists  who  moonlighted;  secretly  accepting  trivial  missions 
outside the auspices of the palace。 In recent years; after Our Sultan’s interest 
had  begun  to  wane  and;  along  with  it;  the  money  ing  from  the  Head 
Treasurer; all the miniaturists started paying visits to the two…story houses of 
the crass young pashas—and the best of the artists would go late at night to 
visit Enishte。 
I wasn’t at all bothered by Enishte’s decision to stop working on his—on 
our—book  or  his  excuse  that  it  was  ill…omened。  He  had;  of  course;  guessed 
that the murderer who did away with brainless Elegant Effendi was one of us 
who were embellishing his book。 Put yourself in his shoes: Would you invite a 
111 
 
murderer  to  your  house  each  fortnight  to  work  on  illustrations  after  dark? 
Wouldn’t  you  first  determine  the  identities  of  the  murderer  and  the  best 
illustrator? I have no doubt that he’ll quickly deduce which of the miniaturists 
was  the  most  talented  and  the  most  skilled  in  color  selection;  gilding;  page 
ruling;  illustration;  face  drawing  and  page  position;  and  having  done  so; 
he’ll continue working with me alone。 I can’t imagine he’ll be so petty as to 
think  of  me  as  a  mon  murderer  rather  than  a  genuinely  talented 
miniaturist。 
Out of the corner of my eye I am watching that fool Black Effendi whom 
Enishte  brought  with  him。  When  these  two  broke  away  from  the  cemetery 
crowd  presently  dispersing;  and  walked  down  to  the  Eyüp  quay;  I  followed 
them。 They boarded a four…oared longboat; and afterward; I got into a six…oar 
along with a few young apprentices who’d forgotten about the deceased and 
the  funeral  and  were  making  merry。  Within  sight  of  the  Phanar  Gate;  our 
boats momentarily came so near each other that they were about to lock oars; 
and  I  could  see  clearly  that  Black  was  earnestly  whispering  to  Enishte。  I 
thereupon thought how easy it was to end a life。 My dear God; you’ve given 
each of us this unbelievable power; but you’ve also made us afraid to exercise 
it。 
Still;  if  a  man  but  once  overes  this  fear  and  acts;  he  straightaway 
bees  an  entirely  different  person。  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  terrified 
not  only  of  the  Devil;  but  of  the  slightest  trace  of  evil  within  me。  Now; 
however;  I  have  the  sense  that  evil  can  be  endured;  and  moreover;  that  it’s 
indispensable  to  an  artist。  After  I  killed  that  miserable  excuse  of  a  man; 
discounting the trembling in my hands which lasted only a few days; I drew 
better; I made use of brighter and bolder colors; and most important; realized 
that  I  could  conjure  up  wonders  in  my  imagination。  But;  this  begs  the 
question how many men in Istanbul can truly appreciate the magnificence of 
my illustrations? 
Off the waterfront near Jibali; from all the way in the middle of the Golden 
Horn; I gazed spitefully at Istanbul。 The snow…capped domes shone bright in 
the  sunlight  that  broke  abruptly  through  the  clouds。  The  larger  and  more 
colorful  a  city  is;  the  more  places  there  are  to  hide  one’s  guilt  and  sin;  the 
more crowded it is; the more people there are to hide behind。 A city’s intellect 
ought to be measured not by its scholars; libraries; miniaturists; calligraphers 
and schools; but by the number of crimes insidiously mitted on its dark 
streets over thousands of years。 By this logic; doubtless; Istanbul is the world’s 
most intelligent city。 
112 
 
At the Unkapan? quay; I left my longboat a little after Black and his Enishte 
had left theirs。 I was behind them as they leaned on one another and mounted 
the  hill。  At  the  site  of  a  recent  fire  in  the  shadow  of  the  Sultan  Mehmet 
Mosque;  they  stopped  and  exchanged  parting  words。  Enishte  Effendi  was 
alone; and he appeared for an instant like a helpless old man。 I was tempted to 
run  to  him  and  tell  him  what
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