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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第章

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“Hayriye; tell us a story;” said Orhan as he sat on his chamber pot。 
“Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  blue  man;”  said  Hayriye;  “and  his  closest 
panion was a jinn。” 
“Why was the man blue?” said Orhan。 
“For  goodness  sake;  Hayriye;”  I  said。  “Tonight  at  least  don’t  tell  a  story 
about jinns and ghosts。” 
“Why  shouldn’t  she?”  said  Shevket。  “Mother;  after  we  fall  asleep  do  you 
leave the bed and go to be with Grandfather?” 
“Your grandfather; Allah protect him; is gravely ill;” I said。 “Of course I go to 
his bedside at night to look after him。 Then; I return to our bed; don’t I?” 
“Have Hayriye look after Grandfather;” said Shevket。 “Doesn’t Hayriye look 
after my grandfather at night anyway?” 
“Are you finished?” Hayriye asked of Orhan。 As she wiped Orhan’s behind 
with a wet rag; his face was overe with a sweet lethargy。 She glanced into 
the pot and wrinkled up her face; not due to the smell; but as if what she saw 
wasn’t sufficient。 
“Hayriye;” I said。 “Empty the chamber pot and bring it back。 I don’t want 
Shevket to leave the room in the middle of the night。” 
“Why shouldn’t I leave the room?” asked Shevket。 “Why shouldn’t Hayriye 
tell us a story about jinns and fairies?” 
227 
 
“Because there are jinns in the house; you idiot;” Orhan said; not so much 
out  of  fear;  but  with  the  dumb  optimism  I  always  noticed  in  his  expression 
after he’d relieved himself。 
“Mother; are there jinns here?” 
“If you leave the room; if you attempt to see your grandfather; the jinn will 
catch you。” 
“Where  will  Black  lay  out  his  bed?”  said  Shevket。  “Where  will  he  sleep 
tonight?” 
“I’m not sure;” I said。 “Hayriye will be preparing his bed。” 
“Mother; you’re still going to sleep with us; aren’t you?” said Shevket。 
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’ll sleep together with you two as 
before。” 
“Always?” 
Hayriye left carrying the chamber pot。 From the cabi where I’d hidden 
them;   I   removed   the   remaining   nine   illustrations   left   behind   by   the 
unspeakable murderer and sat on the bed。 By the light of a candle; I stared at 
them  for  a  long  time  trying  to  fathom  their  secret。  These  illustrations  were 
beautiful  enough  that  you  might  mistake  them  for  your  own  forgotten 
memories; and as with writing; as you looked at them; they spoke。 
I’d  lost  myself  in  the  pictures。  I  understood  from  the  scent  of  Orhan’s 
beautiful  head;  upon  which  I’d  rested  my  nose;  that  he;  too;  was  looking  at 
that odd and suspicious Red。 As occasionally happened; I had the urge to take 
out  my  breast  and  nurse  him。  Later;  when  Orhan  was  frightened  by  the 
terrifying picture of Death; gently and sweetly breathing through his reddish 
lips; I suddenly wanted to eat him。 
“I’ll eat you up; do you understand me?” 
“Mama; tickle me;” he said and threw himself down。 
“Get  off  there;  get  up  you  beast;”  I  screamed  and  slapped  him。  He’d  lain 
across the pictures。 I checked the illustrations; apparently no harm had e 
to  them。  The  image  of  the  horse  in  the  topmost  picture  was  faintly;  yet 
unnoticeably; crumpled。 
Hayriye entered with the empty chamber pot。 I gathered the pictures and 
was about to leave the room when Shevket began to cry: 
“Mother? Where are you going?” 
228 
 
“I’ll be right back。” 
I  crossed  the  freezing  hallway。  Black  was  seated  across  from  my  father’s 
empty  cushion;  in  the  same  position  that  he’d  spent  four  days  discussing 
painting and perspective with him。 I laid out the illustrations on the folding 
bookstand; the cushion and on the floor before him。 Color abruptly suffused 
the  candlelit  room  with  a  warmth  and  an  astonishing  liveliness;  as  if 
everything had been set in motion。 
Utterly  still;  we  looked  at  the  pictures  at  length;  silently  and  respectfully。 
When we made even the slightest movement; the still air; which bore the scent 
of  death  from  the  room  across  the  wide  hall;  would  make  the  candle  flame 
flicker and my father’s mysterious illustrations seemed to move too。 Had the 
paintings taken on such significance for me because they were the cause of my 
father’s  death?  Was  I  mesmerized  by  the  peculiarity  of  the  horse  or  the 
uniqueness  of  Red;  by  the  misery  of  the  tree  or  the  sadness  of  the  two 
wandering dervishes; or was it because I feared the murderer who’d killed my 
father  and  perhaps  others  on  account  of  these  illustrations?  After  a  while; 
Black  and  I  fully  understood  that  the  silence  between  us;  as  much  as  it 
might’ve been caused by the paintings; was also due to our being alone in the 
same room on our wedding night。 Both of us wanted to speak。 
“When  we  wake  tomorrow  morning;  we  should  tell  everybody  that  my 
hapless father has passed away in his sleep;” I said。 Although what I’d said was 
correct; it appeared as if I were being insincere。 
“Everything  will  be  fine  in  the  morning;”  said  Black  in  the  same  peculiar 
manner; unable to believe in the truth of what he’d spoken。 
When he made a nearly imperceptible gesture to draw closer to me; I had 
the urge to embrace him and; as I did with the children; to take his head into 
my hands。 
Just  at  that  moment;  I  heard  the  door  to  my  father’s  room  open  and; 
springing up in terror; I ran over; opened our door and looked out: By the light 
that filtered into the hallway; I was shocked to see my father’s door half open。 
I stepped into the icy hallway。 My father’s room; heated by the still…lit brazier; 
reeked of decay。 Had Shevket or somebody else e here? His body; dressed 
in  his  nightgown;  rested  peacefully;  bathed  in  the  faint  light  of  the  brazier。  I 
thought  about  the  way;  on  some  nights;  I’d  say;  “Have  a  good  night;  dear 
Father;” while he read the Book of the Soul by candlelight before going to sleep。 
Raising himself slightly; he’d take the glass I’d brought hi
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