stomach。 Orhan was resting his sweaty head on my bosom。 Somehow； I was
able to get out of bed and leave the room without waking them。
I crossed the wide hallway and silently opened Black’s door。 In the light cast
by my candle； I couldn’t see him； only the edge of his white mattress which lay
like a shrouded body in the middle of the dark； cold room。 The candlelight
seemed unable to reach the mattress。
When I brought my hand even closer； the reddish…orange light of the candle
struck Black’s weary； unshaven face and naked shoulders。 I drew near to him。
Just as Orhan did； he slept curled up like a pill bug； and he wore the expression
of a sleeping maiden。
“This is my husband；” I said to myself。 He seemed so distant； so much a
stranger； that I was filled with sorrow。 If I’d had a dagger with me； I would’ve
murdered him—no； I didn’t actually want to do such a thing； I was only
wondering； the way children do； how it’d be if I killed him。 I didn’t believe
he’d lived for years through thoughts of me； neither in his innocent childlike
expression。
Prodding his shoulder with the edge of my bare foot； I woke him。 When he
saw me； he was startled more than enchanted and excited； if only for a
moment； just as I’d hoped。 Before he’d pletely e to his senses； I said：
“I dreamed I saw my father。 He confided something horrible to me： You
were the one who killed him…”
“Weren’t we together when your father was murdered？”
“I’m aware of this；” I said。 “But you knew that my father would be at home
all alone。”
“I did not。 You were the one who sent the children out with Hayriye。 Only
Hayriye； and perhaps Esther； knew about it。 And as for whoever else might’ve
known； you’d have a better idea than I。”
“There are times I feel an inner voice is about to tell me why everything has
gone so badly； the secret of all of our misfortune。 I open my mouth so that
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voice might speak； but as in a dream； I make no sound。 You’re no longer the
good and naive Black of my childhood。”
“That naive Black was driven away by you and your father。”
“If you’ve married me to take revenge on my father； you’ve acplished
your goal。 Maybe this is why the children don’t like you。”
“I know；” he said without sorrow。 “Before going to bed you were
downstairs for a while。 They were chanting ”Black； Black； my ass’s crack；“ loud
enough so I could hear。”
“You should’ve given them a beating；” I said； at first half…wishing he’d done
so。 Then I added in a panic； “If you raise a hand against them； I’ll kill you。”
“Get into bed；” he said。 “Or you’ll freeze to death。”
“Maybe I’ll never get into your bed。 Maybe we’ve made a mistake by
getting married。 They say our ceremony has no legitimacy before the law。 Do
you know I heard Hasan’s footsteps before I fell asleep？ It’s not surprising；
when I was living in the house of my late husband； I heard Hasan’s footsteps
for years。 The children like him。 And he’s merciless； that one。 He has a red
sword； take care to guard yourself against it。”
I saw something so weary and so stern in Black’s eyes that I knew I
wouldn’t be able to scare him。
“Of the two of us； you’re the one with more hope and the one with more
sadness；” I said。 “I’m just struggling not to be unhappy and to protect my
children； whereas you’re stubbornly trying to prove yourself。 It’s not because
you love me。”
He went on at length about how much he loved me； how he always thought
only of me in desolate caravansaries； on barren mountains and during snowy
nights。 If he hadn’t said these things； I would’ve awakened the children and
returned to my former husband’s house。 Because I had the urge； I said the
following：
“Sometimes it seems that my former husband might return at any time。 It’s
not that I fear being caught in the middle of the night with you or being
caught by the children； I’m afraid that as soon as we embrace he’ll e
knocking on the door。”
We heard the wailing of cats fighting for their lives just outside the
courtyard gate。 This was followed by a long silence。 I thought I might sob。 I
could neither set my candle holder down on the end table nor turn around
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and head to my room to be with my sons。 I told myself that I wouldn’t leave
this room until I was absolutely convinced that Black had nothing whatsoever
to do with my father’s death。
“You belittle us；” I said to Black。 “You’ve grown haughty since you married
me。 You clearly looked down on us because my husband was missing； and now
that my father’s been killed you find us even more pitiful。”
“My respected Shekure；” he said cautiously。 It pleased me that he’d begun
this way。 “You yourself know that none of this is true。 I’d do anything for
you。”
“Then get out of bed； and wait with me on your feet。”
Why had I said that I was waiting？
“I cannot；” he said； and in embarrassment； gestured to the quilt and his
nightgown。
He was right； but it annoyed me anyway that he wasn’t heeding my
request。
“Before my father was murdered； you entered this house cowering like a cat
who’d spilled milk；” I said。 “But now when you address me as ”My respected
Shekure‘ it seems empty—as though you want us to know it is。“
I was trembling； not out of anger； but because of the icy cold that seized my
legs； back and neck。
“Get into bed and be my wife；” he said。
“How will the villain who killed my father ever be found？” I said。 “If it’s
going to take some time before he’s found； it’s not right for me to stay in this
house with you。”
“Thanks to you and Esther； Master Osman has focused all his attention on
the horses。”
“Master Osman was the sworn enemy of my father； may he rest in peace。
Now my poor father can see from above that you’re depending on Master
Osman to find his murderer。 It must be causing him great agony。”
He abruptly leapt out of bed and came toward me。 I couldn’t even move。
But contrary to what I expected； he just snuffed out my candle with his hand
and stood there。 We were in pitch blackness。
“Your father can no longer see us；” he whispered。 “We’re both alone。 Tell
me now； Shekure： You gave me the impression； when I returned after twelve
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years； that you’d be able to love me； that you’d be able to make room in your
heart for me。 Then we married。 Since then you’ve been running away from
loving me。”
“I had to marry you；” I whispered。
There； in the dark； without pity； I sensed how my words were driving into
his flesh like nails—as the poet Fuzuli had once put it。
“If I could love you； I would’ve loved you when I was a child；” I whispered
again。
“Tell me then； fair beauty of the darkness；” he said。 “You must’ve spied on
all those miniaturists who frequented your house and e to know them。 In
your opinion； which one is the murderer？”
I was pleased that he could still keep this good humor。 He was； after all； my
husband。
“I’m cold。”
Did I actually say this； I can’t remember。 We began to kiss。 Embracing him
in the dark； still holding the candle in one hand； I took his velvety tongue into
my mouth； and my tears； my hair； my nightgown； my trembling and even his
body were full of wonder。 Warming my nose against his hot cheek was also
pleasant； but this timid Shekure restrained herself。 As I was kissing him； I
didn’t let myself go or drop the candle； but thought of my father； who was
watching me； and of my former husband； and my children asleep in bed。
“There’s somebody in the house；” I shouted。 I pushed Black away and went
out into the hall。
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I AM CALLED BLACK
Silent and unseen； under cover of early morning darkness； I left like a guilty
houseguest and walked tirelessly through the muddy backstreets。 At Bayazid； I
performed my ablution in the courtyard； entered the mosque and prayed。
Inside； there was no one but the Imam Effendi and an old man who could
sleep as he prayed—a talent only rarely achieved after a lifetime of practice。
You know how there are moments in our sleepy dreams and sad memories
when we feel Allah has taken notice of us and we pray with the hopeful
anticipation of one who’s managed to thrust a petition into the Sultan’s
hand： Thus did I beg Allah to grant me a cheerful home filled with loving
people。
When I’d reached Master Osman’s house； I knew that within a week’s time
he’d gradually usurped my late Enishte’s place in my thoughts。 He was more
contrary and more distant； but his belief in manuscript illumination was more
profound。 He resembled an introspective elderly dervish more than the great
master who’d kicked up tempests of fear； awe and love among the
miniaturists for so many years。
As we traveled from the master’s house to the palace—he mounted on a
horse and hunched slightly； I on foot and likewise hunched forward—we
must’ve recalled the elderly dervish and aspiring disciple in those cheap
illustrations that acpany old fables。
At the palace； we found the mander of the Imperial Guard and his men
even more eager and ready than we。 Our Sultan was certain that once we’d
looked at the three masters’ horse drawings this morning we could； in a trice；
determine who among them was the accursed murderer； and so； He’d ordered
that the criminal be quickly put to torture without even allowing him to
answer the accusation。 We were taken not to the executioners’ fountain where
everyone could see and take warning； but to that small slapdash house in the
sheltered seclusion of the Sultan’s Private Gar