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whose smoothness I recalled as soon as I touched it; were from the house in 
Aksaray  where  I’d  passed  my  childhood  with  Shekure;  and  they  still  carried 
something of the bliss of my days of painting in that house。 
Painting and happiness。 I would like my dear readers who have given close 
attention to my story and my fate to bear these two things in mind; as they 
are the genesis of my world。 At one time; I was contented here; among these 
books; calligraphy brushes and paintings。 Then; I fell in love and was banished 
from this Paradise。 In the years I endured my amorous exile; I often thought 
how I was in fact deeply indebted to Shekure and my love for her; because they 
had enabled me to adapt optimistically to life and the world。 Since I had; in 
my  childlike  na?veté;  no  doubt  that  my  love  would  be  reciprocated;  I  grew 
exceedingly assured and came to regard the world as a good place。 You see; it 
was with this same earnestness that I involved myself with books and came to 
love  them;  to  love  the  reading  my  Enishte  required  of  me  back  then;  my 
religious  school  lessons  and  my  illustrating  and  painting。  But  as  much  as  I 
owed the sunny; festive and more fertile first half of my education to the love I 
felt for Shekure; I owed the dark knowledge that poisoned the latter time to 
being rejected; my desire on icy nights to sputter out and vanish like the dying 
flames in the iron stoves of a caravansary; repeatedly dreaming after a night of 
love that I was plunging into a desolate abyss along with whichever woman lay 
beside me; and the notion that I was simply worthless—all of it was furnished 
by Shekure。 
37 
 
“Were you aware;” my Enishte said much later; “that after death our souls 
will be able to meet with the spirits of men and women in this world who are 
peacefully asleep in their beds?” 
“No; I was not。” 
“We take a long journey after death; so I’m not afraid of dying。 What I fear 
is dying before I finish Our Sultan’s book。” 
Part of me felt I was stronger; more reasonable and more reliable than my 
Enishte;  and  part  of  me  was  dwelling  on  the  cost  of  the  caftan  that  I’d 
purchased  on  my  way  here  to  meet  with  this  man  who’d  denied  me  his 
daughter’s hand and on the silver bridle and hand…worked saddle of the horse 
which; soon after going downstairs; I’d take out of the stable and ride away。 
I told him I’d apprise him of everything I learned during my visits to the 
various miniaturists。 I kissed his hand and brought it to my forehead。 I walked 
down the stairs; entered the courtyard; and sensing the snowy cold upon me; 
accepted that I was neither a child nor an old man: I joyously felt the world 
upon my skin。 As I shut the stable door; a breeze began to stir。 I led my white 
horse  by  the  bridle  over  the  stone  walkway  to  the  earthen  part  of  the 
courtyard; and we both shuddered: I felt as if his strong; large…veined legs; his 
impatience  and  his  stubbornness  were  my  own。  As  soon  as  we  entered  the 
street; I was about to swiftly mount my steed and disappear down the narrow 
way like a fabled horseman; never to return again; when an enormous woman; 
a Jewess dressed all in pink and carrying a bundle; appeared out of nowhere 
and  accosted  me。  She  was  as  large  and  wide  as  an  armoire。  Yet  she  was 
boisterous; lively and even coquettish。 
“My brave man; my young hero; I see you’re truly as handsome as they say 
you  are;”  she  said。  “Might  you  be  married?  Or  might  you  be  a  bachelor? 
Would you deign to buy a silk handkerchief for your secret lover from Esther; 
Istanbul’s premier peddler of fine cloth?” 
“Nay。” 
“A red sash of Atlas silk?” 
“Nay。” 
“Don’t go on piping ”nay‘ at me like that! How could a brave heart like you 
not  have  a  fiancée  or  a  secret  lover?  Who  knows  how  many  teary…eyed 
maidens are burning with desire for you?“ 
Her  body  lengthened  like  the  slender  form  of  an  acrobat  and  she  leaned 
toward  me  with  an  elegant  gesture。  At  the  same  time;  with  the  skill  of  a 
38 
 
magician who plucks objects out of thin air; she caused a letter to appear in 
her hand。 I stealthily grabbed it; and as if I’d been training for this moment for 
years; I hastily and artfully placed it into my sash。 It was a thick letter and felt 
like fire against the icy skin of my side; between my belly and back。 
“Ride  at  an  amble;”  said  Esther  the  clothes  peddler。  “Turn  right  at  the 
corner; following the curve of the wall without breaking stride; but when you 
get to the pomegranate tree turn and look at the house you’ve just left; at the 
window to your right。” 
She went on her way and vanished in an instant。 
I mounted the horse; but like a novice doing so for the first time。 My heart 
was  racing;  my  mind  was  overe  by  excitement;  my  hands  had  forgotten 
how to control the reins; but when my legs tightly gripped the horse’s body; 
sound  reason  and  skill  took  control  of  my  horse  and  me;  and  as  Esther  had 
instructed;  my  wise  horse  ambled  steadily  and;  how  lovely;  we  turned  right 
onto the sidestreet! 
It was then that I felt I might in truth be handsome。 As in fairy tales; from 
behind every shutter and every latticed window; a coy woman was watching 
me  and  I  felt  I  might  burn  once  again  with  that  same  fire  that  had  once 
consumed  me。  Is  this  what  I  desired?  Was  I  succumbing  anew  to  the  illness 
from which I’d suffered for so many years? The sun suddenly broke through 
the clouds; startling me。 
Where was the pomegranate tree? Was it this thin; melancholy tree here? 
Yes! I turned slightly to the right in my saddle。 I saw a window behind the tree; 
but there was nobody there。 I’d been duped by that wench Esther! 
Just  as  I  was  thinking  such  thoughts;  the  window’s  iced…over  shutters 
opened with a loud burst; as if they’d exploded; and after twelve years; I saw 
my  beloved’s  stunning  face  among  snowy  branches;  framed  by  the  window 
whose icy trim shone brightly in the sunlight。 
Was my dark…eyed beloved looking at me or at another life beyond me? I 
couldn’t  tell  whether  she  was  sad  or  smiling  or  smiling  sadly。  Foolish  horse; 
heed not my heart; slow down! I calmly twisted in my saddle again; fixing my 
desirous stare for as long as possible; until her gaunt; elegant and mysterious 
face disappeared behind the branches。 
Much  later;  after  opening  her  letter  and  seeing  the  illustration  within;  I 
thought  how  my  visit  to  her  at  the  window  on  horseback  closely  resembled 
that  moment;  pictured  a  thousand  times;  in  which  Hüsrev  visits  Shirin 
beneath  her  window—only  in  our  case;  there  was  that  melancholy  tree 
39 
 
between  us。  When  I  recognized  this  similarity;  oh  how  I  burned  with  a  love 
such as they describe in those books we so cherish and adore。 
 
   
40 
 
I AM ESTHER 
 
All  of  you;  I  know;  are  wondering  what  Shekure  penned  in  that  letter  I 
presented to Black。 As this was also a curiosity of mine; I learned everything 
there was to know。 If you would; then; pretend you’re flipping back through 
the pages of the story and let me tell you what occurred before I delivered that 
letter。 
Now; it’s getting on toward evening; I’ve retired to our house in the quaint 
little  Jeouth  of  the  Golden  Horn  with  my  husband 
Nesim; two old people huffing and puffing; trying to keep warm by feeding 
logs into the stove。 Pay no mind to my calling myself “old。” When I load my 
wares—items  cheap  and  precious  alike;  certain  to  lure  the  ladies;  rings; 
earrings;  necklaces  and  baubles—into  the  folds  of  silk  handkerchiefs;  gloves; 
sheets  and  the  colorful  shirt  cloth  sent  over  in  Portuguese  ships;  when  I 
shoulder that bundle; Esther’s a ladle and Istanbul’s a kettle; and there’s nary 
a street I don’t visit。 There isn’t a word of gossip or letter that I haven’t carried 
from one door to the next; and I’ve played matchmaker to half the maidens of 
Istanbul; but I didn’t begin this recital to brag。 As I was saying; we were taking 
our ease in the evening; and “rap; rap” someone was at the door。 I went and 
opened  it  to  discover  Hayriye;  that  idiot  slave  girl;  standing  before  me。  She 
held a letter in her hand。 I couldn’t tell whether it was from the cold or from 
excitement; but she was trembling as she explained Shekure’s wishes。 
At first; I assumed this letter was to be taken to Hasan; that’s why I was so 
astonished。  You  know  about  pretty  Shekure’s  husband;  the  one  who  never 
returned  from  the  war—if  you  ask  me;  he’s  long  since  had  his  hide  pierced。 
Well you see; that never…to…return soldier…husband also has an eager; lovesick 
brother  by  the  name  of  Hasan。  So  imagine  my  surprise  when  I  saw  that 
Shekure’s letter wasn’t meant for Hasan; but for someone else。 What did the 
letter  say?  Esther  was  mad  with  curiosity;  and  in  th

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