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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第109部分

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I fell quiet and from distant streets we could hear the Erzurumis screaming 
as they ran。 The terror outside at once brought the two of us; lying one on top 
of the other; closer。 
“But in all those pictures;” I added; pulling harder on Black’s hair; “one can 
sense the difficulty of elegantly drawing two men who despise each other yet 
whose bodies; like ours; have bee as one。 It’s as if the chaos of treachery; 
envy and battle that es just before the magical and magnificent moment 
of beheading has too fully permeated those pictures。 Even the greatest masters 
of Kazvin would have difficulty drawing two men on top of each other; they’d 
confuse everything。 Whereas you and I; see for yourself; we’re much more tidy 
and elegant。” 
“The blade is cutting;” he whimpered。 
“I’m much obliged for your polite words; my dear man; but it’s doing no 
such thing。 I’m being quite careful。 I wouldn’t do anything to ruin the beauty 
of our pose。 In the scenes of love; death and war; wherein the great masters of 
old  rendered  intertwined  bodies  as  if  they  were  one;  they  were  able  to  elicit 
only our tears。 See for yourself: My head rests upon the nape of your neck as if 
it were a part of your body。 I can smell your hair and the scent of your neck。 
My legs; on either side of yours; are stretched out in such harmony with yours; 
that  an  onlooker  might  mistake  us  for  an  elegant  four…legged  beast。  Do  you 
feel  the  balance  of  my  weight  on  your  back  and  buttocks?”  Another  silence; 
but  I  didn’t  press  the  sword  upward;  because  it  would  indeed  have  cut  his 
throat。 “If you’re not going to speak; I might be provoked to bite your ear;” I 
said; whispering into that very ear。 
When I noticed in his eyes that he was prepared to speak; I asked the same 
question again: “Do you feel the balance of my weight upon your body?” 
“Aye。” 
“Do you like it?” I said。 “Are we beautiful?” I asked。 “Are we as beautiful as 
the   legendary   heroes   who   slay   each   other   with   such   elegance   in   the 
masterpieces of the old masters?” 
“I don’t know;” said Black; “I can’t see us in the mirror。” 
When I imagined how my wife saw us from the other room in the light cast 
by the coffeehouse’s oil lamp resting on the floor only a short distance away; I 
thought I might actually bite Black’s ear out of excitement。 
392 
 
“Black  Effendi;  you;  who  have  forced  your  way  into  my  home  and  have 
disturbed my privacy; dagger in hand; in order to interrogate me;” I said; “do 
you now feel my strength?” 
“Yes; I also sense that you’re truly in the right。” 
“Then proceed; once again; to ask me what you want to know。” 
“Describe how Master Osman would caress you。” 
“As an apprentice; I was much more lithe; delicate and beautiful than I am 
now; and he would mount me then the way I have mounted you。 He would 
caress my arms; at times he would even hurt me; but because I was in awe of 
his  knowledge;  his  talent  and  strength;  what  he  did  pleased  me;  and  I  never 
harbored any ill will toward him; because I loved him。 Loving Master Osman 
enabled me to love art; colors; paper; the beauty of painting and illumination 
and everything that was painted; and thereby to love the world itself and God。 
Master Osman is more than a father to me。” 
“Would he beat you often?” he asked。 
“In the role of a father; he beat me with an appropriate sense of justice; as a 
master;  he  beat  me  painfully  so  that  I  might  learn  from  the  punishment。 
Thanks to the pain and the fear of a ruler whacking my fingernails I learned 
many things better and faster than I would’ve alone。 So he wouldn’t grab me 
by my hair and bang my head against the wall when I was an apprentice; I’d 
never  spill  paint;  never  waste  his  gold  orize;  for 
example;  the  curve  of  a  horse’s  foreleg;  cover  up  the  mistakes  of  the  master 
limner;  clean  my  brushes  regularly  and  focus  my  attention  and  spirit  on  the 
page before me。 Since I owe my talent and mastery to the beatings I received; I; 
in turn; beat my own apprentices without a guilty conscience。 What’s more; I 
know that even a beating given without just cause; if it doesn’t break the spirit 
of the apprentice; will ultimately benefit him。” 
“Even  so;  you  understand  that  while  drubbing  a  handsome…faced;  sweet…
eyed;  angelic  apprentice;  now  and  then;  you  get  carried  away  by  the  sheer 
pleasure  of  it;  and  you  know  that  Master  Osman  probably  experienced  the 
same sensation with you; don’t you?” 
“Sometimes he’d take a marble burnishing stone and strike me with such 
force behind the ear that my ear would ring for days; and I’d walk around half 
stunned。  Sometimes  he’d  slap  me  so  hard  that  for  weeks  my  cheek  would 
ache; enough to bring continual tears to my eyes。 I shall never forget; yet I still 
love my mentor。” 
393 
 
“Nay;”  said  Black;  “you  were  furious  with  him。  You  took  revenge  for  the 
anger  that  silently  accumulated  deep  within  you  by  making  illustrations  for 
my Enishte’s Frankish…imitation book。” 
“The opposite is true。 The beatings that a young miniaturist receives from 
his master bind him to his master with a profound respect until the day he 
dies。” 
“The cruel and treacherous cutting of the throats of Iraj and Siyavush from 
behind; as you are doing to me; arose out of sibling rivalry; and sibling rivalry; 
as in the Book of Kings; is always provoked by an unjust father。” 
“True。” 
“The unjust father of you master miniaturists; the one who set you at each 
other’s throats; is now preparing to betray you;” he said brazenly。 “Ahh; I beg 
of you; it is cutting;” he whimpered。 He cried in agony a bit longer。 Then he 
went on; “True; cutting my throat and spilling my blood like a sacrificial lamb 
would be but the work of an instant; but if you do this without listening to 
what  I’m  about  to  explain—I  don’t  think  you’ll  do  it  anyway;  ahh;  please; 
enough—you’ll forever wonder what I was going to say。 Please; move the blade 
away  slightly。”  I  did  so。  “Master  Osman;  who  followed  your  every  step  and 
your every breath since childhood; who happily watched your God…given talent 
bloom  into  artistry  like  a  spring  flower  under  his  care;  has  now  turned  his 
back  on  you  in  order  to  save  his  workshop  and  its  style;  to  which  he  has 
devoted his entire life。” 
“I recounted three parables to you the day we buried Elegant Effendi so you 
might know how disgusting this thing they call ”style‘ truly is。“ 
“Those  stories  pertained  to  a  miniaturist’s  individual  style;”  said  Black 
carefully;  “whereas  Master  Osman  is  concerned  with  preserving  the  style  of 
the entire workshop。” 
He  explained  how  the  Sultan  attached  great  importance  to  finding  the 
murderer of Elegant Effendi and his Enishte; how He’d even let them inspect 
the  Royal  Treasury  to  this  end;  and  how  Master  Osman  was  using  this 
opportunity  to  sabotage  his  Enishte’s  book  and  punish  those  who  betrayed 
him  by  imitating  the  Europeans。  Black  added  that  based  on  style;  Master 
Osman suspected Olive was responsible for the horse with the clipped nostrils; 
but as Head Illuminator; he was convinced of Stork’s guilt and would turn him 
over  to  the  executioners。  I  could  sense  he  was  telling  the  truth  under  the 
pressure of my sword; and I felt like kissing him because he gave himself over 
to what he was saying like a child。 What I heard didn’t worry me; having Stork 
394 
 
out  of  the  way  meant  I’d  bee  Head  Illuminator  after  Master  Osman’s 
death—may God grant him long life。 
I wasn’t disturbed that what he said might happen; but by the possibility 
that it might not。 Reading between the lines of Black’s account; I was able to 
glean  that  Master  Osman  was  willing  not  only  to  sacrifice  Stork;  but  me  as 
well。 Considering this incredible possibility made my heart quicken and drew 
me  toward  the  horror  of  plete  abandonment  felt  by  a  child  who’s 
suddenly lost his father。 Each time this came to mind; I had to restrain myself 
from cutting Black’s throat。 I didn’t attempt to argue the point with Black or 
myself: Why should the fact that we made a few foolish illustrations inspired 
by European masters lower us to the level of traitors? Once again; I thought 
that behind Elegant’s death stood Stork and Olive and their schemes against 
me。 I removed the sword from Black’s throat。 
“Let’s  go  to  Olive’s  house  together;  and  search  it  from  top  to  bottom;”  I 
said。 “If the last picture is with him; at least we’ll know whom to fear。 If not; 
we’ll take him with us as support and go on to raid Stork’s house。” 
I told him to trust me and that his dagger was enough weaponry for the 
two of us。 I apologized for not even having offered him a glass of linden tea。 As 
I lifted the oil lamp from the floor; we both stared meaningfully at the cushion 
upon

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