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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第58部分

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212 
 
I AM CALLED BLACK 
 
Widowed; abandoned and aggrieved; my beloved Shekure fled with featherlike 
steps; and I stood as if stunned in the stillness of the house of the Hanged Jew; 
amid the aroma of almonds and dreams of marriage she’d left in her wake。 I 
was  bewildered;  but  my  mind  was  churning  so  fast  it  almost  hurt。  Without 
even  a  chance  to  grieve  properly  over  my  Enishte’s  death;  I  swiftly  returned 
home。 On the one hand; a worm of doubt was gnawing at me: Was Shekure 
using  me  as  a  pawn  in  a  grand  scheme;  was  she  duping  me?  On  the  other 
hand; fantasies of a blissful marriage stubbornly played before my eyes。 
After  making  conversation  with  my  landlady  who  interrogated  me  at  the 
front  door  as  to  where  I’d  gone  and  whence  I  was  ing  at  this  morning 
hour;  I  went  to  my  room  and  removed  the  twenty…two  Veian  gold  pieces 
from  the  lining  of  the  sash  I’d  hidden  in  my  mattress;  placing  them  in  my 
money  purse  with  trembling  fingers。  When  I  returned  to  the  street;  I  knew 
immediately I’d see Shekure’s dark; teary; troubled eyes for the rest of the day。 
I changed five of the Veian Lions at a perpetually smiling Jewish money 
changer。 Next; deep in thought; I entered the neighborhood whose name I’ve 
yet  to  mention  because  I’m  not  fond  of  it:  Yakutlar;  where  my  deceased 
Enishte and Shekure; along with her children; awaited me at their house。 As I 
made  my  way  along  the  streets  almost  running;  a  tall  plane  tree  seemed  to 
reproach me for being overjoyed by dreams and plans of marriage on the very 
day my Enishte had passed away。 Next; as the ice had melted; a street fountain 
hissed into my ear: “Don’t take matters too seriously; see to your own affairs 
and your own happiness。” “That’s all fine and good;” objected an ill…omened 
black  cat  licking  himself  on  the  corner;  “but  everybody;  yourself  included; 
suspects you had a hand in your uncle’s murder。” 
The cat left off licking himself as I suddenly caught sight of its bewitching 
eyes。  I  don’t  have  to  tell  you  how  brazen  these  Istanbul  cats  get  when  the 
locals spoil them。 
I found the Imam Effendi; whose droopy eyelids and large black eyes gave 
him  a  perpetually  sleepy  look;  not  at  his  house;  but  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
neighborhood  mosque;  and  there  I  asked  him  quite  a  trivial  legal  question: 
“When is one obligated to testify in court?” I raised my eyebrows as I listened 
to his haughty answer as if I were hearing this information for the first time。 
“Bearing  witness  is  optional  if  other  witnesses  are  present;”  explained  the 
213 
 
Imam Effendi; “but; in situations where there was only one witness; it is the 
will of God that one bear witness。” 
“That’s  just  the  predicament  I  find  myself  in  now;”  I  said;  taking  up  the 
conversation。  “In  a  situation  everyone  knows  about;  all  the  witnesses  have 
shirked their responsibilities and avoided going to court with the excuse that 
”it’s only voluntary;“ and as a result the pressing concerns of those I’m trying 
to help are being pletely disregarded。” 
“Well;” said the Imam Effendi; “why don’t you loosen your purse…strings a 
little more?” 
I  took  out  my  pouch  and  showed  him  the  Veian  gold  pieces  huddled 
within:  The  broad  space  of  the  mosque  courtyard;  the  face  of  the  preacher; 
everything  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  the  glimmer  of  gold。  He  asked  me 
what my dilemma was all about。 
I explained who I was。 “Enishte Effendi is ill;” I confided。 “Before he dies; he 
wants his daughter’s widowhood certified and an alimony to be instituted。” 
I didn’t even have to mention the proxy of the üsküdar judge。 The Imam 
Effendi understood at once and said the entire neighborhood had long been 
troubled over the fate of hapless Shekure; adding that the situation had already 
persisted  too  long。  Instead  of  searching  for  a  second  witness  required  for  a 
legal separation at the door of the üsküdar judge; the Imam Effendi suggested 
his brother。 Now; if I were to offer an additional gold piece to the brother; who 
lived in the neighborhood and was familiar with the predicament of Shekure 
and her darling children; I’d be doing a good pious turn。 After all; for only two 
gold coins the Imam Effendi was giving me a deal on the second witness。 We 
immediately agreed。 The Imam Effendi went to fetch his brother。 
The rest of our day rather resembled the “cat…and…mouse” stories that I’d 
watched  storytellers  in  Aleppo  coffeehouses  act  out。  Because  of  all  the 
adventure and trickery; such stories written up as narrative poems and bound 
were  never  taken  seriously  even  if  presented  in  fine  calligraphy;  that  is;  they 
were  never  illustrated。  I;  on  the  other  hand;  was  quite  pleased  to  divide  our 
daylong adventure into four scenes; imagining each in the illustrated pages of 
my mind。 
In the first scene; the miniaturist ought to depict us amid mustachioed and 
muscled oarsmen; forging our way across the blue Bosphorus toward üsküdar 
in the four…oared red longboat we’d boarded in Unkapan?。 The preacher and 
his  skinny  dark…plexioned  brother;  pleased  with  the  surprise  voyage;  are 
engaging the oarsmen in friendly chatter。 Meanwhile; amid blithe dreams of 
214 
 
marriage that play ceaselessly before my eyes; I stare deep into the waters of 
the Bosphorus; flowing clearer than usual on this sunny winter morning; on 
guard for an ominous sign within its currents。 I’m afraid; for example; that I 
might see the wreck of a pirate ship below。 Thus; no matter how joyously the 
miniaturist  colors  the  sea  and  clouds;  he  ought  to  include  something 
equivalent  to  the  darkness  of  my  fears  and  as  intense  as  my  dreams  of 
happiness—a terrifying…looking fish; for example—in the depths of the water 
so the reader of my adventure won’t assume all is rosy。 
Our second picture ought to show the palaces of sultans; the meetings of 
the  Divan  Council  of  State;  the  reception  of  European  ambassadors;  and 
detailed  and  carefully  posed  crowded  interiors  of  a  subtlety  worthy  of 
Bihzad;  that  is;  the  picture  ought  to  partake  of  playful  tricks  and  irony。 
Thereby;  while  the  Kadi  Effendi  apparently  makes  an  open…handed  “halt” 
gesture indicating “never” or “no” to my bribe; with his other hand he ought 
to  be  shown  obligingly  pocketing  my  Veian  gold  coins;  and  the  ultimate 
result of this bribe should be depicted in the same picture: Shahap Effendi; the 
Shafü  proxy  presiding  in  place  of  the  üsküdar  judge。  The  simultaneous 
depiction  of  sequential  events  could  only  be  achieved  through  an  intelligent 
miniaturist’s  cunning  facility  in  page  position。  Thus;  when  the  observer; 
who  first  sees  me  giving  a  bribe;  notices  elsewhere  in  the  painting  that  the 
man sitting cross…legged on the judge’s cushion is the proxy; he’ll realize; even 
if he hasn’t read the story; that the honorable judge has temporarily given up 
his office so his proxy might grant Shekure a divorce。 
The  third  illustration  should  show  the  same  scene;  but  this  time  the  wall 
ornamentation should be darker and rendered in the Chinese style; the curly 
branches  being  more  intricate  and  dense;  and  colorful  clouds  should  appear 
above  the  judge’s  proxy  so  the  chicanery  in  the  story  might  be  apparent。 
Though  the  Imam  Effendi  and  his  brother  have  actually  testified  separately 
before the judge’s proxy; in the illustration they are shown together explaining 
how  the  husband  of  anguished  Shekure  hasn’t  returned  from  war  for  four 
years; how she is in a state of destitution without a husband to look after her; 
how her two fatherless children are perpetually in tears and hungry; how there 
is no prospect for remarriage because she’s still considered married; and how 
in  this  state  she  can’t  even  receive  a  loan  without  permission  from  her 
husband。 They’re so convincing that even a man as deaf as a stone would grant 
her a divorce through a cascade of tears。 The heartless proxy; however; having 
none of it; asks about Shekure’s legal guardian。 After a moment of hesitation; I 
215 
 
immediately interrupt; declaring that her esteemed father; who has served as 
herald and ambassador for Our Sultan; is still alive。 
“Until he testifies in court; I’ll never grant her a divorce!” said the proxy。 
Thereupon;  thoroughly  flustered;  I  explained  how  my  Enishte  Effendi  was 
ill; bed…ridden and struggling for his life; how his last wish to God was to see 
his daughter divorced; and how I was his representative。 
“What  does  she  want  with  a  divorce?”  asked  the  proxy。  “Why  would  a 
dying  man  want  to  see  his  daughter  divorced  from  her  husband  who’s  long 
vanished  at  war  anyway?  Listen;  I’d  understand  if  there  were  a 

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