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第46章

my name is red-我的名字叫红-第46章

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Hasan’s letter。 He was on the verge of madness: 
 
Shekure; I’m burning with desire; yet I know you’re not in the least concerned。 
In my dreams; I see myself chasing you over deserted hilltops。 Every time you leave 
one  of  my  letters—that  I  know  you  read—unanswered;  a  three…feathered  arrow 
pierces my heart。 I’m writing in hopes that you’ll respond this time。 The word is 
out;  everyone’s  spreading  the  news;  even  your  children  are  saying  it:  You’ve 
dreamed that your husband has died; and now you claim that you’re free。 I cannot 
say whether or not it’s true。 What I do know is that you’re still married to my 
older brother and bound to this household。 Now that my father finds me justified; 
we’re both going to the judge to have you returned here。 We’ll be ing with a 
150 
 
group  of  men  we’ve  assembled;  so  let  your  father  be  forewarned。  Collect  your 
things;  you’re  to  e  back  to  this  house。  Send  your  response  with  Esther 
immediately。 
 
After reading the letter a second time; I pulled myself together and gazed at 
Esther  with  questioning  eyes;  but  she  told  me  nothing  new  about  Hasan  or 
Black。 
I  pulled  out  the  reed  pen  that  I  kept  hidden  in  a  corner  of  the  pantry; 
placed a sheet of paper on the breadboard and was about to begin writing a 
letter to Black when I froze。 
Something  came  to  mind。  I  turned  toward  Esther:  She’d  fallen  upon  the 
rosewater sherbet with the joy of a chubby child and so it seemed ridiculous 
to me that she could be aware of what was going through my mind。 
“See how sweetly you’re smiling; my dear;” she said。 “Don’t worry; in the 
end everything will be all right。 Istanbul is rife with rich gentlemen and pashas 
who’d give their souls to be wed to a stunning beauty; possessed of so many 
talents like yourself。” 
You  understand  what  I’m  talking  about:  Sometimes  you’ll  say  something 
you’re convinced of; but no sooner do the words leave your mouth than you 
ask  yourself;  “Why  did  I  say  this  so  halfheartedly;  even  though  I  believe  it 
through and through?” That was what happened when I said the following: 
“But  Esther;  who’d  want  to  marry  a  widow  with  two  kids;  for  Heaven’s 
sake?” 
“A  widow  like  you?  Plenty;  a  slew  of  men;”  she  said;  conveying  them  all 
with a hand gesture。 
I looked into her eyes。 I was thinking I did not like her。 I fell so silent that 
she knew I wasn’t going to give her a letter and even that it would be better if 
she left。 After Esther had gone; I withdrew to my own corner of the house as 
though I could feel my silence—how should I put it—in my soul。 
Leaning on the wall; for a long while I stood still in the blackness。 I thought 
of myself; of what I should do; of the fear that was growing within me。 All the 
while I could hear Shevket and Orhan chattering upstairs。 
“And you’re as timid as a girl;” said Shevket。 “You only attack from behind。” 
“My tooth is loose;” said Orhan。 
151 
 
At the same time; another part of my mind was concentrating on what was 
transpiring between my father and Black。 
The  blue  door  of  the  workshop  was  open;  and  I  could  easily  hear  them: 
“After  beholding  the  portraits  of  the  Veian  masters;  we  realize  with 
horror;” said my father; “that; in painting; eyes can no longer simply be holes 
in a face; always the same; but must be just like our own eyes; which reflect 
light like a mirror and absorb it like a well。 Lips can no longer be a crack in the 
middle  of  faces  flat  as  paper;  but  must  be  nodes  of  expression—each  a 
different shade of red—fully expressing our joys; sorrows and spirits with their 
slightest contraction or relaxation。 Our noses can no longer be a kind of wall 
that divides our faces; but rather; living and curious instruments with a form 
unique to each of us。” 
Was  Black  as  surprised  as  I  was  that  my  father  referred  to  those  infidel 
gentlemen who had their pictures made as “we”? When I looked through the 
peephole; I found Black’s face to be so pale that I was momentarily alarmed。 
My dark beloved; my troubled hero; were you unable to sleep for thinking of 
me the whole night? Is that why the blush has left your face? 
Perhaps you aren’t aware that Black is a tall; thin and handsome man。 He 
has a broad forehead; almond…shaped eyes and a strong; straight; elegant nose。 
As in his childhood; his hands are long and thin and his fingers are jittery and 
agile。 He’s wiry; and stands straight and tall; with shoulders on the broad side; 
but not as broad as those of a water carrier。 When he was younger; his body 
and his face hadn’t yet settled。 Twelve years later; when I first laid eyes on him 
from this dark refuge of mine; I immediately saw that he’d attained a kind of 
perfection。 
Now; when I bring my eye right up to the hole; I see on his face the worry 
that plagues him。 I felt at once guilty and proud that he’d suffered so on my 
account。  Black  listened  to  what  my  father  said;  gazing  upon  an  illustration 
made for the book; with a look pletely innocent and childlike。 Just then; 
when  I  saw  that  he’d  opened  his  pink  mouth  as  a  child  would  have;  I 
unexpectedly  felt;  yes;  like  putting  my  breast  into  it。  With  my  fingers  on  his 
nape and tangled in his hair; Black would place his head between my breasts; 
and as my own children used to do; he’d roll his eyes back into his head with 
pleasure as he sucked on my nipple: After understanding that only through my 
passion would he find peace; he’d bee pletely bound to me。 
I perspired faintly and imagined Black marveling at the size of my breasts 
with surprise and intensity—rather than studying the illustration of the Devil 
152 
 
that my father was actually showing him。 Not only my breasts; but as if drunk 
with the vision of me; he was gazing at my hair; my neck; at all of me。 He was 
so  attracted  to  me  that  he  was  giving  voice  to  those  sweet  nothings  he 
couldn’t summon as a youth; from his glances; I realized how he was in awe of 
my proud demeanor; my manners; my upbringing; the way I waited patiently 
and bravely for my husband; and the beauty of the letter I’d written him。 
I felt anger toward my father; who was setting things up so I wouldn’t be 
able to marry again。 I was also fed up with those illustrations he was having 
the miniaturists make in imitation of the Frankish masters; and I was sick of 
his recollections of Venice。 
When  I  closed  my  eyes  again—Allah;  it  wasn’t  my  own  desire—in  my 
thoughts; Black had approached me so sweetly that in the dark I could feel him 
beside  me。  Suddenly;  I  sensed  that  he’d  e  up  from  behind  me;  he  was 
kissing the nape of my neck; the back of my ears; and I could feel how strong 
he was。 He was solid; large and hard; and I could lean on him。 I felt secure。 My 
nape tingled; my nipples were stiffening。 It seemed as if there in the dark; with 
my eyes closed; I could feel his enlarged member behind me; close to me。 My 
head spun。 What was Black’s like? I wondered。 
At times in my dreams; my husband in his agony shows his to me。 I e 
to  the  awareness  that  my  husband  is  struggling  to  keep  his  bloody  body; 
lanced  and  shot  with  Persian  arrows;  walking  upright  as  he  approaches。  But 
sadly; there is a river between us。 As he calls to me from the opposite bank; 
covered in blood and suffering terribly; I notice that he has bee erect。 If it’s 
true what the Georgian bride said at the public bath; and if there’s truth to 
what the old hags say; “Yes; it grows that large;” then my husband’s wasn’t so 
big。 If Black’s is bigger; if that enormous thing I saw under Black’s belt when 
he took up the empty piece of paper I’d sent by Shevket yesterday; if that was 
actually  it—and  it  surely  was—I’m  afraid  I’ll  suffer  great  pain;  if  it  even  fits 
inside me at all。 
“Mother; Shevket is mocking me。” 
I left the black corner of the closet; quietly passing into the room across the 
hall

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