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第65部分(第1页)

row。 When a painter renders the fury and speed of a horse; he doesn’t paint

his own fury and speed; by trying to make the perfect horse; he reveals his love

for the richness of this world and its creator; displaying the colors of a passion

for life—only that and nothing more。”

287

I AM CALLED BLACK

Various manuscript pages lay before me and the great Master Osman—some

with  calligraphed  texts  and  ready  to  be  bound;  some  not  yet  colored  or

otherwise  unfinished  for  whatever  reason—as  we  spent  an  entire  afternoon

evaluating  the  master  miniaturists  and  the  pages  of  my  Enishte’s  book;

keeping  charts  of  our  assessments。  We  thought  we’d  seen  the  last  of  the

mander’s respectful but crude men; who’d brought us the pages collected

from the miniaturists and calligraphers whose homes they raided and searched

(some pieces had nothing whatsoever to do with either of our two books and

some  pages  confirmed  that  the  calligraphers;  as  well;  were  secretly  accepting

work from outside the palace for the sake of a few extra coins); when the most

brash  of  them  stepped  over  to  the  exalted  master  and  removed  a  piece  of

paper from his sash。

I paid no mind at first; thinking it was one of those petitions from a father

seeking an apprenticeship for his son by approaching as many division heads

and group captains as possible。 I could tell that the morning sun had vanished

by the pale light that filtered inside。 To rest my eyes; I was doing an exercise

the old masters of Shiraz remended miniaturists do to stave off premature

blindness;  that  is;  I  was  trying  to  look  emptily  into  the  distance  without

focusing。  That’s  when  I  recognized  with  a  thrill  the  sweet  color  and  heart…

stopping  folds  of  the  paper  which  my  master  held  and  stared  at  with  an

expression of disbelief。 This matched exactly the letters that Shekure had sent

me via Esther。 I was about to say; “What a coincidence” like an idiot; when I

noticed  that;  like  Shekure’s  first  letter;  it  was  acpanied  by  a  painting  on

coarse paper!

Master Osman kept the painting to himself。 He handed me the letter that I

just then embarrassingly realized was from Shekure。

My  Dear  Husband  Black。  I  sent  Esther  to  sound  out  late  Elegant  Effendi’s

widow;  Kalbiye。  While  there;  Kalbiye  showed  Esther  this  illustrated  page;  which

I’m sending to you。 Later; I went to Kalbiye’s house; doing everything within my

power to persuade her that it was in her best interest to give me the picture。 This

page  was  on  poor  Elegant  Effendi’s  body  when  he  was  removed  from  the  well。

Kalbiye swears that nobody had missioned her husband; may he rest in divine

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