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迪文小说>我的名字是红色 > 第89部分(第1页)

第89部分(第1页)

nightgown  of  Chinese  silk  she  was  wearing;  which  she’d  purchased  from

Esther  the  clothier;  then  mockingly  parroted  me;  “Allow  me  to  put  some

linden  tea  on  the  boil  for  you;  my  dear  guest;”  and  placed  her  hand  on  my

cock。

I  took  out  the  agate…handled  sword  hidden  among  rose…scented  sheets  at

the bottom of the chest on the floor nearest our roll…up mattress; which she’d

hopefully  spread  out;  and  drew  the  weapon  from  its  sheath。  Its  edge  was  so

sharp that if you tossed a silk handkerchief over it; the sword would easily cut

through it; if you placed a sheet of gold leaf upon it; the edges of the resulting

pieces would be as straight as any cut with a ruler。

Concealing the sword as best I could; I returned to my atelier。 Black Effendi

was so pleased with his interrogation of me that he was still circling the red

cushion; dagger in hand。 I placed a half…finished illustration upon the cushion。

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“Take a look at this;” I said。 He knelt out of curiosity; trying to understand the

picture。

I stepped behind him; drew my sword and in one motion lowered him to

the ground; pinning him with my weight。 His dagger fell away。 Grabbing him

by the hair; I pushed his head against the ground and pressed my sword to his

neck  from  below。  I  flattened  out  Black’s  delicate  body  and  pressed  him

facedown beneath my heavy body; using my chin and one free hand to push

his head so it nearly touched the sharp point of the sword。 My one hand was

full of his dirty hair; the other held the sword to the delicate skin of his throat。

Wisely;  he  didn’t  move  at  all;  because  I  could  have  finished  him  then  and

there。  Being  this  close  to  his  curly  hair;  to  the  nape  of  his  neck—which

might’ve  invited  an  insulting  slap  at  another  time—and  to  his  ugly  ears

enraged me all the more。 “I’m using all my restraint to keep from doing away

with you this instant;” I whispered into his ear as if divulging a secret。

That  he  listened  to  me  like  an  obedient  child  without  making  a  peep

pleased me: “You’ll recognize this legend from the Book of Kings;” I whispered。

“Feridun Shah; in error; bequeaths the worst of his lands to his two older sons

and  the  best;  Persia;  to  Iraj;  the  youngest。  Tur;  bent  on  revenge;  dupes  his

younger  brother;  Iraj;  of  whom  he  is  jealous;  before  he  cuts  Iraj’s  throat;  he

grabs  his  hair  just  as  I  am  doing  now  and  lies  on  top  of  him  with  all  his

weight。 Do you feel the weight of my body?”

He gave no answer; but from his eyes; which stared blankly like those of a

sacrificial  lamb;  I  could  tell  that  he  was  listening;  and  I  was  struck  with

inspiration: “I’m not only faithful to Persian styles and methods in painting;

but also in beheadings。 I’ve also seen another version of this much loved scene

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