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
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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
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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 good；
trustworthy candidate for son…in…law； because then he wouldn’t pass away
with his wish unfulfilled。”
“There is a prospect； sir；” I said。
“Who might that be？”
“It is I！”
“e now！ You’re the guardian’s representative！” said the judge’s proxy。
“What line of work are you in？”
“In the eastern provinces； I served as secretary； chief secretary and assistant
treasurer to various pashas。 I pleted a history of the Persian wars that I
intend to present to Our Sultan。 I’m a connoisseur of illustrating and
decoration。 I’ve been burning with love for this woman for twenty years。”
“Are you a relative of hers？”
I was so embarrassed at having fallen so abruptly and unexpectedly into
groveling meekness before the judge’s proxy； at having bared my life like some
dull object devoid of any mystery； that I fell pletely silent。
“Instead of turning beet red； give me an answer； young man； lest I refuse to
grant her a divorce。”
“She’s the daughter of my maternal aunt。”
“Hmmm； I see。 Will you be able to make her happy？”
When he asked the question he made a vulgar hand gesture。 The
miniaturist should omit this indelicacy。 It’d be enough for him to show how
much I blushed。
“I make a decent living。”
“As I belong to the Shafü sect； there is nothing contrary to the Holy Book or
my creed in my granting the divorce of this unfortunate Shekure； whose
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husband has been missing at the front for four years；” said the Proxy Effendi。
“I grant the divorce。 And I rule that her husband no longer has any
superceding rights should he return。”
The subsequent illustration； that is； the fourth； ought to depict the proxy
recording the divorce in the ledger； unleashing obedient armies of black…ink
letters； before presenting me with the document declaring that my Shekure is
now a widow and there is no obstacle to her immediate remarriage。 Neither
by painting the walls of the courtroom red； nor by situating the picture within
bloodred borders could the blissful inner radiance I felt at that moment be
expressed。 Running back through the crowd of false witnesses and other men
gathering before the judge’s door seeking divorces for their sisters； daughters
or even aunts； I set out on my return journey。
After I crossed the Bosphorus and headed directly to the Yakutlar
neighborhood； I dismissed both the considerate Imam Effendi； who wanted to
perform the marriage ceremony； and his brother。 Since I suspected everyone I
saw on the street of hatching some mischief out of jealousy over the incredible
happiness I was on the verge of attaining； I ran straight to Shekure’s street。
How had the ominous crows divined the presence of a body in the house and
taken to hopping around excitedly on the terra…cotta shingles？ I was overe
by guilt because I hadn’t been able to grieve for my Enishte or even shed a
single tear； even so； I knew from the tightly closed shutters and door of the
house； from the silence； and even from the look of the pomegranate tree that
everything was proceeding as planned。
I was acting intuitively in a great haste。 I tossed a stone at the courtyard
gate but missed！ I tossed another at the house。 It landed on the roof。
Frustrated； I began pelting the house with stones。 A window opened。 It was
the second…story window where four days ago； on Wednesday； I’d first seen
Shekure through the branches of the pomegranate tree。 Orhan appeared； and
from the gap in the shutters I could hear Shekure scolding him。 Then I saw her。
For a moment； we gazed hopefully at each other； my fair lady and I。 She was so
beautiful and being。 She made a gesture that I took to mean “wait” and
shut the window。
There was still plenty of time before evening。 I waited hopefully in the
empty garden； awestruck by the beauty of the world； the trees and the muddy
street。 Before long； Hayriye came in； dressed and covered not like a servant； but
rather； like a lady of the house。 Without nearing each other； we removed
ourselves to the cover of the fig trees。
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“Everything is progressing as planned；” I said to her。 I showed her the
document I’d obtained from the proxy。 “Shekure is divorced。 As for the
preacher from another neighborhood…” I was going to add； “I’ll see to that；”
but instead blurted out； “He’s on his way。 Shekure should be ready。”
“No matter how small； Shekure wants a bride’s procession； followed by a
neighborhood reception with a wedding repast。 We’ve prepared a stewpot of
pilaf with almonds and dried apricots。”
In her excitement； she seemed prepared to tell me everything else she’d
cooked but I cut her off。 “If the wedding is going to be such an elaborate
affair；” I cautioned； “Hasan and his men will hear of it； they’ll raid the house；
disgrace us； have the marriage nullified and we’ll be able to do nothing about
it。 All our efforts will have been in vain。 We need to protect ourselves not only
from Hasan and his father； but from the devil who murdered Enishte Effendi
as well。 Aren’t you afraid？”
“How could we not be？” she said and began to cry。
“You’re not to tell anyone a thing；” I said。 “Dress Enishte in his
nightclothes； spread out his mattress and lay him upon it； not as a dead man；
but as though he were sick。 Arrange glasses and bottles of syrup by his head；
and draw the shutters closed。 Make certain there are no lamps in his room so
that he can act as Shekure’s guardian； her sick father； during the ceremony。
There’s no place now for a bride’s procession。 You can invite a handful of
neighbors at the last minute； that’s all。 While you’re inviting them； say that
this was Enisht