diminutive coffee cups； the cushions； the light filtering through the half…

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opened window； the mirror I used to check the position of a page； my

shirts　and；　over　there；　my　wife’s　red　sash　caught　like　a　sin　in　the　corner　where

she’d　dropped　it　as　she　quickly　quit　the　room　upon　hearing　Black’s　knock　at

the　front　door。

Despite　the　fact　that　I’ve　concealed　my　thoughts　from　him；　I’ve　surrendered

the　paintings　I’ve　made　and　this　room　I　live　in　to　his　bold　and　aggressive　gaze。

I　sense　this　hubris　of　mine　will　be　a　shock　to　you　all；　but　I　am　the　one　who

earns the most money； and therefore； I am the best of all miniaturists！ Yes；

God must’ve wanted the art of illumination to be ecstasy so He could

demonstrate　how　the　world　itself　is　ecstasy　to　those　who　truly　see。

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I　AM　CALLED　“STORK”

At　about　the　time　of　midday　prayer　I　heard　a　knock　at　the　door。　It　was　Black

from　long　ago；　from　our　childhood。　We　embraced。　He　was　chill　and　I　invited

him　inside。　I　didn’t　even　ask　how　he’d　found　his　way　to　the　house。　His　Enishte

must　have　sent　him　to　question　me　about　Elegant　Effendi’s　absence　and　his

whereabouts。 Not only that； he also brought word from Master Osman。

“Allow me to ask you a question；” he said。 “According to Master Osman；

”time‘　separates　a　true　miniaturist　from　others：