and　bit　down　upon　them　crudely　with　eagerness　and　longing。

“Coins　counterfeited　by　the　Veians　are　everywhere；”　she　said；　smiling。

As soon as she’d left； I warned Hayriye not to let the children upstairs。 I

went　up　to　the　room　where　Black　lay；　locked　the　door　behind　me　and　cuddled

up　eagerly　next　to　Black’s　naked　body。　Then；　more　out　of　curiosity　than　desire；

more　out　of　care　than　fear；　I　did　what　Black　wanted　me　to　do　in　the　house　of

the　Hanged　Jew　the　night　my　poor　father　was　killed。

I can’t say I pletely understood why Persian poets； who for centuries

had likened that male tool to a reed pen； also pared the mouths of us

women　to　inkwells；　or　what　lay　behind　such　parisons　whose　origins　had

been forgotten through rote repetition—was it the smallness of the mouth？

The　arcane　silence　of　the　inkwell？　Was　it　that　God　Himself　was　an　illuminator？

Love；　however；　must　be　understood；　not　through　the　logic　of　a　woman　like　me

who　continually　racks　her　brain　to　protect　herself；　but　through　its　illogic。

So； let me tell you a secret： There； in that room that smelled of death； it

wasn’t　the　object　in　my　mouth　that　delighted　me。　What　delighted　me　then；

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lying there with the entire world throbbing between my lips； was the happy

twittering of my sons cursing and roughhousing with