n of the Dead； you’d discover the

guest　who’d　stuffed　himself　beside　you　at　lunch。

“Some　have　gone　so　far；　just　to　be　included　in　a　painting；”　said　my　Enishte；

fearfully as though he were talking about the temptations of Satan； “that

they’re　willing　to　be　portrayed　as　a　servant　filling　goblets　in　the　crowd；　or　a

merciless man stoning an adulteress； or a murderer； his hands drenched in

blood。”

Pretending　not　to　understand；　I　said；　“Exactly　the　way　we　see　Shah　Ismail

ascending the throne in those illustrated books that recount ancient Persian

legends。　Or　when　we　e　across　a　depiction　of　Tamerlane；　who　actually　ruled

long　afterward；　in　the　story　of　Hüsrev　and　Shirin。”

Was　there　a　noise　somewhere　in　the　house？

“It’s　as　if　the　Veian　paintings　were　made　to　frighten　us；”　said　my　Enishte

later。　“And　it　isn’t　enough　that　we　be　in　awe　of　the　authority　and　money　of

these　men　who　mission　the　works；　they　also　want　us　to　know　that　simply

existing in this world is a very special； very mysterious event。 They’re

attempting　to　terrify　us　with　their　unique　faces；　eyes；　bearing　and　with　their

clothing　whose　every　fold　is　defined　by　shadow。　They’re　attempting　to　terrify

us　by　being　creatures　of　mystery。”

He　explained　how　once　he’d　gotten　lost　in　the　exquisite　portrait　gallery　of　a

lunatic collector whose opul