ot

through　suffering　martyrdom　in　cells　like　saints；　or　through　severing　the　heads

of enemy soldiers with a mighty arm and a sharp scimitar； as that absent

husband　had　done—but　on　account　of　a　manuscript　they’d　transcribed　or　a

page　they’d　illuminated。　I　tried　very　hard　to　imagine　the　magnificent　pictures

created by these celebrated illustrators； who were； as my Enishte explained；

inspired　by　the　power　of　the　world’s　mystery　and　its　visible　blackness。　I　tried

so　hard　to　visualize　them—those　masterpieces　my　Enishte　had　seen　and　was

now attempting to describe to one who had never laid eyes on them—that；

finally； when my imagination failed me； I felt only more dejected and

demeaned。

I　looked　up　to　discover　that　Shevket　was　before　me　again。　He　approached

me decisively； and I assumed—as was customary for the oldest male child

among　certain　Arab　tribes　in　Transoxiana　and　among　Circassian　tribes　in　the

Caucasus mountains—that he would not only kiss a guest’s hand at the

beginning of a visit； but also when that guest left。 Caught off guard； I

presented　my　hand　for　him　to　kiss。　At　that　moment；　from　somewhere　not　too

far　away；　I　heard　her　laughter。　Was　she　laughing　at　me？　I　became　flustered　and

to　remedy　the　situation；　I　grabbed　Shevket　and　kissed　him　on　both　cheeks　as

though