“My　tooth　is　loose；”　said　Orhan。

151

At　the　same　time；　another　part　of　my　mind　was　concentrating　on　what　was

transpiring　between　my　father　and　Black。

The blue door of the workshop was open； and I could easily hear them：

“After beholding the portraits of the Veian masters； we realize with

horror；”　said　my　father；　“that；　in　painting；　eyes　can　no　longer　simply　be　holes

in　a　face；　always　the　same；　but　must　be　just　like　our　own　eyes；　which　reflect

light　like　a　mirror　and　absorb　it　like　a　well。　Lips　can　no　longer　be　a　crack　in　the

middle of faces flat as paper； but must be nodes of expression—each a

different　shade　of　red—fully　expressing　our　joys；　sorrows　and　spirits　with　their

slightest　contraction　or　relaxation。　Our　noses　can　no　longer　be　a　kind　of　wall

that　divides　our　faces；　but　rather；　living　and　curious　instruments　with　a　form

unique　to　each　of　us。”

Was Black as surprised as I was that my father referred to those infidel

gentlemen　who　had　their　pictures　made　as　“we”？　When　I　looked　through　the

peephole；　I　found　Black’s　face　to　be　so　pale　that　I　was　momentarily　alarmed。

My　dark　beloved；　my　troubled　hero；　were　you　unable　to　sleep　for　thinking　of

me　the　whole　night？　Is　that　why　the　blush　has　left　your　face？

Perhaps　you　aren’t　aware　that　Black　is　a　tall；　thin　and　handsome　man。　He

has　a　broad