egends　he’d　heard

about　for　years　than　with　the　worry　of　an　old　man　who　sensed　he　would　soon

enough never see anything more。 There； in the cold Treasury room suffused

with　a　dark　red　that　I’d　never　seen　before—caused　by　the　color　of　the　cloth

and　dust　within　the　peculiar　light　of　the　candles—I　would　occasionally　cry　out

in admiration； whereupon Black and the dwarf would rush to my side and

look　over　my　shoulder　at　the　magnificent　page　before　me。　Unable　to　restrain

myself；　I’d　begin　to　explain：

“This　color　red　belongs　to　the　great　master　Mirza　Baba　Imami　from　Tabriz；

the　secret　of　which　he　took　with　him　to　the　grave。　He’s　used　it　for　the　edges　of

the　carpet；　the　red　of　Alevi　allegiance　on　the　Persian　Shah’s　turban；　and　look；

it’s　here　on　the　belly　of　the　lion　on　this　page　and　on　this　pretty　boy’s　caftan。

Allah　never　directly　revealed　this　fine　red　except　when　He　let　the　blood　of　his

subjects　flow。　So　that　we　might　wearily　strive　to　find　this　variety　of　red　that　is

only visible to the naked eye on man…made cloth and in the pictures of the

greatest　of　masters；　God　did；　however；　consign　its　secret　to　the　rarest　of　insects

living beneath stones；” I said and added； “Thanks be to Him who has now

revealed　it　to　us。”

“Look　at　this；”　I　said　much　later；　once　again　unable　to　refrain　from　showing

them　a　maste