he　lamp　toward　my　face　and　gazed　at　it；　displaying　the　care

and　passion　of　surgeons。

“Nothing　seems　to　have　changed。”

Were　these　three；　staring　into　my　eyes；　the　last　sight　I’d　see　in　this　world？　I

knew I’d never forget these moments until the end of my life； and I related

what　follows；　because　despite　my　regret；　I　also　felt　hope：

“Your Enishte taught Elegant Effendi that he was involved in some

forbidden　project　by　covering　up　the　final　picture；　by　revealing　only　a　specific

424

spot　to　each　of　us　and　having　us　draw　something　there—by　giving　the　picture

an　air　of　mystery　and　secrecy；　it　was　Enishte　himself　who　instilled　the　fear　of

heresy。　He；　not　the　Erzurumis　who’ve　never　seen　an　illuminated　manuscript　in

their　lives；　was　the　first　to　spread　the　frenzy　and　panic　about　sin　that　infected

us。　Meanwhile；　what　would　an　artist　with　a　clear　conscience　have　to　fear？”

“There’s　much　that　an　artist　with　a　clear　conscience　has　to　fear　in　our　day；”

said　Black　smugly。　“Indeed；　no　one　has　anything　to　say　against　decoration；　but

pictures are forbidden by our faith。 Because the illustrations of the Persian

masters and even the masterpieces of the greatest masters of Herat are

ultimately　seen　as　an　extension　of　border　ornamentation；　no　one　would　take

issue　with　them；　reasoning　that　they　enhanced　the　beauty　of　writin