blind　old　man’s　drinking　cup　with　water　from　the　fountain？”　When　no　one

went　to　his　aid；　he’d　say；　“It’d　be　a　good　turn；　my　children；　a　pious　deed！”　The

color　of　his　irises　had　faded　and　they　were　nearly　the　same　color　as　the　whites

of　his　eyes。

Agitated　by　the　thought　of　resembling　that　blind　old　man；　I　confessed　how

I did away with Enishte Effendi hurriedly； without savoring any of it。 I was

neither too honest nor too insincere with them： I found a medium

consistency； such that the story wouldn’t trouble my heart too much； and

they’d　be　assured　I　hadn’t　gone　to　Enishte’s　house　to　murder　him。　I　wanted

to make clear that it wasn’t a premeditated murder； which intent they

gathered when I reminded them of the following while trying to absolve

myself：　“Without　harboring　bad　intentions；　one　never　goes　to　Hell。”

“After surrendering Elegant Effendi to the Angels of Allah；” I said

thoughtfully；　“what　the　dearly　departed　expressed　to　me　in　his　last　moments

started　to　gnaw　at　me　like　a　worm。　Having　caused　me　to　bloody　my　hands；　the

final　painting　loomed　larger　in　my　mind；　and　so；　resolving　to　see　it；　I　went　to

your　Enishte；　who　no　longer　summoned　any　of　us　to　his　house。　Not　only　did

he refuse to reveal the painting； he behaved as if nothing were the matter。