“I’m　not　afraid　of　them；”　Enishte　said；　“because　I’m　not　afraid　of　death。”

178

Who were “they”？ I nodded as if I understood。 Yet annoyance began to

mount　within　me。　I　noticed　that　the　old　volume　immediately　beside　Enishte

was　El…Jevziyye’s　Book　of　the　Soul。　All　dotards　who　seek　death　share　a　love　for

this　book　that　recounts　the　adventures　that　await　the　soul。　Since　I’d　been　here

last；　I　saw　only　one　new　item　among　the　objects　collected　in　trays；　resting　on

the chest； among the pen cases； penknives； nib…cutting boards； inkwells and

brushes：　a　bronze　inkpot。

“Let’s　establish；　once　and　for　all；　that　we　do　not　fear　them；”　I　said　boldly。

“Take　out　the　last　illustration。　Let’s　show　it　to　them。”

“But　wouldn’t　this　prove　that　we　minded　their　slander；　at　least　enough　to

take　it　seriously？　We’ve　done　nothing　of　which　we　ought　to　be　afraid。　What

could　justify　your　being　so　frightened？”

He　stroked　my　hair　like　a　father。　I　was　afraid　that　I　might　burst　into　tears

again；　I　embraced　him。

“I know why that unfortunate gilder Elegant Effendi was killed；” I said

excitedly。　“By　slandering　you；　your　book　and　us；　Elegant　Effendi　was　planning

to set Nusret Hoja of Erzurum’s men upon us。 He was convinced that we’d

fallen　sway　to　the　Devil。　He’d　begun　spreading　such　rumors；　trying　to　incite

the other miniaturist