nd affection； to which he responded by stroking my hair with

irresistible fatherly concern？ I began to see that Master Osman’s style of

painting；　and　the　legacy　of　the　old　masters　of　Herat；　had　no　future　whatsoever。

And　this　abominable　thought　frightened　me　yet　again。　After　some　tragedy；　we

all feel the same way： In one last desperate hope； and without caring how

ic　and　foolish　we　might　appear；　we　pray　that　everything　might　continue　as

it　always　has。

“Let’s　continue　to　illustrate　our　book；”　I　said。　“Let　everything　continue　as　it

always　has。”

“There’s a murderer among the miniaturists。 I am continuing my work

with　Black　Effendi。”

Was　he　provoking　me　to　kill　him？

180

“Where　is　Black　now？”　I　asked。　“Where　is　your　daughter　and　her　children？”

I　sensed　that　some　other　power　had　placed　these　words　into　my　mouth；　yet

I couldn’t restrain myself。 There was no longer any way for me to be happy

and hopeful。 I could only be smart and sarcastic。 Behind these two always

entertaining jinns—intelligence and sarcasm—I sensed the presence of the

Devil； who controlled them； overing me。 At the same moment； the

accursed　dogs　beyond　the　gate　began　to　howl　madly　as　if　they’d　tracked　the

scent　of　blood。

Had　I　lived　this　exact　moment　long　ago？　In　a　distant　city；　at　a　tim