ten…year…old　apprentice；　I　saw　just　such　an　inkpot。”

“It’s　a　three…hundred…year…old　Mongol　inkpot；”　said　Enishte　Effendi。　“Black

brought　it　all　the　way　from　Tabriz。　It’s　for　red。”

At　that　very　moment；　it　was　of　course　the　Devil　prodding　me　to　drive　that

inkpot　down　with　all　my　might　onto　this　conceited　old　man’s　faulty　brain。　But

I　didn’t　give　in　to　the　Devil；　and　with　false　hope；　I　said；　“It　is　I；　I’m　the　one

who　murdered　Elegant　Effendi。”

You　understand　why　I　said　this　hopefully；　don’t　you？　I　trusted　that　Enishte

would　understand；　and　in　turn；　forgive　me—that　he　would　fear　and　help　me。

181

I　AM　YOUR　BELOVED　UNCLE

A　silence　filled　the　room　when　he　confessed　he’d　murdered　Elegant　Effendi。　I

assumed　he’d　kill　me　as　e　here　to　end

my　life　or　to　confess　and　terrify　me？　Did　he　himself　know　what　he　wanted？　I

was　afraid；　realizing　how　absolutely　unacquainted　I　was　with　the　inner　world

of this magnificent artist whose splendid lines and magical use of color had

been familiar to me for years。 I could sense him standing stiffly behind me；

there　at　the　nape　of　my　neck；　holding　that　large　inkpot　reserved　for　red；　but　I

didn’t　turn　to　face　him。　I　knew　my　silence　would　make　him　uneasy。　“The　dogs

haven’t　yet　quieted　down；”　I　said。

We fell silent again。 This time； I knew that my death； or my somehow

avoiding　t