y room； removed my bloodied clothes and put on

clean　clothes。　Carrying　the　bucket　and　rag；　I　was　about　to　enter　the　room　with

the　blue　door　when　I　heard　the　courtyard　gate　swing　open。　The　evening　call　to

prayer　had　begun。　I　mustered　all　my　strength；　and　holding　the　oil　lamp　in　my

hand；　I　waited　for　them　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。

“Mother；　we’re　back；”　Orhan　said。

“Hayriye！ Where have you been！” I said forcefully； but as if I were

whispering；　not　shouting。

“But　Mother；　we　didn’t　stay　out　past　the　evening　call　to　prayer…”　Shevket

had　begun　to　say。

197

“Quiet！　Your　grandfather　is　ill；　he’s　sleeping。”

“Ill？” said Hayriye from below。 She could tell from my silence that I was

angry： “Shekure； we waited for Kosta。 After the gray mullet arrived； without

tarrying；　we　picked　bay　leaves；　then　I　bought　the　dried　figs　and　cherries　for　the

children。”

I　had　the　urge　to　go　down　and　admonish　Hayriye　in　a　whisper；　but　I　was

afraid　that　as　I　was　going　downstairs；　the　oil　lamp　I　carried　would　illuminate

the wet steps and the drops of blood I’d missed in my haste。 The children

noisily　climbed　the　stairs　and　then　removed　their　shoes。

“Ah…ah…ah；”　I　said。　Guiding　them　toward　our　bedroom；　“Not　that　way；　your

grandfather’s　sleeping；　don’t　go　in　there。”

“I’m　going　into　the　room　with　the　blue　doo