but I countered by explaining that Shekure’s former

husband　had　been　absent　for　four　years；　and　so；　there　was　no　chance　she　was

pregnant　by　him。　I　hastened　to　add　that　the　üsküdar　judge　granted　a　divorce

this morning to allow Shekure to remarry； and I showed him the certifying

document。 “My exalted Imam Effendi； you may rest assured that there’s no

obstacle to the marriage；” I said。 True； she was a blood relation； but being

maternal　cousins　is　not　an　obstacle；　her　previous　marriage　had　been　nullified；

there　were　no　religious；　social　or　moary　differences　between　us。　And　if　he

accepted　the　gold　pieces　I　offered　him　up　front；　if　he　performed　the　ceremony

at　the　wedding　scheduled　to　take　place　before　the　entire　neighborhood；　he’d

also　be　acplishing　a　pious　act　before　God　for　the　fatherless　children　of　a

widowed　woman。　Did　the　Imam　Effendi；　I　inquired；　enjoy　pilaf　with　almonds

and　dried　apricots？

He　did；　but　he　was　still　preoccupied　with　the　dogs　at　the　gate。　He　took　the

gold　coins。　He　said　he’d　don　his　wedding　robes；　straighten　up　his　appearance；

see　to　his　turban　and　arrive　in　time　to　perform　the　nuptials。　He　asked　the　way

to　the　house　and　I　told　him。

No　matter　how　rushed　a　wedding　might　be—even　one　that　the　groom　has

dreamed about for twelve years—what could be more natural than his

forgetting　his　worries　and　troubles　and　surrendering　to　the　affectionate　hands

and　gentle　banter　of　a　barber　for　a　prenuptial　shave　and　haircut？　The　barber’s；

where　my　feet　took　me；　was　located　near　the　market；　on　the　street　of　the　run…

down　house　in　Aksaray；　which　my　late　Enishte；　my　aunt