I’m　not　certain　how　much　time　had　passed。　I　melted　into　the　warmth　of

the　brazier　that　gently　heated　the　small　shop　and　the　barber’s　adept　fingers。

With life having suddenly presented me the greatest of gifts today； as if for

free； and after so much suffering； I felt a profound thanks toward exalted

Allah。 I felt an intense curiosity； wondering out of what mysterious balance

this　world　of　His　had　emerged；　and　I　felt　sadness　and　pity　for　Enishte；　who　lay

dead　in　the　house　where；　a　while　later；　I　would　bee　master。　I　was　readying

myself　to　spring　into　action　when　there　was　a　motion　at　the　always…open

door　of　the　barbershop：　Shevket！

Flustered；　but　with　his　usual　self…confidence；　he　held　out　a　piece　of　paper。

Unable　to　speak　and　expecting　the　worst；　my　insides　were　chilled　as　if　by　an　icy

draft　as　I　read：

If　there　isn’t　going　to　be　a　bride’s　procession；　I’m　not　getting　married—Shekure。

Grabbing　Shevket　by　the　arm；　I　lifted　him　onto　my　lap。　I　would’ve　liked　to

have　responded　to　my　dear　Shekure　by　writing；　“As　you　wish；　my　love！”　but

what　would　pen　and　ink　be　doing　in　the　shop　of　an　illiterate　barber？　So；　with

a calculated reserve； I whispered my response into the boy’s ear： “All right。”

Still　whispering；　I　asked　him　how　his　grandfather　was　doing。

“He’s　sleeping。”

I　now　sense　that　Shevket；　the　barber　and　even　you　are　suspicious　about　me

and my Enishte’s death （Shevket； of course； suspects other things as well）。

What　a　pity！　I　forced　a　kiss　upon　him；　and　he　quickly　left；　displeased。　During

the　wedding；　dressed　in　his　holiday　clothes；　he　glared　at　me　with　hostility