gingly； I dreamed of finishing my book in secret and returning to

Venice。　I　approached　the　grave；　which　had　been　carefully　covered　with　dirt：　At

this moment； angels are interrogating him above； asking him whether he is

male or female； his religion and whom he recognizes as his prophet。 The

possibility　of　my　own　death　came　to　mind。

A　crow　alighted　beside　me。　I　gazed　lovingly　into　Black’s　eyes　and　asked　him

to　take　my　arm　and　acpany　me　on　the　way　back。　I　told　him　I　expected　him

at　the　house　early　the　next　morning　to　continue　working　on　the　book。　I　had

indeed　imagined　my　own　death；　and　realized；　once　again；　that　the　book　must

be　pleted；　whatever　the　cost。

107

I　WILL　BE　CALLED　A　MURDERER

They　threw　cold；　muddy　earth　onto　the　battered　and　disfigured　corpse　of　ill…

fated　Elegant　Effendi　and　I　wept　more　than　any　of　them。　I　shouted；　“I　want　to

die　with　him！”　and　“Let　me　share　his　grave！”　and　they　held　me　by　the　waist　so

I　wouldn’t　fall　in。　I　gasped　for　air　and　they　pressed　their　palms　to　my　forehead；

drawing my head back so I might breathe。 By the glances of the deceased’s

relatives； I sensed I might have exaggerated my sobs and wailing； I pulled

myself　together。　Based　upon　my　excessive　sorrow　the　workshop　gossips　might

suppose　that　Elegant　Effendi　and　I　had　been　in　love。

I hid behind a plane tree until the funeral ended to avoid drawing more

attention　to　myself。　A　relative　of　the　oaf　I’d　sent　to　Hell—an　even　bigger　idiot

than the deceased—discovered me behind the tree and stared deep into my

eyes　with　a　look　he　assumed　was　meaningful。　He