m　the　grave；

e here at night； but I’m not afraid of this place。 Have you ever killed a

man？”

“Yes。”

“How　many？”

“Not　many。　Two。”

“With　a　sword？”

“With　a　sword。”

“Do　their　souls　wander？”

“I　don’t　know。　According　to　what’s　written　in　books；　they　must　wander。”

“Uncle　Hasan　has　a　red　sword。　It’s　so　sharp　it’ll　cut　you　if　you　just　touch　it。

And　he　has　a　dagger　with　a　ruby…studded　handle。　Are　you　the　one　who　killed

my　father？”

131

I　nodded　indicating　neither　“yes”　nor　“no。”　“How　do　you　know　that　your

father　is　dead？”

“My　mother　said　so　yesterday。　He　won’t　be　returning。　She　saw　him　in　her

dream。”

If　presented　with　the　opportunity；　we　would　choose　to　do　in　the　name　of　a

greater　goal　whatever　awful　thing　we’ve　already　prepared　to　do　for　the　sake　of

our　own　miserable　gains；　for　the　lust　that　burns　within　us　or　for　the　love　that

breaks　our　hearts；　and　so；　I　resolved　once　more　to　bee　the　father　of　these

forsaken　children；　and；　when　I　returned　to　the　house；　I　listened　more　intently

to　Shevket’s　grandfather　as　he　described　the　book　whose　text　and　illustrations

I　had　to　plete。

Let me begin with the illustrations that my Enishte had shown me； the

horse for example。 On this page there were no human figures and the area

around the horse was empty； even so； I couldn’t say it was simply and

exclusively　the　painting　of　a　horse。　Yes；　the　horse　was　there；　yet　it　was　apparent

that　the　rider　had　stepped　off　to　the　side；　or　who　knows；　perhaps　he　was　on

the verge of emerging from behind the bush drawn in the Kazvin style。 Thi