《my name is red-我的名字叫红》我的名字叫红-第162章

me an ”Erzurumi；“ I’ve been going to that den of vile unbelievers so others　
might　discount　this　rumor。”　
“Master　Osman　said　you　often　acted　as　if　apologizing　for　your　talent　and　
proficiency。”　
“What　else　did　he　say　about　me？”　
“That　you’d　paint　absurd；　minute　pictures　on　grains　of　rice　and　fingernails　
so　that　others　would　be　convinced　you’d　forsaken　life　for　art。　He　said　you　were　
always　trying　to　please　others　because　you　were　embarrassed　by　the　great　gifts　
Allah　had　bestowed　upon　you。”　
389　
“Master　Osman　is　on　Bihzad’s　level；”　I　said　with　sincerity。　“What　else？”　
“He　listed　your　faults　without　the　slightest　hesitation；”　said　the　wretch。　
“Let’s　hear　my　faults　then。”　
“He　said　that　despite　your　prodigious　talent；　you　painted　not　for　the　love　of　
art but to ingratiate yourself。 Supposedly； what most motivated you while　
painting was imagining the pleasure an observer would feel； whereas； you　
should’ve　painted　for　the　pleasure　of　painting　itself。”　
It singed my heart that Master Osman so brazenly revealed what he　
thought　about　me　to　a　man　of　such　diminished　spirit；　one　who　devoted　his　
life；　not　to　art；　but　to　being　a　clerk；　writing　letters　and　hollow　flattery。　Black　
continued：　
“The great masters of old； Master Osman claimed； would never renounce　
the　styles　and　methods　they　cultivated　through　self…sacrifice　to　art　just　for　the　
sake　of　a　new　shah’s　authority；　the　whims　of　a　new　prince　or　the　tastes　of　a　
new　age；　thus；　to　avoid　being　forced　to　alter　their　styles　and　methods；　they’d　
heroically blind themselves。 Meanwhile； you’ve enthusiastically and　
dishonorably imitated the European masters for the pages of my Enishte’s　
book；　with　the　excuse　that　it’s　the　will　of　Our　Sultan。”　
“The　great　Head　Illuminator　Master　Osman　most　certainly　meant　no　evil　by　
this；”　I　said。　“Allow　me　to　put　some　linden　tea　on　the　boil　for　you；　my　dear　
guest。”　
I passed into the adjoining room。 My beloved tossed over my head the　
nightgown of Chinese silk she was wearing； which she’d purchased from　
Esther the clothier； then mockingly parroted me； “Allow me to put some　
linden tea on the boil for you； my dear guest；” and placed her hand on my　
cock。　
I took out the agate…handled sword hidden among rose…scented sheets at　
the　bottom　of　the　chest　on　the　floor　nearest　our　roll…up　mattress；　which　she’d　
hopefully spread out； and drew the weapon from its sheath。 Its edge was so　
sharp　that　if　you　tossed　a　silk　handkerchief　over　it；　the　sword　would　easily　cut　
through　it；　if　you　placed　a　sheet　of　gold　leaf　upon　it；　the　edges　of　the　resulting　
pieces　would　be　as　straight　as　any　cut　with　a　ruler。　
Concealing　the　sword　as　best　I　could；　I　returned　to　my　atelier。　Black　Effendi　
was　so　pleased　with　his　interrogation　of　me　that　he　was　still　circling　the　red　
cushion；　dagger　in　hand。　I　placed　a　half…finished　illustration　upon　the　cushion。　
390　
“Take　a　look　at　this；”　I　said。　He　knelt　out　of　curiosity；　trying　to　understand　the　
picture。　
I　stepped　behind　him；　drew　my　sword　and　in　one　motion　lowered　him　to　
the　ground；　pinning　him　with　my　weight。　His　dagger　fell　away。　Grabbing　him　
by　the　hair；　I　pushed　his　head　against　the　ground　and　pressed　my　sword　to　his　
neck from below。 I flattened out Black’s delicate body and pressed him　
facedown　beneath　my　heavy　body；　using　my　chin　and　one　free　hand　to　push　
his　head　so　it　nearly　touched　the　sharp　point　of　the　sword。　My　one　hand　was　
full　of　his　dirty　hair；　the　other　held　the　sword　to　the　delicate　skin　of　his　throat。　
Wisely； he didn’t move at all； because I could have finished him then and　
there。 Being this close to his curly hair； to the nape of his neck—which　
might’ve invited an insulting slap at another time—and to his ugly ears　
enraged　me　all　the　more。　“I’m　using　all　my　restraint　to　keep　from　doing　away　
with　you　this　instant；”　I　whispered　into　his　ear　as　if　divulging　a　secret。　
That he listened to me like an obedient child without making a peep　
pleased　me：　“You’ll　recognize　this　legend　from　the　Book　of　Kings；”　I　whispered。　
“Feridun　Shah；　in　error；　bequeaths　the　worst　of　his　lands　to　his　two　older　sons　
and the best； Persia； to Iraj； the youngest。 Tur； bent on revenge； dupes his　
younger brother； Iraj； of whom he is jealous； before he cuts Iraj’s throat； he　
grabs his hair just as I am doing now and lies on top of him with all his　
weight。　Do　you　feel　the　weight　of　my　body？”　
He　gave　no　answer；　but　from　his　eyes；　which　stared　blankly　like　those　of　a　
sacrificial lamb； I could tell that he was listening； and I was struck with　
inspiration：　“I’m　not　only　faithful　to　Persian　styles　and　methods　in　painting；　
but　also　in　beheadings。　I’ve　also　seen　another　version　of　this　much　loved　scene　
that　describes　Shah　Siyavush’s　death。”　
I　explained　to　Black；　who　listened　silently；　how　Siyavush　made　preparations　
for avenging his brothers； how he burned down his entire palace； all his　
belongings and property； how he forgivingly parted from his wife； mounted　
his　steed　and　went　to　war；　how　he　lost　the　battle　and　was　dragged　by　his　hair　
along　the　ground　before　being　laid　out　facedown　“just　as　you　are　now；”　and　
how a knife was pressed against his throat； how there erupted an argument　
between　his　friends　and　enemies　over　whether　they　should　kill　him　or　let　him　
free and how the defeated king； his face in the dirt； listened to his captors。　
Then　I　asked　him；　“Are　you　fond　of　that　illustration？　Geruy　es　up　behind　
Siyavush；　as　I　have　to　you；　gets　on　top　of　him；　rests　his　sword　against　his　neck；　
grabs　a　fistful　of　hair　and　cuts　his　throat。　Your　red　blood；　soon　to　flow；　makes　
black　dust　rise　from　the　dry　earth；　where　later　still；　a　flower　will　bloom。”　
391　
I　fell　quiet　and　from　distant　streets　we　could　hear　the　Erzurumis　screaming　
as　they　ran。　The　ter