I fell quiet and from distant streets we could hear the Erzurumis screaming as they ran。 The terror outside at once brought the two of us； lying one on top of the other； closer。 “But in all those pictures；” I added； pulling harder on Black’s hair； “one can sense the difficulty of elegantly drawing two men who despise each other yet whose bodies； like ours； have bee as one。 It’s as if the chaos of treachery； envy and battle that es just before the magical and magnificent moment of beheading has too fully permeated those pictures。 Even the greatest masters of Kazvin would have difficulty drawing two men on top of each other； they’d confuse everything。 Whereas you and I； see for yourself； we’re much more tidy and elegant。” “The blade is cutting；” he whimpered。 “I’m much obliged for your polite words； my dear man； but it’s doing no such thing。 I’m being quite careful。 I wouldn’t do anything to ruin the beauty of our pose。 In the scenes of love； death and war； wherein the great masters of old rendered intertwined bodies as if they were one； they were able to elicit only our tears。 See for yourself： My head rests upon the nape of your neck as if it were a part of your body。 I can smell your hair and the scent of your neck。 My legs； on either side of yours； are stretched out in such harmony with yours； that an onlooker might mistake us for an elegant four…legged beast。 Do you feel the balance of my weight on your back and buttocks？” Another silence； but I didn’t press the sword upward； because it would indeed have cut his throat。 “If you’re not going to speak； I might be provoked to bite your ear；” I said； whispering into that very ear。 When I noticed in his eyes that he was prepared to speak； I asked the same question again： “Do you feel the balance of my weight upon your body？” “Aye。” “Do you like it？” I said。 “Are we beautiful？” I asked。 “Are we as beautiful as the legendary heroes who slay each other with such elegance in the masterpieces of the old masters？” “I don’t know；” said Black； “I can’t see us in the mirror。” When I imagined how my wife saw us from the other room in the light cast by the coffeehouse’s oil lamp resting on the floor only a short distance away； I thought I might actually bite Black’s ear out of excitement。 392 “Black Effendi； you； who have forced your way into my home and have disturbed my privacy； dagger in hand； in order to interrogate me；” I said； “do you now feel my strength？” “Yes； I also sense that you’re truly in the right。” “Then proceed； once again； to ask me what you want to know。” “Describe how Master Osman would caress you。” “As an apprentice； I was much more lithe； delicate and beautiful than I am now； and he would mount me then the way I have mounted you。 He would caress my arms； at times he would even hurt me； but because I was in awe of his knowledge； his talent and strength； what he did pleased me； and I never harbored any ill will toward him； because I loved him。 Loving Master Osman enabled me to love art； colors； paper； the beauty of painting and illumination and everything that was painted； and thereby to love the world itself and God。 Master Osman is more than a father to me。” “Would he beat you often？” he asked。 “In the role of a father； he beat me with an appropriate sense of justice； as a master； he beat me painfully so that I might learn from the punishment。 Thanks to the pain and the fear of a ruler whacking my fingernails I learned many things better and faster than I would’ve alone。 So he wouldn’t grab me by my hair and bang my head against the wall when I was an apprentice； I’d never spill paint； never waste his gold orize； for example； the curve of a horse’s foreleg； cover up the mistakes of the master limner； clean my brushes regularly and focus my attention and spirit on the page before me。 Since I owe my talent and mastery to the beatings I received； I； in turn； beat my own apprentices without a guilty conscience。 What’s more； I know that even a beating given without just cause； if it doesn’t break the spirit of the apprentice； will ultimately benefit him。” “Even so； you understand that while drubbing a handsome…faced； sweet… eyed； angelic apprentice； now and then； you get carried away by the sheer pleasure of it； and you know that Master Osman probably experienced the same sensation with you； don’t you？” “Sometimes he’d take a marble burnishing stone and strike me with such force behind the ear that my ear would ring for days； and I’d walk around half stunned。 Sometimes he’d slap me so hard that for weeks my cheek would ache； enough to bring continual tears to my eyes。 I shall never forget； yet I still love my mentor。” 393 “Nay；” said Black； “you were furious with him。 You took revenge for the anger that silently accumulated deep within you by making illustrations for my Enishte’s Frankish…imitation book。” “The opposite is true。 The beatings that a young miniaturist receives from his master bind him to his master with a profound respect until the day he dies。” “The cruel and treacherous cutting of the throats of Iraj and Siyavush from behind； as you are doing to me； arose out of sibling rivalry； and sibling rivalry； as in the Book of Kings； is always provoked by an unjust father。” “True。” “The unjust father of you master miniaturists； the one who set you at each other’s throats； is now preparing to betray you；” he said brazenly。 “Ahh； I beg of you； it is cutting；” he whimpered。 He cried in agony a bit longer。 Then he went on； “True； cutting my throat and spilling my blood like a sacrificial lamb would be but the work of an instant； but if you do this without listening to what I’m about to explain—I don’t think you’ll do it anyway； ahh； please； enough—you’ll forever wonder what I was going t