ask me whether all of this was indeed correct； whether there wasn’t any recourse and whether we’d truly burn in Hell。 He suffered fits of regret and beat his breast in remorse； but I was unpersuaded。 He was an imposter who feigned regret。“ “How did you know this？” “We’ve known Elegant Effendi since childhood。 He’s very orderly； quiet； ordinary and colorless； like his gilding。 It was as if the man standing before me then was dumber； more naive； more devout； yet more superficial than the Elegant we knew。” “I hear he’d also bee quite close to the Erzurumis；” said Black。 “No Muslim would ever feel such torment and regret for inadvertently mitting a sin；” I said。 “A good Muslim knows God is just and reasonable enough to consider the intent of His servants。 Only pea…brained ignoramuses believe they’ll go to Hell for eating pork unawares。 Anyway； a genuine Muslim knows the fear of damnation serves to frighten others； not himself。 This is what Elegant Effendi was doing； you see； he wanted to scare me。 It was your Enishte who taught him that he might do such a thing； and it was then I knew that this was indeed the case。 Now； tell me in plete honesty； my dear illuminator brethren； has the blood begun to clot in my eyes； have my eyes lost their color？” They brought the lamp toward my face and gazed at it； displaying the care and passion of surgeons。 “Nothing seems to have changed。” Were these three； staring into my eyes； the last sight I’d see in this world？ I knew I’d never forget these moments until the end of my life； and I related what follows； because despite my regret； I also felt hope： “Your Enishte taught Elegant Effendi that he was involved in some forbidden project by covering up the final picture； by revealing only a specific 424 spot to each of us and having us draw something there—by giving the picture an air of mystery and secrecy； it was Enishte himself who instilled the fear of heresy。 He； not the Erzurumis who’ve never seen an illuminated manuscript in their lives； was the first to spread the frenzy and panic about sin that infected us。 Meanwhile； what would an artist with a clear conscience have to fear？” “There’s much that an artist with a clear conscience has to fear in our day；” said Black smugly。 “Indeed； no one has anything to say against decoration； but pictures are forbidden by our faith。 Because the illustrations of the Persian masters and even the masterpieces of the greatest masters of Herat are ultimately seen as an extension of border ornamentation； no one would take issue with them； reasoning that they enhanced the beauty of writing and the magnificence of calligraphy。 And who sees our painting anyway？ However； as we make use of the methods of the Franks； our painting is being less focused on ornamentation and intricate design and more on straightforward representation。 This is what the Glorious Koran forbids and what displeased Our Prophet。 Both Our Sultan and my Enishte knew this quite well。 This was the reason for my Enishte’s murder。” “Your Enishte was murdered because he was afraid；” I said。 “Just like you； he’d begun to claim that illustration； which he was doing himself； wasn’t contrary to the religion or the sacred book…This was exactly the pretext sought by the Erzurumis； who were desperate to find an aspect contrary to the religion。 Elegant Effendi and your Enishte were a perfect match for each other。” “And you’re the one who killed them both； isn’t that so？” said Black。 I thought for a moment that he would hit me； and in that instant； I also knew beautiful Shekure’s new husband really had nothing to plain about in the murder of his Enishte。 He wouldn’t strike me； and even if he did； it made no difference to me any longer。 “In actuality； as much as Our Sultan wanted to have a book prepared under the influence of the Frankish artists；” I continued stubbornly； “your Enishte wanted to prepare a provocative book whose taint of illicitness would feed his own pride。 He felt a slavish awe toward the pictures of the Frankish masters he’d seen during his travels； and he’d fallen pletely for the artistry that he regaled us about for days on end—you too must have heard that nonsense about perspective and portraiture。 If you ask me； there was nothing damaging or sacrilegious in the book we were preparing…Since he was well aware of this； he pretended that he was preparing a forbidden book and this gave him 425 great satisfaction…Being involved in such a dangerous venture with the Sultan’s personal permission was as important to him as the pictures of the Frankish masters。 True； if we’d made a painting with the intent of exhibiting it； that would’ve been sacrilege。 Yet in none of those pieces could I sense anything contrary to religion； any faithlessness； impiety or even the vaguest illicitness。 Did you sense anything of the sort？” My eyes had almost imperceptibly lost strength； but thank God； I could see enough to kno pause。 “You cannot be certain； can you？” I said； gloating。 “Even if you secretly believe that the blemish of blasphemy or the shadow of sacrilege exists in the pictures we’ve made； you could never accept this belief and express it； because this would be equivalent to giving credence to the zealots and Erzurumis who oppose and accuse you。 On the other hand； you cannot claim with any conviction that you’re as innocent as freshly fallen snow； because this would mean giving up both the dizzying pride and refined self…congratulation of engaging in a secretive； mysterious and forbidden act。 Do you know how I became aware that I was behaving pretentiously in this way？ By bringing poor Elegant Effendi to this dervish lodge in the middle of the night！ I brought him here