my gold pieces; my notebook of forms; and put my illustrations into my portfolio。 I considered how I might kill each of them one by one with the dagger; whose point I held at Black’s throat; but I felt nothing but affection for my boyhood friends—including Stork; who’d stuck the plume needle into my eyes。 I screamed at Butterfly; who had stood up; and thus scared him into sitting back down。 Now; confident I’d be able to escape the lodge safely; I hastened 432 toward the door; and at the threshold; I impatiently uttered the momentous words I’d been planning to say: “My flight from Istanbul shall resemble Ibn Shakir’s flight from Baghdad under Mongol occupation。” “In that case; you must head West instead of East;” said jealous Stork。 “To God belongs the East and the West;” I said in Arabic like the late Enishte。 “But East is east and West is west;” said Black。 “An artist should never succumb to hubris of any kind;” said Butterfly; “he should simply paint the way he sees fit rather than troubling over East or West。” “So very true;” I said to beloved Butterfly。 “Accept my kiss。” I’d hardly taken two steps toward him when Black dutifully pounced upon me。 In one hand I held my satchel containing my clothes and gold coins; and under my other arm; the portfolio filled with pictures。 Taking care to protect my belongings; I failed to protect myself。 I couldn’t prevent him from grabbing the forearm of the hand that held the dagger。 But luck did not shine upon him; either; he tripped slightly over a low worktable and momentarily lost his balance。 Instead of taking control of my arm; he ended up hanging by it。 Kicking him with all my might and biting his fingers; I freed myself。 He howled; fearing for his life。 Then; I stepped on the same hand; causing him great pain。 Brandishing the dagger before the other two; I shouted: “Halt!” They stayed seated where they were。 I stuck the point of the dagger into one of Black’s nostrils; the way Keykavus had done in the legend。 When it began to bleed; bitter tears flowed from his imploring eyes。 “Now; tell me then;” I said; “shall I go blind?” “According to legend; blood clots in the eyes of some and not in others。 If Allah is pleased with your artistry; he’ll bestow His own magnificent blackness upon you and take you under His care。 In that case; you shall behold not this wretched world; but the exquisite vistas that He sees。 If He is displeased; you shall continue to see the world the way you now do。” “I shall practice genuine artistry in Hindustan;” I said。 “I’ve yet to make the picture Allah will judge me by。” “Don’t nourish the illusion over much that you’ll be able to escape Frankish methods;” said Black。 “Did you know that Akbar Khan encourages all 433 his artists to sign their work? The Jesuit priests of Portugal long ago introduced European painting and methods there。 They are everywhere now。” “There’s always work for the artist who wants to remain pure; there’s always a place to find shelter;” I said。 “Aye;” said Stork; “going blind and fleeing to nonexistent countries。” “Why is it that you want to remain pure?” said Black。 “Stay here with us。” “For the rest of your lives you’ll do nothing but emulate the Franks for the sake of an individual style;” I said。 “But precisely because you emulate the Franks you’ll never attain individual style。” “There’s nothing else left to do;” said Black dishonorably。 Of course; it wasn’t artistry but beautiful Shekure that was his sole source of happiness。 I removed the bloodstained dagger from Black’s bleeding nose and raised it over his head like the sword of an executioner preparing to behead a condemned man。 “If I so desired; I could cut off your head this instant;” I said; announcing what was already apparent。 “But I’m prepared to spare you for the sake of Shekure’s children and her happiness。 Be good to her and don’t act crudely and ignorantly toward her。 Promise me!” “I give my word;” he said。 “I hereby grant you Shekure;” I said。 Yet my arm acted of its own accord; heedless of my words。 I drove the dagger down upon Black with all my might。 At the last moment; both because Black moved and because I altered the path of my blow; the dagger struck his shoulder; not his neck。 I watched in terror; the deed enacted by my arm alone。 Once I removed the dagger; sunk to its handle in Black’s flesh; the spot bloomed a pure red。 What I’d done both frightened and shamed me。 But if I went blind on the ship; perhaps on the Arabian seas; I knew that I could not then take revenge upon any of my miniaturist brethren。 Stork; afraid that his turn had e; and justifiably so; fled into the blackened rooms within。 Holding the lamp aloft; I went after him; but soon grew frightened and turned back。 My last gesture was to kiss Butterfly; and saying farewell; to take my leave of him。 Since the tang of blood had e between us; I couldn’t kiss him to my heart’s content。 But he noticed that tears flowed from my eyes。 434 I left the lodge within a kind of deathly silence punctuated by Black’s moaning。 Nearly running; I fled the wet and muddy garden; the dark neighborhood。 The ship that was to take me to Akbar Khan’s workshop would depart after the morning azan; at that hour the last rowboat would leave for the ship from Galleon Harbor。 As I ran; tears poured from my eyes。 As I passed through Aksaray like a thief; I could faintly make out the first light of day on the horizon。 Opposite the first neighborhood fountain I encountered; among the side streets; narrow passages and walls; was the stone house in which I’d spent the night of my first day in Istanbul twenty…five years ago。 There;