第2部分(第3/7 页)

　misery；　snow

and　neglect　now　evoked　nothing　but　death。

I’d　already　learned　about　some　of　what　had　befallen　my　relatives　through　a

letter my Enishte sent to me in Tabriz。 In that letter； he invited me back to

Istanbul； explaining that he was preparing a secret book for Our Sultan and

that　he　wanted　my　help。　He’d　heard　that　for　a　period　while　in　Tabriz；　I　made

books　for　Ottoman　pashas；　provincial　governors　and　Istanbulites。　What　I　did

then was to use the money advanced by clients who’d placed manuscript

orders　in　Istanbul　to　locate　miniaturists　and　calligraphers　who　were　frustrated

by the wars and the presence of Ottoman soldiers； but hadn’t yet left for

Kazvin or another Persian city； and it was these masters—plaining of

poverty and neglect—whom I missioned to inscribe； illustrate and bind

the　pages　of　the　manuscripts　I　would　then　send　back　to　Istanbul。　If　it　weren’t

for the love of illustrating and fine books that my Enishte instilled in me

during　my　youth；　I　could　have　never　involved　myself　in　such　pursuits。

9

At　the　market　end　of　the　street；　where　at　one　time　my　Enishte　had　lived；　I

found the barber； a master by trade； in his shop among the same mirrors；

straight　razors；　pitchers　of　water　and　soap　brushes。　I　caught　his　eye；　but　I’m

not　sure　he　recognized　me。　It　delighted　me　to　see　that　the　head…washing　basin；

which　hung　by　a　chain　from　the　ceiling；　still　traced　the　same　old　arc；　swinging

back　and　forth　as　he　filled　it　with　hot　water。

Some of the neighborhoods and streets I’d frequented in my youth had

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