第98部分(第2/7 页)

k me more seriously； but he continued to

humiliate me all the same。 How could a man who humiliates his son be a

father？　Great　Master　Osman　would　bee　irate　with　us；　he’d　beat　us；　but　he

never once humiliated us。 Oh my brothers； we’ve made a grave mistake by

betraying　him。”

I smiled at my brethren whose attention was focused upon my eyes；

listening　to　me　as　though　I　lay　on　my　deathbed。　Just　as　a　dying　man　would；　I

saw　them　growing　increasingly　blurry　and　moving　away　from　me。

“I murdered your Enishte for two reasons。 First； because he shamelessly

forced the great Master Osman into aping the Veian artist； Sebastiano。

Second； because in a moment of weakness； I lowered myself to ask him

whether　I　had　a　style　of　my　own。”

428

“How　did　he　respond？”

“It　seems　I　am　possessed　of　a　style。　But　ing　from　him；　of　course；　this

was　not　an　insult。　I　remembered　wondering；　in　my　shame；　if　this　were　indeed

praise： I considered style to be a variety of rootlessness and dishonor； but

doubt　was　eating　at　me。　I　wanted　nothing　to　do　with　style；　but　the　Devil　was

tempting　me　and　I　was；　furthermore；　curious。”

“Everybody　secretly　desires　to　have　a　style；”　said　Black　smartly。　“Everybody

also　desires　to　have　his　portrait　made；　just　as　Our　Sultan　did。”

“Is　this　affliction　impossible　to　resist？”　I　said。　“As　this　plague　spreads；　none

of　us　will　be　able　to　stand　against　the　methods　of　the　Europeans。”

No　one　was　listening　to　me；　however。　Black　was　recounting　the　story　of　a

sad Turkmen chieftain who was sent off on a twelve…year exile to China