situation was a permanent one； whereas the constraints I’d felt in life were
only temporary。 This was how it would be from now on； for century upon
century； until the end of the universe。 This neither upset nor gladdened me。
Events I’d once endured briskly and sequentially were now spread over infinite
space and existed simultaneously。 As in one of those large double…leaf
paintings wherein a witty miniaturist has painted a number of unrelated
things in each corner—many things were happening all at once。
194
I； SHEKURE
It was snowing so hard that snowflakes occasionally passed right through my
veil into my eyes。 I picked my way through the garden covered in rotting grass；
mud and broken branches； then quickened my pace once I’d exited onto the
street。 I know you’re all wondering what I’m thinking。 How much do I trust
Black？ Let me be frank with you； then。 I myself don’t know what to think。 You
do understand； don’t you？ I’m confused。 This much； however； I do know： As
always； I’ll fall into the routine of meals； children； my father and errands； and
before long my heart； without even having to be asked； will whisper the truth
to me of its own accord。 Tomorrow； before noon； I’ll know whom I am to
marry。
I want to share something with you before I arrive home。 No！ e off it；
now； it’s not about the size of that monstrosity Black showed me。 If you want
we can talk about that later。 What I was going to discuss was Black’s haste。 It’s
not that he seems to think only of satisfying his lust。 To be honest； it’d make
no difference if he did。 What surprises me is his stupidity！ I suppose it never
crossed his mind that he could frighten and abduct me； play with my honor
and put me off； or open the door to even more dangerous outes。 I can tell
from his innocent expression how much he loves and desires me。 But after
waiting twelve years； why can’t he play the game according to the rules and
wait another twelve days？
Do you know I have the sinking feeling I’ve fallen in love with his
inpetence and his melancholy childlike glances？ At a time when it
would’ve been more appropriate to be irate with him； instead； I pitied him。
“Oh； my poor child；” a voice inside me said； “you suffer such torment and are
still so utterly inpetent。” I felt so protective of him that I might’ve even
made a mistake； I might’ve actually given myself to that spoiled little boy。
Thinking of my unfortunate children； I quickened my steps。 Just then； in
the early darkness and blinding snow； I thought a phantom of a man would
run right over me。 Ducking my head； I slipped by him。
Upon entering through the courtyard gate； I knew that Hayriye and the
children hadn’t yet returned。 Very well then； I’d e back in time； the
evening prayers hadn’t yet been called。 I climbed the stairs； the house smelled
of orange jam。 My father was in his darkened room with the blue door； my
feet were freezing。 I entered my room to the right beside the stairs holding a
lamp； and when I saw that the cabi had been opened； that the cushions had
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fallen out and the room had been ransacked； I assumed it was the naughty
work of Shevket and Orhan。 There was a silence in the house； not unusual； yet
unlike the usual silence。 I donned my house clothes and sat alone in the
darkness； and as I gave myself over to momentary daydreaming； my mind
registered a noise ing from below； directly below me； not from the kitchen
but from the large room next to the stable； used in summertime as the
illustrating workshop。 Had my father gone down there； in this cold？ I didn’t
remember seeing the light of an oil lamp there； suddenly； I heard the squeak of
the front door between the stone walkway and the courtyard； and afterward；
the cursed and ominous barking of the pesky dogs roaming past the courtyard
gate—I was alarmed； to put it mildly。
“Hayriye；” I shouted。 “Shevket； Orhan…”
I felt a cold draft。 My father’s brazier must be burning； I ought to sit with
him and warm up。 As I went to be with him； holding an oil lamp aloft； my
thoughts weren’t with Black any longer； but with the children。
I crossed the wide hall diagonally； wondering if I should set water to boil on
the downstairs brazier for the gray mullet soup。 I entered the room with the
blue door。 Everything was in shambles。 Without thinking； I was about to say；
“What has my father done？”
Then I saw him on the floor。
I screamed； overe with horror。 Then I screamed again。 Gazing at my
father’s body； I fell silent。
Listen； I can tell by your tight…lipped and cold…blooded reaction that you’ve
known for some time what’s happened in this room。 If not everything； then
quite a lot。 What you’re wondering about now is my reaction to what I’ve
seen； what I feel。 As readers sometimes do when studying a picture； you’re
trying to discern the pain of the hero and thinking about the events in the
story leading up to this agonizing moment。 And then； having considered my
reaction； you’ll take pleasure in trying to imagine； not my pain； but what
you’d feel in my place； had it been your father murdered like this。 I know this
is what you’re so craftily trying to do。
Yes； I returned home in the evening to discover that someone had killed my
father。 Yes； I tore out my hair。 Yes； as I would do in my childhood； I hugged
him with all my might and smelled his skin。 Yes； I trembled and I couldn’t
breathe。 Yes； I begged Allah to raise him up and have him sit silently in his
corner among his books as he always did。 Get up； Father； get up； don’t die。 His
bloodied head was crushed。 More than the torn papers and books； more than
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the breaking and tossing about of the end tables； paint sets and inkpots； more
than the wild destruction of cushions； worktables and writing boards； and the
ransacking of everything； more even than the anger that had killed my father； I
feared the hatred that had destroyed the room and everything within it。 I was
no longer crying。 A couple passed down the street outside； laughing and
talking in the blackness； meanwhile； I could hear the infinite silence of the
world in my mind； with my hands I wiped my running nose and the tears off
my cheeks。 For a long long time I thought about the children and our lives。
I listened to the silence。 I ran； I grabbed my father by the ankles and
dragged him into the hallway。 For whatever reason； he felt heavier out there；
but without paying any mind to this； I began to pull him down the stairs。
Halfway down； my strength gave out and I sat on a step。 I was on the verge of
tears again when I heard a noise that made me assume that Hayriye and the
children had returned。 I grabbed my father by the ankles； and pressing them
into my armpits； I cont