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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第11节

小说: my name is red-我的名字叫红 字数: 每页4000字

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Shekure’s letter wasn’t meant for Hasan; but for someone else。 What did the 
letter  say?  Esther  was  mad  with  curiosity;  and  in  the  end;  I  did  succeed  in 
reading it。 
But alas; we don’t know each other that well; do we? To be honest; I was 
overe with embarrassment and worry。 How I read the letter you’ll never 
know。  Maybe  you’ll  shame  and  belittle  me  for  my  meddling—as  if  you 
yourselves aren’t as nosy as barbers。 I’ll just relate to you what I learned from 
reading the letter。 This is what sweet Shekure had written: 
 
41 
 
Black Effendi; you’re a visitor to my house thanks to your close relations with 
my father。 But don’t expect a nod from me。 Much has happened since you left。 I 
was wed; and have two strong and spirited sons。 One of them is Orhan; he’s the 
one whom you saw just now e to the workshop。 While I’ve been awating the 
return of my husband these four years; little else has entered my thoughts。 I might 
feel lonely; hopeless and weak living with my two children and an elderly father。 I 
miss the strength and protection of a man; but let no one assume he might take 
advantage of my situation。 Therefore; it would please me if you ceased calling on 
us。  You  did  embarrass  me  once  before;  and  afterward;  I  had  to  endure  much 
suffering to regain my honor in my father’s eyes! Along with this letter; I’m also 
returning  the  picture  you  painted  and  sent  to  me  when  you  were  an  impulsive 
youth  with  his  wits  not  yet  about  him。  I  do  this  so  you  won’t  harbor  any  false 
hopes  or  misread  any  signs。  It’s  a  mistake  to  believe  that  one  could  fall  in  love 
gazing at a picture。 It’d be best if you stopped ing to our house pletely。 
 
My poor Shekure; you’re neither a nobleman nor a pasha with a fancy seal 
to stamp your letter! At the bottom of the page; she signed the first letter of 
her name; which looked like a small; frightened bird。 Nothing more。 
I said “seal。” You’re probably wondering how I open and close these wax…
sealed  letters。  But  in  fact  the  letters  aren’t  sealed  at  all。  “That  Esther  is  an 
illiterate  Jew;”  my  dear  Shekure  had  assumed。  “She’ll  never  understand  my 
writing。” True; I can’t read what’s written; but I can always have someone else 
read it。 And as for what’s not written; I can quite readily “read” that myself。 
Confused; are you? 
Let  me  put  it  this  way;  so  even  the  most  thick…headed  of  you  will 
understand: 
A letter doesn’t municate by words alone。 A letter; just like a book; can 
be read by smelling it; touching it and fondling it。 Thereby; intelligent folk will 
say; “Go on then; read what the letter tells you!” whereas the dull…witted will 
say; “Go on then; read what he’s written!” Listen; now; to what else Shekure 
said: 
 
1。  Though  I’ve  sent  this  letter  in  secret;  by  relying  on  Esther;  who’s  made 
letter…delivery a matter of merce and custom; I’m signifying that I don’t 
intend to conceal that much at all。 
42 
 
2。  That  I’ve  folded  it  up  like  a  French  pastry  implies  secrecy  and  mystery; 
true。  But  the  letter  isn’t  sealed  and  there’s  a  huge  picture  enclosed。  The 
apparent implication is; “Pray; keep our secret at all costs;” which more befits 
an invitation to love than a letter of rebuke。 
3。  Furthermore;  the  smell  of  the  letter  confirms  this  interpretation。  The 
fragrance was faint enough to be ambiguous—did she intentionally perfume 
the letter?—yet alluring enough to fire readers’ curiosity—is this the aroma of 
attar  or  the  smell  of  her  hand?  And  a  fragrance;  which  was  enough  to 
enrapture the poor man who read the letter to me; will surely have the same 
effect on Black。 
4。  I  am  Esther;  who  knows  neither  how  to  read  nor  write;  but  this  I  do 
know: Although the flow of the script and the handwriting seems to say “Alas; 
I  am  rushed;  I  am  writing  carelessly  and  without  paying  serious  attention;” 
these  letters  that  twitter  elegantly  as  if  caught  in  a  gentle  breeze  convey  the 
exact opposite message。 Even her phrase “just now e” when referring to 
Orhan;  implying  that  the  letter  was  written  at  that  very  moment;  betrays  a 
ploy no less obvious than care taken in each line。 
5。  The  picture  sent  along  with  the  letter  depicts  pretty  Shirin  gazing  at 
handsome Hüsrev’s image and falling in love; as told in the story that even I; 
Esther  the  Jewess;  know  well。  All  the  lovelorn  ladies  of  Istanbul  adore  this 
story; but never have I known someone to send an illustration relating to it。 
 
It  happens  all  the  time  to  you  fortunate  literate  people:  A  maiden  who 
can’t  read  begs  you  to  read  a  love  letter  she’s  received。  The  letter  is  so 
surprising; exciting and disturbing that its owner; though embarrassed at your 
being privy to her most intimate affairs; ashamed and distraught; asks you 
all the same to read it once more。 You read it again。 In the end; you’ve read the 
letter so many times that both of you have memorized it。 Before long; she’ll 
take the letter in her hands and ask; “Did he make that statement there?” and 
“Did he say that here?” As you point to the appropriate places; she’ll pore over 
those passages; still unable to make sense of the words there。 As she stares at 
the curvy letters of the words; sometimes I am so moved I forget that I myself 
can’t read or write and feel the urge to embrace those illiterate maidens whose 
tears fall to the page。 
Then there are those truly accursed letter…readers; pray; don’t you turn out 
to be like one of them: When the maiden takes the letter in her own hands to 
touch it again; desiring to look at it without understanding which words were 
43 
 
spoken  where;  these  beasts  will  say  to  her;  “What  are  you  trying  to  do?  You 
can’t  read;  what  more  do  you  want  to  look  at?”  Some  of  them  won’t  even 
return the letter; treating it henceforth as if it belonged to them。 At times; the 
task of accosting them and retrieving the letter falls to me; Esther。 That’s the 
kind of good woman I am。 If Esther likes you; she’ll e to your aid as well。 
 
 
   
44 
 
I; SHEKURE 
 
Oh;  why  was  I  there  at  the  window  just  when  Black  rode  by  on  his  white 
steed? Why did I open the shutters intuitively at that exact moment and stare 
at  him  so  long  from  behind  the  snowy  branches  of  the  pomegranate  tree?  I 
can’t  tell  you  for  sure。  I’d  sent  word  to  Esther  by  way  of  Hayriye。  I  was;  of 
course; well aware that Black would take that route。 Meanwhile; I’d gone up 
alone  to  the  room  with  the  built…in  closet  and  the  window  facing  the 
pomegranate tree to inspect the sheets  in the chest。 On a whim; and at just 
the  right  moment;  I  pushed  the  shutters  open  with  all  my  strength  and 
sunlight flooded the room: Standing at the window; I came face…to…face with 
Black; who; like the sun; dazzled me。 Oh; it was quite lovely。 
He’d grown and matured and; having lost his awkward youthful lankiness; 
he turned out to be a ely man。 Listen Shekure; my heart did tell me; he’s 
not  only  handsome;  look  into  his  eyes;  he  possesses  the  heart  of  a  child;  so 
pure; so alone: Marry him。 I; however; sent him a letter wherein I’d given him 
quite the opposite message。 
Though he was twelve years my elder; when I was twelve; I was more mature 
than he。 Back then; instead of standing straight and tall before me in a fashion 
befitting  a  man  and  announcing  that  he  was  going  to  do  this  or  that;  jump 
from this spot or climb onto that thing; he’d just bury his face in some book 
or picture; hiding as if everything embarrassed him。 In time; he also fell in love 
with me。 He made a painting declaring his love。 We’d both matured by then。 
When I turned twelve; I sensed that Black could no longer look into my eyes; 
as  if  he  were  afraid  I’d  discover  he  loved  me。  “Hand  me  that  ivory…handled 
knife;” he’d say; for example; looking at the knife but unable to look at me。 If I 
asked  him;  for  instance;  “Is  the  cherry  sherbet  to  your  liking?”  he  couldn’t 
simply indicate so with a delicate smile or nod; as we do when our mouths are 
full; you see。 Instead; he’d scream “Yes” at the top of his lungs; as if trying to 
municate  with  a  deaf  man。  He  feared  looking  me  in  the  face。  I  was  a 
maiden of striking beauty then。 Any man who caught sight of me even once; 
from afar; or from between parted curtains or yawning doors; or even through 
the layers of my modest head coverings; immediately became enamored of me。 
I’m  not  being  a  braggart;  I’m  explaining  this  so  you’ll  understand  my  story 
and be better able to share in my grief。 
In the well…known tale of Hüsrev and Shirin; there’s a moment that Black 
and I had discussed at length。 Hüsrev’s friend; Shapur; intends to make Hüsrev 
and Shirin fall in love。 One day Shirin embarks on a countryside outing with 

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