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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第45节

小说: my name is red-我的名字叫红 字数: 每页4000字

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heard a momentary clattering; we both waited in silence; but nobody entered。 
I recalled how even when she was only twelve; Shekure had aroused in me an 
odd feeling because she knew more than I did。 
“The ghost of the Hanged Jew haunts this place;” she said。 
165 
 
“Do you ever e here?” 
“Jinns;  phantoms;  the  living  dead…they  e  with  the  wind;  possess 
objects  and  make  sounds  out  of  silence。  Everything  speaks。  I  don’t  have  to 
e all the way here。 I can hear them。” 
“Shevket brought me here to show me the dead cat; but it was gone。” 
“I understand you told him that you killed his father。” 
“Not exactly。 Is that the way my words were twisted? Not that I killed his 
father; rather that I’d like to bee his father。” 
“Why did you say that you’d killed his father?” 
“He’d asked me first if I’d ever killed a man。 I told him the truth; that I’d 
killed two men。” 
“In order to boast?” 
“To  boast;  and  to  impress  a  child  whose  mother  I  love;  because  I  realized 
that  this  mother  forted  those  two  little  brigands  by  exaggerating  the 
wartime  heroics  of  their  father  and  by  showing  off  the  remnants  of  his 
plunder in the house。” 
“Go on boasting then! They don’t like you。” 
“Shevket doesn’t like me; but Orhan does;” I said; in the prideful glow of 
having caught my beloved’s error。 “Yet; I shall bee father to them both。” 
We  shuddered  anxiously  and  trembled  in  the  half…light  as  though  the 
shadow  of  some  nonexistent  thing  had  passed  between  us。  I  pulled  myself 
together and saw that Shekure was crying with tiny sobs。 
“My  ill…fated  husband  has  a  brother  named  Hasan。  As  I  waited  for  my 
husband’s return; I lived two years in the same house with him and my father…
in…law。 He fell in love with me。 Lately; he’s suspicious of what might be going 
on。 He’s furious imagining that I might marry somebody else; you perhaps。 He 
sent  word  declaring  that  he  wants  to  take  me  back  to  their  house  by  force。 
They say that since I’m not a widow in the eyes of the judge; they’re going to 
force me back there in the name of my husband。 They might raid our house at 
any time。 My father doesn’t want me to be declared a widow by verdict of the 
judge either。 If I am granted a divorce; he thinks I’ll find myself a new husband 
and abandon him。 By returning home with my children; I brought him great 
happiness in the loneliness he suffered after the death of my mother。 Would 
you agree to live with us?” 
“How do you mean?” 
166 
 
“If we were wed; would you live with my father; together with us?” 
“I don’t know。” 
“Think  about  this  as  soon  as  possible。  You  don’t  have  much  time;  believe 
me。 My father senses that some evil is ing our way; and I think he’s right。 
If Hasan and his men raid our home with a handful of Janissaries and bring 
my  father  before  the  judge;  would  you  testify  that  you’d  in  fact  seen  my 
husband’s corpse? You’ve recently e from Persia; they would believe you。” 
“I would testify; but I wasn’t the one who killed him。” 
“All right; then。 Together with another witness; in order that I be declared a 
widow; would you testify before the judge that you saw my husband’s bloody 
corpse on the battlefield in Persia?” 
“I didn’t actually see it; my dear; but for your sake I would testify so。” 
“Do you love my children?” 
“I do。” 
“Tell me; what is it about them that you love?” 
“I   love   Shevket’s   strength;   decisiveness;   honesty;   intelligence   and 
stubbornness;”  I  said。  “And  I  love  Orhan’s  sensitive  and  delicate  demeanor 
and his astuteness。 I love the fact that they’re your children。” 
My  black…eyed  beloved  smiled  slightly  and  shed  a  few  tears。  Then;  in  the 
calculated fluster of a woman hoping to acplish a lot in a short time; she 
changed the subject: 
“My  father’s  book  ought  to  be  pleted  and  presented  to  Our  Sultan。 
This book is the source of the bad luck that plagues us。” 
“What devilry has plagued us besides the murder of Elegant Effendi?” 
This  question  displeased  her。  Appearing  insincere  in  her  attempt  to  be 
sincere; she said: 
“The followers of Nusret Hoja are spreading rumors that my father’s book 
is  a  desecration  and  bears  the  marks  of  Frankish  infideldom。  Have  the 
miniaturists  who  frequent  our  house  grown  jealous  of  each  other  to  the 
degree  that  they’re  hatching  plans?  You’ve  been  among  them;  you  would 
know best!” 
“Your  late  husband’s  brother;”  I  said;  “does  he  have  any  association  with 
these miniaturists; your father’s book or the followers of Nusret Hoja; or does 
he keep to himself?” 
167 
 
“He’s not involved in any of that; but he doesn’t keep to himself at all;” she 
said。 
A mysterious and strange quiet passed。 
“When you lived in the same house with Hasan wasn’t there any way you 
could get away from him?” 
“As much as possible in a two…room house。” 
A few dogs; not too far away; giving themselves over pletely to whatever 
they were up to; began barking excitedly。 
I  couldn’t  bring  myself  to  ask  why  Shekure’s  late  husband;  a  man  who’d 
emerged victorious from so many battles and had bee the proprietor of a 
fief;  saw  fit  to  have  his  wife  live  together  with  his  brother  in  a  two…room 
house。  Timidly  and  hesitantly;  I  asked  my  childhood  beloved  the  following 
question: “Why did you see fit to marry him?” 
“I was; of course; certain to be married off to someone;” she said。 This was 
true;  and  it  succinctly  and  cleverly  explained  her  marriage  in  a  way  that 
avoided praising her husband and upsetting me。 “You’d left; perhaps never to 
return。 Disappearing in a sulk might be a symptom of love; yet a sulking lover 
is also tiresome and holds no promise of a future。” This was true as well; but it 
wasn’t  cause  enough  to  marry  that  rogue。  It  wasn’t  too  difficult  to  deduce 
from her coy expression alone that a short time after I’d abandoned Istanbul; 
Shekure  had  forgotten  about  me;  like  everyone  else  had。  She’d  told  me  this 
blatant lie to mend my broken heart; if only a little; and I considered it a sign 
of her good intentions; which demanded my gratitude。 I began to explain how 
during  my  travels  I  couldn’t  get  her  out  of  my  thoughts;  how  at  night  her 
image  haunted  me  like  a  specter。  This  was  the  most  secret;  most  profound 
agony I’d suffered and I assumed I’d never be able to share it with another; 
the  agony  was  quite  real;  but  as  I  realized  with  surprise  at  that  instant;  it 
wasn’t the least bit sincere。 
So  that  my  feelings  and  desires  might  be  rightfully  understood;  I  must 
presently lay bare the meaning of this distinction between truth and sincerity 
that  I’ve  e  to  know  for  the  first  time:  How  expressing  one’s  reality  in 
words; as truthful as they might be; goads one to insincerity。 Perhaps; the best 
example might be made of us miniaturists; who’ve grown edgy of late due to 
the murderer in our midst。 Consider a perfect painting—the image of a horse; 
for  instance—no  matter  how  well  it  represents  a  real  horse;  the  horse 
meticulously conceived by Allah or the horses of the great master miniaturists; 
it might still fail to match the sincerity of the talented miniaturist who drew 
168 
 
it。 The sincerity of the miniaturist; or of us humble servants of Allah; doesn’t 
emerge  in  moments  of  talent  and  perfection;  on  the  contrary;  it  emerges 
through slips of the tongue; mistakes; fatigue and frustration。 I say this for the 
sake of those young ladies who will bee disillusioned when they see that 
there  was  no  difference  between  the  strong  desire  I  felt  for  Shekure  at  that 
moment—as  she  too  could  tell—and;  say;  the  dizzying  lust  I’d  felt  for  a 
delicately  featured;  copper…plexioned;  burgundy…mouthed  Kazvin  beauty 
during my travels。 With her profound God…given savvy and jinnlike intuition; 
Shekure  understood  both  my  being  able  to  withstand  twelve  years  of  pure 
torture  for  love’s  sake  as  well  as  my  behaving  like  a  miserable  thrall  of  lust 
who thought of nothing but the quick satisfaction of his dark desires the first 
time  we  were  alone。  Nizami  had  pared  the  mouth  of  that  beauty  of 
beauties; Shirin; to an inkwell filled with pearls。 
When the eager dogs began barking with renewed fervor; a restless Shekure 
said;  “I  ought  to  go  now。”  It  was  at  that  moment  we  both  realized  that  the 
house of the Jew’s ghost had indeed bee quite dark; although there was 
still time before nightfall。 My body sprung up of its own volition; to hug her 
once again; but like a wounded sparrow; she quickly hopped away。 
“Am I still beautiful? Answer me quickly。” 
I told her。 How beautifully she listened to me; believing and agreeing with 
what I said。 
“And my clothes?” 
I told her。 
“Do I smell nice?” 
Of course; Shekure a

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