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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第59节

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vanished  at  war  anyway?  Listen;  I’d  understand  if  there  were  a  good; 
trustworthy  candidate  for  son…in…law;  because  then  he  wouldn’t  pass  away 
with his wish unfulfilled。” 
“There is a prospect; sir;” I said。 
“Who might that be?” 
“It is I!” 
“e now! You’re the guardian’s representative!” said the judge’s proxy。 
“What line of work are you in?” 
“In the eastern provinces; I served as secretary; chief secretary and assistant 
treasurer  to  various  pashas。  I  pleted  a  history  of  the  Persian  wars  that  I 
intend  to  present  to  Our  Sultan。  I’m  a  connoisseur  of  illustrating  and 
decoration。 I’ve been burning with love for this woman for twenty years。” 
“Are you a relative of hers?” 
I  was  so  embarrassed  at  having  fallen  so  abruptly  and  unexpectedly  into 
groveling meekness before the judge’s proxy; at having bared my life like some 
dull object devoid of any mystery; that I fell pletely silent。 
“Instead of turning beet red; give me an answer; young man; lest I refuse to 
grant her a divorce。” 
“She’s the daughter of my maternal aunt。” 
“Hmmm; I see。 Will you be able to make her happy?” 
When  he  asked  the  question  he  made  a  vulgar  hand  gesture。  The 
miniaturist should omit this indelicacy。 It’d be enough for him to show how 
much I blushed。 
“I make a decent living。” 
“As I belong to the Shafü sect; there is nothing contrary to the Holy Book or 
my  creed  in  my  granting  the  divorce  of  this  unfortunate  Shekure;  whose 
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husband has been missing at the front for four years;” said the Proxy Effendi。 
“I  grant  the  divorce。  And  I  rule  that  her  husband  no  longer  has  any 
superceding rights should he return。” 
The  subsequent  illustration;  that  is;  the  fourth;  ought  to  depict  the  proxy 
recording  the  divorce  in  the  ledger;  unleashing  obedient  armies  of  black…ink 
letters; before presenting me with the document declaring that my Shekure is 
now a widow and there is no obstacle to her immediate remarriage。 Neither 
by painting the walls of the courtroom red; nor by situating the picture within 
bloodred  borders  could  the  blissful  inner  radiance  I  felt  at  that  moment  be 
expressed。 Running back through the crowd of false witnesses and other men 
gathering before the judge’s door seeking divorces for their sisters; daughters 
or even aunts; I set out on my return journey。 
After   I   crossed   the   Bosphorus   and   headed   directly   to   the   Yakutlar 
neighborhood; I dismissed both the considerate Imam Effendi; who wanted to 
perform the marriage ceremony; and his brother。 Since I suspected everyone I 
saw on the street of hatching some mischief out of jealousy over the incredible 
happiness  I  was  on  the  verge  of  attaining;  I  ran  straight  to  Shekure’s  street。 
How had the ominous crows divined the presence of a body in the house and 
taken to hopping around excitedly on the terra…cotta shingles? I was overe 
by  guilt  because  I  hadn’t  been  able  to  grieve  for  my  Enishte  or  even  shed  a 
single  tear;  even  so;  I  knew  from  the  tightly  closed  shutters  and  door  of  the 
house; from the silence; and even from the look of the pomegranate tree that 
everything was proceeding as planned。 
I  was  acting  intuitively  in  a  great  haste。  I  tossed  a  stone  at  the  courtyard 
gate  but  missed!  I  tossed  another  at  the  house。  It  landed  on  the  roof。 
Frustrated;  I  began  pelting  the  house  with  stones。  A  window  opened。  It  was 
the  second…story  window  where  four  days  ago;  on  Wednesday;  I’d  first  seen 
Shekure through the branches of the pomegranate tree。 Orhan appeared; and 
from the gap in the shutters I could hear Shekure scolding him。 Then I saw her。 
For a moment; we gazed hopefully at each other; my fair lady and I。 She was so 
beautiful and being。 She made a gesture that I took to mean “wait” and 
shut the window。 
There  was  still  plenty  of  time  before  evening。  I  waited  hopefully  in  the 
empty garden; awestruck by the beauty of the world; the trees and the muddy 
street。 Before long; Hayriye came in; dressed and covered not like a servant; but 
rather;  like  a  lady  of  the  house。  Without  nearing  each  other;  we  removed 
ourselves to the cover of the fig trees。 
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“Everything  is  progressing  as  planned;”  I  said  to  her。  I  showed  her  the 
document  I’d  obtained  from  the  proxy。  “Shekure  is  divorced。  As  for  the 
preacher from another neighborhood…” I was going to add; “I’ll see to that;” 
but instead blurted out; “He’s on his way。 Shekure should be ready。” 
“No matter how small; Shekure wants a bride’s procession; followed by a 
neighborhood reception with a wedding repast。 We’ve prepared a stewpot of 
pilaf with almonds and dried apricots。” 
In  her  excitement;  she  seemed  prepared  to  tell  me  everything  else  she’d 
cooked  but  I  cut  her  off。  “If  the  wedding  is  going  to  be  such  an  elaborate 
affair;” I cautioned; “Hasan and his men will hear of it; they’ll raid the house; 
disgrace us; have the marriage nullified and we’ll be able to do nothing about 
it。 All our efforts will have been in vain。 We need to protect ourselves not only 
from Hasan and his father; but from the devil who murdered Enishte Effendi 
as well。 Aren’t you afraid?” 
“How could we not be?” she said and began to cry。 
“You’re   not   to   tell   anyone   a   thing;”   I   said。   “Dress   Enishte   in   his 
nightclothes; spread out his mattress and lay him upon it; not as a dead man; 
but as though he were sick。 Arrange glasses and bottles of syrup by his head; 
and draw the shutters closed。 Make certain there are no lamps in his room so 
that  he  can  act  as  Shekure’s  guardian;  her  sick  father;  during  the  ceremony。 
There’s  no  place  now  for  a  bride’s  procession。  You  can  invite  a  handful  of 
neighbors  at  the  last  minute;  that’s  all。  While  you’re  inviting  them;  say  that 
this  was  Enishte  Effendi’s  last  wish…It  won’t  be  a  joyous  wedding;  but  a 
melancholy  one。  If  we  don’t  see  ourselves  through  this  affair;  they’ll  destroy 
us; and they’ll punish you as well。 You understand; don’t you?” 
She  nodded  as  she  wept。  Mounting  my  white  horse;  I  said  I’d  secure  the 
witnesses  and  return  before  long;  that  Shekure  ought  to  be  ready;  that 
hereafter; I would be master of the house; and that I was going to the barber。 I 
hadn’t thought through any of this beforehand。 As I spoke; the details came to 
me; and just as I’d felt during battles from time to time; I had the conviction 
that I was a cherished and favored servant of God and He was protecting me; 
thus;  everything  was  going  to  turn  out  fine。  When  you  feel  this  trust;  do 
whatever  es  to  mind;  follow  your  intuition  and  your  actions  will  prove 
correct。 
I rode four blocks toward the Golden Horn from the Yakutlar neighborhood 
to find the black…bearded; radiant…faced preacher of the mosque in Yasin Pasha; 
the  adjacent  neighborhood;  broom  in  hand;  he  was  shooing  shameless  dogs 
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out of the muddy courtyard。 I told him about my predicament。 By the will of 
God; I explained; my Enishte’s time was upon him; and according to his last 
wish; I was to marry his daughter; who; by decision of the üsküdar judge; had 
just been granted a divorce from a husband lost at war。 The preacher objected 
that  by  the  dictates  of  Islamic  law  a  divorced  woman  must  wait  a  month 
before  remarrying;  but  I  countered  by  explaining  that  Shekure’s  former 
husband had been absent for four years; and so; there was no chance she was 
pregnant by him。 I hastened to add that the üsküdar judge granted a divorce 
this  morning  to  allow  Shekure  to  remarry;  and  I  showed  him  the  certifying 
document。  “My  exalted  Imam  Effendi;  you  may  rest  assured  that  there’s  no 
obstacle  to  the  marriage;”  I  said。  True;  she  was  a  blood  relation;  but  being 
maternal cousins is not an obstacle; her previous marriage had been nullified; 
there were no religious; social or moary differences between us。 And if he 
accepted the gold pieces I offered him up front; if he performed the ceremony 
at the wedding scheduled to take place before the entire neighborhood; he’d 
also be acplishing a pious act before God for the fatherless children of a 
widowed woman。 Did the Imam Effendi; I inquired; enjoy pilaf with almonds 
and dried apricots? 
He did; but he was still preoccupied with the dogs at the gate。 He took the 
gold coins。 He said he’d don his wedding robes; straighten up his appearance; 
see to his turban and arrive in time to perform the nuptials。 He asked the way 
to the house and I told him。 
No matter how rushed a wedding might be—even one that the groom has 
dreamed  about  for  twelve  years—what  could  be  more  natural  than  his 
forgetting his worries and troubles and surrendering to the affectionate hands 
and gentle banter of a ba

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