按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
perfectly forthing； without the least awareness of how mercilessly they’ve
broken your heart and destroyed your dreams。 I won’t describe all of this to
you now； but allow me to say that as I recalled warm； verdant and sunny
summer days in that old garden； I also noticed icicles the size of my little finger
hanging from the branches of the linden tree in a place whose misery； snow
and neglect now evoked nothing but death。
I’d already learned about some of what had befallen my relatives through a
letter my Enishte sent to me in Tabriz。 In that letter； he invited me back to
Istanbul； explaining that he was preparing a secret book for Our Sultan and
that he wanted my help。 He’d heard that for a period while in Tabriz； I made
books for Ottoman pashas； provincial governors and Istanbulites。 What I did
then was to use the money advanced by clients who’d placed manuscript
orders in Istanbul to locate miniaturists and calligraphers who were frustrated
by the wars and the presence of Ottoman soldiers； but hadn’t yet left for
Kazvin or another Persian city； and it was these masters—plaining of
poverty and neglect—whom I missioned to inscribe； illustrate and bind
the pages of the manuscripts I would then send back to Istanbul。 If it weren’t
for the love of illustrating and fine books that my Enishte instilled in me
during my youth； I could have never involved myself in such pursuits。
9
At the market end of the street； where at one time my Enishte had lived； I
found the barber； a master by trade； in his shop among the same mirrors；
straight razors； pitchers of water and soap brushes。 I caught his eye； but I’m
not sure he recognized me。 It delighted me to see that the head…washing basin；
which hung by a chain from the ceiling； still traced the same old arc； swinging
back and forth as he filled it with hot water。
Some of the neighborhoods and streets I’d frequented in my youth had
disappeared in ashes and smoke； replaced by burnt ruins where stray dogs
congregated and where mad transients frightened the local children。 In other
areas razed by fire； large affluent houses had been built； and I was astonished
by their extravagance； by windows of the most expensive Veian stained
glass； and by lavish two…story residences with bay windows suspended above
high walls。
As in many other cities； money no longer had any value in Istanbul。 At the
time I returned from the East； bakeries that once sold large one…hundred
drachma loaves of bread for one silver coin now baked loaves half the size for
the same price； and they no longer tasted the way they did during my
childhood。 Had my late mother seen the day when she’d have to spend three
silver pieces for a dozen eggs； she’d say； “We ought to leave before the chickens
grow so spoiled they shit on us instead of the ground。” But I knew the
problem of devalued money was the same everywhere。 It was rumored that
Flemish and Veian merchant ships were filled with chests of counterfeit
coin。 At the royal mint； where five hundred coins were once minted from a
hundred drachmas of silver； now； owing to the endless warring with the
Persians； eight hundred coins were minted from the same amount。 When
Janissaries discovered that the coins they’d been paid actually floated in the
Golden Horn like the dried beans that fell from the vegetable…sellers pier； they
rioted； besieging Our Sultan’s palace as if it were an enemy fortress。
A cleric by the name of Nusret； who preached at the Bayazid Mosque and
claimed to be descended from Our Glorious Prophet Muhammad； had made a
name for himself during this period of immorality； inflation； crime and theft。
This hoja； who was from the small town of Erzurum； attributed the
catastrophes that had befallen Istanbul in the last ten years—including the
Bah？ekap？ and Kazanj？lar district fires； the plagues that claimed tens of
thousands； the endless wars with the Persians at a cost of countless lives； as
well as the loss of small Ottoman fortresses in the West to Christians in
revolt—to our having strayed from the path of the Prophet； to disregard for
10
the strictures of the Glorious Koran； to the tolerance toward Christians； to the
open sale of wine and to the playing of musical instruments in dervish houses。
The pickle seller who passionately informed me about the cleric from
Erzurum said that the counterfeit coins—the new ducats； the fake florins
stamped with lions and the Ottoman coins with their ever…decreasing silver
content—that flooded the markets and bazaars； just like the Circassians；
Abkhazians； Mingarians； Bosnians； Georgians and Armenians who filled the
streets； were dragging us toward an absolute degradation from which it would
be difficult to escape。 I was told that scoundrels and rebels were gathering in
coffeehouses and proselytizing until dawn； that destitute men of dubious
character； opium…addicted madmen and followers of the outlawed Kalenderi
dervish sect； claiming to be on Allah’s path； would spend their nights in
dervish houses dancing to music； piercing themselves with skewers and
engaging in all manner of depravity； before brutally fucking each other and any
boys they could find。
I didn’t know whether it was the melodious sound of a lute that pelled
me to follow； or if in the muddle of my memories and desires； I could simply
no longer endure the virulent pickle seller； and seized upon the music as a way
out of the conversation。 I do； however； know this： When you love a city and
have explored it frequently on foot； your body； not to mention your soul； gets
to know the streets so well after a number of years that in a fit of melancholy；
perhaps stirred by a light snow falling ever so sorrowfully； you’ll discover your
legs carrying you of their own accord toward one of your favorite
promontories。
This was how I happened to leave the Farrier’s Market and ended up
watching the snow as it fell into the Golden Horn from a spot beside the
Süleymaniye Mosque： Snow had already begun to accumulate on the rooftops
facing north and on sections of the dome exposed to the northeasterly breeze。
An approaching ship； whose sails were being lowered； greeted me with a
flutter of canvas。 The color of its sails matched the leaden and foggy hue of the
surface of the Golden Horn。 The cypress and plane trees； the rooftops； the
heartache of dusk； the sounds ing from the neighborhood below； the calls
of hawkers and the cries of children playing in mosque courtyards mingled in
my head and announced emphatically that； hereafter； I wouldn’t be able to
live anywhere but in their city。 I had the sensation