the　heat；　but　the　horror　of　the

heavy　smell　of　decay。

While　the　throng　from　the　procession　was　making　itself　fortable　in　the

house； Shekure and the crowd of elders； women and children （Orhan was

glaring suspiciously at me from the corner） carried on as if nothing were

amiss； and momentarily I doubted my senses； but I knew how corpses left

under　the　sun　after　battle；　their　clothes　tattered；　boots　and　belts　stolen；　and

their faces； their eyes and lips ravaged by wolves and birds smelled。 It was a

stench　that　had　so　often　filled　my　mouth　and　lungs　to　the　point　of　suffocation

that　I　could　not　mistake　it。

Downstairs in the kitchen； I asked Hayriye about Enishte Effendi’s body；

aware　that　I　was　speaking　to　her　for　the　first　time　as　master　of　the　house。

“As you asked； we laid out his mattress； dressed him in his nightclothes；

dre　and　placed　bottles　of　syrup　beside　him。　If　he’s　giving

off　an　unpleasant　smell；　it’s　probably　due　to　the　heat　from　the　brazier　in　the

room；”　the　woman　said　through　tears。

One　or　two　of　her　tears　fell；　sizzling　into　the　pot　she　was　using　to　fry　the

mutton。 From the way she was crying； I supposed that Enishte Effendi had

been taking her into his bed at night。 Esther； who was quietly and proudly

sitting　in　a　corner　of　the　kitchen；　swallowed　what　she　was　chewing　and　stood。

“Make her happiness your foremost concern；” she said。 “Recognize her

worth。”

In my thoughts I heard the lute I’d heard on the street the first day I’d

e　to　Istanbul。　More　than　sadness；　there　was　vigor　in　its　m