nderers；　homeless　men

and no…good mongrels who’d snuck illegally into the city； and they

emboldened　these　enemies　of　coffee。　It　was　then　I　understood　that　these　men

were the henchmen of Preacher Nusret Hoja of Erzurum。 They intended to

clean　up　all　the　dens　of　wine；　prostitution　and　coffee　in　Istanbul　and　punish

severely　those　who　veered　from　the　path　of　Exalted　Muhammad；　those　who；

for　example；　used　dervish　ceremonies　as　an　excuse　for　belly…dancing　to　music。

They railed against the enemies of religion； men who collaborated with the

Devil； pagans； unbelievers and illustrators。 I suddenly recalled this was the

coffeehouse　on　whose　walls　drawings　were　hung；　where　religion　and　the　hoja

from　Erzurum　were　maligned　and　where　disrespect　knew　no　bounds。

A coffee maker’s apprentice； his face spattered with blood； emerged from

inside； and I thought he might collapse； but he wiped the blood from his

forehead　and　cheeks　with　the　cuff　of　his　shirt；　melded　in　with　our　group　and

began　to　watch　the　raid。　The　crowd　pulled　back　a　little　out　of　fear。　I　noticed

Black recognize somebody and hesitate。 By the way the Erzurumis began to

collect together； I knew that the Janissaries or some other band armed with

clubs　was　on　its　way。　The　torches　were　extinguished　and　the　crowd　became　a

confused　mob。

Black　grabbed　me　by　the　arm　and　had　the　theology　student　take　me　away。

“Go by way of the backstreets；” he said。 “He’ll see you to your house。” The

student　wanted　to　slip　away　as　soon　as　possible　and　we　were　almost　running

as　we　departed。