hing navy blue so it would look richer！ We’d both forgotten that I’d

actually given him credence； by allowing “But no one else is qualified to do

this work；” and we embraced each other anyway； sobbing once more。 Later；

Olive　gave　me　a　friendly　and　respectful　look　before　hugging　me—a　man　who

knows　how　to　embrace　is　a　good　man—and　these　gestures　so　pleased　me　that

I was reminded how of all the workshop artists； he was the one who most

believed　in　my　book。

On　the　stairs　of　the　courtyard　gate　I　found　myself　beside　Head　Illuminator

Master Osman。 We were both at a loss for words； a strange and tense

moment。　One　of　the　deceased’s　brothers　began　to　cry　and　sob；　and　someone

pompously　shouted；　“God　is　great。”

“To which cemetery？” Master Osman asked me for the sake of asking

something。

To　respond　“I　don’t　know”　seemed　hostile　for　some　reason。　Flustered；　and

without　thinking；　I　asked　the　same　question　of　the　man　standing　next　to　me

on　the　stairs；　“To　which　cemetery？　The　one　by　the　Edirne　Gate？”

“Eyüp；”　said　an　ill…tempered；　bearded　and　young　dolt。

“Eyüp；”　I　said　turning　to　the　master；　but　he’d　heard　what　the　ill…tempered

dolt　had　said　anyway。　Then；　he　looked　at　me　as　if　to　say；　“I　understand”　in　a

way　that　let　me　know　he　didn’t　want　our　encounter　to　last　a　moment　longer

than　it　already　had。

Without mentioning my influence on Our Sultan’s growing interest in

Frankish styles of painting； Master Osman was of course annoyed that Our

Sultan had ordered me to oversee the writing out； embellishment and

illustration　of　the