cheek。 “One day

he’ll　be　a　brave　young　man。”

“This is Orhan； he’s six。 There’s also an older one； Shevket； who’s seven。

That　one’s　quite　a　stubborn　little　child。”

“I went back to the old street in Aksaray；” said Black。 “It was cold；

everything　was　covered　in　snow　and　ice。　But　it　was　as　if　nothing　had　changed

at　all。”

“Alas！ Everything has changed； everything has bee worse；” my

grandfather said。 “Significantly worse。” He turned to me。 “Where’s your

brother？”

“He’s　with　our　mentor；　the　master　binder。”

“So；　what　are　you　doing　here？”

“The　master　said；　”Fine　work；　you　can　go　now‘　to　me。“

“You　made　your　way　back　here　alone？”　asked　my　grandfather。　“Your　older

brother ought to have acpanied you。” Then he said to Black： “There’s a

binder friend of mine with whom they work twice a week after their Koran

school。　They　serve　as　his　apprentices；　learning　the　art　of　binding。”

“Do　you　like　to　make　illustrations　like　your　grandfather？”　asked　Black。

I　gave　him　no　answer。

“All　right　then；”　said　my　grandfather。　“Leave　us　be；　now。”

31

The　heat　from　the　open　brazier　that　warmed　the　room　was　so　nice　that　I

didn’t　want　to　leave。　Smelling　the　paint　and　glue；　I　stood　still　for　a　moment。　I

could　also　smell　coffee。

“Yet does illustrating in a new way signify a new way of seeing？” my

grandfather　began。　“This　is　the　reason　why　they’ve　murdered　that　poor　gilder

despite　the　fact　that　he　worked　in　the　old　style。　I’m　not　even　certain　he’s　been

killed； only that he’s missing。 They’re illustrating a memorative story in