40

I　AM　ESTHER

All of you； I know； are wondering what Shekure penned in that letter I

presented　to　Black。　As　this　was　also　a　curiosity　of　mine；　I　learned　everything

there　was　to　know。　If　you　would；　then；　pretend　you’re　flipping　back　through

the　pages　of　the　story　and　let　me　tell　you　what　occurred　before　I　delivered　that

letter。

Now；　it’s　getting　on　toward　evening；　I’ve　retired　to　our　house　in　the　quaint

little Jeouth of the Golden Horn with my husband

Nesim；　two　old　people　huffing　and　puffing；　trying　to　keep　warm　by　feeding

logs　into　the　stove。　Pay　no　mind　to　my　calling　myself　“old。”　When　I　load　my

wares—items cheap and precious alike； certain to lure the ladies； rings；

earrings； necklaces and baubles—into the folds of silk handkerchiefs； gloves；

sheets and the colorful shirt cloth sent over in Portuguese ships； when I

shoulder　that　bundle；　Esther’s　a　ladle　and　Istanbul’s　a　kettle；　and　there’s　nary

a　street　I　don’t　visit。　There　isn’t　a　word　of　gossip　or　letter　that　I　haven’t　carried

from　one　door　to　the　next；　and　I’ve　played　matchmaker　to　half　the　maidens　of

Istanbul；　but　I　didn’t　begin　this　recital　to　brag。　As　I　was　saying；　we　were　taking

our　ease　in　the　evening；　and　“rap；　rap”　someone　was　at　the　door。　I　went　and

opened it to discover Hayriye； that idiot slave girl； standing before me。 She

held　a　letter　in　her　hand。　I　couldn’t　tell　whether　it　was　from　the　cold　or　from

excitement；　but　she　was　trembling　as　she　explained　Shekure’s　wishes。

At　first；　I　assumed　this　letter　was　to　be　taken　to　Hasan；　that’s　why　I　was　so

astonished。 You know about p