my name is red-我的名字叫红-第48部分
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do understand; don’t you? I’m confused。 This much; however; I do know: As
always; I’ll fall into the routine of meals; children; my father and errands; and
before long my heart; without even having to be asked; will whisper the truth
to me of its own accord。 Tomorrow; before noon; I’ll know whom I am to
marry。
I want to share something with you before I arrive home。 No! e off it;
now; it’s not about the size of that monstrosity Black showed me。 If you want
we can talk about that later。 What I was going to discuss was Black’s haste。 It’s
not that he seems to think only of satisfying his lust。 To be honest; it’d make
no difference if he did。 What surprises me is his stupidity! I suppose it never
crossed his mind that he could frighten and abduct me; play with my honor
and put me off; or open the door to even more dangerous outes。 I can tell
from his innocent expression how much he loves and desires me。 But after
waiting twelve years; why can’t he play the game according to the rules and
wait another twelve days?
Do you know I have the sinking feeling I’ve fallen in love with his
inpetence and his melancholy childlike glances? At a time when it
would’ve been more appropriate to be irate with him; instead; I pitied him。
“Oh; my poor child;” a voice inside me said; “you suffer such torment and are
still so utterly inpetent。” I felt so protective of him that I might’ve even
made a mistake; I might’ve actually given myself to that spoiled little boy。
Thinking of my unfortunate children; I quickened my steps。 Just then; in
the early darkness and blinding snow; I thought a phantom of a man would
run right over me。 Ducking my head; I slipped by him。
Upon entering through the courtyard gate; I knew that Hayriye and the
children hadn’t yet returned。 Very well then; I’d e back in time; the
evening prayers hadn’t yet been called。 I climbed the stairs; the house smelled
of orange jam。 My father was in his darkened room with the blue door; my
feet were freezing。 I entered my room to the right beside the stairs holding a
lamp; and when I saw that the cabi had been opened; that the cushions had
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fallen out and the room had been ransacked; I assumed it was the naughty
work of Shevket and Orhan。 There was a silence in the house; not unusual; yet
unlike the usual silence。 I donned my house clothes and sat alone in the
darkness; and as I gave myself over to momentary daydreaming; my mind
registered a noise ing from below; directly below me; not from the kitchen
but from the large room next to the stable; used in summertime as the
illustrating workshop。 Had my father gone down there; in this cold? I didn’t
remember seeing the light of an oil lamp there; suddenly; I heard the squeak of
the front door between the stone walkway and the courtyard; and afterward;
the cursed and ominous barking of the pesky dogs roaming past the courtyard
gate—I was alarmed; to put it mildly。
“Hayriye;” I shouted。 “Shevket; Orhan…”
I felt a cold draft。 My father’s brazier must be burning; I ought to sit with
him and warm up。 As I went to be with him; holding an oil lamp aloft; my
thoughts weren’t with Black any longer; but with the children。
I crossed the wide hall diagonally; wondering if I should set water to boil on
the downstairs brazier for the gray mullet soup。 I entered the room with the
blue door。 Everything was in shambles。 Without thinking; I was about to say;
“What has my father done?”
Then I saw him on the floor。
I screamed; overe with horror。 Then I screamed again。 Gazing at my
father’s body; I fell silent。
Listen; I can tell by your tight…lipped and cold…blooded reaction that you’ve
known for some time what’s happened in this room。 If not everything; then
quite a lot。 What you’re wondering about now is my reaction to what I’ve
seen; what I feel。 As readers sometimes do when studying a picture; you’re
trying to discern the pain of the hero and thinking about the events in the
story leading up to this agonizing moment。 And then; having considered my
reaction; you’ll take pleasure in trying to imagine; not my pain; but what
you’d feel in my place; had it been your father murdered like this。 I know this
is what you’re so craftily trying to do。
Yes; I returned home in the evening to discover that someone had killed my
father。 Yes; I tore out my hair。 Yes; as I would do in my childhood; I hugged
him with all my might and smelled his skin。 Yes; I trembled and I couldn’t
breathe。 Yes; I begged Allah to raise him up and have him sit silently in his
corner among his books as he always did。 Get up; Father; get up; don’t die。 His
bloodied head was crushed。 More than the torn papers and books; more than
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the breaking and tossing about of the end tables; paint sets and inkpots; more
than the wild destruction of cushions; worktables and writing boards; and the
ransacking of everything; more even than the anger that had killed my father; I
feared the hatred that had destroyed the room and everything within it。 I was
no longer crying。 A couple passed down the street outside; laughing and
talking in the blackness; meanwhile; I could hear the infinite silence of the
world in my mind; with my hands I wiped my running nose and the tears off
my cheeks。 For a long long time I thought about the children and our lives。
I listened to the silence。 I ran; I grabbed my father by the ankles and
dragged him into the hallway。 For whatever reason; he felt heavier out there;
but without paying any mind to this; I began to pull him down the stairs。
Halfway down; my strength gave out and I sat on a step。 I was on the verge of
tears again when I heard a noise that made me assume that Hayriye and the
children had returned。 I grabbed my father by the ankles; and pressing them
into my armpits; I continued to descend; faster this time。 My dear father’s
head had been so crushed and was so soaked in blood that it made the sound
of a wrung…out mop as it struck each step。 At the base of the stairs; I turned
his body; which now seemed to have grown lighter; and with one great effort;
dragging him across the stone floor; I took him into the summer painting
room。 In order to see within the pitch…black room; I hastened back out to the
stove in the kitchen。 When I returned with a candle I saw how thoroughly the
room where I’d dragged my father had been pillaged。 I was dumbstruck。
Who is it; my God; which one of them?
My mind was churning。 Closing the door tightly; I left my father in the
demolished room。 I grabbed a bucket from the kitchen; and filled it with water
from the well。 I climbed the stairs; and by the light of an oil lamp; I quickly
wiped away the blood in the hallway; on the staircase and everywhere else。 I
went back upstairs to my room; removed my bloodied clothes and put on
clean clothes。 Carrying the bucket and rag; I was about to enter the room with
the blue door when I heard the courtyard gate swing open。 The evening call to
prayer had begun。 I mustered all my strength; and holding the oil lamp in my
hand; I waited for them at the top of the stairs。
“Mother; we’re back;” Orhan said。
“Hayriye! Where have you been!” I said forcefully; but as if I were
whispering; not shouting。
“But Mother; we didn’t stay out past the evening call to prayer…” Shevket
had begun to say。
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“Quiet! Your grandfather is ill; he’s sleeping。”
“Ill?” said Hayriye from below。 She could tell from my silence that I was
angry: “Shekure; we waited for Kosta。 After the gray mullet arrived; without
tarrying; we picked bay leaves; then I bought the dried figs and cherries for the
children。”
I had the urge to go down and admonish Hayriye in a whisper; but I was
afraid that as I was going downstairs; the oil lamp I carried would illuminate
the wet steps and the drops of blood I’d missed in my haste。 The children
noisily climbed the stairs and then removed their shoes。
“Ah…ah…ah;” I said。 Guiding them toward our bedroom; “Not that way; your
grandfather’s sleeping; don’t go in there。”
“I’m going into the room with the blue door; to be by the brazier;” Shevket
said; “not to Grandfather’s room。”
“Your grandfather fell asleep in that room;” I whispered。
But I noticed that they hesitated for a moment。 “Let’s be certain that the
evil jinns that’ve possessed your grandfather and made him sick don’t set
upon the both of you as well;” I said。 “Go to your room; now。” I grabbed both
of them by their hands and put them into the room where we slept together。
“Tell me then; what were you doing out on the streets till this hour?” “We saw
some black beggars;” said Shevket。 “Where?” I asked。 “Were they carrying
flags?” “As we were climbing the hill。 They gave Hayriye a lemon。 Hayriye gave
them some money。 They were covered in snow。” “What else?” “They were
practicing shooting arrows at a target in the square。” “In this snow?” I said。
“Mother; I’m cold;” said Shevket。 “I’m going into the room with the blue
door。” “You’re not to leave this room;” I said。 “Otherwise you’ll die。 I’ll bring
you the brazier。” “Why do you say we’re going to die?” said Shevket。 “I’m
going to tell you something;” I said; “but you’re not to tell anyone; are we
understood?” They swore not to tell。 “While you were out; a pletely white
man who’d died and lost his color came here from a faraway country and
spoke to your grandfather。 It turns out he was a jinn。” They asked me where
the jinn came from。 “From the other side of the river;” I said。 “Where our
father is?” asked S