《my name is red-我的名字叫红》我的名字叫红-第177章

ask me whether all of this was indeed correct； whether there wasn’t any　
recourse and whether we’d truly burn in Hell。 He suffered fits of regret and　
beat　his　breast　in　remorse；　but　I　was　unpersuaded。　He　was　an　imposter　who　
feigned　regret。“　
“How　did　you　know　this？”　
“We’ve known Elegant Effendi since childhood。 He’s very orderly； quiet；　
ordinary　and　colorless；　like　his　gilding。　It　was　as　if　the　man　standing　before　me　
then was dumber； more naive； more devout； yet more superficial than the　
Elegant　we　knew。”　
“I　hear　he’d　also　bee　quite　close　to　the　Erzurumis；”　said　Black。　
“No Muslim would ever feel such torment and regret for inadvertently　
mitting　a　sin；”　I　said。　“A　good　Muslim　knows　God　is　just　and　reasonable　
enough　to　consider　the　intent　of　His　servants。　Only　pea…brained　ignoramuses　
believe　they’ll　go　to　Hell　for　eating　pork　unawares。　Anyway；　a　genuine　Muslim　
knows the fear of damnation serves to frighten others； not himself。 This is　
what　Elegant　Effendi　was　doing；　you　see；　he　wanted　to　scare　me。　It　was　your　
Enishte　who　taught　him　that　he　might　do　such　a　thing；　and　it　was　then　I　knew　
that this was indeed the case。 Now； tell me in plete honesty； my dear　
illuminator　brethren；　has　the　blood　begun　to　clot　in　my　eyes；　have　my　eyes　lost　
their　color？”　
They　brought　the　lamp　toward　my　face　and　gazed　at　it；　displaying　the　care　
and　passion　of　surgeons。　
“Nothing　seems　to　have　changed。”　
Were　these　three；　staring　into　my　eyes；　the　last　sight　I’d　see　in　this　world？　I　
knew I’d never forget these moments until the end of my life； and I related　
what　follows；　because　despite　my　regret；　I　also　felt　hope：　
“Your Enishte taught Elegant Effendi that he was involved in some　
forbidden　project　by　covering　up　the　final　picture；　by　revealing　only　a　specific　
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spot　to　each　of　us　and　having　us　draw　something　there—by　giving　the　picture　
an　air　of　mystery　and　secrecy；　it　was　Enishte　himself　who　instilled　the　fear　of　
heresy。　He；　not　the　Erzurumis　who’ve　never　seen　an　illuminated　manuscript　in　
their　lives；　was　the　first　to　spread　the　frenzy　and　panic　about　sin　that　infected　
us。　Meanwhile；　what　would　an　artist　with　a　clear　conscience　have　to　fear？”　
“There’s　much　that　an　artist　with　a　clear　conscience　has　to　fear　in　our　day；”　
said　Black　smugly。　“Indeed；　no　one　has　anything　to　say　against　decoration；　but　
pictures are forbidden by our faith。 Because the illustrations of the Persian　
masters and even the masterpieces of the greatest masters of Herat are　
ultimately　seen　as　an　extension　of　border　ornamentation；　no　one　would　take　
issue　with　them；　reasoning　that　they　enhanced　the　beauty　of　writing　and　the　
magnificence　of　calligraphy。　And　who　sees　our　painting　anyway？　However；　as　
we make use of the methods of the Franks； our painting is being less　
focused　on　ornamentation　and　intricate　design　and　more　on　straightforward　
representation。 This is what the Glorious Koran forbids and what displeased　
Our　Prophet。　Both　Our　Sultan　and　my　Enishte　knew　this　quite　well。　This　was　
the　reason　for　my　Enishte’s　murder。”　
“Your　Enishte　was　murdered　because　he　was　afraid；”　I　said。　“Just　like　you；　
he’d begun to claim that illustration； which he was doing himself； wasn’t　
contrary to the religion or the sacred book…This was exactly the pretext　
sought　by　the　Erzurumis；　who　were　desperate　to　find　an　aspect　contrary　to　the　
religion。 Elegant Effendi and your Enishte were a perfect match for each　
other。”　
“And　you’re　the　one　who　killed　them　both；　isn’t　that　so？”　said　Black。　
I　thought　for　a　moment　that　he　would　hit　me；　and　in　that　instant；　I　also　
knew　beautiful　Shekure’s　new　husband　really　had　nothing　to　plain　about　
in the murder of his Enishte。 He wouldn’t strike me； and even if he did； it　
made　no　difference　to　me　any　longer。　
“In　actuality；　as　much　as　Our　Sultan　wanted　to　have　a　book　prepared　under　
the influence of the Frankish artists；” I continued stubbornly； “your Enishte　
wanted　to　prepare　a　provocative　book　whose　taint　of　illicitness　would　feed　his　
own　pride。　He　felt　a　slavish　awe　toward　the　pictures　of　the　Frankish　masters　
he’d　seen　during　his　travels；　and　he’d　fallen　pletely　for　the　artistry　that　he　
regaled us about for days on end—you too must have heard that nonsense　
about　perspective　and　portraiture。　If　you　ask　me；　there　was　nothing　damaging　
or sacrilegious in the book we were preparing…Since he was well aware of　
this；　he　pretended　that　he　was　preparing　a　forbidden　book　and　this　gave　him　
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great satisfaction…Being involved in such a dangerous venture with the　
Sultan’s　personal　permission　was　as　important　to　him　as　the　pictures　of　the　
Frankish　masters。　True；　if　we’d　made　a　painting　with　the　intent　of　exhibiting　
it； that would’ve been sacrilege。 Yet in none of those pieces could I sense　
anything contrary to religion； any faithlessness； impiety or even the vaguest　
illicitness。　Did　you　sense　anything　of　the　sort？”　
My　eyes　had　almost　imperceptibly　lost　strength；　but　thank　God；　I　could　see　
enough　to　kno　pause。　
“You cannot be certain； can you？” I said； gloating。 “Even if you secretly　
believe　that　the　blemish　of　blasphemy　or　the　shadow　of　sacrilege　exists　in　the　
pictures　we’ve　made；　you　could　never　accept　this　belief　and　express　it；　because　
this　would　be　equivalent　to　giving　credence　to　the　zealots　and　Erzurumis　who　
oppose and accuse you。 On the other hand； you cannot claim with any　
conviction　that　you’re　as　innocent　as　freshly　fallen　snow；　because　this　would　
mean giving up both the dizzying pride and refined self…congratulation of　
engaging in a secretive； mysterious and forbidden act。 Do you know how I　
became　aware　that　I　was　behaving　pretentiously　in　this　way？　By　bringing　poor　
Elegant　Effendi　to　this　dervish　lodge　in　the　middle　of　the　night！　I　brought　him　
here