《my name is red-我的名字叫红》我的名字叫红-第183章

wanted　to　cling　to　tightly。　These　things　were　behind　me；　in　the　direction　of　the　
hill　leading　down　to　the　sea　and　Galleon　Harbor　which　I　would　never　reach。　
My head would never again turn and see them； or the rest of the world。 I　
forgot　about　them　and　let　my　thoughts　take　me　away。　
This　is　what　occurred　to　me　the　moment　before　I　was　beheaded：　The　ship　
shall　depart　from　the　harbor；　this　was　joined　in　my　mind　with　a　mand　to　
hurry； it was the way my mother would say “hurry” when I was a child。　
Mother；　my　neck　aches　and　all　is　still。　
This　is　what　they　call　death。　
But　I　knew　that　I　wasn’t　dead　yet。　My　punctured　pupils　were　motionless；　
but　I　could　still　see　quite　well　through　my　open　eyes。　
What　I　saw　from　ground　level　filled　my　thoughts：　The　road　inclining　slightly　
upward；　the　wall；　the　arch；　the　roof　of　the　workshop；　the　sky…this　is　how　the　
picture　receded。　
It　seemed　as　if　this　moment　of　observation　went　on　and　on　and　I　realized　
seeing had bee a variety of memory。 I was reminded of what I thought　
when staring for hours at a beautiful picture： If you stare long enough your　
mind　enters　the　time　of　the　painting。　
All　time　had　now　bee　this　time。　
It　seemed　as　if　no　one　would　see　me；　as　my　thoughts　faded　away；　my　mud…
covered head would go on staring at this melancholy incline； the stone wall　
and　the　nearby　yet　unattainable　mulberry　and　chestnut　trees　for　years。　
This　endless　waiting　suddenly　assumed　such　bitter　and　tedious　proportions；　
I　wanted　nothing　more　than　to　quit　this　time。　
437　
I；　SHEKURE　
Black　had　hidden　us　away　in　the　house　of　a　distant　relative；　where　I　spent　a　
sleepless　night。　In　the　bed　where　I　curled　up　with　Hayriye　and　the　children；　I　
was　occasionally　able　to　nod　off　amid　the　sounds　of　snoring　and　coughing；　but　
in　my　restless　dreams；　I　saw　strange　creatures　and　women　whose　arms　and　legs　
had been severed and randomly reattached； they wouldn’t stop chasing me　
and　continually　woke　me。　Toward　morning；　the　cold　roused　me　and　I　covered　
Shevket　and　Orhan；　embracing　them；　kissing　their　heads　and　begging　Allah　for　
pleasant　dreams；　such　as　I’d　enjoyed　during　the　blissful　days　when　I　slept　in　
peace　under　my　late　father’s　roof。　
I couldn’t sleep； however。 After the morning prayers； looking out on the　
street　through　the　shutters　of　the　window　in　the　small；　dark　room；　I　saw　what　
I’d　always　seen　in　my　happy　dreams：　A　ghostly　man；　exhausted　from　warring　
and the wounds he’d received； brandishing a stick as if it were a sword；　
longingly　approach　me　with　familiar　steps。　In　my　dream；　whenever　I　was　on　
the　verge　of　embracing　this　man；　I’d　awake　in　tears。　When　I　saw　the　man　in　
the　street　was　Black；　the　scream　that　would　never　leave　my　throat　in　dreams　
sounded。　
I　ran　and　opened　the　door。　
His face was swollen and bruised purple from fighting。 His nose was　
mangled　and　covered　in　blood。　He　had　a　large　gash　from　his　shoulder　to　his　
neck。　His　shirt　had　turned　bright　red　from　the　blood。　Like　the　husband　of　my　
dreams； Black smiled at me faintly because he had； in the end； successfully　
returned。　
“Get　inside；”　I　said。　
“Call　for　the　children；”　he　said。　“We’re　going　home。”　
“You’re　in　no　condition　to　return　home。”　
“There’s　no　reason　to　fear　him　anymore；”　he　said。　“The　murderer　is　Velijan　
Effendi；　the　Persian。”　
“Olive…”　I　said。　“Did　you　kill　that　miserable　rogue？”　
“He’s　fled　to　India　on　the　ship　that　departed　from　Galleon　Harbor；”　he　said　
and　avoided　my　eyes；　knowing　that　he　hadn’t　properly　acplished　his　task。　
“Will　you　be　able　to　walk　back　to　our　house？”　I　said。　“Shall　we　have　them　
bring　a　horse　for　you？”　
438　
I sensed that he would die upon arriving home and I pitied him。 Not　
because he would die alone； but because he’d never known any true　
happiness。　I　could　see　from　the　sorrow　and　determination　in　his　eyes　that　he　
wished not to be in this strange house； and that he actually wanted to　
disappear without being seen by anybody in this horrible state。 With some　
difficulty；　they　mounted　him　on　a　horse。　
During our trip back； as we passed through side streets clinging to our　
bundles；　the　children　were　at　first　too　frightened　to　look　Black　in　the　face。　But　
from　astride　the　slowly　ambling　horse；　Black　was　still　able　to　describe　how　he　
foiled the schemes of the wretched murderer who’d killed their grandfather　
and　how　he　challenged　him　to　a　sword　fight。　I　could　see　that　the　children　had　
warmed　up　to　him　somewhat；　and　I　prayed　to　Allah：　Please；　don’t　let　him　die！　
When　we　reached　the　house；　Orhan　shouted；　“We’re　home！”　with　such　joy　
I　had　the　intuition　that　Azrael；　the　Angel　of　Death；　pitied　us　and　Allah　would　
grant　Black　more　time。　But　I　knew　from　experience　that　one　could　never　tell　
when　exalted　Allah　would　take　one’s　soul；　and　I　wasn’t　overly　hopeful。　
We helped Black down from the horse。 We brought him upstairs； and　
settled him into the bed in my father’s room； the one with the blue door。　
Hayriye boiled water and brought it upstairs。 Hayriye and I undressed him；　
tearing　his　clothes　and　cutting　them　with　scissors；　removing　the　bloodied　shirt　
stuck　to　his　flesh；　his　sash；　his　shoes　and　his　underclothes。　When　we　opened　
the shutters； the soft winter sunlight playing on the branches in the garden　
filled the room； reflected off the ewers； pots； glue boxes； inkwells； pieces of　
glass　and　penknives；　and　illuminated　Black’s　deathly　pale　skin；　and　his　flesh…　
and　sour…cherry…colored　wounds。　
I　soaked　pieces　of　bedding　in　hot　water　and　rubbed　them　with　soap。　Then　I　
wiped clean Black’s body； carefully as though cleaning a valuable antique　
carpet； and affectionately and eagerly as though caring for one of my boys。　
Without　pressing　on　the　bruises　that　covered　his　face；　without　jarring　the　cut　
in　his　nostril；　I　cleansed　the　horrible　wound　on　his　shoulder　as　a　doctor　might。　
As　I’d　do