Orhan Pamuk - My Name is Red

“Go downstairs, have Hayriye fill your stomachs.”

I was alone in the room. Snow had begun to fall outside. I begged for Allah’s help. Then I opened the Koran, and after once again reading the section in the “Family of Imran” chapter which stated that those who were killed in battle, who were killed on the path of Allah, would join Him, I put myself at ease with regard to my deceased husband. Had my father shown Black Our Sultan’s as yet unfinished portrait? My father claimed that this portrait would be so lifelike that whoever beheld it would avert his eyes out of fear, as happened to those who tried to look directly into Our Glorious Sultan’s eyes.

I called for Orhan, and without lifting him onto my lap, kissed him at length on the forehead, crown and cheeks. “Now then, without being scared, and without letting your grandfather see, you’re to give this paper to Black. Do you understand?”

“My tooth is loose.”

“When you get back, if you want, I’ll pull it out,” I said. “You’re to sidle up to him. He’ll be at a loss for what to do and he’ll hug you. Then you’ll secretly place the paper into his hand. Am I understood?”

“I’m afraid.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. If it weren’t for Black, do you know who wants to become your father in his stead? Uncle Hasan! Do you want Uncle Hasan to become your father?”

“No.”

“All right then, let’s see you go, my pretty and smart Orhan,” I said. “If not, watch out, I’ll be really angry…And if you cry, I’ll get even angrier.”

I folded my letter several times, then stuck it into his small hand now stretched out in hopelessness and resignation. Allah, come to my aid so that these fatherless children aren’t left to fend for themselves. I escorted him to the door, holding his hand. At the threshold he looked at me fearfully one last time.

I watched him through the peephole as he took his uncertain steps toward the sofa, approached my father and Black, stopped, and momentarily hesitated-unsure what to do. He glanced back at the peephole looking for me. He began to cry. But with one final effort he succeeded in surrendering himself to Black’s lap. Black, clever enough to have earned the right to be father to my children, didn’t panic to find Orhan crying unaccountably on his lap and he checked to see if there was anything in the boy’s hands.

Orhan returned beneath the startled gaze of my father, and I ran to meet him and took him onto my lap, kissing him at length. I brought him downstairs to the kitchen, and filled his mouth with the raisins he liked so much.

“Hayriye, take the boys to Galleon Harbor and buy some gray mullet suitable for soup from Kosta’s place. Take these silver coins and with the change from the fish, buy Orhan some dried yellow figs and cherries on the way back. Buy Shevket roasted chickpeas and sweetmeat sausage with walnuts. Walk them around to wherever they want to go until the evening prayers are called, but be careful they don’t catch cold.”

After they’d bundled up and left, the quiet in the house pleased me. I went upstairs and took out the little mirror that my father-in-law had made and my husband had given me as a gift. I kept it hidden away between pillowcases that smelled of lavender. I hung it up. If I looked at myself in the mirror from a distance, and moved oh so delicately, I could see my whole body. My vest of red broadcloth suited me, but I also wanted to don my mother’s purple blouse which had been part of her trousseau. I took out the long pistachio-colored robe my grandmother had embroidered with flowers, and tried it on, but it didn’t please me. As I was trying it on under the purple blouse, I felt a chill; I shuddered, and the candle flame trembled with me. Over it all, of course, I was going to wear my fox fur-lined street robe, but at the last minute I changed my mind, and silently crossing the hall, I removed the very long and loose azure-colored woolen robe that my mother had given me and put it on. Just then I heard a noise at the door and fell into a panic: Black was leaving! I quickly removed my mother’s old robe and put on the fur-lined red one: It was tight around the bustline, but I liked it. I then donned the softest and whitest veil, lowering it over my face.

Black Effendi hadn’t left yet, of course; I’d let my apprehension deceive me. If I go out now, I can tell my father that I went to buy fish with the children. I padded down the stairs like a cat.

I closed the door-click-like a ghost. I quietly passed through the courtyard and when I was out on the street, momentarily turned and looked back at the house. From behind my veil it seemed as if it wasn’t our house at all.

There was no one in the street, not even any cats. Flakes of snow danced in the air. With a shudder, I entered the abandoned garden where sunlight never fell. It smelled of rotten leaves, dampness and death; yet, when I entered the house of the Hanged Jew, I felt as though I were in my own home. They say that jinns meet here at night, light the stove and make merry. I was startled to hear my footsteps in the empty house. I waited, stock-still. I heard a sound in the garden, but then everything was overcome by silence. I heard a dog bark nearby. I recognize all the dogs in our neighborhood from their barks, but I couldn’t place this one.

During the next silence I sensed that there was somebody else in the house and I stood dead still so he wouldn’t hear my footsteps. Strangers talked as they passed on the street. I thought of Hayriye and the children. I hoped to God that they wouldn’t catch cold. In the silence that followed, I was gradually overcome by regret. Black wasn’t coming. I’d made a mistake, and I ought to return home before my pride was damaged even further. Terrified, I imagined that Hasan was watching me, and then I heard movement in the garden. The door opened.

I abruptly changed my position. I didn’t know why I did so, but when I stood to the left of the window through which a faint light from the garden was filtering, I realized that Black would be able to see me, to borrow a phrase from my father, “within the mysteries of shadow.” I covered my face with my veil and waited, listening to his footsteps.

Black passed through the doorway and saw me, then took a few more steps and stopped. We stood five paces apart and beheld each other. He looked healthier and stronger than he’d appeared through the peephole. There was a silence.

“Remove your veil,” he said in a whisper. “Please.”

“I’m married. I’m awaiting my husband’s return.”

“Remove your veil,” he said in the same tone. “Your husband won’t ever come back.”

“Have you arranged to meet me here to tell me this?”

“Nay, I’ve done so to be able to see you. I’ve been thinking of you for twelve years. Remove your veil, my darling, let me look at you just once.”

I removed it. I was pleased as he silently studied my face and stared at length into the depths of my eyes.

“Marriage and motherhood have made you even more beautiful. And your face has become entirely different than what I remembered.”

“How had you remembered me?”

“With agony, because when I thought of you, I couldn’t help but think that what I was remembering wasn’t you but a fantasy. In our childhood, you remember how we used to discuss Hüsrev and Shirin, who fell in love after seeing images of each other, don’t you? Why was it that Shirin hadn’t fallen in love with handsome Hüsrev when first she saw his picture hanging from a tree branch but had to see that image three times before falling in love? You used to say that in fairy tales everything happens thrice. I would argue that love ought to have blossomed when she first saw the picture. But who could have depicted Hüsrev realistically enough for her to fall in love with him, and precisely enough that she would recognize him? We never talked about this. Over these last twelve years, if I had such a realistic portrait of your matchless face, perhaps I wouldn’t have suffered so.”