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212
I AM CALLED BLACK
Widowed； abandoned and aggrieved； my beloved Shekure fled with featherlike
steps； and I stood as if stunned in the stillness of the house of the Hanged Jew；
amid the aroma of almonds and dreams of marriage she’d left in her wake。 I
was bewildered； but my mind was churning so fast it almost hurt。 Without
even a chance to grieve properly over my Enishte’s death； I swiftly returned
home。 On the one hand； a worm of doubt was gnawing at me： Was Shekure
using me as a pawn in a grand scheme； was she duping me？ On the other
hand； fantasies of a blissful marriage stubbornly played before my eyes。
After making conversation with my landlady who interrogated me at the
front door as to where I’d gone and whence I was ing at this morning
hour； I went to my room and removed the twenty…two Veian gold pieces
from the lining of the sash I’d hidden in my mattress； placing them in my
money purse with trembling fingers。 When I returned to the street； I knew
immediately I’d see Shekure’s dark； teary； troubled eyes for the rest of the day。
I changed five of the Veian Lions at a perpetually smiling Jewish money
changer。 Next； deep in thought； I entered the neighborhood whose name I’ve
yet to mention because I’m not fond of it： Yakutlar； where my deceased
Enishte and Shekure； along with her children； awaited me at their house。 As I
made my way along the streets almost running； a tall plane tree seemed to
reproach me for being overjoyed by dreams and plans of marriage on the very
day my Enishte had passed away。 Next； as the ice had melted； a street fountain
hissed into my ear： “Don’t take matters too seriously； see to your own affairs
and your own happiness。” “That’s all fine and good；” objected an ill…omened
black cat licking himself on the corner； “but everybody； yourself included；
suspects you had a hand in your uncle’s murder。”
The cat left off licking himself as I suddenly caught sight of its bewitching
eyes。 I don’t have to tell you how brazen these Istanbul cats get when the
locals spoil them。
I found the Imam Effendi； whose droopy eyelids and large black eyes gave
him a perpetually sleepy look； not at his house； but in the courtyard of the
neighborhood mosque； and there I asked him quite a trivial legal question：
“When is one obligated to testify in court？” I raised my eyebrows as I listened
to his haughty answer as if I were hearing this information for the first time。
“Bearing witness is optional if other witnesses are present；” explained the
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Imam Effendi； “but； in situations where there was only one witness； it is the
will of God that one bear witness。”
“That’s just the predicament I find myself in now；” I said； taking up the
conversation。 “In a situation everyone knows about； all the witnesses have
shirked their responsibilities and avoided going to court with the excuse that
”it’s only voluntary；“ and as a result the pressing concerns of those I’m trying
to help are being pletely disregarded。”
“Well；” said the Imam Effendi； “why don’t you loosen your purse…strings a
little more？”
I took out my pouch and showed him the Veian gold pieces huddled
within： The broad space of the mosque courtyard； the face of the preacher；
everything was suddenly illuminated by the glimmer of gold。 He asked me
what my dilemma was all about。
I explained who I was。 “Enishte Effendi is ill；” I confided。 “Before he dies； he
wants his daughter’s widowhood certified and an alimony to be instituted。”
I didn’t even have to mention the proxy of the üsküdar judge。 The Imam
Effendi understood at once and said the entire neighborhood had long been
troubled over the fate of hapless Shekure； adding that the situation had already
persisted too long。 Instead of searching for a second witness required for a
legal separation at the door of the üsküdar judge； the Imam Effendi suggested
his brother。 Now； if I were to offer an additional gold piece to the brother； who
lived in the neighborhood and was familiar with the predicament of Shekure
and her darling children； I’d be doing a good pious turn。 After all； for only two
gold coins the Imam Effendi was giving me a deal on the second witness。 We
immediately agreed。 The Imam Effendi went to fetch his brother。
The rest of our day rather resembled the “cat…and…mouse” stories that I’d
watched storytellers in Aleppo coffeehouses act out。 Because of all the
adventure and trickery； such stories written up as narrative poems and bound
were never taken seriously even if presented in fine calligraphy； that is； they
were never illustrated。 I； on the other hand； was quite pleased to divide our
daylong adventure into four scenes； imagining each in the illustrated pages of
my mind。
In the first scene； the miniaturist ought to depict us amid mustachioed and
muscled oarsmen； forging our way across the blue Bosphorus toward üsküdar
in the four…oared red longboat we’d boarded in Unkapan？。 The preacher and
his skinny dark…plexioned brother； pleased with the surprise voyage； are
engaging the oarsmen in friendly chatter。 Meanwhile； amid blithe dreams of
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marriage that play ceaselessly before my eyes； I stare deep into the waters of
the Bosphorus； flowing clearer than usual on this sunny winter morning； on
guard for an ominous sign within its currents。 I’m afraid； for example； that I
might see the wreck of a pirate ship below。 Thus； no matter how joyously the
miniaturist colors the sea and clouds； he ought to include something
equivalent to the darkness of my fears and as intense as my dreams of
happiness—a terrifying…looking fish； for example—in the depths of the water
so the reader of my adventure won’t assume all is rosy。
Our second picture ought to show the palaces of sultans； the meetings of
the Divan Council of State； the reception of European ambassadors； and
detailed and carefully posed crowded interiors of a subtlety worthy of
Bihzad； that is； the picture ought to partake of playful tricks and irony。
Thereby； while the Kadi Effendi apparently makes an open…handed “halt”
gesture indicating “never” or “no” to my bribe； with his other hand he ought
to be shown obligingly pocketing my Veian gold coins； and the ultimate
result of this bribe should be depicted in the same picture： Shahap Effendi； the
Shafü proxy presiding in place of the üsküdar judge。 The simultaneous
depiction of sequential events could only be achieved through an intelligent
miniaturist’s cunning facility in page position。 Thus； when the observer；
who first sees me giving a bribe； notices elsewhere in the painting that the
man sitting cross…legged on the judge’s cushion is the proxy； he’ll realize； even
if he hasn’t read the story； that the honorable judge has temporarily given up
his office so his proxy might grant Shekure a divorce。
The third illustration should show the same scene； but this time the wall
ornamentation should be darker and rendered in the Chinese style； the curly
branches being more intricate and dense； and colorful clouds should appear
above the judge’s proxy so the chicanery in the story might be apparent。
Though the Imam Effendi and his brother have actually testified separately
before the judge’s proxy； in the illustration they are shown together explaining
how the husband of anguished Shekure hasn’t returned from war for four
years； how she is in a state of destitution without a husband to look after her；
how her two fatherless children are perpetually in tears and hungry； how there
is no prospect for remarriage because she’s still considered married； and how
in this state she can’t even receive a loan without permission from her
husband。 They’re so convincing that even a man as deaf as a stone would grant
her a divorce through a cascade of tears。 The heartless proxy； however； having
none of it； asks about Shekure’s legal guardian。 After a moment of hesitation； I
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immediately interrupt； declaring that her esteemed father； who has served as
herald and ambassador for Our Sultan； is still alive。
“Until he testifies in court； I’ll never grant her a divorce！” said the proxy。
Thereupon； thoroughly flustered； I explained how my Enishte Effendi was
ill； bed…ridden and struggling for his life； how his last wish to God was to see
his daughter divorced； and how I was his representative。
“What does she want with a divorce？” asked the proxy。 “Why would a
dying man want to see his daughter divorced from her husband who’s long
vanished at war anyway？ Listen； I’d understand if there were a