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my death; inexhaustible time。 I never thought of it before: I’d
been living luminously between two eternities of darkness。
I was happy; I know now that I’d been happy。 I made the best illuminations
in Our Sultan’s workshop; no one could rival my mastery。 Through the work I
did privately; I earned nine hundred silver coins a month; which; naturally;
only makes all of this even harder to bear。
I was responsible for painting and embellishing books。 I illuminated the
edges of pages; coloring their borders with the most lifelike designs of leaves;
branches; roses; flowers and birds。 I painted scalloped Chinese…style clouds;
clusters of overlapping vines and forests of color that hid gazelles; galleys;
sultans; trees; palaces; horses and hunters。 In my youth; I would decorate a
plate; or the back of a mirror; or a chest; or at times; the ceiling of a mansion
or of a Bosphorus manor; or even; a wooden spoon。 In later years; however; I
only worked on manuscript pages because Our Sultan paid well for them。 I
can’t say it seems insignificant now。 You know the value of money even when
you’re dead。
After hearing the miracle of my voice; you might think; “Who cares what
you earned when you were alive? Tell us what you see。 Is there life after death?
Where’s your soul? What about Heaven and Hell? What’s death like? Are you
in pain?” You’re right; the living are extremely curious about the Afterlife。
Maybe you’ve heard the story of the man who was so driven by this curiosity
that he roamed among soldiers in battlefields。 He sought a man who’d died
and retur
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