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ugly maiden of mine was so thankful and beholden to me that at my every
visit; beyond waiting on me hand and foot; flitting about like a moth; she’d
press a few silver coins into my palm。 Now she was pregnant and in good
humor。 She put linden tea on the boil。 I savored each sip。 When she left me
alone; I counted the coins Black Effendi had given me。 Twenty silver pieces。
I set out on my way again。 I passed through side streets and through
ominous alleyways that were frozen; muddy and nearly impassable。 As I was
knocking on the door; mirth took hold of me and I began to shout。
“The clothier is here! Clothierrr!” I said。 “e and see the best of my
ruffled muslin fit for a sultan。 e get my stunning shawls from Kashmir;
my Bursa velvet sash cloth; my superb silk…edged Egyptian shirt cloth; my
embroidered muslin tablecloths; my mattress and bedsheets; and my colorful
handkerchiefs。 Clothierrr!”
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The door opened。 I entered。 As always; the house smelled of bedding; sleep;
frying oil and humidity; that terrible smell peculiar to aging bachelors。
“Old hag;” he said。 “Why are you shouting?”
I silently removed the letter and handed it to him。 In the half…lit room; he
stealthily and quietly approached me and snatched it from my hand。 He
passed into the next room where an oil lamp always burned。 I waited at the
threshold。
“Isn’t your dear father home?”
He didn’t answer。 He’d lost himself in the letter。 I left him alone so he
could read。 He stood behind the lamp; and I couldn’t see his face。 After