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book alone。”
Master Osman uttered this last statement like the last wish of a
disconsolate weary pasha who was responsible for military defeat and
condemned to beheading。 He opened the book Jezmi Agha placed before him
and in a scolding voice ordered the dwarf to turn to the pages he wanted。
With this accusatory tone; he instantly became the Head Illuminator with
whom the entire workshop was familiar。
I withdrew into a corner among cushions embroidered with pearls; rusty…
barreled rifles with jewel…studded butts and cabis; and began eyeing Master
Osman。 The doubt gnawing away at me spread throughout my entire being: If
he wished to stop the creation of Our Sultan’s book; it made perfect sense
that Master Osman might’ve orchestrated the murders of poor Elegant Effendi
and; afterward; of my Enishte—I reprimanded myself for just now feeling such
awe toward him。 On the other hand; I couldn’t restrain myself from feeling
profound respect for this great master who now gave himself over to the
picture before him and; blind or half blind; was peering at it closely as if
looking with the countless wrinkles of his old face。 It dawned on me that to
preserve the old style and the regimen of the miniaturists’ workshop; to rid
himself of Enishte’s book and to bee again the Sultan’s only favorite; he
would gladly surrender any one of his master miniaturists; and me as well; to
the torturers of the mander of the Imperial Guard。 I furiously began to
think of freeing myself from the love that bound me to him over the last t