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I was in love with the man who was incriminating me。 My beloved Allah
please help me。 Love isn’t suffering for the sake of suffering； but a means to
reach You； is it not？
Hasan claimed that I’d killed my father in league with Black。 He said he’d
heard what Shevket had said； adding that everything had been laid bare and
that we’d mitted an unpardonable sin deserving of the torments of Hell。
e morning he’d go to the judge to explain it all。 If I were found to be
innocent； if my hands weren’t red with my father’s blood； he swore to have
me and the children returned to his house where he’d serve as father until his
older brother came back。 If； however； I were found guilty； a woman like me；
who’d mercilessly abandoned her husband—a man willing to make the
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highest sort of sacrifice—for her no punishment was too severe。 We patiently
listened to his fury； then noticed that there was an abrupt silence amid the
trees。
“If you return of your own free will to the home of your true husband；
now；” said Hasan； assuming a pletely different tone； “if you silently pitter…
patter back with your children without being seen by anyone； I’ll forget the
fake wedding ploy； the crimes you’ve mitted； all of it； I’ll forgive it all。 And；
we’ll wait together； Shekure； year after year； patiently； for my brother’s
return。”
Was he drunk？ There was something so infantile in his voice and what he
was now proposing to me in front of my husband that I feared it might cost
him his life。
“Do you understand？” he called out from among the trees。
I couldn’t determine exactly where he was in the blackness。 My dear God；
e to our aid； to us； Your sinning servants。
“Because you won’t be able to live under the same roof with the man who
killed your father； Shekure。 This I know。”
I momentarily thought that he could’ve been the one who killed my father；
and that he was now mocking us； perhaps。 This Hasan was the Devil incarnate。
But I couldn’t be certain of anything。
“Listen to me； Hasan Effendi；” Black called out to the darkness。 “My father…
in…law was murdered； this much is true。 The most despicable of men killed
him。”
“He’d been murdered before the wedding； isn’t that so？” said Hasan。 “You
two killed him because he opposed this marriage sham； this fake divorce； the
false witnesses and all your deceits。 If he’d considered Black to be appropriate；
he’d have given his daughter to him years ago。”
Having lived for years with my late husband； with us； Hasan knew our past
as well as we ourselves did。 And with the passion of a spurned lover； he
remembered every last detail of everything I’d discussed with my husband at
home； but had subsequently forgotten； or now wanted to forget。 Over the
years； we’d shared so many memories—he； his brother and I—that I worried
how strange； new and distant Black would seem to me if Hasan were to begin
recounting the past。
“We suspect that you were the one who killed him；” Black said。
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“On the contrary； you were the ones who killed him so you could marry。
This is evident。 As for me； I have no motive。”
“You killed him so we wouldn’t get married；” said Black。 “When you
learned that he’d permitted Shekure’s divorce and our marriage； you lost your
mind。 Besides； you were furious with Enishte Effendi because he’d encouraged
Shekure to return home to live with him。 You wanted revenge。 As long as he
remained alive； you knew you’d never get your hands on Shekure。”
“Be done with your stalling；” Hasan said decisively。 “I refuse to listen to this
prattle。 It’s very cold here。 I froze out here trying to get your attention with
the rocks—didn’t you hear them？”
“Black had lost himself in my father’s illustrations；” I said。
Had I done wrong in saying this？
Hasan spoke in precisely the same false tone that I sometimes resorted to
with Black： “Shekure； as you are my brother’s wife； your best course of action
is to return now with your children to the house of the hero spahi cavalryman
to whom you’re still wed according to the Koran。”
“I refuse；” I said； as if hissing into the heart of the night。 “I refuse； Hasan。
No。”
“Then； my responsibility and devotion to my brother forces me to alert the
judge first thing tomorrow morning of what I’ve heard here。 Otherwise；
they’ll call me to account。”
“They’re going to call you to account anyway；” said Black。 “The moment
you go to the judge； I’ll reveal that you’re the one who murdered Our Sultan’s
cherished servant； Enishte Effendi。 This very morning。”
“Very well；” said Hasan calmly。 “Make that revelation。”
I shrieked。 “They’ll torture the both of you！” I shouted。 “Don’t go to the
judge。 Wait。 Everything will bee clear。”
“I have no fear of torture；” Hasan said。 “I’ve been tortured twice before；
and both times I understood it was the only way the guilty could be culled
from the innocent。 Let the slanderers fear torture。 I’m going to tell the judge；
the captain of the Janissaries； the Sheikhulislam； everybody about poor Enishte
Effendi’s book and its illustrations。 Everybody is talking about those
illustrations。 What is it about them？ What’s in those pictures？”
“There’s nothing in them；” Black said。
“Which means you examined them at the first opportunity。”
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“Enishte Effendi wants me to finish the book。”
“Very well。 I hope； God willing； that they’ll torture the both of us。”
The two of them fell silent。 Next； Black and I heard footsteps in the empty
yard。 Were they leaving or approaching us？ We could neither see Hasan nor
tell what he was doing。 It would’ve been senseless for him to push through the
thorns； shrubs and brambles lining the far end of the garden in the pitch…
blackness。 He could’ve easily left without being seen； had he passed through
the trees and wound