Iamnothingbutacorpsenow,abodyatthebottomofawell.ThoughIdrewmylastbreathlongagoandmyhearthasstoppedbeating,noone,apartfromthatvilemurderer,knowswhat’shappeome.Asforthatwretch,hefeltformypulseandlistenedformybreathtobesureIwasdead,thenkickedmeinthemidriff,carriedmetotheedgeofthewell,raisedmeupanddroppedmebelow.AsIfell,myhead,whichhe’dsmashedwithastone,brokeapart;myface,myforeheadandcheeks,werecrushed;mybonesshattered,andmymouthfilledwithblood.

    FornearlyfourdaysIhavebeenmissing:Mywifeandchildrenmustbeseargforme;mydaughter,spentfr,mustbestarifullyatthecourtyardgate.Yes,Iknowthey’reallatthewindow,hopingformyreturn.

    But,aretheytrulywaiting?I’tevenbesureofthat.Maybethey’vegotteomyabsence—howdismal!Forhere,oherside,ohefeelingthatone’sformerlifepersists.Beforemybirththerewasinfiime,andaftermydeath,inexhaustibletime.Ihoughtofitbefore:I’dbeenlivingluminouslybetweeernitiesofdarkness.

    Iy;IknownowthatI’dbeenhappy.ImadethebestilluminationsinOurSultan’sworkshop;noonecouldrivalmymastery.ThroughtheworkIdidprivately,Iearnedninehundredsilversamonth,whiaturally,onlymakesallofthisevenhardertobear.

    Iwasresponsibleforpaintingandembellishingbooks.Iillumiheedgesofpages,ctheirborderswiththemostlifelikedesignsofleaves,branches,roses,flowersandbirds.Ipaintedscallopedese-styleclouds,clustersofoverlappingvinesandforestsofcolorthathidgazelles,galleys,sultans,trees,palaces,horsesandhunters.Inmyyouth,Iwoulddecorateaplate,orthebairror,orachest,orattimes,theceilingofamansionorofa