tementandfearintomyheartthatIwalkedaroundtheroomnearlyatrembleliketheflameofthedle.IfShekuremeanttopresentherselfatthewindow,thenwhythisletter,whichputtheoppositebeliefintoplay?Whydidherfathercallforme?AsIpaced,Isehatthedoor,wallandsqueakyfloor,stutteringasImyselfdid,weretryingtocreaktheirrespoomyeveryquestion.

    IlookedatthepictureI’dmadeyearsago,whichdepictedShirinstriwithloveupongazingatHüsrev’simagehangingfromabranch.Itdidn’t

    embarrassmeasitwouldeachtimeitcametomindinsubsequentyears,nordiditbringbackmyhappychildhoodmemories.Towardm,mymindhadmasteredthesituation:Byreturniure,Shekurehadmadeamoveinanamatorychessgameshewasmasterfullylurio.Isatinthedlelightandwroteheraletterofresponse.

    Inthem,aftersleepingforaspell,Iwentoutandwalkedalongwaythroughthestreets,carryieruponmybreastandmylightpen-and-inkholder,aswasmy,inmysash.Thesnowwideanbul’snarrowstreetsahecityofitscrowds.Allwasquieterandslower,asit’dbeeninmychildhood.CrowsseemedtohavebesetIstanbul’sroofs,domesandgardensjustastheyhadonthesnowywinterdaysofmyyouth.Iwalkedswiftly,listeningtomystepsinthesnowandwatgthefogofmybreath.Igrewexcited,expegthepalaceworkshopthatmyEnishtewaovisittobeassilentasthestreets.BeforeIeheJewishquarter,IsentwordbywayofalittlestreeturtoEsther,who’dbeabletodelivermylettertoShekure,tellingherwheretomeetmebeforethenoontimeprayers.

    Iarrivedearlyattheroyalartisans’workshoplocatedbehindtheHagiaSophia.Exceptfortheicicleshangingfromtheeaves,therewasnogeinthebuildingwhereI’doftenvisite