ceeyesyouhave.”Then,Iimmediatelyturohisyoungerbrother,Orhan—sensingthathemightgrowjealous—andadded,“Yoursareaswell.”,Iplacedafadedredatioal,whichI’dfastproducedfromthefoldsofmyrobe,ontothetrayandkissedeachboyonthecheeks.Laterstill,Iheardlaughterandgigglingfromwithin.

    Frequently,Igrewcurioustoknowfromwhichholeinthewalls,thecloseddoors,orperhaps,theceiling,andfromwhigle,hereyeeeringatme.StaringatacraotorwhatItooktobeahole,I’dimagineShekuresituatedjustbehindit.Suddenly,suspeganotherblackspot,andtodetermiherIwasjustifiedinmysuspi—evenattheriskofbeingiowardmyEnishteashetinuedhisendlessrecital—I’dstandup.Affegallthewhilethedemeanorofaivedisciple,quiteenthralledandquitelostinthought,iodemonstratehowiIonmyEnishte’sstory,I’dbeginpagintheroomreoccupiedair,beforeapproagthatsuspiciousblackspotonthewall.

    WhenIfailedtofindShekure’seyeinginwhatIhadtakentobeapeephole,I’dbeoverebydisappoi,andthenbyastrangefeelingofloneliness,bytheimpatienaaiotur.

    Nowandthen,I’dexperiencesuabruptandintensefeelingthatShekurewaswatgme,I’dbesoabsolutelyvincedIwaswithinhergaze,thatI’dstartposinglikeamantryingtoshoiser,strongerandmorecapablethanhereallywassoastoimpressthewomanheloved.Later,I’dfantasizethatShekureandherboyswereparihherhusband—theboys’missingfather—beforemymindwouldfocusagainuponwhichevervarietyoffamousVeianillustratoraboutwhosepaintingteiquesmyEnishtewaswaxingphilosophicatthemoment.Iloobelikethesenewly

    famedpainterssolelybecauseShekurehadheardsomuchaboutthemfromherfather;