Shekureshutherselfintotheroomwiththechildren,andIlistelengthtothesoundswithinthehouseandtoitsincessantcreaking.Shekureabeganwhisperingtoeachotherandsheanxiouslyquietedthemwithanabrupt“shush!”Iheardarattlingingfromthestone-pavedareahewell,butitdidn’tlast.Later,myattentionwascaughtbyasquawkingseagullthathadalightedontheroof.Thenit,too,fellsilentalongwitheverythingelse.Afterward,Iheardalowmoanfromtheothersideofthehallway:Hayriyewasginhersleep.Hermoansdissolvedintocoughingwhidedassuddenlyasithadbegun,givingwayonceagaintothatdeep,dreadfulsilence.Awhilelater,IimagihatanintruderwasroamingaroundtheroomwheremydeadEnishtelay,andIfroze

    pletely.

    Duringeachspanofsilence,Iexamihepicturesbeforeme,platinghowthepassionateOlive,thebeautifulButterflyandthedeceasedgilderhaddabbedpaintontothepage.Ihadtheurgetofronteachoftheimagesbyshouting“Satan!”or“Death!”asmyEnishteusedtodosomenights,butfearrestrainedme.Besides,theseillustrationshadvexedmeplentybecauseIcouldn’twriteanappropriatestorytoapanythemdespitemyEnishte’sinsistence.SinceIwasslowlygrowiainthathisdeathwasliheseimages,Ifeltfretfulandimpatient.I’dalreadyscrutiheillustrationsendlesslywhilelisteningtoEnishte’sstories,allforacetobenearShekure.Nowthatshewasmylawfullyweddedwife,whyshouldIpreoccupymyselfwiththem?Amercilessinnervoiswered:“Becauseevenafterherchildrenhavefallenasleep,Shekurerefusestoleaveherbedandjoinyou.”Iwaitedforalongwhilegazingatthepicturesbydlelight,hopingthatmyblack-eyedbeautywouldetome.

    Inthem,stirredf