rattling ing from the stone…paved area near
the well； but it didn’t last。 Later； my attention was caught by a squawking
seagull that had alighted on the roof。 Then it； too； fell silent along with
everything else。 Afterward； I heard a low moan from the other side of the
hallway： Hayriye was crying in her sleep。 Her moans dissolved into coughing
which ended as suddenly as it had begun； giving way once again to that deep；
dreadful silence。 A while later； I imagined that an intruder was roaming
around the room where my dead Enishte lay； and I froze pletely。
During each span of silence； I examined the pictures before me；
contemplating how the passionate Olive； the beautiful Butterfly and the
deceased gilder had dabbed paint onto the page。 I had the urge to confront
each of the images by shouting “Satan！” or “Death！” as my Enishte used to do
some nights； but fear restrained me。 Besides； these illustrations had vexed me
plenty because I couldn’t write an appropriate story to acpany them
despite my Enishte’s insistence。 Since I was slowly growing certain that his
death was linked to these images； I felt fretful and impatient。 I’d already
scrutinized the illustrations endlessly while listening to Enishte’s stories； all for
a chance to be near Shekure。 Now that she was my lawfully wedded wife； why
should I preoccupy myself with them？ A merciless inner voice answered：
“Because even after her children have fallen asleep； Shekure refuses to leave her
bed and join you。” I waited for a long while gazing