words that now emerged from his mouth as if on their own：
“I’d like to depict how the blind and the seeing are not equal！”
“Who are the blind and the seeing？” Black said naively。
“The blind and the seeing are not equal； it’s what ‘ve ma yestevil’ama ve’l
basiru’nun means；” Butterfly said and continued：
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“…nor are the darkness and the light。
The shade and the heat are not equal；
nor are the living and the dead。“
I shuddered for an instant； thinking of the fates of Elegant Effendi； Enishte
and our storyteller brother who was killed tonight。 Were the others as
frightened as I？ Nobody moved for a time。 Stork was still holding my book
open； but seemed not to see the vulgarity I’d painted though we were all still
staring at it！
“I’d want to paint Judgment Day；” said Stork。 “The resurrection of the
dead； and the separation of the guilty from the innocent。 Why is it that we
cannot depict the Sacred Word of our faith？”
In our youth； working together in the same room of our workshop； we
would periodically lift our faces from our work boards and tables； just as the
aging masters would do to rest their eyes； and begin talking about any topic
that happened to enter our minds。 Back then； just as we now did while
looking at the book open before us； we didn’t look at one another as we
chatted。 For our eyes would be turned toward some distant spot outside an
open window。 I’m not sure if it was the excitement of recalling something
remarkably beautiful from my halcyon apprenticeship days； or the s