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fantastic birds； frozen time…We imagined bloody battles as immediate and
alarming as our own nightmares； bodies torn in two； chargers with blood…
spattered armor； beautiful men stabbing each other with daggers； the small…
mouthed； small…handed； slanted…eye； bowed women watching events from
barely open windows…We recalled pretty boys who were haughty and
conceited； and handsome shahs and khans； their power and palaces long lost
to history。 Just like the women who wept together in the harems of those
shahs； we now knew we were passing from life into memory； but were we
passing from history into legend as they had？ To avoid being drawn further
into a realm of horror by the lengthening shadows of the fear of being
forgotten—even more terrifying than the fear of dying—we asked each other
about our favorite scenes of death。
The first thing to e to mind was the way Satan duped Dehhak into
killing his father。 At the time of that legend； which is described in the
beginning of the Book of Kings； the world had been newly created； and
everything was so basic that nothing needed explanation。 If you wanted milk；
you simply milked a goat and drank； you’d say “horse；” then mount it and
ride away； you’d contemplate “evil” and Satan would appear and convince
you of the beauty of murdering your own father。 Dehhak’s murder of Merdas；
his father of Arab descent； was beautiful； both because it was unprovoked and
because it occurred at night in a magnificent palace garden while golden stars
gently illuminated cypresses and colorful spring flowers。
Next； we recalled legendary Rüstem； who unknowingly killed his son
Suhrab； mander of the enemy army that Rüstem had battled for three
days。 There was something that touched us all in the way Rüstem beat his
breast in tearful anguish when he saw the armband he had given the boy’s
mother years ago and recognized as his own son the enemy whose chest he’d
ravished with thrusts of the sword。
What was that something？
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The rain continued its patter on the roof of the dervish lodge and I paced
back and forth。 Suddenly I said the following：
“Either our father； Master Osman； will betray and kill us； or we shall betray
and kill him。”
We were stricken with horror because what I said rang absolutely true； we
fell silent。 Still pacing； and panicked by the thought that everything would
revert to its former state； I told myself the following： “Tell the story of
Afrasiyab’s murder of Siyavush to change the subject。 But that’s a betrayal
such as fails to frighten me。 Recount the death of Hüsrev。” All right then； but
should it be the version told by Firdusi in the Book of Kings or the one told by
Nizami in Hüsrev and Shirin？ The pathos of the account in the Book of Kings
rests in Hüsrev’s tearful realization of the identity of the murderer intruding in
his bedroom chamber！ As a last resort； saying that he wants to perform his
prayers； Hüsrev sends the servant boy attending him to fetch water； soap； clean
clothes and his prayer rug； the naive boy； without understanding that his
master has sent him for help； goes to gather the requested items。 Once alone
with Hüsrev； the murderer’s first task is to lock the door from the inside。 In
this scene at the end of the Book of Kings； the man whom the conspirators
found to enact the murder is described by Firdusi with disgust： He is foul
smelling； hairy and pot…bellied。
I paced to and fro； my head swarmed with words； but as in a dream； my
voice would not take。
Just then I sensed that the others were whispering among themselves；
maligning me。
They y legs that the four of us collapsed to the
floor。 There was a struggle and fight on the ground； but it was brief。 I lay
faceup on the floor beneath the three of them。
One of them sat on my knees。 Another on my right arm。
Black pressed a knee into each of my shoulders； he firmly situated his
weight between my stomach and chest； and sat on me。 I was pletely
immobilized。 All of us were stunned and breathing hard。 This is what I
remembered：
My late uncle had a rogue son two years older than me—I hope he’s been
caught in the act of raiding caravans and has long since been beheaded。 This
jealous beast； realizing I knew more than he and was also more intelligent and
refined； would find any excuse to pick a fight； or else he’d insist that we
e； he’d hold me down with his knees on
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my shoulders in this same way； he’d stare into my eyes； the way Black was
now doing； and let a string of saliva hang down； slowly directing it toward my
eyes as it gained mass； and he’d be greatly entertained as I tried to avoid it by
turning my head to the right and to the left。
Black told me not to hide anything。 Where was the last picture？ Confess！
I felt suffocating regret and anger for two reasons： First； I’d said everything I
had for naught； unaware that they’d e to an agreement beforehand；
secondly； I hadn’t fled； unable to imagine that their envy would reach this
level。
Black threatened to cut my throat if I didn’t produce the last picture。
How very ridiculous。 I firmly closed my lips； as if the truth would escape if I
opened my mouth。 Part of me also thought that there was nothing left for me
to do。 If they came to an agreement among themselves and turned me over to
the Head Treasurer as the murderer； they’d end up saving their own hides。 My
only hope lay with Master Osman； who might point out another suspect or
another clue； but then； could I be certain what Black said about him was
correct？ He could kill me here and now； and later place the onus on me；
couldn’t he？
They rested the dagger against my throat； and I saw at once how this gave
Black a pleasure that he could not conceal。 They slapped me。 Was the dagger
cutting my skin？ They slapped me again。
I was able to work through the following logic： If I held my peace； nothing
would happen！ This gave me strength。 They could no longer hide the fact that
since the days of our apprenticeships they’d been jealous of me； I； who quite
evidently applied paint in the best manner； drew the steadiest line and made
the best illuminations。 I loved them for their extreme envy。 I smiled upon my
beloved brethren。
One of them； I don’t want you to know which of them was responsible for
this disgrace； passionately kissed me as if he were kissing the beloved he’d long
desired。 The others watched by the light of the oil lamp that they brought near
to us。 I could not but respond in kind to this kiss from my beloved brother。 If
we’re nearing the end of everything； let it be known that I do the best
illuminating。 Find my pages and see for yourselves。
He began to beat me angrily； as if I’d enraged him by answering his kiss
with a kiss。 But the others restrained him。 They experienced a moment of
indecision。 Black was upset that there was a scuffle among them。 It was as if
they weren’t angry with me； but with the direction in which their lives were
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headed； and as a result； they wanted to take their revenge against the entire
world。
Black removed an object from his sash： a needle with a sharpened point。 In
an instant； he brought it to my face and made a gesture as if to plunge it into
my eyes。
“Eighty years ago； the great Bihzad； master of masters； understood that
everything was ing to an end with the fall of Herat； and honorably blinded
himself so nobody would force him to paint in another way；” he said。 “A short
while after he deliberately inserted this plume needle into his own eye and
removed it； God’s exquisite darkness slowly descended over His beloved