instead of making light of her dalliances。 How beautiful she is; that dark…eyed
melancholy girl of mine!
I ever so quickly strode past the run…down homes of our Jewish
neighborhood; which looked even more deserted and pitiful in the morning
cold。 Much later; when I caught sight of that blind beggar who always took up
his spot on the corner of Hasan’s street; I shouted as loud as I could;
“Clothierrr!”
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“Fat witch;” he said。 “Even if you hadn’t shouted I would’ve recognized you
by your footsteps。”
“You good…for…nothing blind man;” I said。 “You ill…fated Tatar! Blind men
like you are scourges forsaken by Allah。 May He give you the punishment you
deserve。”
In the past; such exchanges wouldn’t have angered me。 I wouldn’t have
taken them seriously。 Hasan’s father opened the door。 He was an Abkhazian; a
noble gentleman and polite。
“Let’s have a look; then; what have you brought with you this time?” he
said。
“Is that slothful son of yours still asleep?”
“How could he be sleeping? He’s waiting; expecting news from you。”
This house is so dark that each time I visit; I feel as if I’ve entered a tomb。
Shekure never asks what they’re up to; but I always make a point of carping
about the place so she won’t even consider returning to this crypt。 It’s hard to
imagine that lovely Shekure was once mistress of this house and that she lived
here with her rascally boys。 Within; it smelled of sleep and death。 I entered the
next room; moving farther into the blackness。
You couldn’t see your hand before your face。 I didn’t even have the chance
to present the letter to Hasan。 He appeared out of the darkness and snatched it
from my hand。 As I always did; I left him alone to read the letter and satisfy his
curiosity。 He soon raised his head from the page。
“Isn’t there anything else?” he said。 He knew there was nothing else。 “This
is a brief note;” he said and read
Black Effendi; you pay visits to our home; and spend your days here。 Yet I’ve