and bit down upon them crudely with eagerness and longing。
“Coins counterfeited by the Veians are everywhere；” she said； smiling。
As soon as she’d left； I warned Hayriye not to let the children upstairs。 I
went up to the room where Black lay； locked the door behind me and cuddled
up eagerly next to Black’s naked body。 Then； more out of curiosity than desire；
more out of care than fear； I did what Black wanted me to do in the house of
the Hanged Jew the night my poor father was killed。
I can’t say I pletely understood why Persian poets； who for centuries
had likened that male tool to a reed pen； also pared the mouths of us
women to inkwells； or what lay behind such parisons whose origins had
been forgotten through rote repetition—was it the smallness of the mouth？
The arcane silence of the inkwell？ Was it that God Himself was an illuminator？
Love； however； must be understood； not through the logic of a woman like me
who continually racks her brain to protect herself； but through its illogic。
So； let me tell you a secret： There； in that room that smelled of death； it
wasn’t the object in my mouth that delighted me。 What delighted me then；
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lying there with the entire world throbbing between my lips； was the happy
twittering of my sons cursing and roughhousing with each other in the
courtyard。
While my mouth was thus occupied； my eyes could make out Black looking
at me in a pletely different way。 He said he’d never again forget my face
and my mouth。 As with some of my father’s old books； his skin smelled of
m