hing navy blue so it would look richer！ We’d both forgotten that I’d
actually given him credence； by allowing “But no one else is qualified to do
this work；” and we embraced each other anyway； sobbing once more。 Later；
Olive gave me a friendly and respectful look before hugging me—a man who
knows how to embrace is a good man—and these gestures so pleased me that
I was reminded how of all the workshop artists； he was the one who most
believed in my book。
On the stairs of the courtyard gate I found myself beside Head Illuminator
Master Osman。 We were both at a loss for words； a strange and tense
moment。 One of the deceased’s brothers began to cry and sob； and someone
pompously shouted； “God is great。”
“To which cemetery？” Master Osman asked me for the sake of asking
something。
To respond “I don’t know” seemed hostile for some reason。 Flustered； and
without thinking； I asked the same question of the man standing next to me
on the stairs； “To which cemetery？ The one by the Edirne Gate？”
“Eyüp；” said an ill…tempered； bearded and young dolt。
“Eyüp；” I said turning to the master； but he’d heard what the ill…tempered
dolt had said anyway。 Then； he looked at me as if to say； “I understand” in a
way that let me know he didn’t want our encounter to last a moment longer
than it already had。
Without mentioning my influence on Our Sultan’s growing interest in
Frankish styles of painting； Master Osman was of course annoyed that Our
Sultan had ordered me to oversee the writing out； embellishment and
illustration of the