“I’m not continuing with the book any longer。”
“What？” said Butterfly as his expression changed。
“There’s some kind of ill…fortune in it。 Our Sultan has cut off the funding。
You’re to tell Olive and Stork； as well。”
Perhaps he would have inquired further； but we found ourselves on the
slopes of the graveyard amid tightly spaced towering cypresses； high ferns and
tombstones。 As the great crowd encircled the grave site； my only clue that the
body was at that very moment being lowered into the grave was the increasing
intensity of the weeping and sobbing and the exclamations of bismillahi and
ala milleti Resulullah。
“Uncover his face pletely；” someone said。
They were removing the white shroud； and they must’ve been eye to eye
with the corpse if indeed there was an eye remaining in that smashed head。 I
was in the back and I couldn’t see anything。 I’d once gazed into the eyes of
Death； not at a grave site； in an entirely different place…
A memory： Thirty years ago； Our Sultan’s grandfather； Denizen of Paradise；
decided once and for all to take