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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第60部分

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forgetting his worries and troubles and surrendering to the affectionate hands 
and gentle banter of a barber for a prenuptial shave and haircut? The barber’s; 
where my feet took me; was located near the market; on the street of the run…
down house in Aksaray; which my late Enishte; my aunt and fair Shekure had 
quitted years after our childhood。 This was the barber I’d faced five days ago; 
my first day back。 When I entered he embraced me and as any good Istanbul 
barber  would  do;  rather  than  asking  where  the  last  dozen  years  had  gone; 
launched  into  the  latest  neighborhood  gossip;  concluding  the  conversation 
with  an  allusion  to  the  place  we  would  all  go  at  the  end  of  this  meaningful 
journey called life。 
The master barber had aged。 The straight…edged razor he held in his freckled 
hand trembled as he made it dance across my cheek。 He’d given himself over 
to  drinking  and  had  taken  on  a  pink…plexioned;  full…lipped;  green…eyed 
boy…apprentice—who  looked  upon  his  master  with  awe。  pared  with 
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twelve  years  ago;  the  shop  was  cleaner  and  more  orderly。  After  filling  the 
hanging  basin;  which  hung  from  the  ceiling  on  a  new  chain;  with  boiling 
water; he carefully washed my hair and face with water from the brass faucet 
at the bottom of the basin。 The old broad basins were newly tinned with no 
signs  of  rust;  the  heating  braziers  were  clean;  and  the  agate…handled  razors 
were sharp。 He wore an immaculate silk waistcoat; something he was loath to 
wear twelve years ago。 I assumed that the elegant apprentice; tall for his age 
and of slender build; had helped bring some order to the shop and its owner; 
and surrendering myself to the soapy; rose…scented and steamy pleasures of a 
shave;  I  couldn’t  help  thinking  how  marriage  not  only  brought  new  vitality 
and prosperity to a bachelor’s home; but to his work and his shop as well。 
I’m not certain how much time had passed。 I melted into the warmth of 
the brazier that gently heated the small shop and the barber’s adept fingers。 
With  life  having  suddenly  presented  me  the  greatest  of  gifts  today;  as  if  for 
free;  and  after  so  much  suffering;  I  felt  a  profound  thanks  toward  exalted 
Allah。  I  felt  an  intense  curiosity;  wondering  out  of  what  mysterious  balance 
this world of His had emerged; and I felt sadness and pity for Enishte; who lay 
dead in the house where; a while later; I would bee master。 I was readying 
myself to spring into action when there was a motion at the always…open 
door of the barbershop: Shevket! 
Flustered; but with his usual self…confidence; he held out a piece of paper。 
Unable to speak and expecting the worst; my insides were chilled as if by an icy 
draft as I read: 
 
If there isn’t going to be a bride’s procession; I’m not getting married—Shekure。 
 
Grabbing Shevket by the arm; I lifted him onto my lap。 I would’ve liked to 
have responded to my dear Shekure by writing; “As you wish; my love!” but 
what would pen and ink be doing in the shop of an illiterate barber? So; with 
a  calculated  reserve;  I  whispered  my  response  into  the  boy’s  ear:  “All  right。” 
Still whispering; I asked him how his grandfather was doing。 
“He’s sleeping。” 
I now sense that Shevket; the barber and even you are suspicious about me 
and  my  Enishte’s  death  (Shevket;  of  course;  suspects  other  things  as  well)。 
What a pity! I forced a kiss upon him; and he quickly left; displeased。 During 
the wedding; dressed in his holiday clothes; he glared at me with hostility from 
a distance。 
220 
 
Since Shekure wouldn’t be leaving her father’s house for mine; and I would 
be moving into the paternal home as bridegroom; the bridal procession was 
only fitting。 Naturally; I was in no position to bedeck my wealthy friends and 
relatives and have them wait at Shekure’s front gate mounted on their horses 
as  others  might  have  done。  Even  so;  I  invited  two  of  my  childhood  friends 
whom  I’d  run  into  during  my  six  days  back  in  Istanbul  (one  had  bee  a 
clerk like myself and the other was running a bath house) as well as my dear 
barber; whose eyes had watered as he wished me happiness during my shave 
and haircut。 Mounted upon my white horse; which I’d been riding that first 
day; I knocked at my beloved Shekure’s gate as if poised to take her to another 
house and another life。 
To  Hayriye;  who  opened  the  gate;  I  presented  a  generous  tip。  Shekure; 
dressed in a bright…red wedding gown with pink bridal streamers flowing from 
her  hair  to  her  feet;  emerged  amid  cries;  sobs;  sighs  (a  woman  scolded  the 
children);  outbursts;  and  shouts  of  “May  God  protect  her;”  and  gracefully 
mounted  a  second  white  horse  which  we’d  brought  with  us。  As  a  hand…
drummer and shrill zurna piper; kindly arranged by the barber for me at the 
last  minute;  began  to  play  a  slow  bride’s  melody;  our  poor;  melancholy;  yet 
proud procession set out on its way。 
As our horses began to saunter; I understood that Shekure; with her usual 
cunning; had arranged this spectacle for the sake of safeguarding the nuptials。 
Our procession; having announced our wedding to the entire neighborhood; 
even if only at the last moment; had essentially secured everyone’s approval; 
thereby  neutralizing  any  future  objections  to  our  marriage。  Nevertheless; 
announcing  that  we  were  on  the  verge  of  marriage;  and  having  a  public 
wedding—as  if  to  challenge  our  enemies;  Shekure’s  former  husband  and  his 
family—further endangered the whole affair。 Had it been left to me; I’d have 
held  the  ceremony  in  secret;  without  telling  a  soul;  without  a  wedding 
celebration; I’d have preferred being her husband first and defending the 
marriage afterward。 
I led the parade astride my fickle white fairy…tale horse; and as we moved 
through the neighborhood; I nervously watched for Hasan and his men; whom 
I  expected  to  ambush  us  from  an  alleyway  or  a  shadowy  courtyard  gate。  I 
noticed  how  young  men;  the  elders  of  the  neighborhood  and  strangers 
stopped  and  waved  from  door  fronts;  without  pletely  understanding  all 
that was transpiring。 In the small market area we’d unintentionally entered; I 
figured out that Shekure had masterfully activated her grapevine; and that her 
divorce   and   marriage   to   me   was   quickly   winning   acceptance   in   the 
221 
 
neighborhood。 This was evident from the excitement of the fruit…and…vegetable 
seller;  who  without  leaving  his  colorful  quinces;  carrots  and  apples  for  too 
long; joined us for a few strides shouting “Praise be to God; may He protect 
you  both;”  and  from  the  smile  of  the  woeful  shopkeeper  and  from  the 
approving glances of the baker; who was having his apprentice scrape away the 
burnt residue in his pans。 Still; I was anxious; maintaining my vigil against a 
sudden raid; or even a word of vulgar heckling。 For this reason; I wasn’t at all 
disturbed by the motion of the crowd of money…seeking children that had 
formed  behind  us  as  we  left  the  bazaar。  I  understood  from  the  smiles  of 
women I glimpsed behind windows; bars and shutters that the enthusiasm of 
this noisy throng of children protected and supported us。 
As  I  gazed  at  the  road  along  which  we’d  advanced  and  were  now;  thank 
God;  finally  winding  our  way  back  toward  the  house;  my  heart  was  with 
Shekure and her sorrow。 Actually; it wasn’t her misfortune in having to wed 
within a day of her father’s murder that saddened me; it was that the wedding 
was  so  unadorned  and  meager。  My  dear  Shekure  was  worthy  of  horses  with 
silver reins and ornamented saddles; mounted riders outfitted in sable and silk 
with gold embroidery; and hundreds of carriages laden with gifts and dowry; 
she deserved to lead an endless procession of pasha’s daughters; sultans and 
carriages  full  of  elderly  harem  women  chattering  about  the  extravagances  of 
days bygone。 But Shekure’s wedding lacked even the four pole bearers to hold 
aloft  the  red  silk  canopy  that  ordinarily  protected  rich  maidens  from  prying 
eyes;  for  that  matter;  there  wasn’t  even  one  servant  to  lead  the  procession 
bearing large wedding candles and tree…shaped decorations ornamented with 
fruit; gold; silver leaf and polished stones。 More than embarrassment; I felt a 
sadness that threatened to fill my eyes with tears each time the disrespectful 
hand…drum and zurna players simply stopped playing when our procession got 
swallowed up in crowds of market…goers or servants fetching water from the 
fountain in the square because we had no one clearing the way with shouts of 
“Here es the bride。” As we were nearing the house; I mustered the courage 
to turn in my saddle and gaze at her; and was relieved that beneath her pink 
bride’s  tinsel  and  red  veil;  far  from  being  saddened  by  all  these  pitiful 
shortings;  she  seemed  hearten

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