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down Archer’s Street which smelled dizzyingly of linden blossoms in the

spring； past the bakery where my master　would　buy　round　meat　pasties；　up

the hill lined with beggars and quince and chestnut trees； past the closed

shutters of the new market and the barber whom my master greeted each

morning；　alongside　the　empty　field　where　acrobats　would　set　up　their　tents　in

summer and perform； in front of the foul…smelling rooming houses for

bachelors； beneath moldy…smelling Byzantine arches； before Ibrahim Pasha’s

palace and the column made up of three coiling snakes； which I’d drawn

hundreds　of　times；　past　the　plane　tree；　which　we　depicted　a　different　way　each

time； emerging into the Hippodrome and under the chestnut and mulberry

trees wherein sparrows and magpies alighted and chirped madly in the

mornings。

The heavy door of the workshop was closed。 There was nobody at the

entrance or under the arched portico above。 I was able to look up only

momentarily at the shuttered small windows from which； as apprentices

stifled　by　boredom；　we　used　to　stare　at　the　trees；　before　I　was　accosted。

He had a shrill voice that clawed at one’s ears。 He said that the bloody

ruby…handled dagger in my hand belonged to him and that his ne