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empty house; occasionally leaning toward the candlestick; in the flickering
light of the dim candle; I y beloved’s angry
letters; the somersaults they turned trying to deceive me and their hip…
swinging right…to…left progression。 Abruptly; those shutters would open before
my eyes; and my beloved’s face and her sorrowful smile would appear。 And
when I saw her real face; I forgot all of those other faces whose sour…cherry
mouths had increasingly matured and ripened in my imagination。
In the middle of the night I lost myself in dreams of marriage: I had no
doubts about my love or that it was reciprocated—we were married in a state
of great contentment—but; my imaginary happiness; set in a house with a
staircase; was dashed when I couldn’t find appropriate work and began
arguing with my wife; unable to make her heed my words。
I knew I’d appropriated these ominous images from the section on the ills
of marriage in Gazzali’s The Revival of Religious Science; which I’d read during
my nights as a bachelor in Arabia; at the same time; I recalled that there was
actually advice on the benefits of marriage in that same section; though now I
could remember only two of these benefits: first; having my household kept in
order (there was no such order in my imagined house); second; being spared
the guilt of self…abuse and of dragging myself—an even deeper sense of guilt—
behind pimps leading me through dark alleyways to the lairs of prostitutes。
The thought of salvation at this late hour brought masturbation to mind。
With a simple…minded desire; and to rid my mind of this irrepressible urge; I
retired to a corner of the room; as was my wont; but after a while I realized I
couldn’t jack off—proof well enough that I’d fallen in love again after twelve
years!
This struck such excitement and fear into my heart that I walked around the
room nearly atremble like the flame of the candle。 If Shekure meant to present
herself at the window; then why this letter; which put the opposite belief into
play? Why did her father call for me? As I paced; I sensed that the door; wall
and squeaky floor; stuttering as I myself did; were trying to creak their
responses to my every question。
I looked at the picture I’d made years ago; which depicted Shirin stricken
with love upon gazing at Hüsrev’s image hanging from a branch。 It didn’t
59
embarrass me as it would each time it came to mind in subsequent years; nor
did it bring back my happy childhood memories。 Toward morning; my mind
had mastered the situation: By returning the picture; Shekure had made a
move in an amatory chess game she was masterfully luring me into。 I sat in
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