40
I AM ESTHER
All of you； I know； are wondering what Shekure penned in that letter I
presented to Black。 As this was also a curiosity of mine； I learned everything
there was to know。 If you would； then； pretend you’re flipping back through
the pages of the story and let me tell you what occurred before I delivered that
letter。
Now； it’s getting on toward evening； I’ve retired to our house in the quaint
little Jeouth of the Golden Horn with my husband
Nesim； two old people huffing and puffing； trying to keep warm by feeding
logs into the stove。 Pay no mind to my calling myself “old。” When I load my
wares—items cheap and precious alike； certain to lure the ladies； rings；
earrings； necklaces and baubles—into the folds of silk handkerchiefs； gloves；
sheets and the colorful shirt cloth sent over in Portuguese ships； when I
shoulder that bundle； Esther’s a ladle and Istanbul’s a kettle； and there’s nary
a street I don’t visit。 There isn’t a word of gossip or letter that I haven’t carried
from one door to the next； and I’ve played matchmaker to half the maidens of
Istanbul； but I didn’t begin this recital to brag。 As I was saying； we were taking
our ease in the evening； and “rap； rap” someone was at the door。 I went and
opened it to discover Hayriye； that idiot slave girl； standing befo