insolent toward my Enishte as he continued his endless recital—I’d stand up。
Affecting all the while the demeanor of an attentive disciple； quite enthralled
and quite lost in thought； in order to demonstrate how intent I was upon my
Enishte’s story； I’d begin pacing in the room with a preoccupied air； before
approaching that suspicious black spot on the wall。
When I failed to find Shekure’s eye nesting in what I had taken to be a
peephole； I’d be overe by disappointment； and then by a strange feeling of
loneliness； by the impatience of a man uncertain where to turn next。
Now and then； I’d experience such an abrupt and intense feeling that
Shekure was watching me； I’d be so absolutely convinced I was within her
gaze； that I’d start posing like a man trying to show he was wiser； stronger and
more capable than he really was so as to impress the woman he loved。 Later；
I’d fantasize that Shekure and her boys were paring me with her
husband—the boys’ missing father—before my mind would focus again upon
whichever variety of famous Veian illustrator about whose painting
techniques my Enishte was waxing philosophic at the moment。 I longed to be
like these newly famed painters solely because Shekure had heard so much
about them from her father； illustrators who had earned their renown—n