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