A letter from Black to Shekure

(An excerpt from Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red. Ch.15, pp.83-84)

My Dearest Shekure, as I too have for years now sustained myself through my dreams of one single person, I respectfully understand your waiting for your husband without considering another. What else could one expect from a woman of your stature besides honesty and virtue? My coming to visit your father for the sake of painting, however, does not amount to harassing you. This would never even cross my mind. I make no claim at having received a sign from you or any other encouragement. When your face appeared to me at the window like divine light, I considered it nothing but an act of God's grace. The pleasure of seeing your face is all I need. But ask me to keep my distance; tell me then, are you an angel that approaching you should be so terrifying? Listen to what I have to say, listen: I used to try to sleep watching the moonlight fall onto the naked mountains from remote and godforsaken caravansaries where nobody but a desperate han keeper and a few thugs fleeing the gallows lodged, and there, in the middle and of the night, listening to the howling of wolves even lonelier and more unfortunate than myself, I used to think that one day you would suddenly appear to me, just as you did at the window. Read closely: Now that I've returned to your father for the sake of the book, you've sent back the picture I made in my childhood. I know this is not a sign of your death but a sign that I've found your again. I saw one of your children, Orhan. That poor fahterless boy. One day I will become his father!