forget about sucever it is t. ”Listen,“ Eniso me, ”  artists of old, I sketc

    come to knoly om my  of Samarkand paper.“ I took tc and so Elegant.  terest and, leaning close to to study te  moonligers of S,” I said, “claimed t a miniaturist cy years to be able to truly depict t Alla t picture of a rue miniaturist  fifty-year period, but in the horse.”

    t expression on old me t ely absorbed in my horses.

    “try to make t mysterious, t unattainable  as ters did. to it. It’s unjust of to ration.”

    “I’m not sure t’s correct,” oo, ies and our o Alla was  we miginguish Good from Evil.”

    It e response.

    “Alla you and I,  being a Enis you a bes tan?”

    Silence.

    I wondered wing  of a sincere fear of Allah.

    e stopped at t sig ied  it oo late for t. I prayed to God to give me one more sign t tanding before me  only a dim-ted co an unredeemable disgrace.

    “Count off teps and dig,” I said.

    “t will you do?”

    “I’ll explain it all to Enisures.  ot ion,

    nots  ain you  inform on us.”

    “ is tained in?”

    “ty-five Venetian gold pieces inside an old ceramic pickle jar.”

    tian ducats made good sense, but  God ice, ed excitedly counting off teps in tion I indicated.

    t t moment. First of all, tian coins or anyt buried t come up roy us. I suddenly felt like embracing times did  t o dig. it templation, if you could call it t, lasted only a ime.

    Panicking, I grabbed a stone t lay beside till on