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while everyone else cried； he intensified his oration without a blink as if to
chastise the congregation。 In all probability； the gardeners； royal pages； halva
makers； riffraff and clerics like himself became his lackeys because they
enjoyed the tongue lashing。 Well； this man was no dog after all； no sir； he was
a human being—to be human is to err—and before those enthralled crowds；
he lost himself when he saw that intimidating throngs of people was as
pleasurable as bringing them to tears。 When he understood that there was
much more bread to be made in this new venture； he went over the top and
had the nerve to say the following：
“The sole reason for rising prices； plague and military defeat lies in our
forgetting the Islam of the time of our Glorious Prophet and falling sway to
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falsehoods。 Was the Prophet’s birth epic read in memory of the dead back
then？ Was the fortieth…day ceremony performed； where sweets like halva and
fried dough are offered to honor the dead？ When Muhammad lived； was the
Glorious Koran recited melodically； like a song？ Were the prayers called
haughtily and pompously to show how close one’s Arabic was to an Arab’s？
Was there such a thing as reciting the call to prayer coyly； with the flourish of
a man imitating a woman？ Today； people plead before gravesites； begging for
amends。 They hope for the intervention of the dead on their behalf。 They visit
the tombs of saints and worship at graves like pagans before pieces of stone。
They tie votive pieces of cloth everywhere； and make promises of sacrifice in
return for atonement。 Were there dervish sectarians who spread such beliefs in
Muhammad’s time？ Ibn Arabi； the intellectual mentor of these sectarians；
became a sinner by swearing that the infidel Pharaoh had died a believer。
These dervishes； the Mevlevis； the Halvetis； the Kalenderis and those who sing
the Koran to musical acpaniment or justify dancing with children and
juveniles by saying ”we pray together anyway； why not？“ are all kaffirs。 Dervish
lodges ought to be destroyed； their foundations excavated to a depth of seven
ells and the collected earth cast into the sea。 Only then might ritual prayers be
performed there again。”
I heard tell that this Husret Hoja； taking matters even further； declared with
spittle flying from his mouth； “Ah； my devoted believers！ The drinking of
coffee is an absolute sin！ Our Glorious Prophet did not partake of coffee
because he knew it dulled the intellect； caused ulcers； hernia and sterility； he
understood that coffee was nothing but the Devil’s ruse。 Coffeehouses are
places where pleasure…seekers and wealthy gadabouts sit knee…to…knee；
involving themselves in all sorts of vulgar behavior； in fact； even before the
dervish houses are closed； coffeehouses ought to be banned。 Do the poor have
enough money to drink coffee？ Men frequent these places； bee besotted
with coffee and lose control of their mental faculties to the point that they
actually listen to and believe what dogs and mongrels have to say。 But those
who curse me and our religion； it is they who are the true mongrels。”
With your permission； I’d like to respond to this last ment by the
esteemed cleric。 Of course； it is mon knowledge that hajis； hojas； clerics；
and preachers despise us dogs。 In my opinion； the whole matter concerns our
revered Prophet Muhammad； peace and blessings be upon him； who cut off a
piece of his robe upon which a cat lay sleeping rather than wake the beast。 By
pointing out this affection shown to the cat； which has incidentally been
denied to us dogs； and due to our eternal feud with this feline beast； which
even the stupidest of men recognizes as an ingrate； people have tried to
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intimate that the Prophet himself disliked dogs。 They’re convinced that we’ll
defile those who have performed ritual ablutions； and the result of this
erroneous and slanderous belief is that we’ve been barred from mosques for
centuries and have suffered beatings in their courtyards from broomstick…
wielding caretakers。
Allow me to remind you of “The Cave；” the most beautiful of the Koran’s
chapters。 I’m reminding you not because I suspect there may be those who
never read the Koran among us in this good coffeehouse； but because I want
to refresh your memories： This chapter recounts the story of the seven youths
who grow tired of living among pagans and take refuge in a cave where they
enter a deep sleep。 Allah then seals their ears and causes them to doze off for
exactly three hundred and nine years。 When they awake； they learn just how
many years have passed only after one of them enters the society of men and
tries to spend an outdated silver coin。 All of them are stunned to learn what
has happened。 This chapter subtly describes man’s attachment to Allah； His
miracles； the transitory nature of time and the pleasure of deep sleep； and
though it’s not my place； allow me to remind you of the eighteenth verse；
which makes mention of a dog resting at the mouth of this cave where the
seven youths have fallen asleep。 Obviously； anyone would be proud to appear
in the Koran。 As a dog； I take pride in this chapter； and through it I intend to
bring the Erzurumis； who refer to their enemies as dirty mongrels； to their
senses。
So then； what’s the actual reason for this animosity toward dogs？ Why do
you persist in saying that dogs are impure； and cleaning and purifying your
homes from top to bottom if a dog happens to enter？ Why do you believe that
those who touch us spoil their ablutions？ If your caftan brushes against our
damp fur； why do you insist on washing that caftan seven times like a frenzied
woman？ Only tinsmiths could be responsible for the slander that a pot licked
by a dog must be thrown away or retinned。 Or perhaps； yes； cats…
When people left their villages for the sedentary life of the city； shepherd
dogs remained in the provinces； that’s when rumors of the filthiness of dogs
like me began to spread。 Yet before the advent of Islam； two of the twelve
months of the year were “months of the dog。” Now； however； a dog is
considered a bad omen。 I don’t want to burden you with my own problems；
my dear friends who have e to hear a story and ponder its moral—to be
honest； my anger arises out of the esteemed cleric’s attacks upon our
coffeehouses。
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What would you think if I said that this Husret of Erzurum was of dubious
birth？ But they’ve also said of me； “What kind of dog do you think you are？
You’re attacking the venerable cleric because your master is a picture…hanging
storyteller who tells tales at a coffeehouse and you want to protect him。 Go
on； scat！” God forbid； I’m not denigrating anyone。 But I’m a great admirer of
our coffeehouses。 You know； I have no problem with the fact that my portrait
was drawn on such cheap paper or that I’m a four…legged beast； but I do regret
that I can’t sit down like a man and have a cup of coffee with you。 We’d die
for our coffee and our coffeehouses—what’s this？ See； my master is pouring
coffee for me from a small coffeepot。 A picture can’t drink coffee； you say？
Please！ See for yourselves； this dog is happily lapping away。
Ah； yes； that hit the spot； it’s warmed me up； sharpened my sight and
quickened my thoughts。 Now listen to what I have to tell you： Besides bolts of
Chinese silks and Chinese pottery adorned with blue flowers； what did the
Veian Doge send to Nurhayat Sultan； the esteemed daughter of our
respected Sultan？ A soft and cuddly Veian she…dog with a coat of silk and
sable。 I heard that this bitch is so spoiled she has a red silk dress as well。 One of
our friends actually