Page 3 - My FlipBook

The first and second men are laughing as they walk away. They do not believe. But I,
Mavi Fare, believe. Or, at least, I really want to believe. A flying carpet! Or a piece of a
flying carpet. This means he is bringing a small flying carpet. Imagine that! A carpet
that is too small for a man to use, but just the right size for a mouse. Just the right size
for a mouse to use to escape from the women in shawls, the men with brooms, and the
cats. Fromm the many cats outside who want to eat me.

--

The next day, the first and second men are waiting for the third man, the greyer, thinner
man, to return with his small flying carpet. I am also waiting. I am hiding alongside the
edge of the mosque, half inside a cracked piece of blue and white tile, where I blend in.

I must interrupt the sacred words to explain about these marvelous tiles to those of you
who have never and might never see them firsthand in Istanbul. Not solely for the little
mouse children, but also for the grown up mice who might be using their big ears to hear
this story, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Istanbul is far away and much of it was built many years ago, but the blue Mosque and
these very tiles have, like the story you are hearing, well stood the test of time. And they
are just as beautiful today as they were when Mavi Fare wrote his story. They are white
with lovely and intertwined turquoise tulips. The tulips are surrounded by just as lovely
green leaves. The tiles match each other perfectly, with only a small thin white line of
mortar showing where the two tiles connect. They are truly magnificent. I have seen
them with my own eyes. Now I continue in Mavi Fare’s own words…

The women in shawls and the men cannot see me, but the large, striped cat on the
windowsill looks down and sees me. Fortunately, he is outside and the window is
covered with a wooden shutter with carved openings that are too small for him to get
through.

“Mav-eee Far-eee,” he purrs. “Mav-eee Far-eee. Come outside and play with us. We do
not want to eat you. The many, many friendly cats only want to talk to you and play with
you and then we will let you come back into the mosque to rest. It will be fun.” Not a
word of it is true. He wants to eat me.

Suddenly a man turns to the cat and hisses. The cat, startled, more falls than leaps from
the windowsill. I hear him land softly on the ground. I can still hear him purring, “Mavi
Fare, I am still outside if you want to come out to playyy. You can easily get out through
the holes in the shutters.” I say nothing back. I know if I let out even the smallest squeak
the women in shawls will scream.

Again I interrupt. The ‘shutters’, though Mavi Fare’s own word, does not do these
exquisite wooden artifacts justice. I will not take the time to describe them here, but,
again, you must see them with your own eyes. Perhaps, if you are a good and lucky little