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of dark hair on the back. ‗Ministry of Cultural Resources,‘ he said coldly. ‗I understand you do not have actual exchange arrangement with Turkish government to examine these materials. Is this true?‘
    ―‗It most certainly is not.‘ I produced for him a letter from the National Library, stating that I was to be permitted research rights in any of its divisions in Istanbul.
    ―‗Not good enough,‘ he said, tossing it down on my papers. ‗Maybe you will need to come with me.‘
    ―‗Where?‘ I stood up, feeling safer on my feet now, but hoping he would not take my rising as compliance.
    ―‗To police, if necessary.‘
    ―‗This is outrageous.‘ When in bureaucratic doubt, I had learned, raise your voice. ‗I am a doctoral candidate at Oxford University and a citizen of the United Kingdom. I registered with the university here the day I arrived and received this letter as proof of my status. I will not be questioned by the police—or by you.‘
    ―‗I see.‘ He smiled in a way that curled my stomach into a knot. I had read a little about Turkish prisons and their occasionally Western inmates, and my situation struck me as precarious, although I didn‘t understand what kind of trouble I could possibly be in. I hoped one of the shuffling librarians had heard me and would come in to quiet us down.
    Then I realized that they would certainly have been responsible for admitting this character, with his intimidating business card, into my presence. Perhaps he was actually someone important. He leaned forward. ‗Let me see what you are doing here. Move, please.‘
    ―I stepped aside, reluctantly, and he bent over my work, slapping shut my dictionaries to read their covers, still with that disquieting smile. He was a massive presence across the table, and I noticed he had an odd smell, like a cologne used not quite successfully to cover something disagreeable. At last he picked up the map I had been working over, his hands suddenly gentle, handling it almost tenderly. He looked at it as if he didn‘t need to examine it long to know what it was, although I thought that must be a bluff. ‗This is your archival material, yes?‘
    ―‗Yes,‘ I said angrily.

    ―‗This is very valuable possession of Turkish state. I do not believe that you will be needing it for foreign purposes. And this piece of paper, this little map, brings you whole way from your English university to Istanbul?‘
    ―I considered retorting that I had other business as well, to throw him off my scholar‘s track, but realized at once that this might invite further questioning. ‗Yes, in a nutshell.‘
    ―‗Nutshell?‘ he said, more mildly. ‗Well, I think you will find this temporarily confiscated. What a shame for foreign researcher.‘
    ―I boiled, standing there, so close to my solution, and felt thankful that I hadn‘t brought with me that morning any of my own careful copies of old maps of the Carpathians, which I‘d meant to start comparing to this map the next day. They were hidden in my suitcase at the hotel. ‗You have absolutely no right to confiscate material I‘ve already been given permission to work on,‘ I said, gritting my teeth. ‗I will certainly take this up with the National Library immediately. And with the British embassy. Anyway, what possible objection can you have to my studying these documents? They are obscure pieces of medieval history. They have nothing to do with the interests of the Turkish government, I‘m sure.‘
    ―The bureaucrat stood looking away from me, as if the spires of Hagia Sophia presented an interesting new angle he‘d never had occasion to see before. ‗It is for your own good,‘
    he said dispassionately. ‗Much better to let someone else work on that. Some other time.‘
    He remained quite still there, head turned toward the window, almost as if he wanted me to follow his gaze to something. I had a childish feeling that I shouldn‘t, because it might be a trick, so I