The Stone Woman by Tariq Ali Page B

surroundings. Often I would see him walking towards the rocks, talking to himself. What was he thinking? What did he make of my family? Sometimes I would see him staring at my brothers, then turning his face away quickly to stop himself smiling lest I notice his pleasure. He was happy here. I could see that in his face, but I also knew that he missed his father and his sister. My mother suggested that I send a message to Dmitri, inviting him to bring Emineh here and to spend a few days with us so that his son could see him. I did not argue with her. I did as she asked.
    “Dear Dmitri”, I forced myself to write. “My father has suffered a stroke. Orhan’s presence is a great relief for him. I plan to stay here for the rest of the summer. Then I will return to Istanbul with my family and make plans for our son’s education and future. Orhan misses you and Emineh a great deal. My mother suggests that both of you come and visit us here. I think it is a good idea, provided, of course, that you expect nothing from me. Nilofer.”
    Our gardener’s son was despatched to Konya with this letter. My mother had raised another question with me that day. It was something I had been dreading, but had banished from my mind in the hope it would go away.
    “Nilofer,” she said in a deceptively friendly voice, “I have something to ask you.”
    I nodded.
    “Is Orhan circumcised?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “You lie, child. The maids who bathe him swear the opposite. The servants talk of nothing else.”
    I became silent and angry. When Orhan was born I had wanted him circumcised, but Dmitri had resisted. “It is a barbaric custom,” he had argued, “and I do not wish this punishment to be inflicted on my son.” I was so full of love in those early days that I could not deny him anything and I had acquiesced, though even then I had been uneasy. The memory of my weakness angered me now as I looked into my mother’s beautiful eyes.
    “It must be done, Nilofer. Your father’s faith and mine are agreed on the importance of this ritual. The sooner it happens the better. I have summoned Hasan from Istanbul.”
    I screamed. “No! He’s nearly ninety years old. What if his hand slips! He’s going to die soon, but why should he deprive my Orhan of his manhood? The boy is too old now, Mother. Can’t we spare him this torture?”
    To my amazement, Mother burst out laughing. “Do you think I would let that old goat near Orhan with a razor? It’s his grandson, Selim, who does the work now. Hasan has to come because he has been in the family all his life. His father used to shave Iskander’s grandfather and Hasan circumcised your father, uncles and brothers. He accompanied your father to Paris as the household barber. He would be very insulted and upset if we did not invite him to the ceremony. And remember something, Nilofer: a man is never too old for circumcision. When I was little my mother would tell me many stories of our forefathers who were not circumcised in Spain for fear the Catholics would find out they were Jews, but the moment they arrived in Istanbul, a barber was found to perform the ceremony. It was a matter of pride in those days.”
    I was relieved but unhappy. Tears poured down my cheeks. My mother’s slender, long fingers, the nails painted with henna, stroked my face gently. How I wished Mother had been a Christian, not a Jew! Then she might have supported me. We could have bribed the barber to pretend that Orhan had been circumcised. He was old enough to bathe himself now and I did not like the thought of young maids inspecting his body in the bath every day. It was not to be.
    The next day Hasan and his grandson arrived from Istanbul. Hasan had lost all his hair. He walked with a stoop and a thick stick, the bottom end of which was held together by a rusty iron rim. I received him in my mother’s reception room.
    “Look at you,” he croaked. “You produce a boy and fail to circumcise him! Did the Greek