Gardens of Water (2 page)

“
Te
ekkür ederim,
” Sinan said when the stranger handed him his son.

“Bir
ey de
il.”

WHEN THE FERRY DOCKED
in their suburb of Gölcük three hours later,
smail wouldn’t let go of the railing. Sinan touched the top of
smail’s head, and reminded him of the gifts he would receive after the ceremony. He tickled
smail’s armpits and tugged on his earlobe, which didn’t earn him the usual dimpled smile, much less a loosening of the boy’s white-knuckled grip. A few women, shuffling toward the exit, smiled in sympathy. The man who had carried
smail on his shoulders slid a one-million-lira note into the pocket of the boy’s white satin vest.

“What’s your name?” the man said.

“
smail.”

“
smail what?” the man said.

“
smail Ba
io
lu.”

“That’s a fine name. A strong man’s name.” The man winked at Sinan. “Can’t stay a boy forever,” he said.

Sinan thought the man was scolding him for
smail’s age—nine, at least a year too old for the
sünnet
—but the man’s smile betrayed nothing but generosity.

When the deck was cleared of people, Sinan touched his son’s hand and felt the boy’s fingers stiffen. “We have to go,” he said.