Honor (9781101606148) Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    â€˜My daughter, this child will remain a boy for a long time and he will grow up only when he has reached mid-life. He will mature very late.’
    Pembe gasped. She had the distinct impression that the woman was about to give away a secret, something she wasn’t supposed to reveal.
    â€˜Some children are like the Euphrates, so fast, so rowdy. Their parents cannot catch up with them. I’m afraid your son will break your heart to pieces.’
    The words fell between them like a stone hurled from out of nowhere.
    â€˜But that’s not what I asked you,’ Pembe said, a bit tensely. ‘Have you thought of a name for him?’
    â€˜Yes, I have. There are two names that might suit him well, depending on what you expect. One is Saalim. Once upon a time there was such a sultan. He was a poet and a fine musician to boot. May your son, too, learn to appreciate beauty should he be given this name.’
    â€˜And the other?’ Pembe held her breath with anticipation. Even the boy seemed interested in the conversation now.
    â€˜The second is the name of the great commander who always marched in front of his soldiers, fought like a tiger, won every battle, destroyed all his enemies, conquered land after land, united the East and the West, the sunrise and the sunset, and was still hungry for more. May your son, too, be invincible and strong-willed, and preside over other men should he be named after him.’
    â€˜This one is better,’ said Pembe, her face brightening up.
    â€˜Well, then, you are done with me.’
    With that, the old woman grabbed her staff, and started to walk away down the road with a surprisingly agile gait. It took Pembe a few seconds to collect her thoughts before she ran after her.
    â€˜But what is it?’
    â€˜What is what?’ The woman turned and studied her – as if she had forgotten who she was.
    â€˜The name! You didn’t tell me what it was.’
    â€˜Oh! It is Askander.’
    â€˜Askander . . . Askander . . .’ Pembe repeated with delight.
    When they returned to Istanbul the boy was registered at the office of the local registrar. Though several years late, with a lot of pleading and a substantial bribe, his existence was legally accounted for. The name written on his card when he started school was Iskender Toprak.
    â€˜A name worthy of a world leader,’ Pembe said. By then she had learned who Alexander the Great was.
    So it was that her first child, the apple of her eye, would become Askander in Kurdish and Iskender in Turkish. When the family immigrated to London, to the children and teachers in his school, he was Alex – and this was the name he would be known by in Shrewsbury Prison, by convicts and guards alike.

A Prince in the Tree
    Istanbul, 1969
    The spring when he was not yet seven, Iskender ran away from a man whom he had never seen before but had heard much about. Although the man was different from what he had imagined, this made him no less frightening. He had thick-rimmed glasses that slid down his nose, an unlit cigarette between his lips and a large leather bag that was rumoured to contain sharp instruments and a piece of skin from each of his victims.
    At the sight of him, Iskender felt a bolt of fear shoot along his spine. He spilled the cranberry sherbet in his hand, red drops trickling on to his white shirt, like blood on snow. He tried to wipe off the stain, first with his bare hands, then with the hem of his cape. It was no use. His beautiful costume was ruined.
    Stain or no stain, he was still a prince in his long silvery cape and his cap studded with sparkling beads, carrying a sceptre so polished it was almost translucent. Throughout the afternoon he had sat in a high chair like a nobleman inspecting his lands – though being a bit short for his age all chairs were high for him. To his left were four boys, older and taller but similarly attired. As if sizing