"This was his favorite song. His
eyes squinting, his face became
fluid and small waves radiated
out to his chest. His lips
flattened out and quivered, a
butterfly fluttering over a
flower; sweat ran down his
forehead, he looked savage and
tender at the same time, a
warrior and a lover.

The song told of a door opening
and closing, of evenings
followed by dawn, of waiting
and of yearning. Never of
honor, never of revenge.

Pylos, he said.

How is it in jail, I asked

Good, he said. You make
friends. You wait. You have
something you wait for.

A woman? You don’t have a
wife, I said.

I have a son, he replied.

You have a woman that you

No, I do not have a woman that
I love. You do not love women,
you desire them. You respect
them for giving you sons. You
love your friend; you want to be
like him. You measure up
against him day and night. You
fight him, with him, for him,
you rape and kill with him. You
never betray your friend."

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buddies in Ottoman societies!

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