Lakhasly

The narrator recounts his brother Ali’s traditional circumcision ceremony, a spectacle orchestrated by their eccentric father. Thirty years prior, the father, adamant against a hospital procedure, declared Ali’s circumcision would occur publicly in the valley. A messenger was dispatched, and the ensuing celebration involved days of feasting, dancing, and drumming, fueled by the father's extensive preparations. The narrator describes the pre-ceremony tension, particularly Ali's childhood fear of the blade and his family’s attempts to fortify him. The day of the circumcision, the valley was packed, the event a horseshoe-shaped gathering of dancing and singing onlookers. The ritual involved a Sheikh chanting while lightly striking Ali's chest with a knife, a moment heightened by the father’s threat to shoot Ali if he blinked. Despite this pressure, and against the narrator’s refusal to carry out the threat, Ali remained stoic throughout the procedure. The aftermath depicts Ali's profuse bleeding, the father's worry at his son's unwavering stillness, and the narrator's eventual closing of Ali's eyes. The mother attributed Ali's apparent unconsciousness to the "evil eye," leaving the father heartbroken and in tears.

Well, this is how the image appears before me; 30 years and it has always come of its own accord with no permission from my side.
I was 25 years old, or perhaps 28, or ... I have no recollection of my age then, but it was between those years when the idea matured in my father's mind, so he approached me for an opinion:"Ali reached puberty and he must be circum-cised."
"Great, the hospital is close by and nowadays things are way better than before," I replied.
My father rose up, as if he had been shocked by demons, "What?!" he shouted "My son will
not go through all that while lying down under anaesthetic. I swear to Allah that my son will not be circumcised except in the middle of the valley and before all people."
It was such a firm decision; nobody could even negotiate. He stood up, and called, "Oh Masood, Oh Mas'ood."
"Yes, Uncle Ahmed, yes," Mas'ood replied.
"Mas'ood, go east until you reach the moun-tains, then go west until you reach the sea. Call for all those who know us. And don't you forget our relatives. Tell them that your uncle Ahmed Altihami, Abu Mansour, is saying Allah Allah', and his son Ali's circumcision ceremony will be held on Wednesday."
Mas'ood set off immediately and as soon as my father publicly announced the occasion with ten bullets fired out of his rusty rifle, the house and the entire village erupted in celebration. The day before the event, our house along with our close relatives houses filled with guests from all around. My father was happily dancing, moving from one house to another, welcoming everyone and slaughtering animals.
Our family was so worn out: the fire was going non-stop; blood was never dry; ghee and honey were constantly served, and I had no idea when exactly my father had begun to save for this occasion! I think it must have taken him a year or so to gather this number of animals, and to get the corn, the whole-wheat, the flour, the ghee, and the honey.
I forgot to tell you about the drums. They never rested except to start over again. We took the celebration, the drums and the dancing to our
uncles' and aunts' houses along with my father's extended family, in order to share the blessings of the event with them all. We danced for about eight to ten hours that day.
Another thing I forgot to tell you about my father was that he danced while walking, jog-ging, and even while sleeping.
Alshobra, The Night of Reveal:
I ran into my father -it had been a week and I only met him by chance - and he was exhaust-ed; you could tell from the look in his eyes, yet he tried to shoosh that with his amazing smile.
"Oh father, you must rest a little."
"Who said I was tired?"
"Your face."
"It is almost over, Mansour. Soon this whole
clamouring will be behind us, and I can rest then." His magical smile sharpened, and he left me.
It was 2:30 p.m. and the respected men had already had their lunch and napped. Only my father and I were burning under the boiling sun. I decided to leave everything and go home to see my mother and sisters.
I saw my mother at the door and kissed her forehead, and she kissed my chest. "Ali is taking a nap; don't you disturb him," she said.
Ali was sleeping on a small wooden armchair, in the middle of the sun's shade. His bare feet were lolling over the edge of the armchair, covered with henna, and he was shading his eyes with his left arm. I stopped, looking at him, then I thought evilly, I'm going to annoy him.I hit him on his chest with my hand, saying,
"The blade is here." He jumped as if a snake attacked him, and breathily said, "What ... what ... who?"
I laughed out loud and said, "It's me - Man-sour, not the circumcision practitioner!"
He swallowed his saliva and looked with accusing eyes towards my mother, who was more worried about the henna.
I told her, "Oh Mother, don't worry about the henna; Al's feet are already dark."
"This is Alshohra, and henna is tradition," she replied.
Ali was back to his armchair, but this time sat with his legs swinging, with my mother on the floor redoing the henna on his feet.
I began telling him about tomorrow - the
blade that was now so close. "Do you remem-ber, Ali? This blade was a nightmare, and they always scared us with it. Ever since we were very young children, we have been threatened with this blade. Whenever something hurt us, the answer was always: wait until you see the blade, then you will learn something about pain. When we cried because of something painful, they said to us: how about circumcision?! Anything that could scare us was only a reminder of the blade, and if we feared it, they warned us not to humiliate the family by crying on the day of circum-cision. So, Ali, here you are, about to overcome the threat that has been like a companion your entire life. The blade is ready, but don't you dare get scared or even blink an eye, otherwise my father will kill you."
"My son is a man, and he is not the type to close his eyes because he's afraid," my mother said.
After the afternoon prayer call, my father passed by and told everyone that they should come to the valley immediately after the prayer.
I ran to perform ablutions to get ready for the prayer. My mother helped Ali get ready; she covered his head with fragranced water; tied his turban; put some traditional herbs between his hair and the turban, and on top of that five jasmine circles; gave him his new kilt-towel, white jacket, and my father's sword; kissed him on the cheek and said, "May Allah protect you from all envious eyes."
The valley was crowded. I heard some people say that they had never attended such a cele-bration.
The drums were loud. The rifle bullets hurt our ears. People were divided: some watched, some danced. Those who watched were standing and made the shape of a horseshoe. By the closed part of the horseshoe stood those who sang loudly, and by the open part stood those who were dancing, going in and out. They performed our own traditional dance, while their backs were towards the mountains. The dance was so enthusiastic, with the whole body shaking in a light yet manly manner. I was next to Ali, dancing a little and resting a little until sun-set. The time when we danced was exhilarating with the drums, the shooting, the men's voices.
Certainly, none of this was for me, but for my brother.After dinner was served, my father fired ten bullets, shouting, "Today we will dance until morning." I had no idea how he had so much ammunition!
My mother ululated along with all the other women participating in such joy. Bullets littered the sky, making little stars that didn't last for long. It was as if night had turned to day, and no one could sleep.
The Last Day:
With the very first sunlight dawning over the mountains, everyone walked from our house to the valley, led by the drummers; everyone was behind them, running and singing:
'Oh, you who will be circumcised, there is no way out'
'Oh, you who will be circumcised, your request to
back out is meaningless'
My brother was with the front wave, covered with a white cloth and nothing else, and carrying the sword. I could not count his heartbeats then, but I was pretty sure that I could hear them in spite of all the noise.
When we reached the valley, everyone and everything fell silent; Ali appeared before the crowd. He stepped forward a little and turned to face the throng. He put his sword back in the scabbard; then he held it horizontally against his chest as if he were ready to pull it out again.
Ali raised the sword up to the back of his neck, his right hand on the grip and his left hand on the point, as if he were being crucified!
A Sheikh was shouting as loudly as he could,
"La la la ... the blade is here, ha ha ha... the blade is here," while hitting my brother's chest with the knife's fuller. I could see how sharp the blade was as it reflected the sun's rays. I won-dered, what if he mistakenly hits him with the blade instead?
"La la la ... the blade is here," right in Ali's ear with such a loud voice. Ali was firm, standing still, with not even a blink of an eye. I did not know that he was this brave. I had told him it was all right to blink while the Sheikh was shouting, but that it was essential not to do so when they officially started circumcising him. I was really worried that he would lose it even-tually, and all the effort he had put in would then mean nothing. I was incredibly anxious, and with those thoughts in mind my father
whispered into my ear, "Take the rifle and shoot three bullets over Ali's head. Tell him that there are three more bullets. If he blinks, they will go in his head; if he doesn't, then they will go over his head."
I refused without hesitation; it was the first time I had ever said "no" to my father in this way.
He had no time for arguing; therefore, he did it himself. Like a shot, he went and put the rifle on Ali's shoulder, shooting three bullets right next to his ear. The other ear was busy listening to the Sheikh's shouts. Ali's eyes were looking up, and the circumcision practitioner was holding the blade which was extremely sharp. I thought Ali was not conscious; he was not aware of his surroundings. I recalled my mother's statement:
"My son is a man, and he is not the type to close his eyes because he's afraid."
Moments later, blood was spilt, and Ali was dreadfully injured. My father was covering him with his new towel that was certainly not new anymore. Ali's eyes did not blink; they remained still pointing up, even when everything was over. My father shot the remainder of his bullets over Ali's head, and we carried him back home, singing the same songs again.
Ali was holding the sword the same way, and I was holding him from the right while my father held him from the left. Still no blinking.
Ali was bleeding profusely, and my father started to worry because Ali still hadn't blinked even when we reached home. We took him to the same armchair but there was no blinking. Thus, I cried and closed his eyes with my own hands.
My mother cried out, "An envious eye has killed my child."
My father approached Ali, touching his sweaty yet cold forehead, and his eyes were drowning in tears that resisted to letting go.