WHEN Father had first come to America, he must have felt that he was still in a hostile and threatening environment—after all, he could not speak the language—so he continued to behave in New York as he had among the Turks, guarding himself to be circumspect, always beyond criticism on the streets and in the marketplace, always ready with his smile of compliance. He’d learned to get by on his cleverness and never say anything that might be misinterpreted. He learned to survive by cunning, by guile, and by restraining his real reactions. He couldn’t afford to behave truly on the streets or in his store. He had to please and flatter his customers. A salesman has to sell himself before he can sell his goods. He preserved his life by pretending respect for what he feared and even despised. In Turkey, he’d learned what Anatolian Greeks learn: how it was necessary to be in order to survive.