By Sempad Shahnazarian

Chapter Eight (Continued)

  Shaking with anger, the Captain kept looking at him with disbelief. He immediately called the guard who was standing by the door with rifle and fixed bayonet and ordered him to take Sempad to jail; a vacant house overlooking the hilltop. The ground floor was a stable with no animals in it. The second floor consisted of a single room, his cell.

  He sat by the window listening to the monotonous footsteps of the guard, down below, and watching the sea that extended to the distant horizon. He could not sleep at all that night. He tried to concentrate on reading Spinoza’s Ethique, which he always had with him, but he couldn’t do much. He was worried.

  In the morning, a boy happened to pass by and he noticed the guard, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, walking back and forth in front of the house. He was surprised. He stood there and looked around. He looked at the guard and at the house and then saw Sempad sitting at the window.

  He instinctively let out a scream: “Daskalos! Teacher!”

  He clenched his tiny fist, knowing full well what had happened. He shook with anger and ran down the maze of streets with his voice ringing and calling the children to the hilltop. In no time, they were all assembled there. They were sad and angry. Vasso, approached the house, looked at him with tears in her eyes. She then turned to the group and began to conduct the “concert.”

   The guard was infuriated and rushed over to the children and dispersed them.

   There was only the little girl, Vasso, standing at the corner with her eyes looking toward the jail window, then, for a long moment lowered he head and wiping her tears with the back of her tiny hand she slowly walked away and disappeared.

  That night he was sitting by the window, thinking about the recent letter he had received from his classmate in Constantinople. In this letter, he had given a vivid account of what was actually happening in Van, Moush, Sassoun, Erzeroum and elsewhere. The government had gone back to its older policy of oppression. An ominous situation was impending. In Constantinople, they had arrested some of the renowned writers, teachers and political leaders. He was plunged into gloomy thoughts, when he heard footsteps approaching. He jumped to his feet, alarmed, and to his great amazement saw the same two Armenian Majors coming to see him. They greeted him warmly and a short conversation began, while standing, as there were no chairs in the room.

 “A man and a little girl came over to see us.” the older Major said. “They told us you were in jail. They were very worried about you and wanted to know if we could do something about it. We came to tell you that you have nothing to worry about. This is going to be your last night here. You will be out tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, sir.” he said, almost crying with joy and gratitude.

  “Let’s see what kind of book you are reading.” the younger Major said, taking the book and looking at the cover: “You like philosophy?”

  “Very much.”

  “Where are you from, son?”

  “I was born in Moush. I am a Moushetzi.”

  They looked at one another with a smile and said in unison: “Abriss Moushetzi. Compliments to a person from Moush, and they left.”

  A warm current of relaxation ran through his being and he slept quietly until the clarion call, in the morning.

  At daybreak, he was let out of jail and went to his room. He was surprised to see that everybody was packing up to mobilize. 

  “Hurry up, Sempad!” one of his friends said. “We must move out of the village as soon as we can. English warships are expected to enter the Sea of Marmara at any time.”

  Hurriedly, he packed and ran out of the house to join his battery. They were already outside of the village, on the highway, waiting for the other batteries, so they could move on. He took his seat on the battery wagon. As it began to drizzle, the long line of guns with their munitions trucks started to move on when, suddenly, a tune coming from far away became louder and louder. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “There they are!” All of the children of Galigradia, boys and girls, were struggling along the muddy fields and trying to catch up to the long line of batteries to see their Daskalos, Sempad, for the last time. They kept singing, marching and waving their hands at their teacher! He signaled at them to go back home.

  They all yelled, excitedly: “Good-bye Daskalos.”

  A lone figure of a girl was left looking at the long line of guns and wiping her tears away and muttering: “Good-bye, Sempad, good-bye!”

  They took a position behind a ridge overlooking the coast. A group of high-ranking officers headed by a German Commander was studying the topography of the area to organize a mock battle against the imaginary enemy, who would be trying to land from their warships. Far ahead in the field an infantry battalion was digging in and waiting for the development. The cadets were being ordered by the officer-in-charge to aim the guns at the targets. To manipulate gun sights with regard to the range and the angle with the ground, “Turab zaviyessi.” Every time the order was given and executed the cadets had to raise their hands and the officer-in-charge would go around and mark down the results of his observations. He would, then, hand each of them a sheet of  paper  with some questions to answer concerning various phases of military science. The maneuver served also, among other things, as a test to see what the cadets had been learning, so far.

  Now, the order was given to fire. The battle began! The guns started roaring. The infantry began to come out of their holes and move on. Machine guns rattled and the small arms were in action.

  Sempad was standing behind his gun and was firing every now and then. His face was flushed with emotion and his nerves were taut as if he were fighting a real war. A moment later, the order came to change the positions of the guns. He was now in charge of the whole battery. He was the one who would give the orders to the artillerymen, knowing accurately where their infantry was deployed, and using his knowledge of attack and retreat under certain conditions.

  The officers were watching him in action with an expression of pleasant surprise on their faces. The maneuver continued all day. The officers had been carefully watching everything and everyone, jotting down their observations in their notebooks. The following day, at Davoud Pasha Kushlassi, the result of the examination was posted on the bulletin board. Four of the cadets passed the test and had become second lieutenants. Sempad was one of them.

  It was Friday, the Turkish Sabbath. He was stretched out on his bunk with his eyes raised to the ceiling with memories and thoughts crowding in on him. He was a lieutenant, now. No feelings of pride stirred within him. The battalion was in a state of alert and might be ordered to move on at any time.

  Ardashes Sarafian had also become a second lieutenant in an infantry division and was looking for Sempad. When he saw him lying on his bunk, he stopped and looked at him quizzically.

  “The English Warships have been pounding the Dardanelle’s fortifications very heavily, lately.” he said.

  “So I hear!” Sempad said in a daze.

  “That means we are nearly on our way there.”

  “I am not going! No! Never!” said Sempad in a barely audible voice. I am just going to walk out and stay out.” he said. “I’ll take a chance. You think I am crazy to stay out here and shed my blood for these criminals, the Turks. Do you know what has been going on, lately, in Moush, Van, Sassoun and the other provinces?  Slaughter! After taking the youth into the army or into the workers’ battalions, the government has released all of the criminals and the convicts from prisons. It has organized a gendarmery force and has assigned regular army units to wipe out all of the eastern vilayets of our people. Self-defense units have been organized haphazardly, here and there, against this inhuman genocide. After all, what kind of fighting forces can they organize without their youth?”

  Ardashes listened, in profound silence, to this dramatic cry and controlling his slowly mounting anger, he whispered: “Have you really made up your mind not to go?”

  “Really and truly!”

  “I’ll go with you.  I will...I’ve been thinking about that, all along, but I never dared to express it to anybody.”

  They kept looking at one another to measure the depth of their convictions and the degree of their determination.

  “When?” asked Ardashes.

  “Right now!” said Sempad.

  “Are we going to take anything with us besides our papers?”

  “Nothing at all.” answered Sempad.  After a moment of silence, he added: “Of course you have weighed the seriousness of our act. If we ever get caught running away, we will get bullets in our heads.”

  “I know that.  I have considered the danger...Let’s go!”

  Sempad got up and put on his cap and tied his short bayonet and pistol to his waist. Without attracting anybody’s attention, they walked out of the dormitory and down the stone steps into the slated courtyard.  There the soldiers were busy cleaning their rifles, guns and horses. They were getting ready for their orders to mobilize. They walked with self-confidence and dignity to the gate where two guards were standing on each side facing each other. The guards were so impressed by their composure and seriousness that they flung their rifles to attention and stood like two statues. Sempad and Ardashes returned the salute and walked out of the casern.

  Once out, they carefully scanned the surroundings and walked in a perfect military gait out of sight of the guards. They followed a meandering path behind bushes and shrubs until they reached the outlying quarter of Constantinople where civilians, soldiers and children were crowding the streets. Military police were their main concern. Many of them were seen questioning soldiers and checking their papers. They unhesitatingly walked passed them, returning their salutes and chatting, until they got to the Bridge of Galata.

 “Let’s go in one of these Greek restaurants and get something to eat.” Said Ardashes. They went in one and ordered some meat balls and two glasses of wine. They started to look at one another not knowing what to say.  They ate and drank half a glass each and again kept looking at one another in silence.

  “I am going to my room,” said Sempad.

  “I am too,” said Ardashes, with a gloomy face, adding: “Who knows? We may never see each other again!”

  “Don’t be silly...Cheer up!” said Sempad...Then they got up, paid the bill and parted.

  After strolling around for a while, Sempad decided to stop at an Armenian coffee house by the pier. This is where Moushetzi, Vanetzi and Keghetzi “Hamal’s laborers,” gathered every day after work.

  About ten unvarnished tables, dozens of chairs and a gas range were all they had. Hagop, the proprietor of the shop was an impressive looking old man. He was sitting at a table sipping coffee. On seeing him, he scrambled to his feet and exclaimed, excitedly: “Welcome! Welcome! Sempad...come, sit down here while I make you a cup of coffee. How is everything?”

  “All right, Hagop,” he answered. “Where is everybody?”

  “That’s a good question. Where is everybody? You have been in the army for over a year now and haven’t had a chance to stop here for a moment.  Lots of things have happened while you have been gone.” Then, trying to control his tears, he murmured in a mournful voice: “Last night, when everybody was here, as usual, after work, tired, hungry and dirty, three gendarmes entered. They ordered everyone to stand. They asked for their names and their birthplaces. They assembled all those who were born in Van, Moush, Sassoun and Keghi, and took them all to the police station.”

  Sempad was startled.

  “Come on, drink your coffee,” said Hagop. After a moment of silence, he added: “By the way, have you visited your school yet?”

  “No! Not yet! I just came from Davoud Pasha Kushlassi.”

  “Yes! Yes!” said Hagop. “Most of your teachers have been arrested and sent away to nobody knows where.” Getting up, excitedly, he said: “Let me fix you something to eat. You must be hungry.”

  “No! No! Hagop. I ‘m not hungry, besides I am on the way to my room.”

  At this time, a stranger dressed in Kurdish clothes walked in and sat at a table. He bent his head down and began to cry silently. It was a very moving sight but Hagop advised Sempad to remain cool and indifferent until he found out who he was. He prepared a cup of coffee for him and then sat down scrutinizing him in silence. With tearful eyes, the stranger looked at Hagop and muttered in a barely audible voice: “I have come from far away...Someone gave me your address...You are the only one who can help me.”

  “Where have you come from?” asked Hagop. The stranger hesitated a moment, then answered: “From Moush.” 

  “Moush?” exclaimed Hagop and looked at Sempad.

  “Yes!”

  Hagop was still suspicious as to his sincerity and kept looking at him with question, when the stranger pointing with fear at Sempad, asked:

  “Who is that soldier?”

  “He is from Moush, too.” said Hagop.

  “From Moush!” he exclaimed, overwhelmed with surprise.

  “Yes!” He is from the village of Khas Kiugh.” said Hagop.

  “So am I.”
 

  “I owe my safety to this attire and to my knowledge of the Kurdish language; My name is Beto...Beto Vartanian.”

  Sempad had followed their conversation carefully. At the mention of his name, he jumped to his feet, exclaiming: “Beto!  Beto!...I am Sempad!”

  “Sempad?” He was on the verge of fainting.