By Sempad Shahnazarian

Chapter Eight (Continued)

  “Hush!” cautioned Hagop. “Control yourselves.  There are all kinds of people lurking around here.”

  Beto kept looking at Sempad’s uniform with amazement.

  “What is this?” he asked, pointing at the uniform. “Are you now a zabout, Turkish officer?”

  Hagop was amazed at this unexpected occurrence especially when Sempad told him the stranger was his cousin. While they were conversing, Hagop began preparing something for them to eat. He put three bowls of madzoun yogurt and three cups of coffee on the table.

  Beto was sobbing and wiping away his tears from his face. He then told the tragic story. “One day, the gendarmes announced that they were expecting an attack on the village. For the protection of the people, it was necessary for them to take refuge in some houses, barns and churches while they waited outside watching for the Kurds. Some innocently believed in that maneuver and crowded those places, while others took to the mountains, distrustful of their fiendish plan. Kurds, as well as gendarmes, surrounded the crowded barns, houses and churches and set fire to them. Screams and cries covered the entire village. In no time, everything was engulfed in flames and smoke. The Kurds and gendarmes fired their rifles at those attempting to escape the flaming conflagration. Beto said he had Kurdish clothes on and nobody, during the commotion, suspected him of being Armenian.

 “Beto! You know Mesrob, Kegham and Arshavir are in the United States,” said Sempad. “You do know that, don’t you?  How about my father, mother, grandmother and my aunt? How about my little brother Arsen and sister Satenik?”

  He bent his head in silence.

  “Hey, I am asking you! How about them?”

  He suddenly burst into tears. A moment afterward he stammered... “They were all killed on Shumlag Mountain, and Satenik was abducted by the gendarme captain and taken away somewhere around Adana. A week before this happened I told your father I was going to come to Constantinople to see you. Satenik sent you this as a remembrance.” He took a little packet out from his bosom and handed it to Sempad. He opened it. It was a carefully folded yazma, silk scarf...Her own scarf, rose-colored...

  He began to cry and covered it with kisses. Then with trembling fingers folded it over and put it in his pocket, next to his heart. After a long pause, he asked him: “What are your plans?”

  “To stay in Constantinople and work.”

   Poor Beto! thought Sempad. Stay here and work? Where? Doing what? Sempad got up and told him he would be right back. He told him that if any one should ask him where he’s from, he should say, Konia... He went to his room and came back with a suitcase, containing civilian clothes. He asked Hagop to let him sleep there for a couple of days. After giving him a little money he left and was on the way to his room, preoccupied with the difficulties that awaited Beto. He was nearly in the same fix but in more danger than his cousin.

  When he got to his room, he found Maria’s parlor open. He went in and sat comfortably on the lounge and waited for her. When she came in and found him sitting by the window, she screamed with joy and came to shake his hand with affection. “How are you, Sempad? When did you come?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “You look fine! You are rather impressive in your uniform.”

  “You mean you would rather see me wearing this uniform all the time?”

  “Oh, no! You are just as sweet in your uniform as you are in your civilian clothes.”

  “Thank you, Maria!”

  While she was in the kitchen preparing something to eat, he was looking outside at the conglomeration of frame houses all around, thinking about his dark future, and the gruesome story that Beto told. He unconsciously clenched his fists and uttered words of rage which never before came out of his mouth. His mind was in turmoil! Through sly and diabolical planning, the government had seen to it that his people should not be in a position to defend themselves. 

  They took the youth into the army then disarmed them and incorporated them with the workers’ battalions leaving the villages with the old men, women and children. Then an army of chetehs, gangsters, was organized by releasing all of the criminals from the prisons to take care of them. In spite of this policy, some provinces, namely Moush, Sassoun, Van, Shabin, Karehissar, Zeitoun and  Musa-Dagh... revolted to defend themselves and registered heroic acts, all in vain.

  He was submerged in these thoughts, when Maria called: “The table is ready, Sempad.” When he took his seat at the table, she looked at him in surprise and said: “What has happened to you? You seem to be overwhelmed with sorrow, and extremely worried.”

  “I have heard a lot of bad news, today.”

“So have I.” she said. “Vartkess and Zohrab have been arrested and sent away, God knows where! Can you imagine? Members of the Parliament being treated like that! Then changing the mood of the conversation, she said: “I have missed you so much, Sempad! You have been in the army for over a year now.”

  He looked at her with gratitude and lowered his head. Her face flushed and she looked at him with misty eyes.  She, then, flung her arms around his neck, pressed his face to her bosom and began kissing him frantically.  Something within him began to boil, sending hot currents through his entire body. His lips had never touched a woman’s lips yet. He was a virgin in every way. He knew of life only through novels, plays and poetry. He would close his eyes and converse with visionary beauties, soaring in space, perched on sailing clouds. He would read to them his own poems, enjoy the blue immensity studded with stars, and sing with them. To him, love was an impalpable force that makes man fly away from his earthly existence, in a world of vision and of luminous melodies... A moment afterward when they regained themselves, she said: “When are you going to go back, Sempad? Or, are you going back at all?” 

  “In forty-eight hours I have got to be there, or else!”

  He lied. He was not going there any more. They both became silent for a long while, then he said: “Don’t worry, Maria! Everything will be all right some day, I hope.”

  Then, taking his sister’s scarf from his pocket he unfolded it and displayed it for her to see.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “This is my sister’s scarf that she sent to me.”

  “Your sister’s?”

  “Yes, Satenik”

  He began to cry like a baby, stammering...all the while! “I met my cousin today at Hagop’s coffee house. He gave it to me.” He told her about what Beto had seen. She, too, began to cry. She stopped asking him any more questions. She had a full understanding of the situation in the vilayets far to the east of Constantinople.

  That afternoon, he walked down to their club, the headquarters of their political organization Dashnagtzoutune and that of the Hairenik Publishing Company. He went upstairs to the editor’s room. He saw a man sitting there at the table very dejected, staring into space. He told Sempad that, Zartarian (the chief editor), Varoujan, Khajag and other prominent writers had been arrested and sent away. The paper had been indefinitely suspended, and the club was not the way it used to be. Everything was in a chaotic state. Sempad stayed there a long moment, looked around, shuffled the old papers on the table, gazed at the man’s glassy eyes and left.

  Outside, in the street, he came upon some of his friends, who were in a hurry, and were afraid to stop and engage in conversation with him. He stopped at a third-class restaurant, sat at an unpainted wooden table, looked at the cook, and ordered some Halvah, sweet. The cook seemed to recognize him. His uniform made him smile mysteriously.

  A moment later, he walked down to Ketronagan Varjaran where he had studied for five years and graduated.  It was open. He entered the Dean’s office and to his surprise he saw a Turk, in civilian clothes, sitting at the desk, somewhat occupied with books and papers. Evidently impressed by Sempad’s uniform, he stood up and saluted him cordially and pointing to a chair, asked him to sit down. One of the teachers, who was occupying another table, surprised to see him in uniform, got up from his seat and introduced him to his colleague as one of his graduate students. He was very glad he had dropped in to see him. A moment later they accompanied him to the classrooms so that his uniform might become a source of inspiration for the younger ones.

  They were all new faces. They were Armenians, to be sure, but under a new Dean a Turk and new leadership.  He visited three classrooms, thanked his hosts for their courtesy, went through the courtyard and entered Krikor Loussavorich Church. There was absolute silence! He stood there for a moment as a last visitor, looked at the Crucifix and smiled bitterly at the theological ideas behind it.

  As he walked down the wharf he heard a cheerful melody coming out of one of the lowest Café Chantants of the neighborhood. He went in. It was a spacious room with a little stage. The air was heavy with the stench of liquor and cigarettes. Simple wooden tables were all around. The orchestra was composed of a clarinet, violin, oud,  piano and drum. They were playing an oriental melody. Some Italian, Greek and Turkish sailors were sitting around drinking. A Greek fisherman jumped to his feet upon seeing him and yelled joyfully: “Hello Daskalos! Come over here with us.”

  As he was hesitating, the fisherman tapped him on his back with his hand, saying: “I am from Galigradia.”

  “Galigradia?” Sempad exclaimed, with surprise.

  He introduced Sempad to his friends and began telling them of the beautiful work he had done with their children. They ordered him some wine and kept on chatting when, suddenly, a beautiful girl with only a fig-leaf cover, appeared on the stage. Cries of approval greeted her from every table. She walked quietly back and forth for a while and then began dancing. She contorted her body with all sorts of movements, shaking her full round breasts into a flutter and the curves of her shapely hips into an embracing, hugging and maddening cataclysm. Then with her hands clasped on the back of her head, standing erect, began to tremble as if uncontrollably calling to action everything she had. Screams of the utmost thrill filled the air. Some soldiers tried to rush onto the stage. There was excitement, uproar and turmoil. In spite of the Galigradian’s insistence to stay, Sempad got up, asked him to say hello to all the children back home, bade them all good-bye and left.

  When Maria opened the door for him to enter, she exclaimed nervously: “What happened to you?”

  “I just happened to stop at a Café Chantant. I met a friend there from Galigradia.”

  “Did you drink or dance or have fun?” she asked.

  “They ordered a glass of wine for me, but I didn’t drink it.”

  “Didn’t you, really?”

  “No, Maria! I did not. You know I don’t drink or dance. I am the same person now as I was before.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Have you decided, yet, what you are going to do?”

  “I am going to go back tomorrow.”

  A long silence reigned with a long mutual stare. Suddenly, her daughter whimpered in her sleep and she went to quiet her. She then came back and sat by him on the couch.

  “If you are having any trouble or difficulty don’t hesitate to call on me.” She said. “There is no more Moush for you, unfortunately, and no more parental care. What are you going to do after you come out of the service?”

  “I really don’t know. I’ll think about that when I cast this uniform away.”

  “I know you will always be thinking about your parents, your brother Arsen, your sister Satenik and all of your relatives. This chapter must be considered closed forever. You must, now, think about your future.”

  “I can’t think about my future, now. Who knows what may happen to me?”

  Taking his hand into hers she began to play with his fingers, unconsciously, and raising her eyes, whimpered: “You can never tell what is in store for you I hope they keep you around here.”

  “So do I,” he said looking into space for a moment. “I don’t want to wear this uniform any longer, I hate it!”

  “Do you really mean that?” she exclaimed. “When are you going back?”

  “I am not going back!” he said.

  “Really?” she burst out loudly.

  “I am not! I am here to stay, Maria!” he said, looking into her eyes to see her  reaction.

  “I am so glad to hear that! I am glad, but scared.!” Then she went on telling him what to do and what not to do. Never go out anymore. Never open the door to strangers or to anybody for that matter; her Turkish neighbors might be suspicious.

  “I am so glad, Sempad...it seems that my prayers have been answered.”

  Weeks and months passed and he never went out. He utilized his time by reading and writing. He translated Spinoza’s Ethique, that profound philosophical study, from French into Armenian. He also wrote some short stories, prose and poetry.

  One day Maria came in all excited and tearful, sat by him, on the couch, held his hand into hers and said: “Your friend Ardashes has been arrested and shot at the Merkez Commandanlik. His landlady told me.”

  He was shocked, as well as terrified.

  “You know what, Sempad? I am going to go around to see if I can find a minor’s certificate you could use. I know an old woman who is willing to see me about that. I might be able to get her sixteen year old son’s birth certificate. If I do, your name will be Garo. Still, you must be very careful not to go out, not to sit at the window and never open the door to anybody. Another thing I must tell you; groceries are hard to get and are so scarce that I am obliged to rent out a couple of rooms, on the first floor, to a mother and her children, a boy and a girl. The children go to school and the mother works as a cook. I hope you like the idea.”
 

  “That’s perfectly all right, Sempad. Don’t let that worry you, just be careful!”