By Sempad Shahnazarian

Chapter Eleven (Continued)

  Ahmed kept on walking and didn’t seem to be suspicious. Sempad went directly to the old woman’s house. He knocked on the door and waited. She opened the door with a look of great surprise. She recognized him immediately. He could not speak Arabic but was able to get his ideas across to her with hand and eye gestures.  She understood that he wanted to come in the house but was undecided and just stood there scrutinizing him. The boy came, driving the cows home. He recognized him, right away, and shook his hands and invited him to come inside. He took the cows to the stable, closed the door and went up to the main floor. He tried to tell them in every way possible that he wanted to stay there overnight. They finally understood what he was trying to say and they gave him their consent. The boy was very excited and pleased. The old woman spread the blanket on the floor and all three of them laid down to sleep. The boy was in the middle. Sempad kept his equipment on, with his rifle alongside of him. She put out the light and everything was dark and quiet. He was engulfed in thoughts not only for the dangerous circumstance in which he put himself but for his entire life that surged within him like a stormy ocean.

  He woke up early in the morning, from a commotion outside. They all jumped up with terror in their eyes when they heard a man shouting: “One of our soldiers ran away last night. He must be hiding somewhere in the village. Has anyone seen a soldier around here?”

  Sempad recognized the voice of his Lieutenant and was, of course, alarmed. He saw him searching every house. He was approaching the house he was in, with his rifle pointed at the door. While he was talking with the head of the village using very crude language, he knocked on the door.

  The old woman who was terrified at the possibilities, opened the little window, and in a trembling voice asked: “Who is it?”

  “Do you have a soldier hiding in there?” asked the Lieutenant.

  She began to cry and mumbled something in Arabic.

  The head of the village said to him: “She is in mourning for her son who was killed a few days ago and has been crying ever since. She and her grandson live here alone.”

  During this conversation, the little boy was looking at Sempad with terror and at the same time he was following what was going on outside. His grandmother yelled at the Lieutenant with tears and emotion: “Go away from here! Go bring back my son, the father of this little boy!”

  People began muttering: “She isn’t that type. She is just a poor unfortunate woman.” The Lieutenant moved away and began to question the other neighbors Sempad and the boy looked at one another somewhat relieved...at least for the moment. Still filled with terror the woman held Sempad’s hand and led him to the darkest corner of the house behind the huge cereal container and told him to stay there and keep silent. The boy came over, looked at him, smiled and went away to drive out the cows.

  Sempad’s mind was still in turmoil. The possibilities of further danger and of hope crisscrossed one another. He had made up his mind not to flinch in front of any difficulties that might arise.

  At about noon, a woman came in and began talking with the grandmother. He could not see her face from where he was hiding and could not understand what they were saying. Soon, the woman began to grind something on the millstone. The continual hum filled the house and it made him think of his mother and how she would mill flour on the same type of millstone. The stranger was conversing with the old woman and milling at the same time. All of a sudden, Sempad’s throat became irritated and he let out a loud cough. The stranger stopped her milling and cocked her ears in suspense. He covered his mouth with his hand and struggled hard to stifle another one that was on its way. The moment she began to work again he roared out another cough followed by a sneeze. She stopped her work again and finally realized that she had heard the man for whom the officer was looking.

  A discussion began between the two women. He could not understand what they were talking about, of course, but judging by the fluctuations of their voices he had a fairly good idea.

  A moment after the woman had gone the old woman went over to him, irritated as well as scared, and said: “Why did you cough?” She expressed it by actually coughing. The stranger knew now that there was somebody hidden there and unless she paid her some money she would report it to the head of the village. Sempad told the old woman that when it got dark he would leave the house and no one will be in danger. She seemed satisfied.

  He remained in his hiding place all day, examining, calculating and exploring everything that awaited him. That night he kissed the boy and the woman’s hand, slung his rifle over his shoulder and left.

  It was raining...He walked around looking for shelter when he noticed something that looked like a doghouse, a conical shaped structure with a small hole for an entrance, at the edge of the village. In every Arabian village he had noticed these kinds of structures which were ovens for baking bread. He cautiously crawled in and placed himself on some ashes that were pushed away from the center. In the center was an earthen cauldron-like vessel stuck in the ground with pebbles at the bottom.  When Sempad crawled in he found the place to be as cold as it was outside. There was no trace of a fire. He settled down with his rifle along side him and fell asleep.

  He must have slept all night and all day. He remembered through a daze how a woman with a stack of bread in her apron was leaving. She instinctively stopped, turned around, looked at him tenderly and with a prayer on her lips handed him a loaf of the bread.

  He then began to think about the fire and smoke in the oven while he was asleep and was surprised that he stayed alive through this. This was going to be his second night there, when impulsively, he crawled out and began to walk in the dark under the blinking stars away from where his company was entrenched.

  He was behind the first line now. From the ruins of a building he heard some whispering. He approached it quietly, and through a crack in the wall he saw three soldiers talking. They had a pile of Holy articles in front of them, on the ground. He saw, under carefully covered candle light, gold and silver crosses, a golden staff, silver thurible, Holy vestments, a jeweled Bible and various other articles.
  One of the soldiers said: “If we take these to Nablus we can sell them and become very rich.”

  “Do you think we will be able to sell them?” another one asked.

  “Any Jew will buy them any time.” he answered.

  “That little room by the altar must contain a lot of valuable articles,” one said. “We were in such a hurry...”

  “What was the name of that town? Oh yes, I remember it. It is Bir ez Zeit. It is in 'No Man’s Land.'

  “I must not forget that name.” empad said to himself. Without having been noticed by the soldiers he withdrew from there and walked secretly all night long. He was alert to every little sound and movement.

  In the morning, the sky was clear and sunny. With rifle in hand, he advanced cautiously, hiding now and again behind bushes and shrubs, scanning the ground around him and crawling when it was necessary. He walked through a grove that was as quiet as a graveyard. He could now see Bir ez Zeit through the overhanging branches. As he came out of the grove he entered a clearing that extended as far as his destination. He was walking along with mixed emotions when he heard a voice calling: “Hey!”

  He looked around but did not see anybody. He waited a while then continued walking again. He heard another yell and with it a bullet whizzed past him. He stopped. A Turkish soldier came out from behind a clump of bushes and walked toward him and asked: “Where are you heading?”

 “To Bir ez Zeit!  To my company.”

  “Get back! You can’t go there. There is no one there.”

 Without any dispute he turned back. He was relaxed now...He could have been killed.

  After the guard disappeared, he changed his direction slightly to the west crouched down low and followed a natural barrier that extended as far as the village...his destination. Cautiously and fearfully, he approached the barrier and did some exploring...no soldiers! They had vacated the area. At the edge of the village, where the barrier ended, the ground had been bombarded and was completely pulverized. On the other side of the gully, there stood a house that was unharmed. He crossed the bombarded area and rushed into it completely disregarding any possible danger from inside.

  It was obviously a religious house. It had many religious pictures hanging on the walls. He examined the entire house, which was fully furnished. He was standing in front of a landscape painting and enjoying its beauty when he heard footsteps on the porch.

  I am doomed! he thought. He looked around to find some place to hide when he saw a Turkish soldier standing there looking at him with a puzzled look.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked.

  As Sempad was about to answer him the soldier said in an excited voice: “Get out of here quickly before the Sergeant gets here. He is on the porch now. Go out through the back door!”

  He was grateful to him for the warning and left the house quickly. He was out now, walking along the “No Man’s Land.”  He came upon the courtyard of a ruined house where an officer and two soldiers were scanning the enemy lines through a tripod mounted telescope. Everything was quiet. He saw a long line of trenches extending farther down and behind the ridge. He kept walking confidently along the line waving at the boys in the trenches where some were munching food, others were hunting lice, while others returned his salute. The line of trenches stopped where the ridge sunk into the valley. He followed a path that converged toward Bir ez  Zeit, over the hillside and the valley in “No Man’s Land.” 

  He was walking along overwhelmed, when he heard a voice calling: “Hey!”

  He saw two Turkish soldiers sitting behind a rock, looking at him. He hurried over to them.

  “Where are you going?” one of them asked him.

  “To Bir ez Zeit.”

  “Sit down! They might see you.” one of them said.

  “Who might see me?”

  “The English.” he said.

  “Where is the Chifte Karakol, the Double Sentinel?”

  “We are the Chifte Karakol. Beyond this point begins the “No Man’s Land.”

  He began telling them about the beautiful and precious things the soldiers had taken away from the church that stood in the center of the village. He told them that they were on their way to Nablus to sell them. He suggested that they all go there to see what could be found before the others came back and got the rest of the articles. Forgetting questioning him and arresting him, one of the sentinels got up and said to the other: “You stay here, we’ll be right back.”

  Everything was quiet on the front. When they began down the hillside, in a crouched position, the enemy machine guns began firing. Tumbling down and crawling ahead they finally reached the village and entered the church. While the sentinel was looking for something to take, Sempad stood at the entrance and kept looking at the altar from which the curtain had been torn. The Crucifix and the chandeliers were missing. The piano still stood there unharmed. From the courtyard, a stairway led him to the second floor that looked like a school. He entered the library and took a book entitled “Histoire de la Literature Française,” as a souvenir. 

 He came down the steps onto the courtyard and walked off the church premises toward the foot of the mountain which was, he was sure, occupied by the English. He came upon a barn and decided to hide there until it got dark. When it was dark, he got up shook the hay off his clothes and began climbing to the top of the mountain where there was an English artillery emplacement.

  The night was clear and bright. From the mountainside, far up from the valley, he could see the village down below. It was silent. On either side of him and a little distance away, he could hear the digging of trenches and bits of English being spoken. He looked around anxiously. He was now close to the top of the highest ground in that area when suddenly, he heard a voice call out from a rock barrier: “Halt!”

  He stopped, irritated, with his rifle hanging down from his shoulder. Two English soldiers emerged from behind the barrier and walked toward him. One had a pistol in his hand and the other had a rifle pointed at him. When they came closer to him and stopped in a threatening stance, he said: “I am Armenian.”

  “Allemagne?” one asked.

  “No, Armenian!”

  “Oh, Armenian!” They looked at one another and began to act friendly. They took his rifle away and told him to follow them. About two hundred feet away, behind the very top of the mountain there stood a camouflaged tent in which three officers were sitting at a long table, conversing.

  The Sergeant introduced him to them and left.

  The senior Officer asked him something in English. He did not understand him.

  “I can speak French.” Sempad said. A smile brightened the Officer’s face and he started to ask him some questions. What was his name...his nationality...his education...how long had he been at the front...what regiment did he belong to...about the roads and streams behind the front line...how people feel about the war...the state of the minorities?

  While he was answering these questions in polished French, for which they were pleased, an orderly entered with a tray of food; cheese, bread, and other things. He wished no one was around so he could devour everything on the tray. He politely took a couple of bites of cheese and bread and a few sips of cocoa. They insisted for him to finish it and the orderly was going to bring in some more but he said: “I have had enough, thank you.” 

  What a lie!

  “Did you come here of your own free will?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Turks killed my father, mother, brother and aunt and confiscated everything we had; home, animals, land. They tried to exterminate our people but they could not do it. We have our forces crushing the Turkish army on the Caucasian front. The Turks tried to annihilate us because they could not compete with us in the fields of agriculture, industry, education and culture. We wanted to be free to develop our talents and abilities following the progressive spirit of our European friends, the Allies. They couldn’t stand such things so they decided to resort to genocide. “I came here to help the Allies win the war. There are thousands of young Armenians with the Allied forces. We have the Legion d’Orient right here at the front under General Allenby and the French High Command. Some day I may be among them also. I didn’t come here to be sent to a prisoner of war camp. I came here to join the Allies to punish the lowest criminals imaginable and to reestablish our rights.”

  They looked at one another with pleased smiles, and the interviewer said: “Thank you for the interesting picture of events that you gave us. It was very informative.”

  “Good luck!”

  The orderly came and took Sempad to a ditch behind the artillery emplacement and gave him two blankets. When he settled on the ground and covered himself he fell asleep from absolute exhaustion.
 

  A soldier was standing by, watching him. Evidently he is waiting for me to get up, he thought. He jumped up looking at the blankets mournfully, thinking: “I feel sorry for the next guy who will use these blankets because there are millions of lice on them in search of food.”