By Sempad Shahnazarian

Chapter Fifteen (Continued)

  “How is the world treating you, Beto?” asked Sempad.

  “Like hell, and you!”

  “Isn’t the caravan gruesome?”

  “Forget about it! All is well!” said Beto.

  “All is well?”

  “They are not dead, yet...They are moving!” said Beto.

  The day dragged on and on. White dust saturated the air, and a flock of vultures circled overhead. When the rear guard reached the top of the Bell Pounar hill it was already dark. The sun had gone down long ago. The vast plain, on the other side of the hill, was blinking with innumerable fires to warm up the shivering caravan of refugees.

  The Legionnaires had already set their bivouacs and the civilians were crowded around fires, not knowing what else to do. Voices came from every direction, in the darkness, calling the names of their loved ones. Mothers frantically searched for their children, running around excitedly shouting, screaming and crying.  More and more fires were being built in that vast plain with confusion and excitement getting more chaotic by the minute.

  That night, Sempad had a spasmodic sleep in his little tent. Voices, cries, heartbreaking screams filled the atmosphere of his subconscious...You are going to freeze...build more fires...get firewood from there...hurry up...don’t look at me like that...get the wounded under the tent...those little children...what can we do?...Surely we cannot let them stay out in the snow...get the wounded in first... He turned from one side to the other, groaning and grumbling. Cries of men, women and children kept coming from everywhere. He struggled to get up, but it seemed as though a millstone was on his chest plastering him down to the ground.

  At dawn the clarion sounded reveille.  It seemed to Sempad that it was ringing from behind the hills. He was awake listening to it, when someone poked the side of his tent, shouting: “Come on, get up! Get up and pack!”

  He struggled to get up but some weight pressed him down strongly. The tent was laying flat on top of him.  The perplexity of his sleep soon fluttered away and he became conscious of reality. He abruptly pushed the canvas open and scrambled to his feet, spellbound at the sight...It was white all around. Over three feet of snow had covered the ground and had flattened down the bivouacs. 

  The Legionnaires began to come out from under the snow and started packing. There did not seem to be much activity in the civilians’ section. Comparative quiet reigned there. Frozen corpses were scattered around, under the snow, like stumps of a burned forest. Survivors, crouched over this lump or that lump were sobbing and moaning.

The column pulled out. A caravan, consisting of a long line of half-frozen people, was on the march, headed by a group of Algerian Spahis cavalrymen. It was still snowing. A freezing wind howled and sounded like a pack of hungry wolves. A blinking blizzard pulverized the snow, blew it around and lashed pitilessly like biting needles. The caravan kept on moving all day, leaving some civilians behind, huddled together in the snow, frozen stiff.

  “Allez civils! Allez civils!” the officers hollered to clear the way for the soldiers to pass.

  Two boys, about eight years old, were trying hard to keep up with the caravan. Three feet of snow is not anything to be taken lightly. One of them said, in Armenian, to a heavy machine gunner who was leading his mule through the blizzard: “Gamavor Akhbar, can you give me a ride?” 

  Marcus turned around and looked at him perplexed, waiting for an answer. He began to calculate the possibility. He knew under such circumstances, a mule or a machine gun was considered more valuable than a human being. Military rules and regulations were all against complying with such a wish. While he was thinking about that, the other boy asked him the same question in Turkish. He was Armenian too but could not speak the language.

  At hearing the Turkish words, Marcus got so angry, that disregarding all the rules and the possible punishment he turned around stopped the boy who had addressed him in Armenian lifted him up and placed him right on the back of the mule, walking contentedly along and talking to him in Armenian. The machine gunner was grinning with satisfaction and the boy was relaxed and happy until an officer shouted to the muleteer: “Get that boy down right away, you bloody bastard. Can’t you see the plight of that animal?”

  The boy was taken down and the caravan kept moving.

  “Watch your hands, Beto!” said Sempad. “Keep them tucked in your coat pockets.”

  They walked along, chattering with each other, trying to keep awake.

  “Look how beautiful the trees look under the weight of the snow! How peaceful and quiet!”

  “Look at this man...dead! Tall and straight and stiff, stretched out in the snow with his face down. Do you see the frozen blood there?”

  The wind howled in chorus with the wolves and the poor raggedy civilians were falling into the snow as though they were autumn leaves in the woods. Many French colonial soldiers died there also not being accustomed to that kind of weather.

  At about nine o’clock that night they heard a long and drawn out whistle. 

A warm and invigorating sensation passed through everyone’s spine. They began to march with more pep and assurance. They even made supreme efforts at humming melodies and cracking jokes.

  The whistle came from the Islahieh station.

  Steps became even more lively, steady and cheerful and felt as if a gulp of hot tea had gone down to their chilled stomachs. They now held their heads upright and began to hum a march. Sempad’s hands in his pockets began moving and caressing with joy, a chunk of bread that lay there all day, in spite of his hunger. His fingers had been numb and dead from the terrible cold and had not been able to grab and raise it to his mouth. What a relief, now!

  They finally reached Islahieh railroad station that consisted of two wrecked barns. The blizzard became more intense. The Legionnaires unpacked right in the snow and were given rum, that strong liquid fuel that poured heat into everyone’s half-frozen body. The wounded were sheltered right away in the ruined barn and all the rest were left out in the snow.

  “To stay out in this blizzard tonight would mean sure death.” said Srab. “I know a Sassountzi who lives a little distance from here. Let’s try our luck and see if he still lives there.”

  He led the way and in a few minutes they were there.

  Upon the knock at the door, a tall man came out dressed in the Kurdish style, asking in Kurdish: “What do you want?”

  Sempad recognized the voice and exclaimed in surprise: “Is that you, Petros?”

  “Sempad! How could I tell you from a snow man? Shake your clothes off and come right in.” After introducing the others to him they walked in, all four of them, and took their seats by the fireplace, after setting their rifles in a corner behind the door.

  A fagot of firewood crackled and burned brightly. Food was immediately served and consisted of a huge tray of steaming pilaf with such an appetizing aroma and flavor. They all sat on the carpet, in a circle, and began to eat when Vartan Shahbaz an old Fedayi walked in half frozen, exclaiming: “What a storm out there!”

  “Don’t let the weather bother you, now. Just sit down and help yourself.” said Petros, tenderly.

  “Tell us Petros!” said Shahbaz...“Where do we stand now? You know more than we do abut what other people think of our future.”
  “Yes, Shahbaz! First of all, let’s drink to the memory of those who have given their lives to create our Republic. You know very well it was not given to us as a reward by the Allies. Our enormous sacrifices earned it. We defeated the Turks at the May 1918 battles of Sardarapad, Bash Abaran, and Karakilisseh. The official proclamation of the United and Independent Armenia was rendered on May 28, 1919, by the Parliament of the Independent Republic of Armenia.

  “On August 10, 1920, in the Paris community of Sévres, international diplomacy recognized the existence of a United and Independent Armenia.

  “Article 88: Turkey, in accordance with the action already taken by the Allied Powers, hereby recognizes Armenia as a Free and Independent State.

  ‘Article 89: Turkey and Armenia as well as the other High Contracting Parties, agree to submit to the president of the United States of America the question of the frontier to be fixed between Turkey and Armenia...and to accept his decision thereupon, as well as any stipulation he may prescribe as to access for Armenia to the sea, and as to the demilitarization of any portion of Turkish territory adjacent to said frontier...’

  “What happened then? International crises and machinations... Turco-Soviet friendship... Degeneration of the moral ideas among the Allies thus prepared the way for the Treaty of Lausanne which resuscitated Turkey from the grave, as a new force under the Kemalist government, passing silently over the Sèvres Treaty! 

 “The only feeling I have now,” said Petros, “is to spit on that treaty, and every Armenian should feel the same way about it. All we must do now, is to show the world how unjust and monstrous a treaty it is.

  “Long live Sèvres! Down with Lausanne!”

  The next morning it was clear, but very cold. They returned to the railroad station before reveille. A line of mules carrying dead Senegalese was seen moving on toward the station. A ditch had been dug as a common grave. After a ceremonious prayer they were buried. The sight was very gruesome, as many of the corpses had been torn to pieces by wolves. Two hours later, the wounded and the sick were put aboard the train to be sent to the hospital at Adana.

  Two weeks later, Sempad got his honorable discharge from the Legion with an unusual citation for gallantry, and got ready to leave the service. He got into his civilian clothes, took his cane in hand, walked into Lieutenant Bouvier’s tent and in a state of excitement and confusion he extended his hand to him saying: “Good-bye, my lieutenant!”

  At the station, Sergeant Sempad went to see Beto. His hands were bandaged. They eyed each other with tears rolling down their faces. The train pulled out slowly, like a huge hearse and he returned to his company, silent and gloomy.

  That night he was again tortured by the nightmare...

   ...Multitudes of men, women and children were pushed into the raging waters of the Euphrates...Cries and screams filled the air...Crimson waters carrying dead bodies...El Oghlou...Marash...Coup de Main...Saving the hospital...the infernal retreat...the blizzard...the frozen civilians and soldiers...the hair-raising howling of the roaming wolves... Now a groan gurgled in his throat. His entire body stretched stiff and with a shrill scream, he jumped up and sat terrified on the blanket-covered floor. 

  “Are you leaving already?” said the lieutenant. “I question that you may be making a serious mistake by leaving the Legion like this. You have great opportunities here with that citation of yours.”

  “I am, of course, proud of my citation and of the work behind it but I am greatly disappointed in my friends, the Allies.” said Sempad. “Thousands of Armenian young men, as I, joined the Legion for the simple reason that they believed the Allies would be guided by nobler principles in solving international issues. Now we must call the world’s attention to the fact that the Treaty of Sèvres is an international document of agreement in the peace settlement of World War 1, which recognized and guaranteed the independence of Armenia.

  This, of course, fills our hearts with joy and gratitude...but what did the Allies do when the Soviet Union, in league with the Turks, tore to pieces the Treaty in question? The Allied powers kept their mouths shut and remained indifferent at the breaking of the international agreement and thus vilifying the honor of their signatures and that of their countries.”

  Sempad walked out of the camp, cast a last look at the cluster of tents behind Meydan Ekbez railroad station, got on the train, took a seat and wrote this in his diary: “...If I could only sleep peacefully without the weight of the nightmare on my chest! If I could only blow out the lights of my recollections and submerge into a soothing and peaceful blackout, hear the music of universal love, see the crumbling down of the old and musty institutions, the fall of the predacious diplomacy... I feel, however, that a new era is opening up; an era of freshness and beauty; a Wilsonian era, which we must constantly care and nurture to keep in full bloom.

  The spring winds, full of light and warmth and laughter are already blowing from the sky, scraping the mountains of the United States and the buds of new social concepts are irresistibly swelling up with the living sap to unfold itself for the enjoyment of all nations. The soil there is rich, the sun friendly and the air of freedom so refreshing, so delightful.”

  Before leaving for the United States, he stopped at Constantinople, for a week, became engaged to Dikranouhie, and visited Maria to express his thanks and gratitude to her for all of her help.

  The following day, Dikranouhie, Karekin Yeretzian and Sempad were walking down to a little orchard close to where she lived. They sat on the ground in the shade of an apple tree to celebrate their engagement.

  They discussed Spinoza’s philosophy, read poetry, some they themselves had written and declared how lonely life would be without symphonic music, no flights in space and no search of an undying fountain of love and inspiration.
 

  Dikranouhie bent her head down shyly and squeezed Sempad’s hand, with warmth and tenderness, murmuring: “Four more years of  waiting until he graduates from the university...” She looked at him with misty eyes and they collapsed into each other’s arms.

The End...