“Good morning,” he said, and sat at the kitchen table waiting to be served.
Anoush moved quickly and brought him a plate of food and coffee.
The mood had shifted, Levon knew, and it made him sad to see how nervously his mother waited on Bedros.
The story of his father’s past had managed to follow them to where they lived now. He had been orphaned during the Genocide and had been fortunate to have a family that took him in when he was only six years old. Many details of his life would remain a mystery, but the one story that everyone knew about was that he had been in prison for killing a Turk when he was a teenager. The article had been printed in a newspaper in Paris, and relatives Bedros didn’t even know of had read the story. No one knew how he had managed to be set free or if these relatives had helped in some way. Levon himself had never heard his father discuss what had happened, and had only learned through family friends in Romania.
Like many other men who lead lives of frustration, Bedros was difficult. His unpredictable temper erupted as easily as it subsided, and Anoush was the one who absorbed his outbursts, with both words and fists. It was something Levon, and eventually Lucine, would learn to live with. As a little boy, Levon would run to his room and bury his head under the pillow to muffle the horrible ruckus, but as a twenty-two year old man he dreaded his father’s temper for different reasons. It was never his place to cross his father, but the need to protect his mother began to overwhelm him as the years passed.
This was the afternoon Levon was going to meet Mr. Salerno for the first time. His father mentioned it as he ate.
“Look him in the eye,” he advised Levon. “Shake his hand firmly. Tell him a little about yourself, but not too much.”
“Okay, Dad. That’s good advice. Thanks.” Never was there a time that Levon openly disagreed with his father.
“Not good advice—great. Great advice,” Bedros replied, chewed his last bite, and crudely let the fork drop on his plate.
Anoush came over and took the plate off the kitchen table. Once again she asked herself what would have happened had she not listened to her grandmother’s strong urging that she get married.
The next morning Levon made sure to wake up before dawn and went outside to sit on the stoop again. He wasn’t looking at the sky this time, but waiting. From the way he stared down one end of the street, a passerby would have thought he was waiting for a bus. The sky changed, morning came, and a bright sun glared in the sky, but there was no sign of Tamar.
Days later, on his way back from working with Mr. Salerno, he saw Mrs. Satamian standing outside her building with her hands on her hips. She was wearing the same housedress, and Levon noticed on her feet bright red slippers with gold stitching on the front. He smirked, recalling how his mother had bought a pair for Lucine to wear around the house, and how his sister had scoffed at how dated they looked. Anoush had made her wear them anyway.
At the opposite end of the block were two figures turning the corner. Levon saw that it was Tamar holding hands with a tall, dark-haired young man. At the sight of her mother, she pulled her hand away and walked toward her building. The young man did not follow her.
“Where were you?” Mrs. Satamian’s voice rang clear and loud from down the block. When Tamar didn’t answer she said, “You don’t have a made-up story for me? Heh? Not this time?” She grabbed Tamar by the arm and dragged her up the stairs. The girl lost her shoe on the way up and stopped to grab it as her mother kept pulling.
When Levon went inside his apartment he could hear the bellowing of Mr. Satamian. His words were not clear, but his voice resonated from their open window. Levon knew all too well the humiliation of being reprimanded so sharply, although this sounded much worse than a reprimand. He wondered if Mr. Satamian was similar to his own father, and if his family also experienced bouts of violence.
His sister Lucine came and sat next him at the kitchen table. “That Tamar is really getting it, huh?”
“Yeah,” Levon said. “It sounds like it.”
“Her boyfriend is really cute,” Lucine said.
He turned to her, his curiosity piqued, “Yeah? How do you know?”
Much like his mother, she seemed to be much more aware of the neighborhood’s happenings than he was. No one in the family suspected that she also had her own secret to keep. She had been meeting a Polish boy who worked at the grocery store around the corner. It was only a matter of time before her mother became suspicious of the unusually long lapses of time Lucine was out buying groceries.
“I hear things. I see things,” she said mysteriously. “And her boyfriend is really cute. Too bad for her it’ll be over soon.”
One evening, as the family was sitting down for dinner, there was a knock on the door. When Levon went to open it, he was surprised to see Tamar standing in front of him. Levon looked at her as she spoke, unable to concentrate, for he was fixedly staring at her long brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders, and her feather-like, dark eyelashes framing her large eyes. She was wearing a sleeveless cotton dress, and her tan skin seemed to glow against the lemony yellow fabric. There was a faint tinge of purple on her left cheek. She must have caught a beating from her father as Levon had guessed.
“… and so my father asked if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to come see if it’s a fuse or something. He knows you’re studying to become an electrician and was hoping you could just come take a look.”
He stared at her dumbly. “Sure,” he said finally. “No problem.”
“Who is it?” he heard his father’s voice, low and unwelcoming.
“It’s the Satamians,” Levon said, and without explaining, closed the door behind him and followed her to her apartment.
People were standing outside when the two walked out of Levon’s building, and from what Levon understood none of them had electricity. He wondered why they hadn’t noticed at his family’s apartment, and then he remembered that to economize, they took advantage of the long summer days and ate dinner early to avoid turning on any lights until nightfall.
“What’s going on?” Tamar asked.
Levon shrugged, a bit embarrassed for not having an answer so readily. They stood outside with the rest of the crowd and saw others emerge from their buildings, one by one, bewildered and distraught. As night approached, many had candles and matches to provide whatever light they could offer.
Night came shortly after, and the neighborhood watched as the streets became enveloped by a kind of darkness they had never seen before. Many stood outside with lighted candles, and their illuminated faces transformed the atmosphere to something akin to a vigil. Mr. and Mrs. Satamian came outside, as did Anoush and Lucine; Bedros did not want to leave the apartment and preferred watching the scene from the kitchen window that faced the street.
“Where is Levon?” Anoush asked Lucine. She could not see him in the midst of the people and the darkness.
“Probably with Tamar,” Lucine said and giggled.
She heard her mother sigh. Anoush, powerless to the grip of love that now possessed her son, turned around and pounded up the steps to her apartment.
“Do you want to go to the Bezjians’ backyard?” Levon asked Tamar. He could not see her too clearly, but felt the warmth of her arm lightly touching his.
“Won’t they notice?” Tamar said, and before letting him answer, realized the silliness of her question. “Oh, right. Okay,” she said. She turned to see if she could spot her parents, and saw that they had gone back to the apartment.
Because the Bezjian family lived on the bottom floor of a building on the corner, their landlord had given them permission to have access to the backyard. What’s more, they had planted a feast of fruits and vegetables that was reminiscent of the backyard Levon had known from childhood. Through the darkened path to the backyard, Tamar walked closely behind Levon, sometimes tripping and steadying herself against him. They laughed like mischievous children, trying not to be heard, but both exhilarated by the novelty of
the evening. Levon was in such disbelief at how easily he had come to be alone with Tamar that he convinced himself for a second it was some cruel dream from which he would be woken by the sound of his mother making breakfast in the kitchen.
They found a small iron bench and sat. They speculated at how long it would take for the electricity to come back and what would happen if it was not restored before morning.
“So you saw my mom yelling at me, huh?” she asked.
He tried to picture her face in the darkness.
“I did,” he said. “You’re not a very good sneak.” He wanted to bring up the second time when he saw her holding hands with the Arab boy, but wanted to spare her further embarrassment.
“Well, it’s over now,” she said resignedly. “He’s probably moving to another borough anyway,” she said. “And it wasn’t worth the headache of hearing my parents, let alone my sisters.”
“Are you feeling better about it?” he asked, knowing the true intent of his question.
“I guess so …” she said.
Levon would recall that evening not as the chaotic panic that overwhelmed his neighborhood during a blackout, but as the first time a woman let him kiss her. He sat and listened as Tamar wept, her face pressed into her hands, telling him the story of how she met Faris and their forbidden romance. He wondered, while hearing the details of her and Faris’s childhood together, how either of her parents could allow her to be out of sight during an evening when she could surely take a risk and find Faris. He was given his answer the next morning.
As he lay awake, too early as usual, he heard his parents talking.
“Do you see what a sneak the father is?” his mother asked in a whisper. As she spoke, each word came out like a hiss. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that he sent Tamar to knock on our door and ask Levon to come and help with their so-called electrical dilemma?”
“Only women are this suspicious,” he heard his father say. “It’s because you are capable of what you suspect in others.”
“While you and Levon are not here during the day, I still am. And I hear all the gossip,” Anoush continued. “They’re looking for some donkey to marry their daughter off to, a distraction so she doesn’t run back to the Arab.”
Levon was not shaken by his mother’s harsh suspicions. After their evening together, he continued seeing Tamar, who seemed flattered by the attention he gave her. After a few months of seeing each other, Levon went to ask Mr. Satamian for Tamar’s hand in marriage. He had not told his parents about his plans, and returned from seeing Tamar’s father with a bold grin.
“Tamar and I are getting married,” he said.
They were in the middle of eating dinner, having given up on waiting for him when they saw he hadn’t come home.
“Oh my God!” Lucine said.
“Without even mentioning it to us?” Bedros asked.
Anoush pushed her plate away and went to her bedroom.
The night before the wedding, the Satamians threw a celebration for Levon and Tamar. It seemed as if the entire neighborhood had crammed itself into the Satamians’ apartment, many of whom were standing in the stairwells and even outside on the sidewalk. The sound of music and singing could be heard from down the block, and the party was inundated with the ebb and flow of massive crowds. An evening such as this was customary before a wedding, but invitations were not. It was through word of mouth that the Armenian neighbors knew to come.
“Genatsut!” Mr. Satamian shouted, slightly swaying, clutching a glass of oghee in the air. His wife Kohar stood by him holding an identical glass and threw her head back, gulping down the drink. She grimaced and walked away, hoping to avoid drinking to any more toasts. More than one always made her sick.
Anoush stood by the wall near the kitchen, aware she was scowling. Self-conscious, she stretched her lips into a smile and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, as if looking satisfied. Bedros had bumped into an old friend from Romania, and seemed to be having a serious discussion despite the jovial clamor.
Levon and Tamar danced to the loud music in the middle of the small living room, smiling and drenched with sweat, as their family and friends held hands in a circle and danced around them. Levon was exhilarated by the beat of the drums and the high-pitched flute, laughing and moving with Tamar in his arms, overcome with a happiness he had never known.
It was only hours before morning when Levon returned home. Once Mr. Satamian had yelled for his wife to open another bottle of oghee, his parents and sister had left the party quietly and returned to their apartment. Levon lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing he would not be able to fall asleep, knowing he would not hear the sounds of his mother in the kitchen because she would be preparing for his wedding day. It wasn’t an hour later that he got out of bed, and let the small bit of daylight help him find his shoes. Like the morning he saw Tamar for the first time, he went down to the stoop of his building and stood outside.
It was now late September. The fall mornings were quieter than those in the summer. The neighborhood seemed to sleep longer, as if aware of the cold months that were to come. Levon let his mind go over the smaller details of the day. Once Mr. Satamian had accepted his proposal, Levon had found an apartment for himself and Tamar, and had spent the following weeks renovating the space and furnishing each room. After the wedding, he would bring Tamar there. He had rented it within the same vicinity as their parents, but far enough that it would take a while to walk.
“You want them close, but not too close,” Mr. Salerno had said jokingly, again offering unsolicited advice that Levon very much needed.
As he stood on the steps, mentally detailing each room of the apartment, two figures appeared at the end of the block. The sun was rising, and the glare of light darkened the two, making it difficult for Levon to see them clearly. From what he saw, it was a man and a woman. They embraced, and then they kissed. He noticed that there was nothing casual about their affection. It seemed as if they were clinging to each other. They held hands and continued walking, until the woman paused and let go of the man’s hand. She said something and shook her head, and continued walking, leaving the man behind.
As the woman walked closer toward where Levon was standing, he slowly recognized her from the sway of her walk and the rushed, soft tapping of her steps. Before she could see him, he stepped backward and hid behind the entrance door of the building. He waited for her to pass and as she went up the steps of the building two doors away from his, he saw that she was still wearing the lemony yellow dress. He had asked her to wear it the previous evening.
Levon sat at the foot of the staircase and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. A sudden numbness glazed over him. Finally, he climbed up the stairs back to his apartment, and before opening the door; he remembered his parents’ conversation the morning after the blackout.
“Look who just walked in!” his mother called out. Despite the long day ahead, she was standing in front of the stove cooking breakfast. Regardless of her dislike of the Satamians, she had come to accept the inevitability of her son’s decision, and was happy for him.
Levon said nothing and sat at the kitchen table.
“Don’t tell me you just came back from the Satamians’,” he heard his sister calling from the bathroom. He saw that her hair was in rollers and her bridesmaid dress was hanging on the front door of the bathroom, ironed and ready.
His father walked in and saw him sitting silently.
“I hope you didn’t drink more than you should have,” he said, and cracked a smile. This was rare for him, and Levon wished he could return the smile.
Anoush looked at Bedros questioningly.
“I just need to lie down,” Levon said finally.
He went to his bed, knowing he would have to get up shortly. The church was only blocks away and the reception was being held in the dining hall downstairs. He closed his eyes and thought of Tamar in her wedding dress. His shoes were polished and sitting in his closet,
and his suit was hanging there as well. Levon lay still, listening to the voices of his family in the next room, and waited.
Cecile
She lifted the covers gently so as not to be heard and slid from beneath the sheets. The curtain was still half open, allowing enough light from the street lamp to help her find her things and stuff them in a small suitcase. She looked at the sleeping figure in bed, and knew from the gentle breathing there was no chance of being heard when she left the room.
“Are you checking out?”
There was only one woman standing behind the reservation counter, and Cecile had hoped she would be able to leave without being noticed.
She turned her head quickly, “No,” she said. “Not yet.” She rushed forward to the revolving doors and headed toward the parking lot.
She was sure she would get in the car and drive off, but instead she sat in the driver’s seat not moving. Even after a few hours of sleep, the evening before had left her shaken. She thought of Araxi and was possessed by a sudden fury. It was by luck that they hadn’t been dragged off by the two men, one of whom Araxi had chatted with earlier that morning.
“He’s homeless and needs a few bucks.” Cecile had still been in bed and half asleep.
“What are you talking about?”
Araxi was rushing around the room, rummaging through the pockets of several pairs of jeans that were heaped on the floor.
“Where have you been?” Cecile had asked when Araxi wouldn’t answer.
“I’ve been sitting outside of the hotel at one of the outdoor tables writing. There’s this homeless guy and I let him have some of my cigarettes and we’ve been chatting.”
She had a fistful of change in one of her hands and turned to Cecile before leaving, “He wanted to know if he could use the bathroom,” she said, her voice tinged with pleading.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Cecile had said, sitting upright in bed. “There is no way you’re bringing a strange guy in here to use the bathroom.”
The Legacy of Lost Things Page 4