“Just a moment,” Elizabeth called out. She opened the door. “Yes, Hakan; what is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, madam, but Major al-Kawukji is here to see you.”
“He’s here now?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Show him into the parlor and I’ll be there in a minute.”
Hakan nodded and hurried away.
Elizabeth tied her hair back in a bun and covered her head with a floppy black hat. “I wonder what he wants now? Kristina, perhaps you should join me.”
“Yes, of course.” Kristina pulled a scarf over her head and followed Nurse Barton out of the bedroom.
Elizabeth offered her hand. “Good afternoon, Major. To what do we owe the honor?”
“Good afternoon, Nurse Barton. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m afraid I’ve brought urgent news. I heard from a colleague that Governor-general Reshid is preparing orders for the arrest of all non-Muslim peoples, including Europeans and Americans. The arrests will begin in three days—on the twenty-second of the month.”
“Dear God. For what purpose?”
“I don’t know, but I fear the worst. There are alarming developments in the north and east of Anatolia. I’ve come to offer my assistance, as a friend. If you leave quickly, you can slip out of Diyarbekir Province before the orders are implemented.”
“I’m leaving for Mardin in the morning. From there I plan to go on to Ras Ul-ain to meet the train to Aleppo.”
“Excellent,” he said with a nod. “How will you travel to Ras Ul-ain?”
“Hakan will take me in the wagon.”
“It’s too dangerous to travel to Ras Ul-ain without an armed escort. There are bandits and deserters everywhere—especially in the hills south of Diyarbekir. I’ll return with a detachment of soldiers and accompany you to the train station early tomorrow morning. You’ll be safe once you’ve boarded the train to Aleppo.”
Elizabeth glanced at Kristina. “What about Mrs. Kazerian and her children?”
“They are Armenian?” al-Kawukji asked.
“Yes, Major,” Elizabeth responded. “Her brother-in-law is a member of the Ottoman Assembly.”
“How old are the children?”
“My sons are thirteen and eight, and my daughter is six,” Kristina said.
The major sighed uneasily. “What I’ve told Nurse Barton applies all the more to you. You must leave Diyarbekir without delay.”
“We can’t leave. My older daughter is missing. I’m waiting for her return.”
“Mrs. Kazerian,” the major said sternly, “three weeks ago, all of the Armenians living in the northern villages of Erzerum Province were rounded up for deportation. Last week the deportees were forced out of Erzinjan in large caravans bound for Syria. Most of them were women and children with little more than what they could carry on their backs. My commanding officer received a telegram this morning. It appears most of them didn’t even make it to Kemakh. There was a terrible massacre and only a handful survived.”
“Dear God,” Elizabeth gasped. “Who did this?”
“It appears they were attacked by bandits. There are rumors of many other atrocities elsewhere in the north and east. And now arrest orders have been issued for Diyarbekir. God knows what will happen next. You must leave now, madam.”
Kristina stared into the major’s grim, deep-set eyes. Then she glanced at Elizabeth and slowly shook her head. “I won’t abandon my daughter.”
The major sighed with frustration. “Think it over. It may be your last chance. I must go now, but I’ll return at five in the morning. Bring only what you can pack in two bags. There won’t be room on the train for more. Good evening, ladies.” Al-Kawukji turned to open the door.
“Major al-Kawukji,” Elizabeth called out after him.
“Yes, madam.”
“I’m grateful for your concern and assistance.”
“It’s my privilege, Nurse Barton. I wish I could do more.”
“Goodnight, Major.”
“Goodnight, Nurse Barton.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Eight o’clock,” she said anxiously. “Only nine hours before our departure. Let me help you pack.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Kristina asked. “I’m not leaving.”
“You must leave. Can’t you see what’s happening? I’ll not spend the rest of my life regretting having left you behind.”
Kristina’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Elizabeth, try to understand. I can’t abandon Flora. We’ll stay for a while longer, then...”
“Flora is dead!” Elizabeth blurted out. “She’s dead, and you staying here won’t bring her back. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”
Kristina face melted into a stunned look of dismay. “What are you saying?”
“I’m sorry, Kristina. I just couldn’t tell you. David received word from the governor-general’s office a few days after he went to ask for Mourad’s release. He decided it was better not to tell you until later.”
Kristina grimaced with horror. “But why?”
“David was afraid to tell you. He feared it would crush your spirit.” She sighed uncomfortably. “Your other children needed you.” Elizabeth reached out to her friend, but Kristina pushed her hand away.
Her mouth quivering, Kristina glared at Elizabeth. “No, it’s not true. I see what you’re trying to do.”
“As God is my witness, I swear it’s true. You and your other children will be lost, too, if you stay behind in Diyarbekir.”
Kristina stared at Elizabeth for several moments. Suddenly, she turned and bolted from the room.
Elizabeth repacked her belongings into leather bags, keeping only essential items and a few priceless mementos. When she finished, she slipped into the bedroom and found Kristina lying on the bed beside Sirak and Izabella. “Kristina, are you awake?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Kristina replied coldly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“How could you deceive me? I thought you were my friend.”
“I love you like a sister. I would never lie to you.”
“But you did lie.”
“I didn’t lie. What good would’ve come from ripping away your last shred of hope?”
Kristina began to sob hysterically and buried her face in the pillow.
Sirak rolled to his knees and hugged her back. Izabella peered up sadly at Mikael. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms.
Nearly an hour passed before Kristina’s mournful wails subsided. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the back of her head. “I’m so sorry.”
Kristina took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “How did she die?”
“I don’t know. The lieutenant governor-general’s assistant brought word to David that a Turkish farmer dropped her body off at a police station in a small village east of Diyarbekir.”
“What village?”
“I don’t know. David didn’t tell me.”
“What was the farmer’s name?”
“I don’t know, Kristina.”
“How did he know it was Flora?”
“I never learned all these details.”
“What did they do with her?”
“David sent Hakan to take her body to Kemal Sufyan.”
“Kemal? How did he find him?”
“Kemal left David directions to his brother-in-law’s farm, and Hakan found him there. He told Hakan to tell you he’d bury Flora on your farm. So many times I wanted to tell you, but David told me to wait until everything else got better—and it never did. Please forgive me.”
Kristina pulled Elizabeth into a long, heartfelt embrace. She brushed tears from her cheek. “I forgive you. At least she’s not suffering.”
“Will you leave with me in the morning?”
Kristina nodded. “Now we can leave.”
“Thank God.” She gave Kristina anothe
r hug and got up from the bed. “I’ll ask Lala to pack your things.”
Kristina lay in the darkness beside Sirak and Izabella. She traced the sign of the cross across her chest. “Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, I beg for your intercession with Almighty God on our behalf. Help us as we begin this new journey. We pray you’ll reunite us with Mourad and Stepannos in Jerusalem. Protect Alek, wherever he may be, and give Flora everlasting peace.”
Elizabeth took a lingering look at the rundown hospital and climbed into the wagon. She sat beside Kristina atop the bags stacked in the bed.
“Sirak, did you remember your grandfather’s Bible?” Kristina asked.
“Yes, Mama, it’s here in my pack.”
She gave him a reassuring pat on the head. “That’s a good place for it.”
Major al-Kawukji closed the tailgate. He mounted his horse, and the handle of his sword glistened in the light of torches held by the orderlies, nurses and doctors who’d arisen early to see them off.
“Goodbye, Elizabeth,” Doctor Saunders called out, “we’ll miss you.”
Everyone crowded around the wagon and shouted their goodbyes and good wishes. Elizabeth exchanged a few last words with the doctors, the nurses and some of the hospital staff. Several people said farewell to Kristina and the children.
From his perch atop the suitcases, Sirak peered sleepily at the mounted soldiers. Suddenly, he bolted upright and he leaned over the sideboard of the wagon. “Tiran?” he exclaimed. The lean chestnut colt ridden by a young sergeant spun to face him. “Tiran!” Sirak shouted joyfully.
The horse’s ears shot up. Rearing his head, he whinnied.
“Mama, it’s Tiran! That soldier’s riding my Tiran.”
“Are you sure? He seems too old.”
“It’s my Tiran! I know it’s him!”
Smiling munificently, the sergeant eased his mount forward so Sirak could reach out and pat him on the head. “I named him Musa after the horse I had as a boy,” the soldier said proudly. “He’s not that old. Musa carried me through many battles these past six months, including the great charge on Sarikamish. Fighting so many battles has taken a toll on him. Haven’t they boy?” He scratched the horse behind his ears. “But Musa’s strong and courageous, and without him, I wouldn’t be here today. If he belonged to you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. What’s your name?”
“Sirak, sir.”
Tiran whinnied again and playfully nuzzled Sirak’s chest.
The sergeant laughed. “It seems Musa would like you to ride with us.”
“Really?” Sirak asked excitedly. “Can I, Mama?”
Kristina smiled appreciatively. “If Major al-Kawukji says it’s okay, then it’s okay.”
The major winked at Kristina. “It’s fine with me, if it’s okay with the horse.”
The sergeant maneuvered the horse alongside the wagon, and lifting Sirak onto the horse, pressed the reins into the boy’s hands. “Here, you take these.”
Sirak patted the horse’s neck and smiled at the sergeant. “What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Isa and that’s my best friend Bekir,” he said, pointing to the man beside him. The other soldier smiled and nodded.
“We must go now,” Major al-Kawukji called out. “It’s imperative that we leave the city as soon as the gates open and travel as far as possible before the sun peaks in the sky. It will be hot in the hills.”
The wagon pulled away from the hospital. The soldiers trailed close behind, and the wagon rumbled on for several blocks before Hakan turned down a narrow street. They slowed near a small mosque where dozens of men were gathered for morning prayers. Hakan eased the wagon through the knot of people and they bumped through a tight turn before merging onto a wide boulevard. The imposing southern gates of Diyarbekir loomed directly ahead.
“How far is Ras ul-Ain?” Elizabeth shouted above the clatter of the wagon.
The major spurred his mount alongside. “Just over seventy kilometers.”
She grimaced. “That far?”
“It’s at least two days of hard travel. We’ll see how it goes. Hopefully, those clouds in the distance bring us rain to ease the heat. If not, we’ll need to stop at midday and continue late in the afternoon.”
The plaza in front of the massive gate was swarming with people and animals of every sort—horses, mules, donkeys, oxen and even a few camels. Dozens of vendors were milling about amongst the multitude of travelers. Some people reposed on the ground, trying to catch a bit more sleep before the beginning of an arduous journey.
Hakan pulled the wagon to a stop behind a small unit of the Ottoman Army Cavalry, and the major trotted over to a lieutenant standing beside a water trough.
Isa slid to the ground and lifted Sirak off his horse. Too excited to rest, Sirak ran to the back of the wagon. He grabbed a handful of feed and held it out for the horse. The chestnut whinnied and nibbled contentedly from the boy’s hand.
Mikael stroked the powerful horse’s neck. “If he isn’t Tiran, he sure looks a lot like him.”
“It is Tiran,” Sirak said. “I know it’s him.”
Mikael ran his hand down the horse’s chest to a scar just above his leg. “I wonder how he got hurt.”
“Where?” Sirak asked. “Oh yeah, that’s a big cut. Sergeant, how did Tiran get hurt on his leg?”
“He was wounded when we charged through Russian infantry during the battle of Sarikamish,” he said proudly. “Musa didn’t even flinch. He charged on despite heavy gun and cannon fire. The soldier who slashed him paid with his life.”
“Maybe he knows Alek,” Sirak whispered to his brother.
“I’ll ask him.” Mikael walked over to Isa. “Sergeant, did you know my brother, Alek Kazerian? He’s in the army, too.”
“Kazerian? No, I don’t think so, or at least not well enough to remember. There were thousands of men in the Ninth Corp.”
Major al-Kawukji jogged back from the cavalry unit. “Okay, get ready to pull out. They’re opening the gates.”
Sirak glanced over his shoulder. Through the gathering early morning light, he watched a squad of men lift the bar securing the massive wooden gates. They marched it off to the side and another crew pulled the creaking doors wide open.
As if on command, the mass of people gathered in the plaza rose to their feet. A hubbub ran through the crowd.
“Cavalry first!” a guard barked.
“We’re riding with them,” Major al-Kawukji shouted. “Let’s go!”
Isa mounted Tiran and pulled Sirak up on the horse. Hakan climbed up into the driver’s seat, and flicking the reins, turned the wagon.
The cavalrymen wove through the unruly throng to the gate. They broke into the open and the horses kicked up a billowing cloud of dust that swept up the wall to the guard posts. The major galloped in behind them. The wagon and the other two soldiers followed close behind.
Sirak peered up at the guards atop the wall as the brigade trotted through the breach. A grinning Turk, with a full black beard, dipped his rifle in mock salute.
Isa zigzagged Tiran through the tangled knot of travelers waiting beyond the gate to enter the city.
Finally, the soldiers and wagon broke clear. They thundered south down the road to Ras ul-Ain through rocky terrain strewn with black basalt boulders and patches of yellowed grass and sagebrush. The meandering Tigris River cut a winding path through the landscape into the distance.
Sirak peered out across the expansive countryside toward a distant line of hills cloaked in angry dark clouds.
The sergeant pointed. “Sirak, do you see that gap in the hills, there in the distance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s where we’re headed. God willing, we’ll make that pass by midday.”
Sirak gazed out across the inhospitable panorama. “How much farther do we need to go after we reach the pass?”
“Another day, if the weather holds out.”
Sirak recoiled at a rank smell that filled
his nostrils. Glancing around, he tensed with fear. He pointed at a line of rotting, headless corpses just off the road. “What’s that?”
“Traitors!” Sergeant Isa snarled disdainfully. He turned Sirak’s head toward the river. “Don’t look!”
Sirak covered his nose and glanced at his equally shaken brother. “What’d they do?”
“They plotted to destroy the Empire.”
Sirak’s eyes darted back and forth at dozens of animal carcasses lying in trenches on both sides of the road. They ranged from bare-boned skeletons to a huge ox, buzzing with flies. “Are these their animals?”
“No, Son, most of these animals were lost to thirst and hunger. This is a harsh and unforgiving land. Tell me about Musa,” he said, changing the subject. “You named him Tiran?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You raised him from birth?”
“My papa gave him to me when he was born. We trained him together until he was over a year old, but then the bad soldiers took him.”
Isa smiled ruefully. “These things happen in war. You must not blame the soldiers. They were only following orders. I worked on a procurement detail myself right after the war started. I hated it, but it had to be done. We must all sacrifice for the Empire. How about if I make you a deal? If you feed and water Tiran all the way to Ras ul-Ain, then, when this war is over, I’ll give him back to you.”
“Really?” Sirak squealed excitedly.
“Absolutely.” Isa gave him a kindly grin. The golden cap on his front tooth sparkled in the early morning sunlight. “Musa’s earned a leisurely retirement. I can get another horse.”
“But how will I find you?”
“I’ll write down the directions to my family farm when we get to Ras ul-Ain. It’s only an hour’s ride from here. You can come get him when you return to Diyarbekir.”
“Okay! Mama,” Sirak yelled. “Isa promised to give Tiran back to me when the war is over!”
Kristina smiled and waved from the back of the wagon.
Major al-Kawukji guided the group south along the main road to Mardin. Half a kilometer from Diyarbekir the road skirted the Tigris, where the lazy river cut a swath of green through the otherwise barren wasteland. They passed irrigated islands of cultivation where peasant farmers grew crops of wheat and rice. They were dutifully tending their fields and paddies beneath the unforgiving sun.
The Ghosts of Anatolia Page 21