The Ghosts of Anatolia

by Steven E. Wilson

“Azusa and I want to tell you how much we love you, and how proud we are of you. The past fourteen years have flown by and you and Izabella have enriched all our lives beyond comprehension. We thank God He entrusted us with your lives.”

  “You’re sending me away,” Sirak whispered.

  “It’s not our decision,” Ammar muttered. “It’s the last thing Azusa and I wanted.” He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “We’ll always love you, both of you. But the Ajaweed decided you and Izabella must leave the community, for your own good.” Ammar took another deep breath and shook his head. “Dear God, help me,” he whispered. He clenched his fists. “It’s the last thing we wanted. The last thing…” Overcome with grief, the proud Druze lapsed into tortured silence.

  Sirak wrapped his arm around Ammar and hugged him. “I understand, Abee. We all knew this day would come someday, and now it’s here. I thank you both with all my heart for everything you’ve done for Izabella and me.” He turned and smiled lovingly at Azusa. “May God bless you both.”

  “Oh, Sirak,” Azusa sobbed. “Our hearts will surely break.”

  “Have you told Izabella?”

  Ammar shook his head. “No, we wanted to tell you first.”

  “Let me tell her. Where should we go?”

  “That’s your decision,” Ammar replied. “Perhaps Jerusalem would be the best choice. Many Armenians live in the Holy City, and the medical school is highly regarded.”

  Sirak nodded pensively. “Finally, we go to Jerusalem. Perhaps, at long last, we’ll find my papa and brother there.”

  Ammar nodded. “It’s decided, then. Mustafa, the weaver, knows a merchant who travels regularly between Rashayya and Jerusalem. He’s expecting him in a week or two. Say your goodbyes and prepare to leave. We must break the news to Izabella soon so she’ll have time to accept it.”

  Sirak nodded. “Where is she?”

  “She’s in sewing with Nazira,” Azusa replied. “Tell her now, before someone else does.”

  Sirak got up from the bench.

  Azusa rose to give him a warm hug. “Go easy with Izabella, Sirak. She needs to know you’ll always stay with her.”

  “I know.”

  Sirak headed back through the kitchen. He stopped in front of a heavy drape hanging over the doorway. He heard Nazira giggle. “Izabella, can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

  “Just a moment,” Nazira replied. “I’m trying on a dress.”

  The drapes opened a few moments later. “You can come in now,” Nazira said. “We’re making a dress for Fatima.”

  Sirak ducked inside the windowless room lit by an olive oil lamp. The small table in the center was strewn with fabric and spools of thread.

  Izabella was seated at the table with her hair pulled back beneath a white scarf. “Are you looking for your Bible?” she asked timidly. She set the worn, leather-bound volume on the table. “I was reading it before Nazira got here.”

  “You can read it whenever you like,” Sirak replied soothingly. “I want to talk to you.”

  “You can talk here,” Nazira offered politely. “It’s time to go home. Umar wants his supper early.”

  “No, please stay, Nazira. You are Izabella’s friend. You should hear this, too.”

  Nazira searched Sirak’s eyes. She stepped around the table and sat beside Izabella.

  Sirak reached across the table and took Izabella’s hands. “Do you trust me, my sister?”

  Izabella stared restlessly at the tabletop. “Why do you ask me?”

  “There’s something important I must tell you. Please, look at me.” Izabella looked up at Sirak. “Yes, of course, my brother—you know I trust you.”

  “The Ajaweed have decided we must leave Rashayya. We will travel to Jerusalem to find Papa and Steppanos.”

  Izabella’s mouth dropped open. “With Abee and Ummee?”

  “No, just you and me.”

  “No! I don’t want to leave our home!”

  “I’m afraid we have no choice, Izabella. It’s been decided for us. At least we will be together, and I will look out for you and take care of you, always.”

  Bursting into tears, Izabella collapsed into Nazira’s arms.

  Nazira cradled Izabella against her chest. Frowning at Sirak, she shook her head. “That’s enough for now.”

  “She needs to know,” Sirak said pointedly.

  “Okay, you’ve told her. Now leave us alone.”

  “There is one more thing…. I need your help, Nazira. I want to say goodbye to Yasmin before we leave.”

  Nazira’s eyes opened wide. “Are you crazy? She’s betrothed.”

  “I must say goodbye. Tarak will bring her to the river if you ask him to. Will you help me?”

  “No, I won’t. None of this would’ve happened in the first place if Yasmin’s parents hadn’t found out about you meeting her.”

  “Shhh!” Sirak turned and peered at the curtain. “Abee and Ummee will hear you.”

  “Sirak, it’s too risky. Don’t think about yourself, think about Yasmin. Think about her future!”

  “I am thinking about her. All I do is think about her. It’s your fault, you know. It was your idea for me to come with you.”

  “Only as my escort. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with Umar’s sister. You knew it was forbidden.”

  “Your meeting Umar before marriage was forbidden, too. Please, Nazira, I just want to say goodbye.”

  “I’ll discuss it with Umar. He’ll probably say no, but I’ll ask him.”

  Sirak reached across the table and squeezed Nazira’s hand. “You’re my angel.”

  Nazira kissed Izabella on the forehead and wiped tears from her cheeks. “Let’s take you to Ummee.” She helped the anguished young woman to her feet and guided her out through the curtain.

  Azusa looked up and dropped her paring knife. She rushed around the counter and gathered Izabella into her arms.

  “I don’t want to leave, Ummee,” Izabella sobbed.

  “I know you don’t, and it’s not what we want either, but God will watch over you and your brother will protect you. Come and lie down; this has been a big shock to all of us,” she said, leading Izabella out of the kitchen.

  Nazira waited until they were out of earshot. “How can they do this to her?” she asked Sirak.

  “They don’t care. We don’t exist to the Ajaweed.”

  Nazira kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve got to go. Umar’s going to be furious.”

  “Don’t forget to ask him about Yasmin.”

  “I won’t. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Sirak gazed down at the familiar river bend. At the water’s edge, Umar was squatting in a formation of rocks at the top of the bank. Sirak watched the young Druze select a stone. He tossed it into the slow-moving water. He spotted Sirak and turned to face him.

  Sirak spurred his horse and trotted down the steep trail. “Where is she?”

  “It’s impossible,” Umar replied. “My mother knows you’re leaving tomorrow. She’s watching Yasmin like a hawk. My brother, Tarak, is suspicious, too. God knows what he’d do if he ever found out.”

  “So that’s how it all ends? I never see her again…even to say goodbye?”

  “Yes, that’s how it ends. But I brought you a note. It’s the best she could do.”

  Sirak dismounted and grabbed the paper from Umar. He stuffed it into his pocket and walked his horse back up the hill.

  Umar squinted up at him through the bright midday sun. “Forget her, Sirak. It can never be.”

  “Why? Why do men let the decrees of a ruler who lived ten centuries ago dictate their lives? You Juhhl know precious little about these doctrines yourselves. Doesn’t that frustrate you?”

  “Sometimes,” Umar replied solemnly. “But Rashayya is our home, and it’s always been our home. If Nazira and I want to remain part of this community, and have our children be part of this community, then we must obey the Uqql decrees and so must Ya
smin.”

  Sirak remounted his horse. “Goodbye, Umar.”

  “Goodbye, Sirak. May God be with you and Izabella.”

  Sirak rode down the hill. Sensing they were headed home, the horse broke into a trot. Sirak jerked back on the reins. “Are you anxious for me to go, too, Talon?”

  Sirak turned off the main trail and rode deep into a rocky, brush-covered gorge. He dismounted his horse, sat on a boulder and pulled Yasmin’s note from his pocket. It was unsigned, but he recognized the graceful Arabic script.

  My darling Sirak, I know I’ve disappointed you yet again. You once said I was weak, and now you know it’s really true. May God be with you and Izabella. I will never forget your kindness and the friendship we shared together. You will remain in my memory forever.

  Sirak folded the letter and slipped it back into his pocket. He gazed out over the featureless, barren desert. In the far-off distance, a line of dark clouds poured rain down on the foothills. “Why, God?” he muttered. “Why do you give me love and then take it away? Papa, Alek, Stepannos, Flora, Mikael, Mama, and now Yasmin, too.”

  Remounting his horse, Sirak rode back to the main road. He paralleled the river for several kilometers and ascended into the foothills through the carefully-manicured orchards and groves where he’d toiled beside Ammar since he was a boy. In the fleeting afternoon light, his shadow leapt from one tree to the next. He rounded a bend and the familiar farmhouse welcomed him home for the last time.

  Sirak climbed hand over foot to the top of a rock pile at the edge of a terraced grove where two-year-old olive seedlings were taking hold. He stared out over the pitch-black valley far below and scanned the sky filled with twinkling stars and constellations. Fixing his eyes on the Big Dipper, he traced its pointers down to the North Star. He gazed at the star, closed his eyes and said a short prayer of atonement. He turned at the rustling of leaves and found Ammar climbing up the formation behind him. “Hello, Abee,” he said solemnly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I love to sit here at night and gaze at the heavens.”

  Ammar smiled up at the stars. “It’s very beautiful. I’ll come to this place and think of you. And I will miss you every day as I work in our groves and orchards.”

  Sirak got up and stood before Ammar with his hands on the older man’s shoulders. “I’ll miss you, too. Most men are fortunate to have one good father to teach them what’s important in life and to show them how to be a man. God blessed me with two, and both are as steady as the Northern Star.”

  Ammar collapsed into Sirak’s arms and wept unashamedly. “God, have mercy,” he gasped; “it’s you who taught me, my son, it’s you who taught me.”

  The two men clung to each other in silence for a time and then sat down on the rocks.

  “There’s something I want to discuss with you,” Ammar said. “God willing, you’ll be accepted to the medical school and find a wife in Jerusalem. After you marry, the concerns of the Uqql will be mollified. I want you to come back to live with us here in Rashayya. We need another doctor and there’s plenty of room to build a new house on this land—one large enough for the big family you’ve always wanted.”

  Sirak smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Abee.”

  “Put your faith in God and He’ll show you the way. Take special care of Izabella. She can’t survive alone. Your sister is the sweetest person I’ve ever known, but also the most fragile.”

  “I will. You mustn’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. She’ll be a wonderful wife and devoted mother. You must help her find the right man.”

  Sirak stared at Ammar in the muted light of the half-moon. The patches of white in his full beard shimmered like glass wool and his sunken eyes were outlined with concentric wrinkles. Seemingly overnight, he’d aged two decades. “Don’t worry, Abee, we’ll be fine. We’ll send back letters with the merchant.”

  Ammar smiled sadly and nodded his head. He reached out and patted Sirak’s arm. “I know you’ll be fine. Well, we’d better go inside. Ummee wants to say goodbye, too.”

  Sirak took Ammar’s hand and the two of them walked slowly to the house.

  The wagon came to a stop on the main street in Rashayya. Another wagon, pulled by an old mare, was parked alongside the building. It was half-filled with carpets and other goods.

  Ammar climbed down to the ground. “Stay here with the women, Sirak. I’ll be right back.” He headed through the open door.

  Sirak turned in the driver’s seat. Asuza and Layla stared back solemnly from the bed of the wagon. Izabella was sitting between them with her face buried against Azusa’s chest.

  Sirak peered up the street at an approaching one-horse carriage. “Yasmin,” he whispered.

  Sitting between her older brother, Tarak, and her father, Ezekiel, Yasmin stared dejectedly at Sirak. Their eyes locked in silent misery. Tarak stared at Sirak, too, but Ezekiel looked straight ahead.

  Ezekiel flicked the reins and the carriage sped past. Sirak stared after the buggy until it disappeared behind a building at the end of the street.

  Ammar emerged from the shop a few minutes later. The weaver and a pudgy man with a long white beard were with him. All three men were carrying rolled rugs. They walked to the trader’s wagon and stacked the bolts in the bed.

  “Sirak, this is Jeremiah Levite,” Ammar said. “He’s agreed to take you and Izabella to Saint James Monastery in Jerusalem.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sirak replied politely.

  The old Jew nodded respectfully. “I’m honored, young man. Ammar told me you’re interested in medicine.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve wanted to become a physician since I was a young boy.”

  “My younger brother, Eli, is a surgeon in Bethlehem. I’m sure he’ll help you.”

  Sirak glanced at Ammar and smiled at the memory of their conversation the previous night.

  “Would you prefer to ride up front with me or in the back with your sister?” the old Jew asked.

  Sirak glanced at Izabella. She was clinging to Azusa and trembling with trepidation. “I’d better ride with my sister for now, but maybe later I can ride up front. I want to ask you about Jerusalem...if it’s no trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. I’ve lived in the Holy City most of my life; I’ve got many customers who live in the Armenian Quarter. I can tell you everything there is to know.”

  “How long is our journey?”

  “Nine or ten days, depending on the weather and how the old mare holds up. We’d better be on our way.” Jeremiah took Sirak’s bag and tossed it into his wagon.

  The men turned at the clatter of an approaching wagon. Fatima, Nazira and their husbands rumbled up the street and rattled to a stop.

  “Thank God,” Naziria called out in relief. “I thought we’d missed you.”

  Azusa and her daughters shared a tearful goodbye with Izabella before showering Sirak with farewell hugs and kisses. Finally, Ammar wrapped his arm around Sirak’s shoulders and walked him to Jeremiah’s wagon. He slipped a pouch into Sirak’s hand. “I’ve already paid Jeremiah. Use this gold to help you get settled in Jerusalem.”

  “But Abee,” Sirak protested.

  “Please take it. You’ve surely earned it.” He gave Sirak a long hug. “Goodbye, my son.”

  Sirak kissed Ammar on the cheeks. “Goodbye, Abee. Thank you for everything.”

  Ammar sighed restively. “I asked Jeremiah to bring us back your letters. Please let us know how you’re getting along.”

  “I promise, Abee. We’ll be fine. Please don’t worry.” Sirak jumped up into the bed and leaned out to help Izabella.

  “Ummee!” Izabella sobbed. She clutched at Azusa’s dress and twisted her face in despair.

  Azusa pulled gently away and Ammar hoisted Izabella up to Sirak in the wagon. Her whimpers became frantic wails. Sirak sat her down on a stack of carpets and held her in his arms.

  The wagon jerked forward and rumbled down the dusty street. Ammar, Azusa and t
heir children shouted goodbyes.

  Sirak waved one last time. “It is finished,” he muttered.

  CHAPTER 47

  Sirak consoled Izabella throughout the trip to Damascus, and beyond to Kahdem. The irony of finally riding into Kahdem—the city where their ill-fated Armenian refugee caravan was headed—did not escape Sirak. He dared not mention it to Izabella.

  Three more days of arduous travel in the Syrian Desert took them through a bleak wasteland dotted with small villages that were sparsely populated by Arabs, Turks and Kurds. They stopped each night to rest with merchants or innkeepers Jeremiah had patronized for decades.

  On the fourth night they stayed at an austere outpost dwelling owned by a crusty old Jew named Elijah with whom Jeremiah had traded for more than thirty years. The man’s wife doted on Izabella, and even managed to engage her in feeding their animals—including a pair of cats that vied unremittingly for the girl’s attention. It gave Sirak his first respite from his sister’s incessant fretting since the wagon departed Rashayya.

  They set out early the next morning and headed for the city of Amman. Sheer mental and physical exhaustion, brought on by unrelenting angst, finally brought merciful sleep to Izabella. Sirak seized the opportunity to move up to the driver’s seat beside Jeremiah. The young man rode in silence for nearly an hour. This suited the taciturn Jew just fine. He’d made the trip alone hundreds of times over the preceding four decades and had come to delight in solitude.

  Finally, however, after a brief stop to water the horse, Sirak steeled himself to ask the burning question that had lingered on his lips since Abee introduced them in Rashayya. “Can I ask you a question?” Sirak suddenly blurted out.

  The trader shifted in his seat. “Yes, of course.”

  “You have Armenian customers in Jerusalem?”

  Jeremiah nodded. “Yes, many.”

  “Do you know a man named Mourad Kazerian?”

  “Mourad Kazerian?” Jeremiah repeated. “No, I don’t recall anyone with that name.”

  “How about Stepannos Kazerian?” Sirak asked hopefully.

  “No, I don’t recall anyone named Kazerian. But there are several thousand Armenian residents in Jerusalem, and three times that number scattered throughout Palestine, so that doesn’t mean they don’t live there. Are these men relations of yours?”