Why? Why did the Barone want to see her? As curious as she felt, the calm way she received his request surprised her. Might he be planning a final performance at the farewell gathering for the staff? The thought gave wings to her heart. If the summons were for an audition, she felt comfortable wearing the more formal of the two uniforms. She tightened the belt of the navy blue tunic and squared the pockets. Carefully she smoothed the stiff collar. She stepped directly behind Sebouh Effendi and, making sure he could not see her, she licked her palms several times and smoothed her hair. The sisters from Van often told her she looked pretty when her hair shone and her braid dangled to the side, framing her face. She wet and twirled the end tip of her braid. I must be pretty tonight.
Sebouh Effendi stopped at a large tent and tapped at the entryway. “Mannig is here,” he said, glancing first at her then at the light beams crisscrossing through the windows veiled with mosquito netting.
“Oh, oh!” Mardiros’ voice came in a rush. “Come in, come in, my dear.” He reached for her elbow, a jovial smile radiating on his face. He led her in, and thanking Sebouh, he quickly bid him a good evening.
Mannig hesitated in awe. The few square yards of the desert under her feet gave way to a palatial room. Persian rugs covered the floor and tinted kerosene lamps hung from four corners, lighting the tent radiantly. A cluster of small purplish flowers tied in a bouquet scented the spacious area and a soft “Plaisir d’amour” reverberated from the gramophone.
Alone with Barone Mardiros? She stepped backward.
As if noticing her apprehension, he held her hand and, with his most generous smile, said, “Please.” He encouraged her to sit down on the divan.
She relished the plush sensation of the velvet upholstery against her bare legs. The urge to slide from side to side faded when he sat on a hassock facing her. She pulled her skirt below her stiffening knees. Mesmerized, she gazed at his square jaw, then at his wide forehead, focusing on the changing expression in his eyes—from carefree hazel to serious green.
“Mannig,” he whispered. “What I want to say will surprise you,” he pulled the hassock closer to her. “I know you don’t expect any of it. But I know you are an intelligent girl, and I know you understand the essence of nature.”
Mannig liked being called intelligent; but what did he mean by the essence of nature?
“For quite some time now,” he continued, “I have been very interested in you … thinking about you … all the time. You have been in my mind since the first time I noticed you … in Mosul … you were pretending to be a poor starveling wanting to enter the orphanage. Do you remember?”
Mannig blinked in embarrassment. She felt herself blushing from head to toe and prayed it would fade unnoticed.
“Your extraordinary behavior then, and ever since, has inspired me to step out of the ordinary myself,” he continued. “I have tried so hard to hide my attraction to you; I have prayed to go unnoticed by you and by others. I have wanted to forget you completely, but it has been impossible. Your presence casts a spell on me every time. Just as I am sure the sun will rise every morning, I am sure I cannot get you out of my mind.”
Mannig felt relieved to be seated, since the sensation in her weakened knees could trigger a fall, betraying the affect of his words. Her pulse raced, heart pounded.
“So I continued to volunteer at the orphanage,” he said, “hoping to see you again—and God granted my wish. Wherever AGBU assigned me to go, there I found you. Whenever I attended a special program, you glittered like a star. Whatever the message, it sufficed when I heard it from your warm lips. You have won my heart.”
And now, Mannig thought, your poetry is touching my heart.
“Seeing you off to Jerusalem tears me apart. Truthfully, my dear, I cannot live without you,” he said and apologized for going on his knees. “Traditionally, a mother relays the message I’m about to declare. But we live in unusual circumstances.” He took both her hands in his. “I dream of uniting with you. I love you. I want to marry you.”
Although he uttered his words very softly, they hit Mannig like a bolt of thunder. She stood up without pulling away.
He arose too. “Will you marry me?” he repeated.
As though the answer had sparked in her head, she knew what he meant by the ‘essence of nature.’ The words took form and relayed their intent. She opened her mouth, gasped and closed her eyes. What should I say?
Immediately, he filled the silence. “You don’t have to answer me instantly. I can wait a minute. I know what you’re thinking … that I am too old for you and you are very young. I have wished it otherwise but during these past three years, I have seen you act more mature than most adults I know. I trust my heart and my heart knows best. My love for you is the force behind my proposal.”
Mannig’s timidity had departed outside the walls of the tent. Emboldened, she spoke quietly, confidently and earnestly. “I don’t consider your age to be an obstacle. I will be very happy and proud to marry you.”
“You will?” Mardiros spread his arms, wanting to fling himself against her, but held back.
Mannig liked his impulsiveness but more so his self control—decorum worthy of an honorable man. “But it’s impossible,” she said.
“Why? B-b-but why?” he stuttered. “It is the young fellow, right? What is his name? He just arrived … you embraced him …. Do you really like him?”
“Dikran?” Mannig was startled. “Oh, no! I like him very much. He and I became friends. He protected me from the bigger and stronger scavengers when we foraged the streets of Mosul for food. He is my hero.”
“Then, why? Why do you think marrying me is impossible?”
“Because I have a special dream for my life,” Mannig whispered.
“Tell me, tell me. What is your dream? I have special dreams myself.”
Mannig hesitated.
“I urge you to tell me everything … open up your heart … tell me everything … think of me as your …” he stopped for a big laugh. “Not as your Dear Father, please; but let us say, for just a temporary moment … as your Dear Uncle.”
Dear Father? Dear Uncle? He seemed as confused as she; the similarity comforted her. “My dream is to continue my studies,” she said. “I want to go to school and learn everything. I want to learn everything about the world, everything about life.”
“That is not a problem. I will enroll you in a real school in Baghdad. I will find the best teachers for you.”
The needle slid beyond the grooves of the disc, repeating a scratchy pattern. Glancing at the gramophone, she said, “I also want to learn music.”
“Music? Like what is on this disc?” he asked, rescuing it from further damage.
“No. I want to be like my mother—a musician.”
“What do you like to learn to play?”
“Piano. Yes, the piano. My mother played the violin, but she used to say, ‘one must learn to play the piano first in order to be a good violinist. She was a very good musician.”
“Piano! Oh, wonderful,” he interrupted her again. “You could accompany me when I play the flute. Piano it shall be. Baghdad claims some of the best piano teachers. I will hire the best for you.”
His promises captivated Mannig. The more they talked the closer to him she felt. Should she take a calculated risk with another request? After all, he did want her to speak openly. “That would be one dream come true,” she agreed. “But I cannot go to Baghdad.”
He looked stunned, eyes wide and mouth open.
“Because I have a sister,” she broke the silence. “She is the only family I have. She and I can never be separated. We make decisions together. We are going to Jerusalem together.”
“I know about Adrine,” he said, “and I remember your devotion to her since … since that time you refused to go to America without her. The tragic killing of your family, obviously, make you two sisters want to stick together.”
Mannig’s tears welled in her eyes.
“D-d-do you really m-m-mean th-th-that’s your only objection?” he stammered, excitement flashing in his eyes. “That—you d-d-don’t want to be separated from your sister?”
“Yes!” she replied definitively.
“That is easier done than you can imagine,” he said with a sigh of relief and, leaving considerable space between them, sat on the divan beside her. Took a deep breath.
Mannig’s insides stirred with joy. She lowered her gaze and controlled her own delight. She liked him so much that even if he had not said ‘easier than imagined’ she might have abandoned her sister. She loved him. She had probably loved him for as long as he had been infatuated with her. And just as with him, only now her true feelings took wings.
He told her of his family and asked about hers, but refrained from references to the war. Not once did he attempt to kiss her or even take her hands in his. She was comfortable in his presence. She hoped he, too, felt they would be marrying “their own kind,” as the sisters from Van had insisted.
“I will escort you to your tent,” he said after they had talked intimately for an hour. “I will speak with Sebouh. He also wishes to get married.”
They walked side-by-side, passing the orphan tents without words.
Mannig felt herself a different person—no more the carefree girl. Her head weighed heavily on her shoulders as she cross-referenced her words with his, her reactions to his facial exuberances and finally her heart’s desires with his promises. Most of all, she pondered her wonderment about marriage with his determination to please her.
Throughout the night, she turned and tossed, vaguely aware of the summons Adrine received during the night.
At sunrise, everyone prepared for the departure from the orphanage at Nahr-el-Omar. The breakfast area was cleaned and the tents were evacuated, collapsed, rolled and stored in sheds. The orphans lined up with their bundles in view of Shuja, the British ship anchored off shore. The white ship and its black and red smoke stacks was an awesome sight above the watermark. It beckoned some 900 orphans.
The attendant of the tender singled out Mannig and Adrine, as the first of ten passengers to board, surprising Mannig. She wondered about Mardiros’s plans to travel by train to Baghdad. Had he changed his mind? She glanced at her sister repeatedly, hoping for a clue about any changes in plans that might have transpired during the night. Were Mardiros’ promises but a figment of air this morning? How embarrassing it would have been if she had shouted her luck to the world, as she had wanted to do?
The puttering of the tender toward the big ship filled her with wonder. Ferrying on the tender electrified her; it was an exhilaratingly fast vessel—diesel fumes wafting, waves chopping against the cruising motor boat. Thoughts about the essence of nature dissipated into nothingness.
Upon boarding the ship the two sisters were whisked to the captain’s quarters. When Mannig saw Mardiros standing beside the captain, she lit up from inside, letting out a long dormant breath of anxiety she had held throughout the ride in the tender.
Sebouh Effendi flanked the captain’s left, and all three were smiling—the captain most radiantly. In glittering golden insignia and total white regalia, his eyes gleamed and his teeth sparkled. Standing straight and tall, he exclaimed. “The brides-to-be, I assume?”
35—January 22, 1922
The atmosphere of the captain’s beautiful cabin intimidated Mannig.
She felt like a mouse. Even her braid dangled like the tail of one. Adrine’s tightened grip increased her anxiety until Mardiros rushed to her side.
Knowing she was wanted calmed her. Blithely, she shook the captain’s hand when Mardiros introduced her as his bride-to-be. She kept her other eye on Sebouh and Adrine, who followed their lead.
“To perform a double wedding ceremony,” the Captain said, “is a unique responsibility for any captain. It is also my first. I shall never forget it.”
Mannig glanced at Adrine. “What is he saying?”
“He is an Englishman,” Mardiros responded with a smile and proceeded to translate. Then he turned to the Captain. “The brides-to-be don’t speak English.”
A knock on the door drew everyone’s attention. Three gentlemen wearing expensive black suits and ties entered the cabin.
“The witnesses, I presume?” The captain asked Mardiros.
Mardiros took Mannig’s hand and approached the entourage, introducing her again as his bride-to-be to Barone Simon Gharibian, Barone Antellias, and Barone Mugurdichian, three leaders of the Armenian community from Basra.
Barone Gharibian held onto Mannig’s hand and said, “Mardiros is my best friend. I must tell you he is the shining diamond of Baghdad. He will treat you like a queen. You are a very lucky girl.”
“I shall wire about this real-life Cinderella story,” Barone Antellias said, retrieving a pen and a small, lined notepad from his jacket pocket. He spoke fast and jotted down even faster. “Just the headline with my monthly byline ought to dizzy the heads in the cosmopolitan cities of the world … Istanbul, Beirut, Cairo and Athens, and Ha! And in the Baghdad Gazette, too, of course.”
“No one will believe your story,” Barone Mugerdichian said. “They will confuse it with a book of fiction I read recently … about a benefactor of an orphanage in America who falls in love with an orphan. I think the book is called, Daddy Long Legs.”
“They will believe,” the Captain said. “They will believe. The presence of the three of you proves it. You are the witnesses to this double wedding, on this 22nd day of January 1922.”
A knock on the door heralded the sisters from Van. Seeing how confused they appeared in their rumpled khaki uniforms, Mannig rushed toward them, as Mardiros had done earlier for her, to relieve their distress. She smacked kisses on them both. “We are getting married!” she exclaimed. “Adrine to Sebouh Effendi and I to Barone Mardiros!” She waited for their joyful response, but the sisters remained frozen at the threshold. “Believe me! We invited you, our dear tent mates, to our wedding. We couldn’t do it without your presence.”
“We wanted you to be part of this ceremony,” Mardiros said, putting his hands on Mannig’s shoulders.
“I am speechless,” Vanouhi whispered to Adrine. “Art thou really getting married?”
Both Mannig and Adrine beamed and nodded.
“But, but, what about a white wedding gown?” Takouhi mumbled.
“Such formalities will come later,” Adrine said. “When we go to Baghdad, we will get our white dresses from Sebouh Effendi’s big European store.”
“Thou art so lucky,” Vanouhi said.
“You will find your own lucky mates in Jerusalem,” Adrine whispered.
“Maybe we will be as lucky as thee,” Vanouhi chirped.
Mannig reached for Vanouhi’s left hand, took Takouhi’s right, and introduced them to Mardiros, who in turn did the honors with the rest of the wedding patrons.
The wedding ceremony lasted a long time. First the captain read the rites for Mardiros and Mannig in English, and then Barone Mugurdichian translated them into Armenian. Then the whole ceremony was repeated for Sebouh and Adrine. Lengthy indeed, but it flashed in and out of Mannig’s head faster than lightening. Mardiros’ kiss on her cheek also whooshed by, but she clung to its tender message of warmth, promise, and hope. In embracing the sisters from Van, she poured forth all her love, tears, and joy.
“Congratulations, Diggin Kouyoumdjian,” Barone Simon Gharibian said, shaking Mannig’s hand and slipping onto her wrist a brilliant golden watch set as a bracelet.
Mannig’s gaze flashed at the stark contrast of the glittering jewel against the coarse blue sleeve of her uniform. His words remained whirling in her thoughts.
Diggin? He had addressed her as a Mrs. Diggin, which befits grown women, married for many years, mother of children and burdened with chores. She became a Mrs. even before anyone called her Miss. All her life, she wanted to be called Miss, especially as a little girl in Adapazar. When in kindergarten, if
someone asked what she wanted to be, she had said, a Miss, meaning to become a teacher like Miss Romella. Visions of becoming a teacher like Miss Romella and being called Miss Mannig evaporated in her foggy head, and dammed-up tears began to roll down her face. Disenchanted, she hugged Vanouhi while she wiped her tears. Then she hugged Takouhi and cried with her some more. She didn’t question why the sisters from Van were crying, but they found solace in sniffling together.
Not having time to brood depressed Mannig. She needed to act like a mature Mrs. Kouyoumdjian and not disappoint her groom. “I am so happy you are here,” she said to Takouhi. “I shall miss you very much. You and Vanouhi were a big part of my orphanage life and shared a tent with me for so long. So you deserved to participate in my wedding. I will never forget you.”
The captain poured cognac into snifters for the gentlemen and passed around a crystal bowl of sugar-coated almonds in a heap of pastel colors. He served Mannig first. “I was told that Jordan-Almonds are a tradition at Armenian engagement parties,” he said. “As unconventional as we are at this wedding, we shall celebrate your engagement at the same time as your wedding. One for all, and all for one.”
The aromatic vanilla candy nearly intoxicated Mannig. She raised her palm to her nose, sniffing noisily with great relish, when Mardiros caught her eye. He shook his head. Discreetly, she dropped the candy into her tunic pocket. I’ll enjoy it when I’m alone.
A third knock on the door heralded two waiters in white formal jackets, aproned and carrying silver trays heaped with roasted chicken and pilaf sprinkled with a confetti of raisins and pine nuts. Trays of fruit and vegetables and breads and cakes lined the shelf across from the dining table, elegantly set with purple flowers and candles, all under a shimmering chandelier.
“The chefs of Shuja have prepared a feast in honor of the newly wedded couples,” the Captain announced. “Let us sit down.”
As Manning was led by Mardiros and helped her into a red velvet chair, she knew he planned to monitor her manners at the lavish dinner. For the next hour, the sterling jingled, the china chimed, and the crystal goblets glittered over and above the dinner conversation. When the butler bent down beside her, holding a platter full of tawny-roasted chicken, she froze in her seat, unable to decide what to do.
Between the Two Rivers: A Story of the Armenian Genocide Page 28