‘She’s still in Trebizond.’
‘But you intend bringing her?’
‘Yes. As soon as I can arrange it.’
A ship’s horn blew in the distance and the parasol of a woman at a nearby table sailed past. With a snap, Madame Orfalea closed her own parasol and put it by her feet. Jahan watched, knowing there was more to come.
‘Jahan,’ she said, leaning across the table to put her hand on his arm, ‘écoutes. Your father is the kind of man for whom pride is everything. Pride in his country most of all. When you threatened … when you spoke of leaving the army to marry this girl, it flew in the face of everything he believes in. Everything he has worked so hard for. This war will not last for ever. By the end of the year, two at most, it will all be over. I know … I understand how things are. You fell in love. It is natural at your age. I know that right now nothing seems more important, but I’m asking you … begging you, for my sake, Jahan, not to do anything for the moment. If you provoke your father, he is capable of things he would regret but never undo. And with his health as it is …’ She shook her head, her eyes unnaturally bright. ‘You have my word, Jahan, when the time is right I will talk to him. I know how to get around him. Je t’en pris, Jahan. I’m asking that you do this for me.’
Jahan looked down the hill over the jumble of tiled roofs and flat roofs, past the clutter of masts and rigging on the water to the huge iron bulk of the German warships. Across the Horn to the mosques and minarets and wind-towers on the Stamboul side. His mother was watching him, expecting an answer, but how could he wait? How could he abandon Anyush to chance? But if he did do as his mother asked, he would have an ally in the battle with his father, the one person capable of interceding with him. Jahan would have to hope that the Stewarts were influential enough to keep Anyush safe and that the demands of war would keep Ozhan distracted.
‘Very well, Maman,’ he said. ‘I will do as you ask. But don’t expect me to wait too long.’
Mushar, Trebizond, 30 July 1915
Before Anyush could make her journey to the village, she had to leave the laundry at Kazbek’s cottage. Husik had not appeared and only his father stood on the porch steps, prayer beads swinging at his wrist. She walked quickly on towards the town, touching the letter in her skirt pocket. It was the last letter she would send, her final hope that Jahan would write. She had written everything she wanted to say, offering her love, her prayers for him and for the child she was carrying. Nothing was left unsaid.
Anyush stayed on the path skirting the wood, careful to keep beneath the trees. She took the letter from her pocket again and looked at the address. Grande Rue de Pera. It seemed so foreign, so far away. She slid her hand over her belly and felt it strain a little against the folds of her skirt. For a thin girl, it was becoming difficult to hide. Unwed mothers were dealt with severely in the village, and the only hope for her baby and herself lay in marrying Jahan. She had to find him and tell him what he could not know. What he would want to know.
‘Anyush.’
Husik sprang out from behind a tree.
‘Don’t do that!’
‘Did I frighten you?’
His eye fell on the letter in her hand and he snatched it from her fingers.
‘Who are you writing to, Anyush?’
‘Give it to me.’
‘Nobody has ever written to me. Can’t I have this one?’
‘Husik, give me the letter.’
She tried to take it from him, but he held it just out of reach.
‘I wonder what’s written inside. Maybe I’ll have a look.’
‘Don’t you open it! Don’t you dare!’
‘You’d better have it, then. But you’ll have to catch me first.’
He took off, and she had no choice but to follow. Rounding the bend and coming on to the long straight stretch of road, she could see nothing only the dark silent wood on either side and the church spire in the distance.
‘Husik …?’
A flock of crows shook out their wings, calling forlornly in the canopy above her.
‘Husik, I’m not in the humour for this.’
A volley of shots rang out, sending the birds shrieking into the afternoon sky.
‘Over here.’
He was standing on the path, listening, her letter forgotten. She snatched it from his hand.
‘You shouldn’t be out here,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you home.’
‘I’m going to the village.’
‘The village isn’t safe. I’ll post your letter for you.’
‘No!’
‘Don’t you trust me?’
His pale face looked into hers. She did trust him. She would have trusted Husik with her life but not with this letter. Pushing it into her pocket, she turned in the direction of the town.
The post office was a flat-roofed, ramshackle building on the corner of the square, leaning at an angle up against the Tufenkians’ shop and doubling as the town hall. Until recently, it had been run by Dikkran Gulakian, an uncle of Sosi’s, but her uncle had been conscripted and the post office was now run by Bekir Hisar. The Hisars were neighbours to the Charcoudians, helpful at harvest time and the main buyer of any surplus vegetables from Gohar’s small plot. Hisar greeted Anyush warily as she came through the door.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said, barely glancing at the letter. ‘The village is swarming with gendarmes.’
He franked the letter and put it in a bag on the floor.
‘Go!’ he hissed, nodding to where a group of uniformed guards had gathered on the street outside. ‘If they find you here …’
He beckoned her behind the counter to a back door. ‘Hurry!’
But the men were already on the threshold.
‘Allah, help us!’ Hisar whispered.
The gendarmes crowded inside, six or seven of them spreading like bees in the cramped space. They were young, somewhere in their early twenties.
‘Well, look what we have here! Told you I spotted one. And all on her own too.’
The gendarme turned to Hisar. ‘She doesn’t belong to you, does she?’
Bekir shook his head, his eyes cast to the floor.
‘Didn’t think so. No decent Turkish girl would parade herself through the town.’
He moved closer to Anyush, near enough that she could see drops of sweat in the tufts of hair on his upper lip. ‘You’re Armenian, aren’t you?’
There was no way past him and no access to the rear door. The circle closed around her.
‘What did you say? I didn’t hear you!’ He grabbed her by the arm. ‘Don’t you think she looks Armenian?’
They laughed, pushing her over and back between them from one pair of hands to another.
‘Someone must have cut out her tongue because I didn’t hear an answer. Are you Armenian, whore?’
Her voice had deserted her. She felt as though she were falling, weightless and helpless at their feet.
‘I asked you a question. Are … you … Armenian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah … we have an answer! Now what do we do with Armenian whores? Any ideas?’
Suddenly there was a tremendous burst of glass as the small shop window exploded in a thousand shards. The gendarmes fell to their knees and hunkered down around the walls and in front of the counter.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Somebody’s shooting!’
‘It’s a revolt!’
‘Armenian rebels!’
‘There’s one of them!’
They crowded through the door as a stocky, dark-haired figure ran across the square and disappeared into the maze of alleyways. Just as Anyush thought her knees would give way, Hisar’s bony fingers grabbed her by the arm. He pushed up the counter and led her to the lane outside.
‘Go to Dr Stewart’s house. They’re moving in the opposite direction, so if they don’t catch that poor bastard you’ll have enough time. Go now. Run!’
Although moments before she c
ould hardly stand, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her, praying over and again that Husik would not get caught.
The following morning, Anyush waited by the river where Husik brought the cows to drink. She had spent a restless night, not knowing if he had escaped the gendarmes.
The first of the cattle ambled down the track, shuffling and raising dried mud into the morning air. The cow’s dusty hide was stretched over her frame, and the bones of her pelvis thrust upwards from her rump. There were fewer of them than before, less than half a dozen. Some had been taken by the army and others had died of starvation so that Kazbek’s herd had been reduced to a few hollow-eyed beasts. Anyush tried to see past the animals to the back of the line, but to her horror she saw Kazbek flicking and prodding at them with a stick. He peered at her from his glassy eyes.
‘Selam, efendim,’ she said, falling into step beside him.
He flicked the switch over and back, the sound cutting through the cow’s lowing and the clodding fall of their feet.
‘I was wondering, efendim … about Husik?’
‘Husik is none of your concern.’
‘Yesterday … in the village …’
‘Nothing happened yesterday.’
‘But, efendim, he–’
‘Did you hear what I said? Nothing!’
She hung back, wary of the stick’s whip and flick.
‘Tell him I’m grateful,’ she called.
Kazbek stopped and turned around. He looked at her coldly, spitting on the ground by her feet. ‘I’ll give him no messages from you. Mad like your mother! You’re nothing but trouble. Stay away from him, you hear?’
He flicked his switch at the beast nearest him and followed after it, disappearing into the rising cloud of dust.
Gohar Charcoudian sat on a chair in her nightgown as Anyush took down the brush from the mantlepiece. With the passing of years more of the old woman’s scalp was visible through the strands of her thinning hair. Anyush brushed from the hairline to the nape of her grandmother’s neck with the firm strokes the old woman loved.
Gohar was quiet, her swollen fingers lying in her lap and her misshapen knees poking through the fabric of her nightdress. Her arthritis was bad again, and although she never complained she was in constant pain. A gust of wind rose, rattling the small window. Gohar closed her eyes, and just as Anyush thought she was nodding off she reached up and caught her granddaughter by the hand.
‘When were you going to tell me?’
The door to the cottage flew open, and Anyush’s mother came into the room. A strong wind whistled into the corners and blew Gohar’s nightdress up over her knees.
‘I need to speak to you, Anyush,’ Khandut said, pulling the scarf from her head. ‘To both of you.’
Gohar struggled to cover herself, and Anyush caught the unmistakable stench of their landlord.
‘I’ve been to negotiate the rent. I don’t have to tell you we have no money and no way of paying, but Kazbek and I have struck a deal. He’s willing to write off the debt and drop the rent on the top field.’
‘We’ll owe him nothing?’ Anyush asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘But that’s … that’s wonderful,’Anyush said. ‘Isn’t that good news, Tatik?’
Beneath her granddaughter’s touch, Gohar had tensed like a spring. ‘What were his terms?’ the old woman asked. ‘What did you offer him in return?’
Khandut was looking at the empty grate. Soot had fallen onto the hearth and she tipped at it with the toe of her boot. ‘He wants a wife.’
‘You’re going to marry him?’ Gohar whispered. ‘You’re going to live there? In that house?’
‘I never said anything about marrying him.’
‘So what did you agree? Are we to understand … Oh dear God, no!’
‘What’s the matter?’ Anyush asked.
‘Tell me you didn’t.’
‘There was no other way.’
‘You sold her? To him? To that monster?’
‘I had no choice.’
‘Me?’ Anyush said. ‘You’re talking about me?’ The hairbrush fell from her hand.
‘It is the answer to our problems. We’ll never have to worry about rent again.’
‘Marry Kazbek?’ She looked in horror from her mother to her grandmother.
‘You don’t mean it. Tell me you don’t.’
‘You can’t send her to live in that house.’
‘If you have a better idea, then let me hear it.’
‘For the love of God she’s your daughter! You know what happened to his first wife.’
‘And who else will marry her, eh? Tell me, who? What man will marry a woman who is bewitched by the sea? You know what they say about her in the village? That any man who marries her will drown. And their children too.’
‘That’s just village talk. Khandut, I beg of you, put this from your mind.’
‘I won’t marry him! Never!’
‘Would you prefer to walk the roads when he evicts us?’ her mother snapped. ‘With your grandmother a cripple who can hardly turn to look at me? If you marry him, we’ll have food in our bellies and a roof over our heads.’
‘Food?’ Gohar said, struggling to her feet. ‘When he beats her like his last wife, will you think of food then? When he kicks her like a dog? You who has blamed me all your life for your own unhappy marriage! No. Anyush stays here. With us.’
‘You’re just a stupid old woman, Gohar. I was used! Forced into a marriage I didn’t want just so you could get your hands on some useless piece of land. This marriage will do good. It will save our lives.’
‘Good! You talk of good? There is only evil in that house!’
‘Wait …’ Anyush stood between them. ‘There are ways … other ways. He wouldn’t throw an old woman out on the roads.’
‘You’d better believe he would,’ Khandut said bitterly. ‘In a minute.’
‘The Stewarts will help.’
‘The Stewarts can hardly feed themselves.’
‘Please …’ Anyush’s voice broke, words coming apart in her mouth. ‘I can’t … I beg you … not that man … please don’t ask me.’
‘You won’t marry Kazbek,’ Gohar said quietly. ‘Will you tell her or will I?’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Go on. She has to know.’
‘What do I have to know?’
Anyush’s grandmother nodded. The moment had come. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
‘I’m carrying a child.’
Khandut’s knuckle made contact with Anyush’s cheekbone and she fell backwards onto a chair.
‘For the love of God, woman …’
‘Who is he? Who’s the father?’
Khandut hit her daughter again, so that she tumbled sideways to the floor.
‘Leave her alone.’
‘Who-is-the-father-of-the-child?’
Trying to protect her belly, Anyush inched away from her towards the wall.
‘Is it the American? Is it Dr Stewart?’
‘No!’
‘One of the men at the hospital then? It’s that Bedros, isn’t it? Nothing to say? Maybe your grandmother would like to tell me.’
Picking up the brush from the floor, Khandut brought it down hard on Gohar’s shoulder, and the old woman whimpered in pain.
‘A soldier! He’s a soldier. Don’t hit her again!’
Khandut dropped the brush and sat heavily into a chair. The wind roared down the chimney, blowing a thin veil of soot around the room.
‘Did he force you?’
‘No.’
‘Where is he, then?’
‘He’s gone.’
‘So,’ she said, looking at her daughter crouched on the floor, ‘we’ll just have to get rid of it.’
‘No! This baby is mine.’
‘This baby will have you stoned! You think you’re the first woman to dispose of a soldier’s brat?’
‘You can’t touch it. I’ll marry Kazbek.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must have an idea.’
Anyush looked at her grandmother.
‘Three months, by the looks of things,’ Gohar said. ‘Maybe less.’
‘Then it might just be possible.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘We have to convince Kazbek that Anyush is carrying Husik’s child.’
‘Husik?’
‘The boy makes no secret of his feelings for her. All she has to do is persuade him that the child is his.’
‘No!’ Gohar’s fingers gripped the chair. ‘If Kazbek ever found out, he’d kill her. It’s too dangerous.’
‘Not Husik,’ Anyush whispered.
‘You think you have a choice?’ Khandut rounded on her. ‘You think I did?’
The wind dropped and the room was suddenly quiet.
‘It was your father who wanted you, Anyush. He had a weakness for children, but children are a burden. You’ll learn that the hard way. If your grandmother means as much to you as you’d have me believe, then your choice is already made.’
Anyush went to the only place she could find comfort. Running across the beach, she almost didn’t see the footprints in the wet sand. On the promontory at the western end she saw Husik sitting as though he was carved from the rock. He was staring out to sea, and it struck her as strange to see him so absolutely still and exposed to the wind and the air. He turned his head and looked at her. Neither of them moved. They were like figures in a painting, both the observer and the observed. Stray hairs from her plait blew across her face, but she didn’t try to brush them away. It felt as if she was standing on the edge, on the brink of something there was no going back from. If she married Husik there would be a future for her baby and her family but a lifetime of misery for herself. No happiness or hope or joy and, like her mother before her, married to a man she didn’t love. Because of the child in her belly it was what she had to do. What she would do. But she was weak. Closing her eyes, she prayed for a miracle. She saw Jahan walking on the sand, his arms open and his voice calling to her. Saying this was just a dream, a nightmare he had come to waken her from. But only the gulls moved across the bay, wheeling in great circles above her. She started towards the figure on the rock, praying for the courage to do what had to be done. Raising her hand, she waved at Husik, knowing she had changed her life for ever.
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