Yeraz would prolong this no longer. Let the customary steps be taken, and quickly, she decided. She had no desire to watch her youngest child wane before her eyes. She herself had resisted the urge to act unwisely more than once these past months, since the day she had witnessed Anno’s desperation in Daron’s family’s vegetable garden. Unless they were to learn that the boy came from a family of thieves and murderers, she would push this alliance forward.
She glanced round the table and saw all eyes resting on her. Marie had already opened her mouth once only to shut it again. Let them wait, Yeraz thought. She needed to appear to be thinking. She nibbled the end of a long, plump raisin. It was crucial that Vartan and her sons not know of Anno’s familiarity with Daron.
Yeraz cringed inwardly at the disastrous aftermath that would bring. Better to not ask Anno if she were agreeable. Better to not take chances of letting her speak at all. Anno would simply have to endure a bit longer, Yeraz decided. She would proceed as tradition had taught them, and daughters were simply not promised in marriage at the first asking. The second asking would do.
“This is unexpected, Sister Mariam,” Yeraz began. “We have just begun to dry our tears since our Lucine became a bride.”
Marie watched Anno.
“That is understandable,” Mariam acquiesced quietly. Anno’s legs were trembling near her own and Mariam stretched stealthily under the table and placed a warm, firm hand on her knee. To her surprise, Anno clutched her hand immediately and squeezed it tight. Mariam was taken aback, given the distance Anno had placed between them of late.
Anno held Old Mariam’s hand and did not release it.
“And now our Anno has caught the eye of a family from our village and we must consider that she leave her father’s hearth as well.” At this, Yeraz smiled deeply at her daughter. It was a smile of warmth and sadness in one, and tears slid from Anno’s eyes as she realized, at last, that her mother would give her blessing. No one else mattered if Yeraz had decided.
“Tell us, Sister Mariam, what do you think? Is this a suitable match for the granddaughter of your beloved friend? What would my mother-in-law say of this family, this boy, if she were alive today?” Yeraz asked, looking at Marie, who approving greatly the mention of her mother, nodded heartily at Yeraz.
Anno no longer heard. She knew that this questioning was expected so that the go-between return to the boy’s family with the impression that consent was not given easily, that their daughter was too precious to them.
“I believe it is time your father and brother join us as well, Anno. Let us hear of any objections they may have.”
Anno’s legs unfolded with difficulty. She stood and took uneven steps toward the front door. The sleeves of her cotton blouse fell well above her slim wrists and her skirt would have exposed a bit too much of her ankles if they had not been covered with snug socks. She was close enough to call out to her father but had never done so in her life. No one had. She reached his side and waited. His last cigarette tip lay smoldering by his shoe and he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, listening to Haig’s explanation of the running of a motor. He tipped his head up and pulled playfully at the tips of her fingers as an indication for her to speak. Anno relayed her mother’s message for them to join the women inside.
Vartan twisted around and craned his neck to look back into the house at the serious group seated at the tiny table. He looked back quizzically at Haig as well.
“What is this, then?” he asked of his friend. Haig shrugged his shoulders as if in ignorance, but could not help looking uncomfortable.
Vrej was no longer in the garden, and at Yeraz’s insistence, Haig stopped a boy on the road and sent him on his way to locate him. She wished Vrej present to hear this discussion. Raffi had left the village again, four nights earlier.
The men settled themselves easily into the room. Anno stood close to the door that led to the sleeping room, her hands clasped loosely at her back, as if she were merely an observer and not the purpose of the visit at all.
Mariam began again, but his time she spoke with more enthusiasm. If Yeraz, as the mother, had had any objections or doubts, the men would have never become involved. Now they had moved on to the next stage, and Mariam wished greatly to be the bearer of good news to Nevart and Mgro. For, as Anno was committed to Daron, she knew, she had seen, Daron was committed to Anno.
“…and so, it is the heartfelt wish of the Markarian family that they may have Anno…”
“No.” Vartan’s voice was even, emotionless, almost as if he were rejecting a piece of bread or second cup of tea.
Mariam and Yeraz stared at him. Had they heard correctly? Surely they had not? They exchanged glances.
“What have you said, Vartan?” Mariam pressed, convincing herself she had misunderstood. She was old and misheard often.
“No. Not that family. I cannot give my daughter to that family.”
There, again. Anno heard her father speak again. Not emotion-ridden words, exclaimed and repented later, nor words born of anxiety or sentimentality. These words were spoken with certainty, spoken with knowledge, and directed, pointedly, to his wife.
Yeraz blinked in astonishment.
“But, why, Vartan?” she implored, her voice made small.
More gently, now, he asked, “Does it matter so much? Will our Anno become an old maid, do you think? There are so many more lads in the village.” He wished to end this conversation.
Unmoved at his attempt at lightness, unable to look at Anno, Yeraz kept her gaze, disapproving and probing and unsatisfied, fixed on her husband.
Uncomfortable now, not having expected Yeraz’s insistence, he began to notice that Mariam was scowling at him. And in the shadows, he saw Anno. Her arms seemed glued behind her back and her legs were braced as if to keep herself from falling. Her eyes pierced his.
All this brought a slow, unwanted understanding, and he asked the one question no one had asked before. “Anno, my daughter, do you want this boy?”
A voice, urgent and loud, called from the road “Sister Mariam! Sister Mariam!” Rushed and heavy steps approached Vartan’s door.
“Is Sister Mariam here?” A neighbor, his eyes enormous with fear, stood in the doorway. “Please, come! She is not well…my wife!”
It had grown dark inside and, engrossed in conversation, no one had cared to move to light candles. All started at the intrusion. Mariam acted first. She scooted her bulk from her flattened cushion and, taking Yeraz’s arm, motioned for her to follow.
The men rose heavily from the room. When Yeraz looked over at Anno, she had disappeared.
Vrej had practically reached home, only to be met on the road by Vartan and the other men. As he searched their faces in confusion, they turned him back in the direction he had come.
“How could you let this get so far?” Vartan controlled the pitch of his voice, but the words were ground out.
“My brother,” Haig answered, “I knew of it not five minutes before my mother started out the door. I knew it would not be welcome news, and that is why I joined her.”
Vartan’s sharply tossed head was his only answer. They were climbing the gently winding road toward Mariam’s home and the conversation would not continue there.
C H A P T E R 21
Anno’s fury overcame any good sense left to her these last months. She bounded down and around the houses lining the twisted road. Her path was dark and if Anno had not known each stone, each dip, each turn by heart, she would surely have faltered or tumbled by now, but as it was, her legs strode as long and purposefully as her skirt allowed and her eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.
The night had turned cold and damp and there was hardly a person out. The few left were hurrying toward home and shelter. Doors were shut tight and the small, high windows gave no clue as to how time was passed indoors. Had Anno turned her head to look, she could not have told what was taking place inside the rooms of even one single home. Passing the stables, she coul
d smell the hay and earth and the smoky, dense hides of the animals.
Her ears rang and her vision was clouded with emotion. She felt as if she had been tossed back and forth for an eternity. And for what, she challenged, to no one but the solid walls she fleetingly passed. For all of them to agree, on a whim, if Daron were the proper husband for her? Well, they did not know anything, Anno decided. Not of him or his family.
She felt the cold grip her neck.
“Not that family,” her father had said. That statement, she knew, was not born of a whim. Everyone had been surprised by it, had they not? Anno turned a sharp corner and reached out to lean against the corner of the building for support. Her weight on one arm, she turned her face skyward and tried to remember her mother’s reaction. Yeraz and Mariam had both been in agreement. Yeraz was giving her consent. Mariam had no intention of speaking of her and Daron’s meeting. All was to be well and then her father, her father, had said the most unexpected thing. It had shocked everyone.
Anno strode forward once again. She would wait and yearn and hope no longer. She would go to Daron, now, and let him hear of what had happened, and if there was truly a reason why they could not marry, then she would know of it. She decided more as she began to run. If necessary, they would run away and be married in a different village.
“Anno, kiz,” she heard her name whispered, raspily.
Anno’s steps faltered, but ignoring the sound as if it were imagined, she hurried on.
“Anno, girl,” the voice beckoned again.
Anno stopped now, looking right and left in searching recognition.
“I am here. Right here,” the voice called softly, as if to guide and lure.
Anno focused on a small shape huddled into the corner of a high garden wall just yards away from the church square. She stepped closer. “Turgay Dade?”
“Anno, child, won’t you help me?” Long black sleeves stretched toward her.
Reluctantly, she took the old woman’s hands. The bent fingers twisted through her smooth ones.
“Anno, child. Anno. Anno,” she crooned and tears flowed abundantly to her eyes. “My mother, is she coming?”
Anno stamped her foot now in frustration. The mist had turned into a steady rain and she knew she could never leave Old Turgay outside, alone, in the wet and cold. She must be led back to the river now and encouraged to return to her sons.
Anno searched the roads and then the square, hoping to catch sight of someone else who might take Turgay. A boy, perhaps. She was struck, suddenly, at the complete emptiness around her.
“Anno, girl. Take me home. My mother is crying. I can hear her crying.”
“I will take you home, Dade,” Anno conceded. She did not understand Kurdish well and had no practice in speaking it. Her words were thought out before she spoke.
“Let us fix your head covering first.” Anno reached down, pulled the covering back onto Turgay’s head and secured it the best she could.
“We must walk quickly, Turgay Dade, or you will get sick.” This last Anno gave in warning because Turgay often refused to move forward when she sensed she was being coaxed over the stream before she was ready.
Anno led Turgay down toward a smaller square, where three lanes met at once. There, only the branches of trees topping the garden walls shifted and it was as if the wind sloughed through the air in warning. Anno shivered and glanced down at Turgay. The old woman, for once, had nothing to say. She merely peered back at Anno trustingly.
The moon, three-quarters round, cast its shadows as Anno led Turgay on.
They reached the basket weaver’s shop and turned onto the flatland that separated the village from the river. They walked heedfully forward, arm in arm, leaving the safety of the village homes further and further behind. Anno’s legs became weighted as she sensed the full extent of their helpless exposure. Turgay, in her fatigue, was pulling down heavily on Anno’s side, but she seemed oblivious to the close presence of danger that they had placed themselves in, moving in the open grasses after nightfall. Wolves and brown bears were prevalent always, but it was the striped hyena Anno feared most. Her head moved to the right and left, trying to block the reappearing vision of its wide jaws and nail-like teeth.
Anno knew they would need to walk directly along the banks of the river in order to spot the crossing points. She heard the lap of the water, but did not hurry toward it. For one, she was examining each bulge, each shadowy protrusion for movement. Also, Turgay had guessed where they were headed and Anno was reduced to tugging her ahead in miniature steps.
Turgay had started weeping again in anticipation. Her shoulders shuddered, but her tears had been trained, it seemed, to fall soundlessly. Her anguish had long been borne alone.
Staring ahead into the darkness, Anno considered turning back. She was unsure how long they would have to search for a safe path across the stream. She was not certain where the crossings lay and she did not expect any help from the old woman. But they were closer to the crossing, Anno knew, than the distance to her father’s house.
It would be wiser, she decided, to hurry toward the bank without any further thoughts of hyenas. Once Turgay passed to the other side, Anno would run the distance home. She would seek out Daron tomorrow. It would be madness to present herself at Mgro’s door after this. She would find a way then.
The raindrops, probing and constant, had seeped and soaked between the fibers of their clothing. The smell of sodden wool was familiar and it comforted Anno. As they reached the bank and turned upstream along it, Anno coaxed gently, “You are almost home now, Dade. Once we see the row of fat, smooth stones, you can pass over them and straight to your family.”
At the water’s edge, the cold seeped through the soles of Anno’s shoes. She knew Turgay was not even looking in the direction of the water, and Anno puffed in frustration. As she had feared, Turgay would offer no help at all.
Desperation rising, she hurried Turgay along a bit roughly, and when the old woman did not even raise her eyes in objection, Anno released her hold with shame.
Several feet upstream, Anno thought she saw the water’s flow alter. She left Turgay and ran ahead. There, unmistakably, five flat boulders lay stubbornly in the path of the current. Their surface was so wide that Turgay could dance across if she wished. Excitedly, Anno ran back.
“Dade, you shall soon be home with your grandchildren. You should be glad to warm your back by the fire.”
The rain pelted their bodies now and the marshy land was hard to cross. With no room to walk side by side, Anno walked backwards, holding both of Turgay’s hands in hers. Once they had reached the boulders, she bent to hug the old woman good-bye.
“Good night, Dade. You hurry home to your mattress and I shall hurry home to mine.”
Anno’s teeth were chattering now. In flight, she had taken no coat. Her dress had soaked through, and the coarse, wet cotton of her thin blouse lay against her skin like a cloying, icy sheet.
Anno urged Turgay toward the first boulder. Turgay did not move.
“Turgay Dade, do not stand here. Your shoes will be soaked. Get up on the rock.”
Turgay stood frozen, staring down at her feet.
Anno changed tactics while trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
“Dade, will you come visit us again tomorrow?”
Only Turgay’s head covering moved. Thin and dripping, it fluttered heavily and folded on itself.
Anno studied it and was consumed by a deep shame. She was struck by the enormity of what she was doing to Turgay, at once a quick contrast of childlike goodness and sage adult, keenly aware of the cruelty and trickery of all people. And trickery was just what Anno was practicing, costumed as a good deed, upon this person who had been yearning for just one thing all her life.
Anno sank to her haunches and buried her head against her knees. She could move no more. She could make no more decisions, not for herself nor for anyone else. Decisions were being made for her, and for Turgay, and it was bes
t to stop trying so hard. She closed her eyes and listened to the rush of the water, her warm breath cloaking her icy hands. Drops of rain rolled down her neck.
Seeing Anno bring herself to a level lower than Turgay, the old woman shifted her eyes to study her. She did not understand what had happened. For some time the two figures stood by the water’s edge and lost themselves to its splash and scurry.
“Barakata kiz,” a girl child who brings luck, Turgay tried, voice nervous. This was what she had called her since that first Easter, when Anno had taken Turgay home to Yeraz.
Anno heard but did not move.
“Anno, do not leave me.”
She heard the fear now in Old Turgay’s voice.
“I will not leave you,” Anno raised her head tiredly. “But, Dade, I cannot take you to your mother.”
She rose to face Turgay, and gentling her voice, as though one could cushion the thrust of a spear, she spoke the truth to the child Turgay, ripped from her mother’s side just yesterday.
“Your mother, Turgay, is no longer here.” Anno’s voice broke and her jaw quivered. “She died soon after you were taken from her.”
The moonlight had long been hidden behind the crush of clouds, but Anno was able to look clearly into Turgay’s eyes. Something glinted there.
“She did not want to live in this world without you any more than you wanted to live without her.”
Anno had not given any consideration to how Turgay would respond to the truth of her words. The need to say them and to have them known was more valuable, more humane, and a lifetime late in coming.
Turgay’s folded eyelids seemed to drop lower around the edges of once large, deep-set eyes. Unblinkingly, she stared at Anno, but Anno knew she was seeing again, for the millionth time, the pulling, the tearing, the jerks and screams of the Kurdish horseman and her defenseless mother. With a long exhale of defeat, she spoke in a whisper. “No, she did not want to live either.” And she turned her body in the direction of the Kurdish camp.
As the Poppies Bloomed Page 9