As the Poppies Bloomed

by Maral Boyadjian

  “And the rest, I do not know. Either she did not want to come or perhaps Mgro’s family discovered what was taking place. I cannot say. But the woman, as far as we know, was never seen again in Van. And I ask you, how should I give our Anno to that family, to live under the same roof as a man who has no judgment and no morals?”

  Vartan and Haig lit cigarettes in aggravated gestures. Vartan gave one long exhale of release before allowing himself to look at Yeraz.

  “My son, give me one as well,” Mariam asked wearily. The last cigarette she had held between her fingers had been rolled and lit by her husband, in amusement, some ten years ago. She hoped this one would help the kneading pain in the back of her skull.

  She drew the smoke deep into her lungs and thought. “Who was she? Someone was protecting her.”

  “Van consists of more than two thousand villages, foreign consuls, hospitals, and missions. In a place that size, only the guilty know,” Haig answered.

  “I, for one, do not care a bit for the comings and goings of this man who cannot keep his shalvar fastened,” Yeraz pushed herself to her feet. “I only care about seeing my daughter back as she was.”

  A tap on the door made her pause. Searching the blank faces around her, she called out to ask who was there.

  “It is Mihran, Sister Yeraz.”

  The door was pulled open, and the large man stood before her. He held a small jar containing a dark brown liquid in his roughened hands. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I have a unique bit of honey here for your Anno. It will soothe her throat.”

  Later, it was unclear to Yeraz whether it was truly Mihran’s “unique honey” that helped Anno, or her own resolve.

  At first, all remained unchanged. Anno’s fever neither broke nor rose. Her aches neither worsened nor diminished. She wheezed and sucked open-mouthed for air, but her expulsions lessened. Her breathing grew easier and her skin no longer appeared scorched. Her eyes opened more fully, and she passed entire days without having her damp clothes removed from her body. She sat for small spaces of time and consumed larger amounts of liquid and broth. Lucine, grown even larger, hurried down the lane on Avo’s arm. Even Takoush was summoned for visits and talked of the coming New Year and things they should eat and her new needlework. She did not speak of the two new betrothals that had been announced. Together with Lucine, they washed Anno’s hair amid splashes and soakings that Yeraz did not scold over. Then Takoush braided Anno’s hair elaborately, much as they used to do as children, and Anno’s face smoothed for the first time in months.

  Daron no longer made his daily visits. When it became apparent that Anno was out of danger, Vartan went to Mgro’s house to share the news with them. He was, in truth, very grateful to Daron and Kevork for finding Anno and Turgay that night. He admitted it to them, himself, for the first time, as Mgro’s entire family waited for him to continue, to add some grain of hope for their Daron. Vartan had concluded only by saying that Daron no longer needed to make his way through the freezing snow to see Anno each day. She was well and her family would see to it that she remained so.

  C H A P T E R 29

  It was late December, and it would not, after all, be a dry winter as Uncle Hagop had feared. Rain, hail, fog, and snow took their toll on the massive rounded mountain slopes and plains. The rivers and streams swelled impossibly and flashed past oaks and pines, firs and cedar. Myrtles and juniper sat complacently beneath pillows of snow, and the foxes and bears blinked in confusion at the shimmering lights of day and again buried their noses in their voluminous fur.

  The sheepfolds were checked and guarded regularly for fear of Kurds not satisfied with their collection of weeks before, and for hungry foxes and wolves. Livestock that was left to the villagers and not killed for their own consumption was passing the winter in the stables.

  Anno sat around the toneer with her family. The winter lavash, now cracker-like, had been pulled from its pile and sprinkled with water so that it would again soften. It was being used in place of spoons to scoop the bulgur pilaf with traces of lamb’s meat set before them. There were boiled chickpeas and greens and the ever-present yogurt as well.

  Old Mariam had returned to her own home three weeks past, and many times Anno thought to ask when she would visit, but never formed the words. She knew that the woman had helped save her life, and she clearly remembered her cheerful eyes and firm hand stilling her limbs the day she had brought the news of Daron’s family’s wish for marriage. Mariam had been her friend all along, and Anno had avoided her at every turn. She ached to think how wrong she had been to have shunned her, as strong and loving as she was. And the hours they might have passed together and the comfort Anno might have received there.

  Anno had asked about Turgay almost as soon as her confused mind had separated past from present, reality from dreams. Her mother had only been steps away, as she always seemed to be. Anno had tried her voice for the first time. It seemed as if the fire in her chest would not allow her to speak. But she had spoken clearly at once, and it seemed it was well heard.

  The men were gone from the house. Yeraz had been mending socks, and they fell to her lap. She crossed the room and reached uneasily for Anno’s hands. Relieved to finally answer this dreaded question, Yeraz spoke slowly. She had practiced the answer in her mind numerous times already. “You and Turgay fell into the stream that night, my daughter. Do you remember?”

  Anno nodded, already feeling the burning behind her eyes.

  “She was too old and too tired to survive that cold, my sweet. She died peacefully, there, in your brave arms.”

  Anno’s jaw trembled and she tried to speak. “I…I do not remember.”

  It was a plea. Yeraz knew she wanted to know more. She deserved to know it all and Yeraz had decided to hold nothing back if Anno should ask.

  “It was raining that night. Do you remember? The neighbor came calling us for help.”

  Yeraz wanted to see if Anno would remember that much, and from the square gaze she was given in return, she knew the girl did not.

  “We searched for you. We were very frightened. Many, many neighbors searched with us. No one knew that you were with Turgay.”

  Yeraz had to stop to wipe her own stream of tears. Anno stared back dry-eyed.

  “I could not leave her in the rain, Mama. There was no one else.” She did not speak in her own defense. She stated a fact.

  “They found you and brought you home,” Yeraz went on. “Turgay’s family was given the news that same morning. Your father and Uncle Haig went to their camp to tell them. Her son came here, himself, to take his mother home. Do you remember him?”

  Anno, unsure, did not answer.

  “They were decent. They were grateful for your bravery. Grateful that their mother did not die alone in some cold corner.”

  Anno clearly remembered the cold. Had it been the stream’s cold or the rain or the wind? Turgay’s trusting hand was in hers. The truth of her mother’s death long ago had finally been admitted. Old eyes had stared at her from a broken, childlike body.

  She swallowed back the pain and asked, “Did Baba find us?”

  Yeraz shook her head and pressed her handkerchief against her trembling mouth.

  Anno’s eyes widened. “Who?”

  Yeraz dropped her hands. Her white, swollen lips moved. “Daron. Daron and Kevork.”

  Anno felt her chest constrict. She felt air escaping from her throat. She tried to still herself. She knew she had remembered. There was one more thing she must ask. “Did he come? Here? To see me, here?”

  Yeraz nodded, openly crying now. She would not torment her daughter anymore. She must give her the whole truth and watch the light in her eyes extinguish once more, God help her.

  “He came every day, until we were sure you would recover.” Yeraz did not allow herself to stop. “Then, your father went to thank him for all he had done and tell him that he need not come anymore.”

  Hope had raised Anno off the pillows. Her eyelids ha
d lifted fully for the first time in weeks and her eyes had bored into her mother’s. Now, her body fell back and she turned away, away from the room and all those in it, and her body shuddered and keened.

  Now, Anno did not know how she would chew her mouthful of food. Under watchful eyes she had rolled the bread, filled it and placed it in her mouth. It tasted to her like tree bark. Her mouth full, her eyes hollow and strange, she stared back at no one.

  It was night again, and, it seemed, always dark. The knock at the door made everyone start. The same old fear gripped them, and the tap came again—gentle taps in quick succession. Vrej was on his feet and crossing the room in quick leaps.

  A second’s hesitation and Raffi’s familiar face was made out beneath a thick growth of beard. Cries of joy went up and he was pulled into a tangle of arms.

  Yeraz wanted to stand but could not move. Her nerves, she found, could not endure much more. She sat in her place and controlled her trembling. Anno, after a moment of thought, rose to spit out her mouthful of tree bark into an earthen pot filled with waste. She leaned against a wall and watched her brother. A slow, impossible gladness began to spread inside her.

  Raffi searched the room, peering past the bodies that clasped him, pressed his arms, and tugged at his coat. To his surprise, he made out his mother, sitting curiously apart from the turmoil of his welcome. He thought it odd, and he strained for a closer look. The others fell away and let him stroll purposefully to her side. Behind Yeraz, in an unlit corner, Raffi sensed a presence, a thin, angular girl. He did not take the time to look. He cared, more than anything else, to lift his mother to him and hear her rare, adoring laugh.

  Raffi’s rough hands pulled Yeraz to him, and she did laugh, and cry for an unusually long while into the collar of his shirt. Raffi indulged her and himself with this long-dreamed-of moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his chin on the top of her head as he took in the familiar room. It was difficult, because there were even fewer candles lit than usual. He remembered again the unknown girl somewhere behind him. He twisted his neck for another look. She stepped forward.

  “Raffi?”

  The voice was… He gasped. “My God! Anno!” He searched her face again to be certain. It was her eyes he recognized.

  “Oh, Anno.” He thought to touch her but his hand dropped away. It seemed as if a touch would pain her. The collar of her dress gaped around her willowy neck and seemed to hang on folds of air below. Her face, gaunt and absent, stared back at him.

  Anno did not need to see the horror in Raffi’s eyes to know. She was ugly now. So ugly. There used to be an irregular square of mirror in her sleeping room, but it had gone missing, so she had not been able to look at herself. At night, though, her fingertips ran disbelievingly over chains of sharp bones veiled by a papery layer of flesh, from her hips to her jaws.

  Unable to bear Anno’s distress, Vrej moved closer. “Our Anno has been ill, Raffi, as you can see. But it was a result of bravery and selflessness.”

  Raffi’s arms had fallen away from Yeraz. He had stepped back from Anno and his mother both, his eyes whipping back and forth between them, and he now turned to Vrej, further perplexed. Anno looked like the villagers suffering from thirst and starvation that he fought so hard to help. It appeared as if she had been involved in her own private battle while he was gone.

  “Tell me,” he burst out. “What has happened here?”

  Anno’s curled fingertips hung listlessly past the edge of her wide sleeves. Raffi tentatively touched them with his own, and when she did not recoil, he drew her to an empty cushion at the table. She was grateful for the extremely dim room. Their remaining candles and oil were being used with complete frugality since so much of their supply had been prematurely burned during her illness.

  The embers of the toneer beneath the wooden tray that held the food kept the meal lukewarm while Raffi washed. He came and sat himself close to Anno. She felt awkward and self-conscious at his pointed attention.

  “Eat a bit first, my son, then we shall tell you all that has happened. Let your body enjoy some nutrition, something other than dry bread.”

  All waited to see Raffi take pleasure from a warm meal. Surprised, they saw him instead fill a dainty piece of lavash with only yogurt and hand it to Anno.

  Her fingers grasped it and she looked back at him.

  “You eat so that I can eat too,” he coaxed gently.

  Anno slowly chewed her bit of food and Raffi turned to satisfy his own stomach amid sniffles and sighs of relief.

  “You have not brought Meghr,” Vartan noted.

  “No. I shall only stay the night and I could slip in and out more easily on foot.”

  Yeraz closed her eyes in disappointment. But even this short glimpse of her son was a godsend. Her mind moved ahead. She had a precious container of coffee she would bring out tomorrow with his morning meal. Perhaps he would enjoy a thorough washing, as well, before he slept. She would arrange it.

  Anno had already been handed two bites full of lavash with yogurt and now Raffi decided to fill some with a bit of chickpeas and greens. She sighed back at him but could not refuse his wink. He was hurrying with his own food and the family did the same, knowing he was uneasy.

  When their last bites had been consumed, cigarettes were rolled and the table was cleared. Anno remained unmoving on her same cushion and stared at the bare cloth before her. She had been on her feet a handful of days now but was not allowed to work. She folded her hands and spoke to no one.

  Raffi took his time to study each man in the family. There was something wrong here, something strained. They acted almost as if they were preparing for some sort of defense. And why did no one go near Anno, or call to her? This was no ordinary illness she suffered. Her whole person was altered. He would wait no more.

  “You must tell me what has been happening in my absence,” he spoke out firmly.

  Uncle Hagop, their most eager storyteller, only stared at his hands.

  Raffi sat next to Vartan, with an unhampered vision of Anno.

  “Hayrig, I am listening,” Raffi prompted.

  Vartan began with the neighbor’s delivery pains and then Anno’s discovered absence. He told of the frantic search in the frigid rain. He told of her and Turgay’s discovery by two village lads. He told of Turgay’s death and Arsad’s carrying her home.

  “There have been no further visits from Arsad or his family? No authorities?” Raffi leaned forward.

  “No.” Vartan’s answer was firm.

  Were they afraid that the repercussions of this death were not over? Raffi wondered to himself. Perhaps that was the reason for this tension.

  “Do you have reason to believe they will still return?” he asked.

  “No.” Vartan’s head shook. “I believe they wish to forget us and their mother’s last years of rantings and wanderings.”

  “Good,” Raffi answered, but was still not finished.

  Vrej massaged his stockinged feet and watched Raffi thinking. He was intensely relieved that his brother had come. Perhaps he could draw his father out. Perhaps he could change his mind, or Anno’s. He feared for his sister.

  “Well, I would say it is a miracle those lads found you at all, Anno. In the stream.” Raffi’s head shook in admiration. “Who were they?”

  He looked back at his father, his uncle. Still Yeraz concentrated on her work, eyes anywhere but in his direction. Only Vrej never dropped his gaze from him, but there was disquiet even there.

  “Who were they? How did they manage it?” The answer to his question should be simple, Raffi thought. Why did no one answer? Was this where the problem lay?

  “It was the merchant’s boy. And his brother’s boy as well,” Uncle Hagop answered impatiently.

  Raffi studied his father. Why had he not spoken these lads’ names? Had they not done him the greatest service? Vrej’s eyes urged him on. Anno was like a statue.

  “I know them, of course. Daron and Kevork? Brave boys. I
shall certainly go and embrace them both, tomorrow.”

  “There is no need. I have thanked them myself,” Vartan spoke.

  “Would you object, Hayrig, to my thanking them as well? They saved our Anno’s life.” He persisted with his questions but kept his voice even and respectful. He knew Vartan was indulging him, but he had to tread carefully to learn more. Their home had taken on an unrecognizable gloaming quality and he could not tolerate it.

  “I believe there is no need,” Vartan answered shortly.

  His father would speak no further in Anno’s presence, Vrej knew.

  Just before dawn, Vrej’s deep sleep was disturbed. Someone had kicked his shin. Thinking it just carelessness, he ignored it and tried to roll away.

  “Vrej, get up,” Raffi commanded near his ear.

  Vrej did so in one quick movement, his blankets still clinging to one shoulder. He followed Raffi out of the sleeping room, past Uncle Hagop snoring by the toneer beneath layers of colorful blankets, into the narrow grain room.

  “Now, let me hear the truth. All of it,” Raffi hissed. He was as alert and clear-spoken as if it were noon.

  “I want to. I am glad you woke me.” Vrej cleared his throat. They slid to the floor and huddled closely together.

  “Anno ran out into the night because Old Mariam brought news that Daron’s family wished Daron and Anno to marry.”

  Vrej saw Raffi’s eyes glint, even in the darkness.

  “She did not want him?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” Vrej contradicted. “She wants him very much, but Hayrig refuses.”

  “Why?”

  Vrej could not speak quickly enough. He was desperate to unburden himself and wished desperately for the situation to change for Anno’s good.

  Raffi did not move or interrupt once as Vrej told in detail all Vartan had related to them. But his mind was racing.

  “And Hayrig thinks Mgro is immoral and will not let Anno marry into his family,” Vrej concluded.

  “And that is why Anno looks like a corpse and does not care to recover?” Raffi looked to Vrej to see if he was right. His brother nodded.