“But, no,” Raffi shook his head. He gripped his brother’s shoulders. “Hayrig has been misinformed, Vrej. Purposely.”
“It is not only Hayrig who knows of Mgro’s doings. Uncle Haig knows of it as well,” Vrej insisted. Their father knew secrets and details of many, many families. They consulted him, he helped, he reasoned and then kept that knowledge to himself. He was well trusted to do so.
“There is more to it than this.” Raffi was thinking aloud.
“Who was the go-between, you said? Sister Mariam?”
Vrej nodded. “And Uncle Haig came as well.”
“And they were refused. Does Anno know why?”
Vrej had wondered that same thing many times.
“I believe she did not hear anything at the telling. And now, I do not think she asks.”
“And did Mariam tell Mgro why they were refused?”
Vrej raised his arms in exasperation.
“No one speaks of it.”
Raffi motioned for him to lower his voice and asked, “Mariam has never returned here, even once, since Anno’s recovery was certain?”
Vrej shook his head.
“And who would, in all decency, talk of marriage with someone who barely lives anyway?” Raffi concluded to himself. “Vrej, I shall tell you the real story of the merchant’s travels, and then I shall see if I cannot have this whole misunderstanding put in order before I leave. I cannot leave Anno behind in this state.”
The brothers did not sleep again that night. At sunrise, Raffi filled a bowl of water for himself, and locating his father’s razor, began to shave away all traces of moustache and beard.
Vrej waited for Anno to rise and took her with him to feed the goats and cows in the stables. He handed her the braided field grasses to distribute and he fetched the heavy buckets of barley. She leaned her shoulder heavily into a cow’s neck as it pulled the dried grasses from her hands and chewed.
Vartan sniffed the air at the smell of coffee and looked in Raffi’s direction. His presence had lifted everyone’s spirits, and he would leave them again, so soon, to their scarcities and their dark walls. But, he thought guiltily, what did the freedom fighters have in their high mountain perches? At least they could fill their son with some hot meals, grateful for his trouble to come to see them.
The fog made it impossible for any rays to brighten the room, but nevertheless, all were more cheerful than they had been in weeks. Uncle Hagop opened the door to locate Maratuk and closed it again with not a single comment, not wishing to dampen anyone’s mood.
Yeraz had taken dried apricots and plums from storage and dropped them into boiling water. They plumped magically, almost like fresh fruit again, and were an extra delicacy for them to enjoy with their goat cheese and lavash.
Anno now sat beside Vrej at the table and did her best to finish her apricot with bites of salty cheese.
“I believe I shall go and see Sister Mariam,” Raffi commented.
All nodded.
“And Lucine,” Yeraz added.
“And then Lucine as well,” he continued conversationally. “It will not take long.”
“Did you know that our Lucine is expecting a child?” Vartan asked him.
“Yes.” Raffi paused. “Someone…Aram saw her and told me.”
Vartan nodded, pleased.
Once outside, Raffi pulled his coat closed tighter still. Old Mariam’s threshold was as familiar to Raffi as his own. She had been a grandmother to him in every way, sharing long stories of Vartan’s mother, Lucine, all throughout his childhood. He knew she had fought for Lucine’s granddaughter’s life with nothing but a few herbs and grasses and a refusal to surrender.
He called her name through the heavy door before her older son swung it open from the inside. His reception here was much like in his father’s home and he was almost pushed to the table to eat again, but instead, he insisted on a few words alone with Mariam.
She cleared the front room of everyone save her sons with one swing of her body and Raffi almost laughed out loud at the result. He lost no time asking what he needed to know.
It was as he suspected. Mariam had neither gone to Mgro’s house with Vartan’s refusal, nor had they asked her to persist further in any way. Mariam shrugged. “I do not know why they are leaving it at this. It is not the time for Mgro to exercise pride and stubbornness. Let him hear why his son has been refused.”
Raffi was nodding in satisfaction. “I am going to leave the telling of it to Mgro, but the tale you believe of him to be true, is not. The facts have been hidden to protect him, his family, and our village. What I need from you is a chance to let him tell you all how it really was, and why. And this must be today.”
“Well, then, let it be now,” Haig decided and reached for his coat. “I shall bring Mgro here and you shall bring your father.” Haig walked out pulling a well-stretched woolen cap down to the base of his thick neck.
Mariam looked at Raffi sadly.
“How is Anno these days, my son?”
He shook his head in bewilderment.
“Lucine was just married. There was Vrej still to be paired off. I never even thought of Anno. She was still a scampering child in my eyes. But look at the courage she possesses.” He paused. “And the love. They should not be denied each other. There is no reason.”
Mariam patted his shoulder encouragingly.
“Go bring your father, then. And I hope that you are right. His reasons stifled us all.”
Raffi returned the same way he had come, only to find more people on the road than there had been earlier. Their figures emerged eerily through the fog. His presence brought questions to their lips but he smiled at them reassuringly. He said that he had come to see Anno for himself, hearing of her illness.
Vartan, he found, had left the house to go to the sheepfold. Raffi plowed through muddied snow to find him. Many others were there as well counting heads and examining the feed.
Raffi knew to be straightforward from the first. It was the only way Vartan would consider Raffi’s wish to have him meet with Mgro. He drew him away from the other men. “Hayrig, Vrej told me of your objection to Daron and why.”
Raffi was subjected to Vartan’s one-eyed squint of annoyance. “Do not pursue this, Raffi. It is over,” his father warned him.
Raffi shook his head. “But you do not know the truth. When we enter the fedayee ranks, no questions are asked as to where we come from or where our family lives. It is so that in case of capture, we do not give away information about each other. You know this. You know that even family names are not asked. So, when some time ago I heard the story of a merchant who traveled to Van, in our aid, I was not told that that person came from this village.”
Vartan’s eyes narrowed.
“It did not take long for me to discover who this person was, Hayrig. You have neither the complete nor the correct reasons for Mgro’s presence in Van. You must hear the truth from him. He deserves that you do not believe the lies you have been told. He is waiting for you. He is with Uncle Haig.”
Raffi held his breath. His father was a stubborn, proud mountaineer, as was his father before him, as were all his neighbors, as his youngest daughter was proving to be as well. But Raffi’s news had unsettled him. Vartan’s face angered.
“I was given this information by one of the fedayees himself, Raffi. I did not create this story.”
“You were told whatever was necessary to ensure that further speculation and interest cease concerning Mgro’s trips. You were not told the truth.”
“And why would I, in this one instance, not be told the truth? How am I to believe that? What purpose would it serve, if what you say is true?” Vartan scoffed at him. His eyes roamed back in the direction of the sheep.
“You see me standing here?” he swung back to face his son. “I am the one person in this village who knows things, many things, about almost every family and I am trusted to keep them secret. And I do, do I not?”
Raffi nodded
.
“And now, this one time, you expect me to accept that I was not trusted for some reason, and that my own daughter nearly died because of that?”
“Hayrig, why would I lie to you?” Raffi beseeched.
His father’s fury was palpable. “Do you realize what our family
has had to endure, Raffi?”
“Yes. I see it. And if you had lost your daughter this past month, I would have lost my sister.” Raffi, beginning to fear that he would fail Anno, felt himself raise his voice.
Again Vartan turned away.
“The decisions made and orders given to us are not always the wisest, Hayrig,” Raffi’s voice dulled. He thought he had seen doubt appear on his father’s face. “Let us think of Anno, Hayrig.” His voice was gentle. “Let us put all this behind us.”
Vartan sighed deep into his chest.
“You are angry and bitter,” Raffi went on, “but you must accept that it is directed at the wrong person. Mgro was doing what he was asked to do by the fedayees. And at the time, it was more important for us all to obtain the ammunition needed, than think of Mgro himself or his family, or his neighbors.”
Vartan grappled with Raffi’s words. His pride had been torn at. Their hearts nearly broken. Slowly, he began to wonder if he could have been wrong.
Raffi placed a hand on his father’s shoulder.
Mgro was not difficult to find. He was in the stable with his brother trying to separate two bad-tempered oxen and tie them far from each other. Haig joined in the struggle, and when the animals were subdued he asked Mgro to come with him. Headman Vartan had learned that Mgro had a story to tell him.
Mgro scowled at Haig. The oxen had already agitated him and he did not want to hear Vartan’s name. Was it not enough that he had to witness Daron’s misery day and night?
“What are you talking about? Say what you mean,” he demanded.
“My mother acted as go-between for your son and Anno some time ago, did she not?” Haig asked.
“What of it? We have their answer. The whole village knows of their answer.” Mgro fumbled in his pockets, frowning further as his cold, stiff fingers came out empty. “Manuel, where is that tobacco?” he asked of his brother, still bent at securing the second ox.
“Mgro, listen to me. You have a right to know why you were refused. Why have you not asked? Does Daron not deserve to know?” Haig questioned, hoping that he might relent for his son’s sake.
“I have no intention of asking. It does not matter. His reasons are his own. I will not beg anyone to consider my family to be good enough for them.” His voice had reached those indoors by now, Haig was certain. Perhaps Daron would hear and come to help change his father’s mind.
As if reading his thoughts, Mgro swung back at Haig and pointed a thick finger in his face. “And neither will my son!”
Haig was losing patience. If Mgro had been a smaller man he would have simply dragged him the distance up the hill. But he was not small, and then there was Manuel to consider as well.
“You are asking me to do what you would not even do yourself!” Mgro continued. “I understand well the type of friendship you have with our village leader and that is fine, but you and I are friends as well and here you are treating me like a donkey.” Mgro’s head shook in disgust.
Something occurred to Haig suddenly. “My brother, I am not asking you to go to Vartan’s home. I know that would be difficult. You have a right to your pride. I meant for you to come to mine. My mother has had a large part in all this, and she too deserves to know if Vartan’s reasons for refusing your son are just, as you see it.”
Mgro seemed to consider Haig’s words.
“Also, there is one thing you do not know. Raffi has come home for one night, and he is eager that you come and speak to his father. This entire meeting was his wish to begin with.”
At this Mgro’s forehead cleared. Widely. “Raffi is here?” he asked with interest, his voice quieted.
Haig did not understand it, but seeing the change in Mgro, he pushed on. “Yes. But he will leave shortly. He is waiting now, only for
you.”
Mgro rubbed the stubble on his chin. He ran his fingers over his rough cheeks and smoothed his moustache while he considered this bit of information.
Haig watched him, wishing he had mentioned Raffi’s presence from the start, amazed that it made such a difference to the man.
“So, this meeting is Raffi’s wish, you say.” Mgro thought out loud. Haig noticed that Manuel was looking their way now as well, for the first time. The brothers exchanged glances.
Mgro turned his back on Haig and stared down at the stilled hooves of the oxen. Then he turned back again and shrugged his shoulders at Haig. “Let us go, then.”
Haig’s chest heaved with relief and he hurriedly pulled his cap back on.
Old Mariam’s household was further inconvenienced that day as the men gathered in her silent and empty front room.
Mgro greeted Raffi warmly with a trace of a smile in his eyes that had not appeared there for weeks. Raffi hastily stepped aside to let him pay his regards to his father. Vartan’s place of status and respect should not be overlooked now at the beginning of this most sensitive meeting.
They greeted each other stiffly, and Raffi spoke quickly. “Brother Mgro, I will let you know why we have disturbed you this morning. There has been discussion among us, of your trips, your frequent trips to and from Van these last years. I believe you can be quite safe in telling all the truth and details of those trips now. It is necessary that my father, especially, know of the reasons. It would bring great relief and new understanding between our families if you would.”
Mgro had assumed his expressionless merchant’s façade. His eyes had roamed from face to face as Raffi spoke, but he was, in truth, dumbfounded to be called, after all this time, to recount those months, those dangerous risk-taking months to that woman’s…that woman. He looked again at Vartan more closely and saw doubt there. Ahhh. Mgro almost smiled with understanding. He felt himself rising to a challenge.
“Is this finally about my son and your daughter, then, Mukhtar Vartan?” He did not wait for an answer. “I understand much now”—he held up his hand—“and I believe for Daron and my family’s sake, and for your daughter’s, you had better hear what I have to tell.”
He inhaled deeply and reluctantly spoke with dull eyes pointed at the carpet he sat on. “You remember, we trusted the Young Turks in 1908. Our leaders told us we would have rights now and to have patience.” He paused and looked at Raffi. “Although not everyone trusted them, did they, my boy?
“Most of the fedayees’ best fighters went back to their villages and built themselves homes and finally married in an attempt to have the life they deserved. But many saw that we were, as always tricked. We were still just Christians.
“It became evident that it would again be necessary to defend our villages, and so we needed to acquire guns and ammunition. They were coming in from across the eastern border and stored in Van.”
All were silent, and Mgro continued. “I was approached one night. I will not give names here. We understand that. I was approached. There had been discussion concerning me, it seemed. I was a merchant. I was known to travel to Van to make a living. I had no wife. If I were to be seen entering a lone woman’s house, who would there be to tell? Mine would be the face people saw coming and going. It was decided.”
Mgro remembered how angered he had been that they had used his wife’s death to their advantage. “I needed to travel lightly and quickly. One or two of our lads began to travel a distance behind me in case I was stopped on the roads and there was trouble.” He looked intently at Vartan for the first time. “Raffi himself trailed me more than a time or two from here to Van, did you know that, Mukhtar Vartan?”
Vartan’s chin lifted, as if he had received a blow. Beside him, Mariam gasped softly.
Mgro only nodded, barely concealing his satisfaction at Vartan’s shock.
“Many fine, brave lads like Raffi protected me. And the deliveries.”
Mgro dropped his eyes again to continue.
“There was a woman in Sufla. Her house lay conveniently to the east of open fields on the edge of a less traveled road. The guns and ammunition were stored beneath that house. They were smuggled in at night, of course. I would warn her of its delivery and I would see it safely stored. I would pay her and leave.”
Haig and Mariam had paled.
Vartan felt himself perspire, in shame, in the chilly room. Should he have not known, from the first, that Raffi would never speak to him of anything but the truth?
“This woman was a spy. It was how she was allowed to remain, a lone woman, among the Muslims. But then she began to work with the fedayees as well. I was never quite sure who worked that out for us. I was never told. She was paid for the information she supplied to us, and for her assistance. She was entirely discreet in every way.”
Raffi nodded but did not provide any enlightenment in this regard, because he knew nothing more.
“Of course, in the end, she was driven out. The Muslims must have discovered which way her loyalties leaned. I was glad she was not killed. She was a good woman. Our fedayees got her away. I do not know where or when.
“After that, they decided that my face would be recognized if they sent me elsewhere, if I were to help further, and so my travels ended.”
“What was this woman?” Mariam asked.
“She never said, but if I were to guess, I would say Assyrian. Her family, her menfolk, had been killed by the Turks as well. They are as Christian as we are, after all. I believe that is why she was willing to do what she did.”
A long silence followed. Haig brought oghee and the cups slipped and spun from his agitated hands.
Vartan was astonished at how fully he had believed the story told to him, fully fabricated to protect Mgro’s life, but not the man or his family. He trembled at how close his daughter had come to death, the needless grief they had suffered, as a result of it.
“We had not understood each other well, had we, Mukhtar Vartan?” Mgro asked stonily.
As the Poppies Bloomed Page 15