The red petals were closed now with the night and Daron stood soundlessly behind her. His head was bare and he had undone the top buttons of his tunic. His coarse brown hair had fallen onto his forehead and his eyes and body were heated from the long hours of revelry and songs and teasing and waiting.
Two candles lit their tiny room and the covers of their wide mattress had been folded back to reveal an uninterrupted expanse of white sheets and cases etched with delicate embroidery.
Daron lifted his shoulders. “Do you like it, Anno? Our room?”
They both knew the room itself did not matter to them. But his family had taken great care in its preparation and Anno was touched by what she saw.
“Daron, we could be happy together in the stable itself. But this,” her arms swept around her, “this is a heaven.”
“Our heaven,” he smiled.
His voice had turned gravelly, as it had been once short days ago when they had been too long under the cover of the willow tree.
She fell against him and they had their first deep kiss, free of watchful eyes, ending only when they chose, to tug open buttons, to unravel sashes, to explore planes and silky skin, and spill, finally, tightly entwined into an ocean of release.
Later, in complete darkness, the candles snuffed, they listened to each other’s breaths. Anno marveled at the force of Daron’s heartbeat, her cheek on his chest. She had risen on one elbow to look into his face. He pulled her back tightly to him.
“You will never leave me alone, then, Anno? Do you promise?”
A strange memory came to Anno, clouded and distant. Her father’s home had been so silent. She had thought herself alone in the front room. Anno had lifted her head from a cushion that she had been hugging to her cheek. She sat up on the scratchy carpet she lay on, disoriented from her deep daytime slumber, and rubbed her plump fists into her eyes to clear them. There was perspiration in the folds of her neck from her heavy hair and the heat of the summer afternoon. There was movement by the kitchen space. Her parents stood alone as if the only two people in the house, her own presence well forgotten. Vartan slapped Yeraz on her rear. Anno was instantly alarmed. She had never seen such a thing. Was her father angry with her mother? Had he hurt her? To add to her confusion, Yeraz turned to Vartan, and smilingly she caressed his face, his chest. Vartan’s hand lingered, he gathered the material of her skirt, and more, into his palm. They pressed against each other and then parted abruptly. She remembered their heads swiveling in her direction. The memory, suppressed, came so clearly to her now, so poignantly understood.
“I promise, Daron,” she answered him. “We shall have a lifetime of love.”
C H A P T E R 34
One week later, the Markarian men escaped as soon as they saw Yeraz and an array of women lower a carved wooden chest from the back of a wagon. Before the men’s cigarettes were even lit in the church square, the chest was opened and Anno’s trousseau displayed.
Once Yeraz had been certain that Anno’s recovery from pneumonia would be complete, she had begun lecturing her anxiously as to the attention she should pay her new duties among her husband’s family. Anno had been spoiled for so long, Yeraz worried she would not perform her chores well, as daily and repetitive as they would be. Anno had nodded distractedly and vaguely at her mother’s words and the older woman had begun wringing her hands with dread.
As it was, Anno embraced her duties, every aspect of them. Hers was a marriage of love and she could not do enough for Daron, for his sister Nairi, or for his family, who had, as it turned out, always wanted her.
The rhythm and schedule of all the households in the village was the same, but Anno found that living on the edge of the long lane of houses allowed her to see many more people during the course of a day than in her father’s home. Everyone passed this way when heading to the orchards and fields. Also, the wide display of wooden and bone combs, scissors, precious mirrors, copper and tin bowls, earthenware jugs and baskets brought browsers often. Often, too, they would look at Mgro’s supply and order something similar, something larger or more affordable for him to bring back on his next trip north or south. Anno was surprised to see that he never grumbled or complained about the people who came to look and touch but never buy. People like those, it seemed, were more a part of a merchant’s life than the ones who actually produced coin or traded.
During the day, Anno was everyone’s sister and daughter. But not long after the sun set, when eyes and arms fell in weariness, she had Daron to herself. In their tiny room with their tiny window, they watched the night sky deepen and spoke of every detail of their days. Daron spoke of the work he preferred with the crops and that which he detested, shepherding the animals for hours on end. He spoke of his brother-like bond with Kevork and how he wished his sister had not been deprived of her mother. He spoke of his wish to take Anno with him to other villages and other cities some day in the other provinces so that they could see how life was outside Sassoun, when he himself would do the buying and trading without his father.
Anno had never left Sassoun. She had, twice, left Salor to go on a short pilgrimage to a larger church in the neighboring village to the north. She remembered playing in the spring there by the huge church ground and eating by the water’s edge before they all made their way back home with the setting sun.
There was so much to look forward to, Anno thought. She even did not mind rising with the early morning sun any longer because it was Daron who woke her.
C H A P T E R 35
Anno was pouring cold water into a smaller pitcher for Naomi to mix with yogurt when they heard a call from the door downstairs. She started at the sound of the familiar voice and dried what water she had spilled while Kevork called down the stairs for Vrej to enter. It was so early still that the men had not finished their breakfast. Anno looked at Daron uneasily, but then they heard a laugh on the stairs. Vrej entered, apologizing for his early-morning disturbance. Watching him move around the room, Anno already guessed the reason for his presence, his eager greeting of each family member, his disheveled hair and his twinkling eyes.
“Well, I have come to say that our Lucine has had her baby.” Vrej’s eyes met Anno’s for the first time since his entrance.
Murmurs of pleasure circulated.
“The baby was born hours ago, really. Perhaps it has been four or five hours now. It is a boy. A large boy.” Vrej showed by the spread of his hands that the child was as large as a watermelon. “Sister Nevart, if you will pardon my asking, Sister Mariam has sent me for almond oil. It is for the baby. Perhaps it is downstairs?”
He turned to Mgro again to see if it had been better to ask it of him.
“I, myself, shall bring that oil!” Nevart was already untying her apron decisively. “Vrej, my boy, no need for you to wait. You return home and tell your mother I am on my way.”
She immensely enjoyed her new relations with the village leader’s family and here was another opportunity to go calling, filling a role of no small importance. Her apron flew off her head.
Anno’s eyes went from Vrej to Nevart. She was certain Daron’s grandmother had forgotten her existence completely. Nevart disappeared into a room and then returned immediately with a small bottle of the precious oil from the almond trees of Van.
Naomi’s mind had already raced ahead of Nevart’s, and as soon as the men rose, she winked in Daron’s direction.
“Akh, Mother, I am feeling uneasy at this,” Naomi began. “Do you not think it wisest that you yourself take our new hars to her mother’s home first, before every other neighbor trails by?”
Minutes later Anno and Vrej found themselves trotting up the road beside Nevart, who, in her desire to reach her khnami’s side, thrust her body forward from the hips and assumed a heel-smacking gait that gave the impression of generating a good deal more speed than it really did. They kept up comfortably, only glancing sideways now and again to be sure that the jarring to which Nevart was subjecting herself did no real harm.
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Vartan’s front door gave the familiar clack and creak as they entered. They were met with embraces of joy and welcome. Lucine’s baby, swaddled tightly, was placed into Anno’s arms immediately as daross so that she, too, would soon bear a child. His eyes were screwed shut, but she could see that his complexion was fair like that of his parents. He yawned and Anno’s heart warmed at the sight of his pink, glistening mouth against cottony-smooth skin.
Anno looked around her, into every corner of the dear, familiar room. Avo dozed against a wall while his mother was conversing deeply with Old Mariam and now Nevart. Lucine and Yeraz, in their corner, smiled contentedly at each other and the baby.
The need for almond oil seemed to have been forgotten. Anno searched the baby’s face for a rash or irregularity.
“Lucine, I see no rash,” Anno whispered, Nevart only feet away.
“There is no rash, Anno.”
“It was cured so quickly?”
Lucine giggled and Yeraz looked unashamedly smug.
Anno’s eyes widened.
“We wished you here. With us,” Lucine stated simply.
So much happiness, Anno thought, so much fullness—then why had this persistent, tiny fear bored itself into the base of her throat?
C H A P T E R 36
Along the skirts of their mountains, knolls, plains, and ravines, in July of 1914, the Sassountzis were busy with their harvest.
Mgro went more often to Moush as soon as the weather allowed. He sought newspapers first. Through him, they learned of the shooting of the Archduke Ferdinand of Sarajevo and later that the Ottoman Empire was preparing for war alongside Germany against Russia and the European Allies. But the people themselves were most keenly aware of the golden stalks of wheat bending heavily with the dry breeze and sun. They were more watchful of the tobacco fields, green and lush with their rolls of leaves, the fields of barley and hemp, and orchards that presented them all at once with all they would need to harvest and store for the winter that would creep in on them in four short months.
Kevork and Takoush could be seen crossing paths more and more frequently these weeks. Takoush at first had begun presenting herself at many odd times of the week in search of Anno. But now, it was suspected, she came in search of Kevork as well.
One late afternoon, Anno and Nairi had laid carpets and cushions under the shade tree near the vegetable garden. Dusk was Anno’s favorite time of day. Lazy and infectious, it had called her outdoors to await Daron’s return home with the rest of the men.
Eggplants, deeply purple and glossy, grew in rows once again and the bees left their hives not far from the stables to claim what they could from the garden blossoms. Eggplants of the same seed now grew in Yeraz’s garden, as well as Old Mariam’s and Aunt Marie’s.
Takoush, her cheeks overly pink from the heat, threw herself with relief under the shade of the tree beside Nairi. She leaned over for a handful of chickpea pods. The legume had enjoyed a long season this year, and while a great amount had been dried and stored already, Anno and Nairi had harvested this last trailing batch while still green to be used for a meal tomorrow.
Anno had entered her third month of pregnancy. Daron had watched her at sunrise, one day in May, blinking at the floor of their room, a shawl thrown over her bare shoulders. He was already nearly dressed and she still sat, lost in thought, her long hair loose and offering the same meager covering as the shawl beneath it.
“If you are waiting for me to brush your hair again, I will, but do not blush so when they tease us for being late.”
“Daron?”
“Anno?” He tried to glimpse her face. Her tone was strange.
“We have been wed four weeks now?”
“Yes.” His hands dropped, his shirt left open.
Anno turned to him. “Then I should have bled by now.” Her smile was luminous with certainty.
They had fallen back onto their mattress, their laughter muffled, their joy a bursting secret and their own for only days more. Naomi had caught her out, yawning too often by midafternoon and eating great mouthfuls of pickled turnips with bread and yogurt and cheese between mealtimes.
“Now where does your mother think you are, Takoush?” Nairi giggled. Her eyes twinkled at Takoush’s presence; the girl’s daring and frankness was something new to her and exciting.
Anno knew Nairi should not hear of Takoush’s small escapes from work and her schemes and tales to make them possible, but she could hardly keep her head upright and her hands from dropping to her sides. She wished to close her eyes for just five minutes, to lean against the tree and surrender to the cool summer breeze.
“I shall tell you, Nairi. She thinks I have gone to gather the dog rose berries. And I shall. I just did not mention that I would gather them from the bushes near your house and not mine.” Her head turned suddenly in mild apprehension as she searched the brush around her, wondering for the first time if the berries did at all grow near Mgro’s house.
Nairi’s mouth fell open at Takoush’s cleverness and her eyes shone in admiration. Anno promised herself she would stop Takoush from teaching Nairi these deceptions, but not now. Now, her eyes could close a few minutes because Takoush was shelling her portion of chickpeas at a furious speed.
She awoke, what seemed only seconds later, to see Daron staring over her. The cloth twisted and wrapped around his forehead was darkened deeply with perspiration. He smiled down at her, but she sensed a reserve there. She pulled herself off the tree trunk and was surprised to find the chickpeas and bowls cleared and herself alone on the carpet. He did not approve of her laziness, she thought. She was an embarrassment to him.
She struggled to her feet. Closer now, she looked into his face and saw that he was not disappointed. There was something else.
“What is it?” her voice thick.
“Anno, Raffi has come.”
She gasped. Again, that fear at the base of her throat.
“Is he all right?” She pinched the material of his sleeve.
“Yes. Yes, I think so. I did not hear that he was not.”
Anno was dizzy. Daron returned with some cool water and a large spear of cold boiled potato. She consumed both swiftly as he watched her, no longer taken aback at the zealousness of her appetite.
“Go wash your face, Anno. We shall go see him now.”
Anno and Daron reached the lane to Vartan’s house and slowed. Daron was glad to finally see Raffi again, to thank him again for his intervention in making their marriage possible. That other time, he had been too weary, too distrustful still to speak to him as he had deserved. Anno, however, felt such trepidation, as if her legs were too heavy for her.
Raffi was seated on the divan not far from where Anno had lain ill for weeks. Her senses, heightened with pregnancy, took in the aroma of boiling whole wheat along with the metallic sharpness of cooking vegetables. The woody, buttered juices of the mushrooms released themselves next and brought a knowing smile to Anno’s lips. Raffi’s favorite foods would be happily prepared just for him. Several golden egg yolks would be broken on top of the mushrooms and sprinkled with salt and herbs until the wheat and vegetables were ready.
Raffi stood at their arrival. Anno’s eyes filled and she felt Daron leave her as he went straight to Raffi. Yeraz turned away from her pots and skillets to watch their embrace.
Raffi was intensely relieved to see that Anno was almost plump now and, with the unfamiliar head covering she was now required to wear, looked a wiser version of the little sister left behind just months ago. He felt a tiny regret, but ignored it and hugged her to him.
No words were exchanged after all about the situation he had found them all in last winter. It was not necessary to look back. They desperately needed to look to the future.
Later, food eaten, Raffi spoke.
“I have left you months on end, with other fedayees, to spend days and nights in the homes of those who receive information from the capital as to what the Young Turks really plan and hope for
their empire and for we Christians who live here.
“As you know, there is now forced conscription throughout the country, including Armenians.”
“Hah!” Uncle Hagop’s reaction was scornful. “Now they consider us their equals? We are finally fit to fight side by side with them?”
There were nods. They knew. Mgro’s newspapers were in tatters after being passed from one house to another. Those who could not read crowded close to sons who could. Vrej, too, had been schooled in Moush and read the black inked lines repeatedly to Uncle Hagop and his friends until he had them nearly memorized.
“War will likely reach us here,” Raffi continued. “With the Russians coming from the east and the Turks from the west, our lands are a natural barrier between the two enemies.”
“The Europeans are caught up in their own troubles now and are too busy to draw up treaties and make hollow promises for a safer life for us. Many, many of our fedayees are searching for guns, but the leaders say wait. They too sense something different and more dangerous than ever before.”
The base of Anno’s throat squeezed in on itself.
“The Germans have sent a chief inspector to Constantinople to try to train the army.” Raffi’s voice was a tired monotone of dread. “The Ottoman government has promised us autonomy after the war if we help them liberate the Armenian provinces in Russia.”
No one was impressed. They waited for more.
“The Russians have promised much the same, if we support them.”
Empty-handed and used as a pawn at every turn, they did not know what to expect. Or where to place their trust.
Silence fell and soon darkness.
Not one month later, a similar gathering took place again in Vartan’s home. This time, the world was at war.
C H A P T E R 37
Vartan felt Yeraz’s eyes on him as he returned home, up the twisted road to their door. He had been part of a small delegation of Sassountzis called to Moush. Raffi and Uncle Hagop crowded near to hear his news.
As the Poppies Bloomed Page 17