Agassi and Saro were nodding in agreement. Hayk was busy with a large piece of pork khorovadz, but was fully tuned in as well.
“Saro and I discussed this at length,” continued Laurian. “We agreed that doing nothing was not necessarily a safe option, because if Ayvazian built up a major operation here, it would end life as we know it in these villages. It could even affect your business, and many other businesses along the road.”
“I can see that,” said Nerses, anxious to hear what else Laurian had to say.
“So what we now want is to find a way to make Ayvazian leave the region. We’re not going to pick a fight with him, which we can’t win, nor confront him in any way. That would be stupid. But let’s think of ways to make him believe that it would be wiser to move somewhere else.”
“That’s the idea,” chimed in Saro. “Let him figure out that he’s better off somewhere else.”
“How?” Nerses’s question was what everyone wanted to know.
“Why has he chosen these villages in the first place?” asked Laurian rhetorically. “Because they are secluded, and there are deserted homes that no one cares about. No one ever goes to Sevajayr or misses the deserted home, right?”
“Right,” said Saro, curious to know where Laurian was going with this line of reasoning, “but don’t forget another very obvious factor: he knows this area and he probably considers it his own region.”
“True,” conceded Laurian. “He knows the area well, especially Sevajayr. And he probably thinks that the few villagers there are ignorant idiots who are scared of him and pose no danger to him. But imagine if Sevajayr and Vardahovit had not been so secluded, and if all of a sudden there was a lot of demand for houses to accommodate workers and their families. Wouldn’t that give him some concern? Wouldn’t he start thinking that what he’s doing cannot be done safely with that kind of traffic?”
They all agreed that it would, but they still had skeptical looks on their faces. How could Laurian change the isolation of Sevajayr and Vardahovit? But Nerses had a more immediate question.
“Edik jan,” he said, “what exactly is he doing that he needs isolated homes for? We haven’t answered that question yet.”
“True,” said Laurian, “so true. We haven’t covered that yet.” With that, he walked inside the house and produced his laptop. They had mostly finished eating, so he moved some dishes and placed the computer in the center of the table. Saro and Nerses sat on either side of him, and Agassi sat next to Saro, leaving only Hayk across the table.
Laurian started with the fourth picture, explaining the two shadows and the presence of the image of a smaller person, then continued with the fifth and then sixth, focusing on the profile of what he thought was a woman entering the house. These were all important photographs for him, but he knew they would not necessarily impress his guests. He was counting on the twelfth to do the job. And the twelfth did not disappoint. The face of the woman was unmistakable. The horror in her eyes was equally unmistakable. No one could argue that this woman was just having a casual look out the window. And when Laurian explained the details of the twenty-first and twenty-second photos, no one could argue that she was there of her own free will.
“Dear friends,” said Laurian somberly, adopting the style and tone of the master of ceremonies at formal dinners about to propose a historic toast, “as we sit here enjoying this wonderful afternoon, enjoying our freedom, there is a woman only twenty minutes from here being held in a godforsaken house in Sevajayr against her will. Who is she? Whose sister? Whose daughter, wife, mother? How can we deserve our own freedom, knowing she’s there, a captive? How can we live and enjoy this freedom with a clear conscience?”
Laurian knew that he was being a bit dramatic, but he allowed himself to get carried away anyway. That was the style that worked and he decided to take it a notch higher, talking to them directly:
“And I know that you may think this does not really concern us. It is not one of our women held captive in there. But think about it. What if it was? God forbid, what if it was someone we knew? Could we sit here toasting each other and enjoying Vartiter’s superb lunch? Saro jan, a thousand pardons, please, and again, God forbid a thousand times, but what if she was one of your relatives? Do you think I could just sit here and have a lunch party? Wouldn’t I be there at the door of that house with all guns blazing trying to rescue her? So what is the big difference in this case?” asked Laurian to the frozen faces staring back at him. “Please tell me, what is the big difference? That we do not know her? Is that what makes it acceptable? Or is that what makes it just not our business?”
As he spoke, Laurian was keenly aware that he had diverged from their stated objective of getting Ayvazian to voluntarily take his dirty operation elsewhere. Clearly his last outpour was not about that. He had somehow managed to bring moral issues into the discourse, something he had intended to steer clear of. His speech had already acquired a mind of its own and was bursting out of him; there was nothing he could have done to stop it. But he needed to get back on track.
He took a deep breath and continued, changing his tone entirely.
“At any rate, let’s return to what we can do. As I was saying, what if this place was not so isolated, what if there was more traffic, more hustle-bustle. We can do something about that. I know for a fact that the government has approved the repair of the road from Shatin to Vardahovit, and the plan may even extend it to Getik Vank. Even though it is already fall, they will start now from Shatin, and put in a good two or three months of work before the first snow, and then continue in the spring. This will require a lot of new workers, right? They will need to house people, equipment, materials, right?”
“They will repair the road?” asked Nerses, as if that was more important news than Ayvazian’s activities. For most villagers, it actually was.
“Oh yes,” said Laurian. “It’s done. The funding is allocated. They have even staged a bidding process, and one of their people has won the contract.” Laurian did not specify who ‘they’ was and everyone knew better than to ask. “They should start in a week or so.”
“But Ayvazian must already know this,” said Saro, and he set up his operation here anyway.
“I don’t think he appreciates how much additional traffic the road work is going to create,” said Laurian. “And I know people who can make sure that it does. We’ll get the word out that homes are needed to house workers and materials. He’ll get the message, I assure you. The problem is, can we wait that long?”
“What choice do we have but to wait?” asked Nerses, still a bit nervous from Laurian’s earlier outburst.
“Maybe no choice at all, but that horrified woman is there now. They’ll probably move her soon. This place is just a temporary holding place, till they sort things out. She’ll probably be sold to a pimp or a brothel somewhere outside Armenia.”
Everyone at the table was quiet. Vartiter appeared, which was a welcome interruption for everyone. She came smiling as usual, asked if they wanted anything else, and started gathering the dishes as they declined. There was a lot of leftover food.
“You men haven’t eaten much,” she said almost as a reprimand. “What’s the matter? You didn’t like the food?”
“Everything was great, Vart jan,” said Laurian laughing. “Everyone here except Hayk is watching his figure, for fear that you’ll get on their case for being too fat!”
Vartiter laughed out loud and got busy with the cleanup.
“Okay,” said Laurian at last, “we really have no choice. I’ll do my best to expedite the roadwork and start getting the word out on incoming workers and housing needs. I can do the latter immediately. I’ll call Yerevan later today to see when they’re planning to start the actual work itself. In the meantime, what do you propose we do with the surveillance we’ve set up?”
“There’s no harm in continuing that,” said Saro. “We may learn something new about their ways, and we may be able to confirm that they have other
captives.”
“Fine then,” said Laurian. “The road monitoring is very low key anyway and we can gather information on all their movements. But the stakeout on the Sevajayr house is more hands on. Hayk jan, can you keep it up a bit longer?”
“Of course, Paron Edik. As long as it takes.”
“How about your school? Can you skip classes a few more days?” Laurian was very worried about Hayk falling behind in school. He worried about that as much as any other risk involved in the stakeout.
“Of course I can, no problem,” answered Hayk cheerfully.
Laurian was not so sure, but at the same time he needed a few more days of surveillance.
“As long as your father is okay with it,” he said.
“His father is okay with it,” answered Agassi.
XII
Laurian knows he should wait at least a week before visiting the Galians again, but on the third day he is itching to go back. There is too much that does not make sense, least of all Samvel Galian’s accident. He feels a strong need to befriend Avo and to find out more about what happened to his father and sister. He has already decided that the two are somehow related; he needs more details and facts to understand the link.
He manages to meet his instincts and his impatience halfway and waits one more day before leaving for Saralandj. He tells Agassi that he’ll be gone overnight and leaves relatively early in the morning. He speeds past Nerses’s restaurant; no time for chitchat or coffee. He has an important meeting in Yerevan, then plans to head off to Ashtarak to see Gagik before going to Saralandj, where he hopes to be by early afternoon.
He can’t get his mind off the Galians. Samvel Galian, a resident of Saralandj, falls off a cliff and dies in Sevajayr. It all looks like an accident and no one gives it a second thought. Then, a month later, his daughter Lara gets this incredible job as a model in Greece and starts sending money to her family almost immediately, through the able offices of her agent, none other than Ayvazian. Laurian’s mind is bursting with the implausibility of the story, even though everyone else in Saralandj and Martashen seems to be accepting it at face value.
He arrives at the appointed time of 11:15 at the office of the Minister of Agriculture. The Minister is an old friend and one of the few in government that Laurian trusts. In fact, he is the only reason why Laurian has staked his personal reputation to facilitate the provision of substantial development funds from more than one multilateral organization in order to build the agricultural infrastructure in Armenia. These include major irrigation projects in about a dozen villages, agricultural product processing plants, and road repairs and construction in remote and generally neglected regions, such as the Shatin-Getig Vank road repair project, which falls in the scope of this scheme. The Minister administers and manages the projects funded through international agricultural assistance programs.
“Just a few days in the mountains and you’re tanned already,” says the Minister, getting up from behind his desk to greet Laurian. “The sun is strong up there, you know, you should be careful.” He is a tall, balding man, with a warm smile. His desk is cluttered with project maps, business plans and proposals. The shelves around the office are full of agricultural products from around the country, displaying a large variety of wines, brandies, jams, preserves and boxes of cheese.
“The sun up there is delicious,” says Laurian, embracing his old friend.
“Well, you’d be happy to know that we’re all set for your road,” says the Minister once they’re seated and he’s asked his secretary for some coffee. His large ashtray is already full of cigarette butts from the few hours that he has been in his office. He puts out a half-smoked cigarette and immediately lights another one.
“I’m very happy to hear that, Sevak jan, and that’s partially why I’m here. I want to see them start right away. We have at most three months before winter stops all work, and we should try to get the road at least past Yeghegis in that time.”
“You worry too much,” says the Minister. “I told you we would finish that section before winter, and we will. It’s around seven kilometers from Shatin to Yeghegis. They’ll finish it in three months.”
“Sevak jan,” says Laurian, “I have a personal favor to ask. I won’t bother you with details now, but it is critical that they start right away and they create a lot of new activity in the upper villages; I’m talking specifically about Vardahovit and Sevajayr. They’ll have to move materials there, right? Some equipment? Workers? Can they start looking for places and homes to rent as of now?”
“What are you up now, Laurian?” asks the Minister, squinting as he looks Laurian straight in the eyes.
“We just need to liven up the place a bit, that’s all, and the sooner the better,” says Laurian with a smile.
The secretary comes in with two cups of coffee and a fresh ashtray, and takes the full one with a grimace. She is an elderly woman, with dyed orangish hair and makeup so heavy and colorful that every inch on her face looks painted.
“I don’t blame her,” says Laurian when she leaves, referring to her grimace. “You’re worried about me getting too much sun, but you alone are destroying the air quality of Yerevan with your smoking.”
“She’ll be fine,” says the Minister. “She smokes too, you know, almost as much as I do. Anyway, coming back to your problem, you know I can’t tell them how to do their job, or go and rent houses in Sevajayr,” he says as he lights a new cigarette. “That is too specific and detailed for the Ministry to get involved in. What we can do is push them to start immediately, and to move fast. Maybe even ask them to finish a couple of kilometers more than what’s planned for this year, but I can’t give them such specific instructions.”
“Well, the pressure would be a great help. But since the repairs are starting from the Shatin side and moving up, they may not think of setting up bases in Vardahovit and Sevajayr until next spring. I need them to do that now. How can we ‘help’ them plan things with a longer term view?”
“All we can do is suggest,” says the Minister.
“Rents in some of those deserted homes are very cheap,” says Laurian. “People can rent homes there for fifteen to twenty dollars a month. So if they complain about increasing costs, they’d be bullshitting you. You can tell them the Ministry will take care of all additional costs involved in setting up operations in the upper villages, and I’ll be happy to reimburse the Ministry every penny.”
“This is really important to you, Edik my friend, isn’t it?” asks the Minister, increasingly more curious about Laurian’s motives. But he is too polite to ask any direct questions. Laurian has been extremely helpful to his Ministry.
“Sevak jan, yes. One of these days you should drive up there. I’ll show you a few things on the spot. But let’s not waste time on the details now.”
“Fine, eghav. I’ll talk to them.”
“Many thanks, old friend. I truly appreciate this.”
“What else is on your mind?” asks the Minister with a smile. “You said this was partially what you were here for.”
The second issue churning in Laurian’s mind is broader and he doesn’t want to distract the Minister with it, especially now that he is satisfied with the way the conversation on the upper villages went. But, seeing the eager smile of the Minister’s face, he finds it difficult to just ask him to forget it.
“Sevak jan,” he says after taking a deep breath, indicating his reluctance to bring up the subject, “the second issue is in a way related to where this country is going. It is not directly related to you or your Ministry, and if you want we can put it off until later, maybe when you visit me in Vardahovit. It is the kind of topic that we need to discuss with a good cigar, at much higher altitude than Yerevan!”
“Then we’ll do just that,” says the Minister. “Where are you off to now?”
“I’m going to Ashtarak to see Khev Gago. Do you remember him?”
“How could I forget?” laughs the Minister. “Give him my best regar
ds. We have a few projects lined up in his region as well, mostly irrigation and one hydroelectric power plant.”
“See you soon, my friend. And many thanks for the help with the upper villages issue.”
Laurian plans to meet Gagik briefly and then take him to Saralandj. Gagik has already agreed to this, even though he does not know any details. They meet at the usual restaurant in Ashtarak. It is already one in the afternoon, and both he and Gagik are hungry.
“Let’s not turn this into a long and elaborate lunch,” says Laurian. “Let’s have something light and head off. I can’t drink anyway since I’m driving.”
“No problem. I’m in no mood to drink either. Now tell me, what’s your infatuation with the Galians?”
Laurian summarizes to Gagik the story of Ayvazian’s operations in Vardahovit and Sevajayr, his suspicions about his involvement in Samvel Galian’s death, and his guess that there is a connection between that death and Lara’s unlikely career.
“So you see, Gago,” he says, “our two regions may be more connected than we thought.”
Gagik has listened very quietly the whole time, and finally emits a long, low-pitched whistle.
“So what do you think?” asks Laurian.
Gagik has not said a word.
“This is big, Edik jan,” he says finally. “This could even be bigger than Ayvazian. I knew there was some of this going on, but I never imagined it being so close.”
“That’s the problem; we always tend to think that these things happen somewhere else.”
“But in Saralandj and Sevajayr?” Gagik whistles again.
“God knows where else. These girls are shipped mostly to Turkey, I hear. That’s how the business initially started. Some of the better-looking or younger ones end up in Moscow. More recently, Dubai has opened up as a good market, and some go to Sharm El Shaikh in Egypt. The pattern is to take them to tourist or business hot spots.”
A Place Far Away Page 20