A Place Far Away

by Vahan Zanoyan

  “But you’ll let me know if Lara contacts you again, right?”

  “Right. And this time I’ll keep my promise.”

  XVIII

  Lara was not used to wearing the veil. She could see hardly anything through it. In broad daylight it would have been easier, almost like wearing dark sunglasses. But at night, it was different. She had only a small carry-on bag and her purse, and was wearing flat, comfortable shoes. When she saw the headlights of the approaching car, she unlatched the door and waited for it to reach her front door.

  Omar the driver got out of the black Mercedes sedan and opened the back door. Lara rushed out of her house and got into the car without bothering to lock the front door. The car moved; her heart was beating so fast that she became lightheaded. She wondered if Omar could hear her heartbeat echoing in her own ears. She wiped her sweaty hands on her handkerchief, and lifted her veil off her face even though they were not out of the compound yet. Just for a minute, she thought. She had to breathe.

  The guards at the main gate were inside the air-conditioned guardhouse even at night; it was far too hot and humid to stand outside. As Omar’s car approached the gate, he lowered his window and Lara instinctively laid down flat on the back seat.

  “Thank you, my brother,” said Omar to the guard who peeked from the guardhouse window, “and good night.”

  “Ma’a al salame,” answered the guard with a smile. “Go in peace.” And the large iron gates swung open.

  The three-hour drive was uneventful. Omar was very quiet, which was a relief to Lara. She did not want to engage in small talk. They arrived at Seef International Airport a little past one in the morning. The airport was very crowded when they arrived. “Too many flights to Mumbai and Karachi,” explained Omar. He decided they would wait in the car for a while, as they had plenty of time. Thirty minutes later the same airport was very quiet and looked almost deserted. He took Lara’s carry-on and led her to the Turkish Airlines check-in counter. He checked her in while she waited behind him with her veil drawn. Then Omar walked to passport control with Lara’s passport and boarding pass. He greeted the officer warmly and handed over the two documents. The officer looked at Lara’s Russian passport carefully and then looked over Omar’s shoulder at Lara, who was standing quietly with her face covered.

  “Lara Galianova,” he read. “Is she Muslim?”

  “She converted recently,” said Omar confidently, as instructed by Sumaya. “She’s going to join some relatives in Istanbul.”

  The officer gestured Lara to go to a small room behind his post. Omar signaled to Lara to go to the indicated room. There, a woman officer, who had been given Lara’s passport, asked her to lift her veil, and she looked back and forth a few times at her face and her photo. She handed Lara the passport and waved her to go. Her passport was stamped, and Omar handed her the carry-on and directed her to go through the security check. He could not go past that point. Lara placed her carry-on and purse on the conveyor belt, and then she passed through the metal detector, tripping it. Again, she was escorted to a private room where a woman officer lightly searched her, and, seeing her bracelets and rings, just waved her through. The rest was very simple. She found her gate and waited. The plane was not full. The seats next to Lara were both empty. Eventually, when the plane finally took off, she lifted her veil. She was crying.

  An hour into the flight, all the passengers were sound asleep and the lights in the plane were dimmed. Lara reclined her seat but could not sleep; she could not even close her eyes. Every time she did, an immense, overwhelming fear engulfed her. This was different from all the other fears that she had endured, even the one at Ayvazian’s house. She was responsible for this. She had orchestrated a daring scheme and implemented it. She was in a cold sweat and her hands were shaking so hard that she sat on them. She had never felt fear of such intensity before. She tried to force her mind to calm down, to feel excitement instead of fear, but she realized that this was the first time in her life that she had been alone, with no one else around who was responsible for her. Until the plane landed in Istanbul, she would be all alone.

  She fetched her little green book from her purse and turned on the reading light. It was almost half full of notes and doodles. She started reading through it, to get her mind off her fear. On one page she had outlined Araxi Dadik’s ring, tracing the ring both from within the band and from outside, and then shaded the thin area in between the concentric circles. The page was filled with seven images of the ring. She couldn’t remember exactly when she had drawn them; maybe while they were in jail, or maybe before the arrest. She had wanted to make the most of the ring; to have it everywhere. Once she left Dubai, she put it on her ring finger, with a determination to wear it for the rest of her life.

  On another page she had written the names of everyone in her family. Martha, Sona, Arpi, Alisia, Lara, Avo, Sago, Aram. She had drawn a rectangular frame around each name. Below them, in one frame, were the names Silva and Samvel. Then she had printed Araxi Dadik, in large capital letters. There was nothing else on the page except floral doodles, with vine-like designs creeping through the different rectangles. Another page was full of “Avo is angry, Avo isn’t angry” written at least twenty times, in small script.

  Going through her book began to calm her down, but the intense fear kept creeping back in waves, bringing back the cold shivers and the shaking hands. Each time, she fought back by delving into her book. She spent a long time on the drawings and doodles, and read most of her notes. Towards the end, she even had a few words in Arabic. “Ahmed,” she had written several times in Arabic, as if practicing writing the word. Full of contradictions, she added next to the name. Kind, tough; warm, cold; close, distant; generous, generous, generous… Then she saw the note she had written the evening he had brought the music. Tonight he won me over with a song and I loved him. Then he left. Nothing has changed. I wish Avo would return. She laid the open book on her chest and stared into the dark cabin, reliving the dreams in which Avo had appeared, going over her conversations with him, trying to imagine their house, her mother, the garden and the animals.

  The cabin crew passed by a couple of times during the flight, but did not bother checking on anyone, as everyone either was asleep or was trying to sleep. Lara didn’t want anyone to notice her. She pretended to be asleep every time someone passed by her seat. The uncertainty of what would happen once the plane landed haunted her. She had to walk to passport control and pass through in her abaya and headdress, but certainly without the veil. What if they asked her questions she could not answer? She could imagine dreadful imponderables with Turkish border police, and remembered Anastasia’s stories back in Moscow. What scared her even more than these visions was the very fact that she was scared. Collect yourself, Lara, she kept telling herself. Keep your head together; the die is cast, the plane is in the air, and it will land in Istanbul. It’s done. You can’t turn back; you’re going home, you’re doing what you’ve wanted to do for a long time.

  The four-and-a-half hour flight was an intermittent nightmare that Lara lived through wide awake. But as the plane was getting ready for its descent into Istanbul, she suddenly began to regain her composure. She left her seat for the first time and went to the restroom. She took a long look at herself in the mirror. She and Sumaya had discussed whether she should change into Western clothes on the plane, or wait until she boarded the plane to Tbilisi. In the end, Sumaya had advised her to stay in her abaya while in Istanbul. “Chances are less that they’ll bother you as a Muslim woman,” she had said.

  Lara stared into her own eyes for a long time, thinking that these same eyes had stirred so much awe, love, lust and violence in others. It was finally time for them to inspire something in her. What she needed most was confidence, confidence to overcome all hurdles and complete the mission that she was on. And then she realized that her eyes were actually very beautiful; penetrating, dark and deep, as if they could see through things, through facades and veils, throu
gh darkness and obstacles. Her eyebrows were plucked only slightly, accentuating her youthful look. Her face was well proportioned, with high cheekbones and a pretty forehead. In the bathroom of that plane, emerging from four excruciating hours, Lara finally woke up to what everyone had been saying for years; this was not like any other face after all; this was a powerful face, one that could move people, could do a lot more than just turn heads, this was a face that could inspire and attract. This was a face that should not feel any fear.

  The cabin crew was knocking on the door. The plane was about to land and she had to return to her seat. Lara quickly straightened her headdress, wiped around her eyes, lightly touched up her makeup and returned to her seat. She was ready for Istanbul.

  As Lara’s plane was landing, Laurian got into his car and started his drive to Saralandj. The weather had changed very suddenly; a severe cold front had gripped Vardahovit and the upper villages overnight. Temperatures had plummeted to below freezing, although it was still dry. Freezing rain or hail could follow soon, with disastrous effects on the roads. Laurian was prepared; he had already put his winter tires on and packed his winter coat and an extra pair of heavy boots. After spending some time in Saralandj with the Galians, he was planning to spend the night with Gagik in Ashtarak.

  He picked up Gagik and arrived in Saralandj just before noon. Fortunately, the cold front had not affected Yerevan and Ashtarak. Avo was in the back garden pruning the grape vine. It was an old vine, with a thick trunk creeping up onto an arbor that seemed too small to contain all the overgrown shoots from the last season. Avo had pruned more than half of the growth.

  “Make sure you don’t kill that vine,” joked Laurian, embracing him. Gagik embraced him also, admiring his work.

  “This is how my father used to do it,” said Avo. “You take each shoot, you leave around three buds on it and cut the rest. Sometimes you take out the entire shoot if it is too close to another or if it has grown vertical, either straight upwards or downwards.”

  “You learned that just by watching him?” asked Laurian.

  “My father had a way of talking to us when he worked,” said Avo nostalgically. “If we were around, he was always talking about something, either about what he was doing, or about something, some story in general. I remember him telling me about keeping just three buds when I was watching him prune once. It has stuck in my mind.”

  In about half an hour the thick, overgrown arbor looked trim and almost naked.

  “Now it’s ready to start all over again in the spring,” said Avo, satisfied. To Laurian, that sounded like a quote from his father.

  They went inside; Alisia made coffee and left them alone. The two younger brothers were at school.

  “Any news from Lara?” asked Gagik.

  “Not yet, Gago jan,” said Avo. “I’m very worried. I expected her to call by now. She was so anxious to call back and talk to Mama.”

  Avo told them about the money that Lara had sent. He also told them how he had opened an account at the bank, at the postman’s suggestion, and deposited the money. He had withdrawn a few hundred dollars just to make sure that he could, as promised. The rest of the money was in the bank.

  “That’s very good,” said Laurian. “The postman gave you good advice.”

  “But all that money? And wired to me, instead of Mama, the day after Mama died?”

  “She told you that she was trying to come home, right?” said Laurian, pretending the whole thing was nothing out of the ordinary, even though he was as intrigued by it as Avo. “I think that explains the amount. She probably sent everything she has saved this past year. And why to you, instead of your mother as usual? Well, I think since she knew your mother was very ill, she did not want to put her through the trouble of going to the bank. I bet that’s all there is to it, Avo. I wouldn’t worry about that now. Let’s just hope she calls soon.”

  Avo was quiet for a while. He lit a cigarette, which he had never done inside the house when his mother was alive. His parents’ bed was made, covered with a blanket, and looked untouched. They still had to cook and bathe in the room, but it didn’t look like anyone had moved in to occupy it as a bedroom yet.

  “Lara slept here the night before she left,” said Avo. “We want her to have this as her room when she returns.”

  “Avo, you know that we’ll probably have to deal with Ayvazian when Lara returns, right?” asked Gagik.

  “Do you know that I asked her not to go that night?” asked Avo, as if he had not heard Gagik. “I asked her twice not to go. ‘Kurig, don’t go,’ I said. She just held me and told me that all would be well.”

  “And maybe all is in fact well,” said Laurian. “You don’t know that it isn’t.”

  “All is not well,” said Avo somberly, in the same dispassionate tone that he had used when he told Laurian that his mother wouldn’t make it through the winter. “I know all is not well.” Then, turning to Gagik, he said, “Gago, I know we need to deal with Ayvazian. I know from the phone calls with Lara that she is very careful when speaking about him. Something is definitely wrong. If she does make it home, we’ll have an Ayvazian problem to deal with, that’s for sure.”

  “Avo, listen,” said Laurian, “we’ll take each step in turn. Let’s see when Lara calls. In the meantime, focus on your family. Both Gago and I are here to help in any way we can. There is nothing we can do until you hear from Lara. And remember what I told you in Vardahovit. Everything you saw there is strictly between us. Even Gago here doesn’t know all the details.”

  “You two have been here a few times but we’ve never honored you properly,” said Avo, changing both the subject and the mood of the conversation. “We shall have a bite to eat together. And we will not speak of this subject until we have something concrete. Even though it’s barely been a week since we buried Mama, everyone in this house needs a break from mourning. We’ll have a bite and raise a glass and forget all the sorrow for a few hours.”

  Laurian and Gagik looked on with surprise and some admiration as Avo called his three sisters from the other room, all older than him, and instructed them to prepare a meal to honor their guests. “Have everything ready by the time the boys return from school,” he instructed. “And see if Martha and her husband can join us.”

  “Your next flight has been delayed,” said Apo Arslan to Lara. “They don’t know how long of a delay yet; I have arranged for a place for you to rest and freshen up.”

  What made Lara most uncomfortable was not so much the news of the delay, but Timur’s staring at her. The man hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her since he met her at the airport and drove her to Apo’s place on the Bosporus. He spoke only Turkish, so there was no verbal communication between them other than the most basic pleasantries. Apo, on the other hand, was civil and exceedingly polite. He personally offered her a cup of Turkish coffee, and asked if she needed anything from Istanbul while they were waiting. He spoke with a heavy Western Armenian accent, which made it difficult for Lara to understand everything, but they managed to communicate.

  “Thank you very much, Paron Abo,” said Lara. “You’ve been very kind. But I don’t need anything. I am only worried about my flight to Tbilisi; I have only a couple of hours in Tbilisi to catch the evening train to Yerevan. This delay could cost me a whole day if I miss the train tonight.”

  Lara was seated on the sofa facing the large windows overlooking the Bosporus; the light poured over her face, highlighting both her features and her tiredness. Timur was on a chair facing her in the far end of the room, and Apo was seated closer to her, also facing her. Her Eastern Armenian pronunciation of his name as ‘Abo’ instead of Apo, appealed to him.

  “I understand, Lara Khanum,” said Apo, “but there really is nothing that we can do but wait. Timur is constantly in touch with the airport. I suggest you go to the room I’ve arranged for you and rest. I’ll personally follow up with the airline and let you know as soon as they are ready to depart.”

  Apo’s
manners were so polite and refined that Lara became both suspicious and disarmed at the same time. There was nothing she could do but follow Apo’s suggestion. She quietly nodded in agreement.

  “Are you sure there is nothing you need from Istanbul?” asked Apo again. “Anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Lara was about to refuse again when she remembered something.

  “Are there any toy stores nearby?” she asked.

  “You need some toys?” asked Apo, surprised.

  “Well, I promised to bring back a slingshot for my younger brother,” said Lara, feeling a bit embarrassed.

  “Oh, I see. No problem at all,” said Apo. “Timur will have a few of the best slingshots in Istanbul in your room in an hour.”

  “Thank you,” said Lara.

  “Your room is in the apartment one floor below. You’ll find everything you need there. Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  “No,” said Lara, “not now. But I’d appreciate some drinking water.”

  “There are several bottles of water for you there. Also you can make tea or coffee in your room. But let me know if you need to eat something. I will take you there now.” Apo stood up and reached for her carry-on bag.

  “There’s one more thing,” said Lara, with some hesitation.

  “Anything, Lara Khanum,” smiled Apo.

  “Can I make a phone call?”

  Apo should have expected that, but, for some reason, had not. Lara noticed that he was taken by surprise. Apo was weighing the risks of letting her make a phone call, and needed time to think.

  “Where would you like to call?” he asked. “Is it someone here in Istanbul?”

  “No,” answered Lara, aware of Apo’s hesitation, “I’d like to call home.”

  “Is it a house phone or a mobile?” asked Apo, still trying to think about how to handle the request.

  “Does it matter?” asked Lara, keenly aware that Apo’s super polished, polite manners had disappeared.