by Evelyn Weiss
Another jolt from the wind; the airplane feels like it’s bouncing over invisible rocks. My jaws bang together; then, there’s a bigger blow.
“We hit some snow. Bloody wheels have come off! Hold tight, it might get a bit bumpy.”
We’re skimming the surface now; the snow is all peaks and troughs, like a whipped meringue; we’re bobbing over the lumps. A white spike the size of a house catches one wing and spins us round like a gramophone record; my heart’s in my mouth, my head bangs the side of the fuselage, everything turns over and over. We’re tumbling down the slope; hopelessly out of control.
There’s a crushing impact: a heart-stopping stillness.
I must be upside down, because I gaze downwards, but I see an endless blue sky. I can hear the wooden frame of the aircraft creaking and groaning.
“Everyone – keep still. I’m working out what we must do.” Rufus’s voice is loud and clear, cutting through my jumbled mind. I grip the side of the fuselage next to my seat; he shouts again.
“No-one must move an inch. There’s a crevasse below us.”
I look again. The blue I can see isn’t sky. It’s smooth, ultramarine walls of ice. I’m not upside down; I’m looking not up but down, into endless, invisible depths. The plane is hanging in the jaws of a crevasse. On either side, the wingtips rest on snow, but the fuselage hangs above empty space.
Rufus turns in his seat and directs us. “Sirko! The aircraft is under strain; every pound of weight is pulling it down. You’re the heaviest: get off first. Then you can help the rest of us get to safety.”
Yuri nods. Rufus shouts at him again. “Now, follow my instructions. Climb out of your seat, over the edge of the fuselage, down onto the left-hand wing. Then lie flat, to spread your weight, and crawl along. Prof, you’re next. But wait until Sirko’s onto the snow. We must go one by one, so as not to put too much weight on that wing.”
Yuri clambers down onto the wing as gently as he can, but it bounces under the first impact of his feet. Its wooden frame shudders and squeals, like an animal whimpering in pain. He bends his knees to soften the impact, then lies down flat on the wing. I see him shuffling along, writhing his way underneath the engine casing, then along the outer wing to the tip. It seems an eternity before he finally steps onto the snow.
Axelson is next. He’s more awkward and slower than Yuri, but bit by bit he inches towards safety. As he steps off the wing onto the ice, a gust of wind catches the airplane and shifts it. I glance in the opposite direction, across to the end of the right-hand wing. My mouth drops open in mute shock, as I see that the wing has moved. Only a few inches of its furthest tip is now resting on the snow.
Rufus has seen the wing slide too. “Agnes, Mariam – both of you go at once. Quickly.”
I lift Mariam out of her seat and onto the left-hand wing. She knows exactly what to do: she lies down as I’m climbing out onto the wing behind her. She’s crawling along, just ahead of me; Yuri and Axelson reach for her arms. But the wing is moving, like a living creature, below us. The wind is catching it again and it shakes, moves and lifts under my elbows and knees, as I try to slide along. I glance over the edge of the wing into the indigo depths of the crevasse, and shudder. I don’t look down again, and concentrate on trying to lever myself forward.
Yuri plucks Mariam off the wing: I feel the professor’s hands gripping mine. There’s a pull on my arms. My feet plant down solidly into the snow.
I look back at Rufus.
He’s climbing out of the cockpit, but I hear wood snapping. The plane is starting to break up. Rufus’s feet bump down onto the wing, and it shakes like a leaf. Freezing gusts of wind howl in our ears.
Rufus slides himself along the wing, shuffling below the engine casing; it looks like he’s moving in slow motion. Yuri’s about to shout to him, but suddenly all sound is lost in a furious blast of wind. The airplane shifts once more. The far wingtip slides over the lip of the crevasse.
We see the falling wing grazing and scraping down the wall of ice. Rufus is standing up, next to the engine casing, looking at us. He’s like a sprinter out from the blocks; he’s running along the wing towards us as it tilts, steepening faster and faster into the depths.
There’s a hideous tearing, cracking sound; the plane is breaking as it falls. The wings fold together, like some great insect. The falling fuselage strikes a huge blue spike of ice in the crevasse, and crumples as if made of paper. The whole airplane is a mashed ball of debris, dropping into blue-black nothingness. We look down: it’s completely vanished.
“Well, that was a close shave.” Rufus stands beside me. He looks rather pleased with himself.
I’ve never felt so tired in my life. For the last ten hours we’ve been descending. At first we were in a world of white, threading our way through the crevasses that yawned like open blue mouths among the snowfields. Then, very gingerly, we inched step-by-step down the steeply sloping snout of a glacier into a wet mess of gravel and mud. After that, we clambered onto the smooth slabby surface of a lava flow, and below that we came onto endless slopes of boulders and rubble. Now we’re on yet another lava flow, and it’s late afternoon. This morning my teeth were chattering with cold: now, sweat drips into my eyes from the broiling rays of the sun. Hot light bounces off every bone-dry surface.
“Is that a cave? We could rest in there.” I point towards a strange circular mouth in a wall of rock.
The professor glances at the hole. “It’s a lava tube, Miss Agnes. We should not go into it: we have no idea where it leads. Tubes like that are formed when lava flows down the flanks of a volcano, like a river of syrup. The surface of the lava river cools and solidifies, turning to solid rock. But inside, the lava stays hot and liquid and flows away, leaving an empty tube. At the Lava Beds in northern California, there is a whole network of tubes that you can walk through.”
Rufus sniggers. “You’re a mine of useless information, Prof!”
“I agree, Mr du Pavey. My knowledge is extensive, but none of it can help us in this present situation.”
Yuri looks round. He’s carrying Mariam on his shoulders. “I think we ought to try to get lower before we stop. Without food or water, stopping to rest is just delay.”
“Is that a sheep?” I hear Mariam’s voice from above Yuri’s shoulders. She is pointing straight ahead.
There’s a whitish dot on the slope far below us. As we stumble and slip our way down the sloping natural pavements of the lava flow, we see there’s several white dots. They’re in a line, stretched out ahead of us. Beyond and below them, the slopes of the mountain turn green.
The professor looks at Rufus. “Can you guess our altitude?”
“We landed – well, crashed – at around fourteen thousand feet. We’re now at around eight thousand. Look across there to the left; we’re level with the saddle between the two Ararat peaks.”
“What altitude are the villages?”
“Around six thousand.”
Mariam shouts out. “They are sheep! And I can see a shepherd!”
Rufus is suddenly animated. “Well done, Mariam! You’re right!”
We wave, and the man waves back. We make our weary way down the hillside towards him. Fifteen minutes later we hear a shout “Barheev!”
Mariam shouts back; in a few moments we’re shaking hands, and Mariam’s talking, explaining.
“He’s called Arman. He says we were lucky to see him; he was just about to go back down the hillside to the village. There’s a wedding on today.”
Soon, we see below us a huge bowl-shaped valley, two or three miles across. The late afternoon sun glows on golden stubble in recently harvested fields. The farmland is patched like a checkerboard; the crops alternate with lush grazing pastures for sheep and cows, the green lines of vineyards, and squares of deeper green; orchards. I can even see the red glints of September apples among the leaves of the orchard trees. But beyond the fields, the land suddenly drops away into unseen, deep-shadowed depths, like a great canyon.
The fertile farmland hangs on a shelf on the side of the volcano, high above the main valley.
Among the greenery are groups of stone-built houses, spread across the width of the cultivated land. There are six large villages, linked by a dirt road that threads its way through the fields and orchards. A round church tower, crowned with a conical roof and a crucifix, rises above the largest of the villages. I recall the cluster of six names ‘Armenian’ on the map in Kılıç Pasha’s office. Yes, this is the place.
33 The valley of the shadow
It’s early evening when we stagger into the nearest of the villages, the one with the church tower. Mariam smiles. “Arman says he’s not missed the wedding. The qavor – that’s the priest – was delayed, because there is only one road leading up to these villages from the valley. It is a difficult journey, even in daylight. So, he has only just arrived.”
We can hear music; we step into the village street, and turn a corner. I see a crowd of people. In the centre, at the door of the church, a priest in long, dark robes stands between a man and a woman. Over the groom’s robe-like coat, green and red sashes are draped. “Green for love: red for sacrifice” Mariam says.
We all stand quietly, watching. I feel like I’ve walked past a wedding in Putnam, and stopped for a moment to look. But this ceremony is more colorful. The groom’s long coat shimmers; it must be pure silk. The bride wears a white chemise and a little blue jacket. She takes off her lace veil and a turret-like hat, decorated with silver disks. The priest puts a thin metal circlet, crowned with a cross, on each bared head. Then he stands between them, holding a tall golden crucifix above them.
We’re silent. Even our news must wait. The priest holds out a metal cup; I see a glint of dark wine in it. The man and woman drink, and Mariam explains to us. “It reminds us of Jesus at the Last Supper, and how he shared the wine in the Holy Grail. From now on, this couple will share Jesus in their marriage.”
The solemn, silent moment lasts only a few seconds. Suddenly, the man and the woman are laughing; tears of happiness shine in their eyes. Then they turn to the congregation, bowing with hands held in an attitude of prayer, and repeat a single phrase “tsavt tanem”. Mariam repeats it too, then looks at me. “It is like your English ‘thank you’ but much, much stronger. Literally, it means ‘I will take your pain on myself’.”
The couple, and the priest, can see us now: their eyes widen in surprise. Other people too are pointing, at these strangers who have arrived from nowhere. The priest steps over quickly towards us. In moments a crowd is gathered around us. Mariam acts as translator: Yuri speaks to her.
“Ottoman soldiers are coming this way. They will kill everyone, if they can. No Armenian living anywhere south or east of Ararat is safe now. Everyone must leave.”
Mariam turns to the crowd, and relays the grim news. I see faces changing as they hear her message. Then the priest starts speaking, addressing the crowd so that everyone understands. Various voices are calling out, some quavering with shock and fear. But the priest bends down and talks quietly to Mariam. Finally, she turns back to us, and translates.
“They had heard of violence, of massacres of Armenians – but in places far away. They were wondering about leaving, and trying to get across the river to the Republic of Armenia. They knew they would be safe there from the Ottomans. But they had decided to stay, because they did not expect the shadow to fall on this valley. These villages are remote and far from any of the troubles, and there has always been good friendship in this area between Turks and Armenians. And, it is harvest time. It is hard to leave villages your families have lived in for hundreds of years.”
Yuri and the professor nod at her as she continues.
“The priest says that messages will be sent to all the villages to tell everyone to pack up and leave. This is one of six villages, all close together, in this valley below Ararat.”
Yuri and Rufus look at each other. On the descent, they’d had a long discussion about escape routes. Yuri speaks to Mariam.
“The best way of escape is over the saddle between the two Ararat peaks. Beyond that, the land slopes down northwards, to the Aras River. Aim for the tower of the monastery of Khor Virap, on the far bank. Once you cross the river, you will be in the Republic of Armenia.”
She relays Yuri’s message to the priest, and the process of communicating it to everyone is repeated. Then she translates the response back to us. “Yes, that’s exactly the way they planned to go. They have plenty of horses and donkeys to carry those who cannot walk. They will pack overnight, and leave just before dawn. They know the way as far as the saddle between the two Ararat peaks. But no-one knows the slope on the other side, between the saddle and the river.”
Yuri looks at Rufus, then speaks to Mariam. “Tell them that this man is called Rufus. He will go with you; he is an airplane pilot, and this morning he flew above those slopes. He saw the Aras River with his own eyes this morning.”
“Will there be Ottoman patrols?”
“We think not. All the Turkish forces have moved away to fight in Baku. But take any guns you have with you. And you can have this rifle that I brought from Baku. Rufus has a gun, too.” Yuri doesn’t mention that Rufus’s gun doesn’t work; it’s the gun I found in the lake, which I’ve given to him.
Mariam repeats Yuri’s words to the priest, then turns to us and translates again. “Everyone says thank you. They only have a couple of hunting rifles themselves. Soldiers came at the beginning of the war and took most of their weapons from them. But, they want to know, how will they cross the river?”
“There will be Armenian soldiers guarding the far bank. Signal to them; they will help you.”
Several voices are speaking to Mariam at once. Then she turns again to us.
“Everyone says: ‘We have bread and salt among us’. Which means, we all welcome you, as if you were our own family. Now, you must eat. We must all eat. We have a wedding feast here…”
It’s four in the morning. Last night, we sat with the villagers, amid the bustle of packing, and we ate a feast of lamb and a rich, meaty soup. We politely refused endless offers of wine; Mariam relayed Rufus’s words to them. “Your wine is marvellous. But we have an early start, and we need clear heads in the morning.” So instead, we ended up drinking an awful lot of pomegranate juice.
Now we are waking in the light of lanterns, on soft bedding, under a low roof of wooden beams. Around us is a bustle of people, and I hear the snorts of several donkeys outside the door. I look, and see they are laden with huge packs, and that bronze pots and pans and colorful carpets are fastened everywhere to the poor beasts. Everyone is ready to leave.
The villagers assured us that we could afford to take a few hours to rest and recover from our journey, without risk of the Ottoman troops arriving. There is only the one narrow mountain road up from the valley to these remote villages. No-one, the villagers say, would try to drive it at night.
Now we too are ready to go; we have a plan. While Rufus and Mariam go uphill with the villagers, Yuri, the professor and I will walk down the road towards the main valley. By dawn, we should reach a small wooden bridge. It carries the road across a deep ravine cut into the side of the valley.
I’ve insisted on going with them to help them, despite both of them saying I should accompany Rufus. But on the rough road descending the hillside, Yuri strides briskly, and to my surprise Axelson keeps pace with him. I fall far behind.
Finally, I round a corner and, a few yards ahead of me, I see the bridge, lit by the first rays of the rising sun. As the villagers told us, it’s a simple wooden structure, only about ten yards long, carrying the road over a narrow ravine. I hear Yuri speaking to Axelson.
“The villagers were right. If we cut this bridge, we’ll stop all vehicles getting to the villages. So even if they arrive today, the Ottomans will never catch the villagers. Let’s use the two axes.”
I see them both walk over to the far side of the bridge, and begin chopping.
Yuri sees me and calls back to me. “Sit and rest for a while! Then, come and take over from the professor for a few minutes, to give him a break when he gets tired.”
I lie flat on a boulder for five minutes, resting as much as I can. Then I cross the bridge to the far side, where they are working. Yuri looks at me between strokes of his ax.
“See what we are doing here. Agnes. The bridge is made of wooden planks nailed on top of two long beams laid across the ravine. The beams are too big and thick for us to cut. But we can render the bridge unusable, by getting rid of all the planks.
So we are chopping here, at the edge of each plank. Once the blade of the ax is well under the plank, pull the handle to lever it up until the plank comes away from the beams. Then throw the plank down into the ravine.”
“After a few planks are gone –”
“Yes, you’re right. Then, we step back and do the next section. We work backwards, taking up planks as we go. And being careful not to fall.” Yuri points down into the gully, where a foaming mountain stream rushes among steep rocks.
I chop; Axelson rests, lying on the ground in exhaustion. Then he takes over from me. Soon, four planks are gone, then six. It’s backbreaking work. The sun feels hot, and it is climbing high in the sky by the time we’ve taken up all the planks. I look down into the ravine, where the planks lie piled in a pit-like rocky slot a hundred feet below us. Yuri is smiling.
“Good work. They can’t cross that bridge with vehicles, or on horseback. And even if they arrive here soon, and climb across the ravine on foot, they won’t catch the Armenians. Let’s rest for a few minutes. Then we’ll set off for the Ararat saddle and the route to the Aras River.”
We all lie utterly still; I feel my breathing, like gentle waves on a beach, gradually relaxing. Levering those planks reminded me of when I first met Yuri, when I got through the planks that were nailed across the windows of that cottage in the woods. But then, I was in terror, and my nostrils were full of smoke. Now I’m surrounded by fresh mountain air, under a sky like a blue jewel, and I smell the scents of wild flowers. The snowy cone of Ararat towers over the peaceful scene.