Forty Days of Musa Dagh (31 page)

 

 

"I'm a woman." The full voice, by its sheer challenge, got absolute quiet
with its first sounds. "I'm a woman, and I speak for all the women here.
Many of us have suffered. My heart has failed me again and again. It's a
long time since I've cared whether I die or not. I don't mind how soon
I do die. But I'm not going to die like a cur on the highroad. I'm not
going to lie out rotting in the fields. Not I! Nor do I mean to go on
living in a concentration camp, among all those rascally murderers, and
the poor women they've befouled. None of us women means to do it -- no,
not one of us! And if you men are so cowardly that you'd rather stay on
here and be slaughtered, we women alone will arm ourselves and go up on
Musa Dagh with Gabriel Bagradian."

 

 

This spirited appeal raised a far noisier tumult than the last. It looked
as though at any minute now these madmen might whip out knives against
each other and so anticipate Turkish blood-letting. The schoolteachers,
headed by Shatakhian, were already preparing to rush the crowd and act as
police -- Ter Haigasun quietly beckoned them back. He knew his people better
than all these teachers and mukhtars. Such vociferations were not vindictive.
Empty excitement. The mind of these thousands had still not really digested
the thought of banishment. Now it had slowly to assimilate the challenging
voices of the speech-makers. A glance from the priest said: "Just leave
them alone." He watched the tumult with patient eyes. Women's voices,
roused by Antaram, were more and more gaining the upper hand. Ter Haigasun
also prevented would-be orators -- Oskanian, the teacher, for instance --
from saying more. He was right. The din, with nothing there to fodder
it, died down, sooner than was expected. In a few minutes this tumult
had stifled itself, and only grunts and sobs were left over. Now was
Ter Haigasun's chance to clear things up and bring them speedily to a
head. He waved his right hand to get them quiet.

 

 

"It's all quite simple." He did not use too much of his voice but scanned
each syllable very sharply, so that his words bored their way into the
dull comprehension of the mass. "Two proposals have been made to you.
Those are the only two ways we can go. There's no other way for us except
these two. The one, Pastor Nokhudian's way, takes you eastwards with the
saptiehs. The other, Gabriel Bagradian's way, leads us up, with our own
weapons, on to the Damlayik. Each of you is perfectly free to choose for
himself which way to go, as his will and understanding may dictate to
him. There's nothing more to say about that, since all that's been said
already. I want to make the decision very easy for you. Pastor Nokhudian
will be so good as to stand over there in the empty yard, on the other
side of those ropes. Let everyone who agrees with the pastor, and would
rather go into exile, go across and stand with him. Those on the side
of Gabriel Bagradian, stay here, where he is. No need to hurry. There's
plenty of time."

 

 

Sudden, deep silence. Only Madame Nokhudian's rapid, almost yelping sobs
became audible. The old pastor bowed his head, in its little cloth cap.
A heavy load of thoughts seemed to bow his shoulders, drag him to earth.
He remained a very long while in this thoughtful posture. And then his
legs began to move. He trotted, in hesitant steps, to the place to which
Ter Haigasun had assigned him. He lifted the clothes line with a clumsy
movement over his head. The stable-yard reached almost to the villa. Only
a stretch of grass, with a wall of magnolia bushes, lay in between. The
big yard was completely empty. Stable-boys and house servants had both
crowded to the meeting. Nokhudian's short little legs made the most of
this way of decision; they needed quite a while to reach the magnolia
bushes, where he took up his position, his back to the crowd. His wife,
shaken with sobs, came after him. Another, still longer, emptier pause,
with not a word in it. Only then did one or two people free themselves
from the center of the crowd, force a way out of it, and, measuring out
the intervening space with the same gentle, thoughtful steps, take up
their stand beside Pastor Nokhudian.

 

 

At first there were only a few -- the elders of the Protestant congregation
of Bitias, with their wives. But, little by little, the number of those who
had chosen exile increased, until at last the pastor had almost his whole
congregation, young and old. A few more joined them, from other villages;
but these were old and burdened people, whose strength to resist had
already failed them, or who, at the very end of their lives, really feared
to set heaven against themselves. With their hands over their breasts
as if in prayer, they took the first steps of the road to Calvary.
All this happened so deliberately, in so gently introverted a manner,
that it looked less like a decision pregnant with consequences than a
religious ceremony. It was as though these people were stepping modestly,
slowly, into the grave, without first having stretched themselves out to
die. One. And then another. A couple. And then several. Then another
couple. Nokhudian's disciples at last increased to something like
four hundred souls, not counting those of the Protestant congregation
who, from sickness or some other cause, had had to stop away from the
meeting. With him the pastor took a fair proportion of the inhabitants
of Bitias, the second largest commune of the valley. The mass of people
watched with fascinated eyes the hesitant steps of these others, resolved
for obedience. Not a word of comment. Until, last of all, very late in
joining Nokhudian's band, came a little, shrivelled-up man, lurching
over his stick like a drunkard, and talking to himself. This figure of
fun, well known to all the people of Kebussiye, who did not really seem
to know what was happening, provoked a cry of arrogant hatred in the
crowd. At first it was no more than the sight of a half-wit producing
the usual malice. Then came the arrogance: Here were the brave,
and there the cowards. Here the strong, the men of sterling worth,
and there the cripples. It was only that one young man had bawled
something derisive, and that a gust of laughter shook the crowd. But
Ter Haigasun was already pushing his way into the densely packed mass,
which he thrust away from him with both arms, as though he would reach
to the very heart of this baseness, pounce on the giber, drag him out,
and thrash him. His face looked dark with anger. His hood fell back off
his close-cropped, iron-grey hair. Murder was glinting in his eyes:
"What cur dared? What brutes are laughing?"

 

 

Vehemently he beat upon his breast, again and again, to punish at least
himself for the mocker and still his rage. Then, in the resumed stillness,
he went across to Harutiun Nokhudian and his band, stopped a little
distance away from them, bowed very low, and said in his resonant,
priestly voice: "To us you will always be holy. May we be holy to you."

 

 

Bagradian was thinking feverishly. An unstemmed rush of new ideas
swept him along. The great work of defence went ardently forward in
his mind. Ever since the decision had fallen, he had been only half
listening to what happened. His whipped-up thoughts noted and reflected
simultaneously. What a giant of inspiration this Ter Haigasun had shown
himself to be! "It's invaluable," the thought flashed through him,
"that I should have this authority rooted in the soil behind me." And it
seemed a further stroke of fortune that the good Nokhudian, and a few
hundred more non-combatants, should have chosen otherwise. "They'll
be useful in keeping our movements and decisions from the saptiehs
till the very last minute. The villages mustn't be empty. The Turks
mustn't begin to suspect before we're ready for them." Gabriel's plan
went on unfolding itself. His forbears' calculating intelligence, all
the shrewdness of grandfather Avetis, were uppermost now in this, their
other-worldly grandson, that simple idealist at whom his more distant
relations, hardheaded merchants, had always smiled. From every considered
actuality there spun forth its inevitable series of ghostly threads of
future consequence, and not one thread was inessential. An impetuous
ambition took hold of Bagradian. So, according to Ali Nassif's report,
the müdir would arrive with his escort three days after this present
Sunday. By Wednesday, therefore, all the foundations would have to be
laid, from which to build in the days that followed. Now was the moment
to test what he had always believed, that mind must triumph over matter,
even in its highest, most intense manifestations -- force and chance.

 

 

No wonder that, held fast by his scheming thoughts, intoxicated with
self-reliance, he should have forgotten even his wife, been scarcely
conscious of all the bustle surrounding him. All this was sheer waste of
time. A few village speech-makers were still talking. But what, now that
the great die was cast, did their clumsy, empty words matter to him?
They were all equally bellicose -- not a single voice in opposition.
Ter Haigasun gave the people plenty of breathing-space for this spirit of
valiant resolution to take deep anchorage in their midst, so that the
hesitant and timid might be drawn in. But, before the first wave of
exhaustion threatened, he stepped forward, interrupting the speaker, and
decreed that they should at once choose representatives. The village clerk
of Yoghonoluk went round with a basket, collecting voting-papers. The
schoolteachers, helped by Avakian, lost no time in beginning the count
inside the villa.

 

 

It goes without saying that the majority of votes went to Ter Haigasun.
Immediately after him came the doctor. Then the seven mukhtars and three
village priests, with the votes of their congregations. Then, with a
considerable gap, Apothecary Krikor, and some of the schoolteachers,
among whom, of course, were Shatakhian and Oskanian. Gabriel got about
the same number of votes as Pastor Aram Tomasian. Among the non-official
villagers old Tomasian and Chaush Nurhan, the ex-regular sergeant, were
elected to leadership. One woman, Mairik Antaram, received a large number
of votes -- in these parts a decided innovation. She energetically refused
to accept. Shatakhian read out the results. Those selected retired into
the house to draw up their rules as a corporate body. Gabriel had told
Kristaphor and Missak to have everything ready for a sitting in the big
selamlik -- cold food, wine, and coffee. The crowd -- even those mothers
with small children at home to be looked after -- remained in the grounds,
encamped here and there in the big garden. Comestibles were sent for,
from Yoghonoluk. The master of the house sent out a ration of water,
wine, fruit, and tobacco. Soon gossip, mingled with cigarette smoke
and the bubbling of comfortable chibuks, rose in the evening air, as
though nothing had happened. Pastor Nokhudian's adherents left with
their leader to go home to Bitias. It was a quiet and dreary setting
forth. A few of the younger of this band turned back at the garden door
and joined the main encamped body of the people, whose zest for life,
after weeks of coma, seemed for the first time now to have returned. Now
in this short, fugitive interval between everyday routine and the unknown,
incomprehensible pleasure invaded their souls. Why? Because more than
mere suffering lay before them, because, though they suffered, in and
above their pain there would be action.

 

 

 

 

The night of Musa Dagh quickly absorbed the July twilight. Eastward,
a horizontal half-moon pushed off from the ragged peaks of the Amanus and
sailed into open sky. The doors of Villa Bagradian stood wide open.
The inquisitive might go in and out unhindered. The leaders of the people
had gathered in the big selamlik. This council of leaders, a group of
thirty, seemed to itself at first very helpless. The mayors of the other
villages, the priests and schoolteachers, who were in this house for the
first time, sat or stood about in awkward silences. Some may only now have
become aware of the full audacity of this step to which the unexpected,
impetuous course of the great assembly had committed them. Gabriel instantly
sensed an acrid stink of flickering courage, given off by certain of the
chosen. The lukewarm must on no account be allowed to "come to their senses";
no fundamental "if's" or "but's" must be spoken. The people had taken
its lawful decision; there could be no vacillations now; these fires
of defensive resolution should be fanned into a towering flame. It was
Bagradian's job as master of the house to put an end to this shapeless
hanging about of tepid men, to get the people's council under way, and
to have fruitful tasks ready for all. Every advantage of his Western
education must make itself felt. He did the only thing that was to be
done. He turned with solemnity to Ter Haigasun.

 

 

"Ter Haigasun, it was more than the people outside that elected you.
I speak for all here, when I say this: We beg you to be the supreme head
of our struggle. In peacetime you held an office of leadership and,
as spiritual head of the communes, you have done your duty with the
greatest self-sacrifice till today. It is God's will, by the cruelty of
men, to extend your powers. We all want to make you the solemn promise
that, in every decision we may make, in every precautionary measure on
which we decide, we will submit to your final veto without a murmur. Not
until you have endorsed them, shall the resolutions of this council of
leaders become valid and so be given the power of laws, binding on our
whole people."

 

 

This little speech brought its self-evident result. Nobody else but
Ter Haigasun could possibly have been chosen supreme head. Not even
Mr. Schoolmaster Hrand Oskanian would have ventured a secret sneer at
this established fact. And Gabriel's words sounded agreeably in the ears
of his listeners, especially of those to whom he was still a mistrusted
foreigner. Two trains of thought brought this soothing effect: Many had
been expecting that "the Frenchman" would snatch the leadership on the
strength of his Western superiority. And then -- an even deeper reason --
Bagradian's speech, its solemn form as well as its legal content, prepared
the ground on which all future decisions could be built up. These few
words had quite imperceptibly laid down the fundamental law for this
newly constituted entity about to form itself. Ter Haigasun made the
sign of the cross in silence, to show that he consented to take office,
with all its heavy responsibility. From this moment there were two legal
powers -- the Council of Leaders and the Supreme Head of the People,
who, though he presided over the council, had alone the power to make
its resolutions legally valid. Every member came up to Ter Haigasun to
kiss his hand, according to custom, and took the oath. Only when this
ceremony was over, did a wide circle take form along several tables set
end to end. Gabriel Bagradian had war maps and complete data in front
of him. Samuel Avakian stood behind him, ready to be consulted. When
Gabriel, with a look, had asked for silence, he stood up.