Forty Days of Musa Dagh (6 page)

 

 

"Friend, and son of my friend" -- the long-drawn emphasis of this was
still a part of the ceremony of welcome -- "your visiting-card has
already come to me as a pleasantly unexpected gift. Now your presence
itself brightens the day for me." Gabriel, who knew his manners, found
the right formula for reply.

 

 

"My deceased parents very soon left me alone. But in you I find a living
witness of their memory and fond attachment. How happy am I to possess
in you a second father."

 

 

"I am in your debt." The old man led his guest to the divan. "Today you
honor me for the third time. It has long been my undischarged duty to
await you as a visitor in your house. But you see in me an old and infirm
man. The road to Yoghonoluk is bad and long. And, besides, a long and
urgent journey lies before me for which I must spare my limbs. Forgive
me, therefore."

 

 

This ended the ritual of reception. They sat down. A boy brought coffee
and cigarettes. They sipped and smoked in silence. Custom ordained that
this young visitor must wait for the old man to give him an opening to
direct the conversation as he desired. But the Agha did not yet seem
inclined to emerge out of his own twilit world into any reality of the
day. He signed to his serving-boy, who handed the master a small leather
case, which he held in readiness. Rifaat Bereket pressed a spring and the
case flew open; his thin, old fingers stroked the satin, which embedded
two ancient coins, one silver, the other gold.

 

 

"You are a very learned man, who has studied at the Paris university,
a decipherer and knower of inscriptions. I am only an uneducated lover of
antiquity, who could never vie with you. But in the last few days I have
had these trifles prepared as a gift for you. The one, the silver coin,
was struck a thousand years ago by that Armenian king whose name resembles
that of your family, Ashod Bagrathuni. It comes from the neighborhood of
Lake Van, and they are rarely found. The other, the gold, is of Hellenic
origin. You can decipher the profound and beautiful inscription, even
without a magnifying-glass:

 

 

"'To the inexplicable, in us and above us.'"

 

 

Gabriel Bagradian rose to take the gift. "You shame me, Father. Really I
do not know how to thank you. We have always been proud of bearing a
similar-sounding name. How plastic the head is! A real Armenian head. And
one should wear the Greek coin round one's neck as an admonition. 'To
the inexplicable, in us and above us.' What philosophers those must have
been who paid their way in coins like these. How low we have sunk!"

 

 

The Agha nodded, pleased indeed with so conservative a sentiment.
"You are right. How low we have sunk!"

 

 

Gabriel laid the coins back on the satin. But it would have been impolite
too soon to change the subject of the gift. "I would beg you to choose
yourself a present in exchange from among my collection of antiques.
But I know that your belief forbids you to set up any image that casts
a shadow."

 

 

On this point the old man lingered with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Yes, and for that very reason you Europeans despise our holy Koran.
Is there not supreme insight concealed in this law, which forbids all
statues that cast shadows? The imitation of the Creator and His creation
is the first beginning of that wild pride in men which leads on to
destruction."

 

 

"These times and this war seem to show us that your prophet was in the
right, Agha."

 

 

This conversational bridge extended its curve towards the Agha. He began
to cross it. "Yes, so it is. Man, as the insolent imitator of God, as
technician, falls into atheism. That is the deepest reason for this war
into which the West has dragged us. To our misfortune. Since what have
we to gain by it?"

 

 

Bagradian tested the next step. "And they have infected Turkey with
their most dangerous pestilence -- racial hatred."

 

 

Rifaat Bereket tilted his head a little backwards. His soft fingers were
playing listlessly with the beads of his amber rosary. It was as if these
hands emitted a faint aureole of sanctity. "It is the worst of doctrines,
to bid us seek our own faults in our neighbors."

 

 

"God bless you! To seek our own faults in our neighbors. This doctrine has
possession of all Europe. But today, alas, I have had to learn that it
has its adepts even among Turks and Moslems."

 

 

"To which Turks do you refer?" The Agha's fingers suddenly ceased to tell
his beads. "Do you mean that absurd pack of imitators at Istanbul? And the
imitators of those imitators? The apes in frock coats and dinner jackets?
Those traitors, those atheists, who would annihilate God's universe itself,
merely in order to get money and power? Those are neither Turks nor Moslems.
They are mere empty rascals and money-grubbers."

 

 

Gabriel lifted the tiny coffee cup, in which by now there was only thick
sediment. An embarrassed gesture. "I admit that years ago I sat together
with these people, because I expected good things from them. I took them
for idealists, and, perhaps, in those days they really were so. Youth always
believes in everything new. But today, alas, I am forced to see the truth
as you see it. Just now, in the hamam, I heard a talk which troubles me
greatly. That is the reason why I visit you at this unseemly hour."

 

 

The Agha's perspicacity needed no closer indication. "Was this talk of
the secret army order degrading Armenians to street-sweeping and service
as porters?"

 

 

Gabriel Bagradian deciphered the flowery riddle of the carpet at his feet.
"Even this morning I still awaited orders to join my regiment. . . . Then
there was also some talk of the town of Zeitun. Help me. What exactly
is happening? What has occurred?"

 

 

The amber beads were again flowing evenly through the Agha's fingers.
"As to Zeitun, I am well informed. What has happened there happens every
day in the mountains. Some affair of thieving hordes, deserters and
saptiehs. There were a few Armenian deserters. Before, nobody noticed
such things." His voice was more deliberate as he added: "But what are
occurrences? They are only what interpretation makes of them,"

 

 

Gabriel seemed about to lose control. "That's just it. In the solitude
in which I live no news of it reached me. The basest interpretations
are being attempted. What does the government intend?"

 

 

The sage put aside these indignant words with a weary movement of the hands.
"I will tell you something, friend and son of my friend. A karmic destiny
hovers over you, since a part of you belongs to the Russian empire, the
other part of you to us. The war has cleft you. You are dispersed among
the nations . . . Yet since, in this world, all things interpenetrate,
we too are submitted to your destiny."

 

 

"Would it not be better to do as we did in 1908 and strive to reconcile
and adjust?"

 

 

"Reconcile? That is no more than an empty word used by worldlings. On earth
there is no reconciliation. We live here in corruption and self-assertion."

 

 

And, to confirm this view, the Agha, in prescribed singsong, quoted a verse
of the sixteenth sura: "And He created the earth diverse in color; see,
there is in this truly a sign, for those that can take warning."

 

 

Gabriel, who could no longer sit quiet on the divan, stood up. The old
man's astonished eyes, reprimanding so arbitrary a movement, forced him
to sit again.

 

 

You wish to know the government's intentions? I only know that the atheists
in Istanbul need racial hatred for their purposes, since the deepest
essence of all godlessness is fear, and the sense of having lost the
game. So that now, of every little city, they make a sounding-box of
rumors, to spread abroad their evil will. It is good you have come to me."

 

 

Gabriel's right hand tightened round the case with the coins. "If it were
only I . . . But, as you know, I am not alone. My brother Avetis died
without issue, so that my thirteen-year-old son is the last of our family.
Moreover, I have married a Frenchwoman, who must not be dragged into this
calamity, which does not concern her."

 

 

The Agha dismissed this plea with some severity. "She belongs to your
nation, since you have married her, and cannot be absolved from its
karma."

 

 

It would have been a vain attempt to explain to this confirmed Oriental
the feminine independence of the West. So Bagradian ignored this objection.
"I should have sent my family abroad, or at least to Istanbul. But now
they have taken away our passports, and I can expect nothing good from
the Kaimakam."

 

 

The Turk placed his right hand on his guest's knee. "I must seriously warn
you not to go to Istanbul with your family, even if you should find the
journey possible."

 

 

"What do you mean? Why? In Istanbul I have friends of all kinds, even
in government circles. There our business has its central office. My
name is very well known there."

 

 

The hand on Gabriel's knee became heavier. "For that very reason --
because you are so well known there -- I would warn you against even a
short stay in the capital."

 

 

"Because of the fighting in the Dardanelles?"

 

 

"No. Not because of that." The Agha's face became inscrutable. Before
continuing, he listened to some inner voice. "No one can tell how far the
government may go. But this much is certain -- the great and respected
among your people will be the first to suffer. And it is equally certain
in such a case that arrests and accusations will be begun in the capital."

 

 

"Do you speak by hearsay, or have you any certain grounds for your warning?"

 

 

The Agha let his amber beads vanish into his wide sleeve. "Yes, I have
certain grounds."

 

 

Now Gabriel could no longer control himself and sprang up. "What shall
we do?"

 

 

"If I may advise you -- go home to your house in Yoghonoluk, stay there
in peace, and wait. You could not have chosen a pleasanter place of
sojourn for yourself and your family, in the circumstances."

 

 

"In peace?" Gabriel cried out scornfully. "It is already a prison."

 

 

Rifaat Bereket turned away his face, perturbed by this loud voice in
the quiet selamlik. "You must not lose your self-control. Forgive me
if my candid words have wounded you. You have not the least reason for
anxiety. Probably it will all vanish in sand. Nothing bad can happen in
our vilayet, since, God be praised, Djelal Bey is the Wali. He submits
to no high-handed measures. Yet whatever is to come is there already,
enfolded within itself, like bud, blossom, and fruit within the seed.
What will happen to us has happened already in God."

 

 

Riled by these flowery theological commonplaces, Bagradian, careless now
of forms, paced up and down. "The most horrible thing is that there is
nothing to hold on to -- nothing to fight against."

 

 

The Agha approached the distraught Gabriel, to hold his two hands firmly
within his own. "Never forget, my friend, that the blasphemous knaves
from your Committee are no more than a very small minority. Our people
is a kindly people. If again and again blood has been shed in anger,
you yourselves are no less guilty of that than we. And then -- there are
enough men of God who live in the tekkehs, in the cloisters, and fight for
the purity of the future within their holy circles of prayer. Either they
win or we all perish. I must tell you, too, that my journey to Anatolia
and Istanbul is to be made on behalf of the Armenians. I implore you to
trust in God."

 

 

The Agha's little hands were strong enough to pacify Gabriel. "You are
right. I will do as you say. Best to creep back into Yoghonoluk and not
stir again till the war is over."

 

 

Still the Agha did not let go of his hands. "Promise me that at home you
will say no word of all these things. After all, why should you? If all
goes as before, you will only have frightened people unnecessarily.
If any evil should come upon you, the fear of it will have been of
no avail. You understand me -- trust, and keep silence."

 

 

And in taking leave he repeated urgently: "Trust, and keep silence. . . .
You will not see me again for many months. But think that in all that
time I shall be working for you. I received much kindness from your
fathers. And now, in my age, God is permitting me to be grateful."

 

 

 

 

 

 

3. THE NOTABLES OF YOGHONOLUK

 

 

The ride home took some time, since Gabriel seldom galloped his horse
and kept letting it slow down to its own pace. This also led to his
straying off the shortest road and remaining on the highroad along the
Orontes. Only when, beyond the clustered houses of Suedia and El Eskel,
the far sea-line came into sight, did the rider start out of his dream and
turn off sharply northwards, into the valley of Armenian villages.
He reached the road -- if the rough cart-track could be called one --
which linked the seven to one another, just as the long spring dusk
was gathering.

 

 

Yoghonoluk was nearly in the center. Therefore he had to ride through
the southern villages, Wakef, Kheder Beg, Hadji Habibli, to reach home,
which would scarcely be possible before darkness. But he was in no hurry.

 

 

In these hours the village streets round Musa Dagh were crowded. People
all stood out in front of their doors. The gentleness of a Sunday evening
brought them together. Bodies, eyes, voices, sought one another, to enhance,
with family gossip and general complaints about the times, the pleasure
of being alive. Sex and degrees of age made separate groups. Matrons stood
eyeing each other askance, the young wives joyous in their Sunday best,
the girls full of laughter. Their coin-ornaments tinkled. They displayed
their magnificent teeth. Gabriel was struck by the numbers of able-bodied
young men, fit for the army, but not yet called up. They joked and laughed
as though no Enver Pasha existed for them. From vineyards and orchards
came the nasal twangings of the tar, the Armenian guitar. A few
over-industrious men were preparing their handiwork. The Turkish day
ends with dusk, and so the Sabbath rest ends also. Settled, industrious
men felt the urge to fuss over odd jobs before going to bed.