Forty Days of Musa Dagh (90 page)

 

 

Those attempts to mollify, undertaken now by Aram Tomasian, also miscarried.
That miserable attempt to catch fish, which had yielded so little,
was the pastor's set idea, his mania. Everyone knew what results it had
yielded so far. Tomasian's attempts to hearten earned, first, laughter,
and then, malicious scorn, and, since he refused to stop talking, they
silenced him. Everyone knew what had come of all that, so far! Someone
in the crowd must have given the impulse. It had been divided up into
aimlessly clustered knots, but now it formed into a mass and crowded on
to the government hut. Soon not only fists, but spades and crowbars, were
being brandished. The men who guarded it turned pale and pointed their
rifles indecisively -- with a captured Turkish bayonet fixed on each.

 

 

Inside the hut, apart from the sick apothecary, there remained only Bedros
Hekim, Chaush Nurhan, and the priest. Ter Haigasun was aware that, now,
after the mukhtars' and Tomasian's defeat, it would be the end of all
authority unless he could manage to re-establish it. He did not doubt for
an instant that he could do so. His eyes, which as a rule expressed so
strange a mixture of observant shyness and cold decision, became tinged
with black. He crossed the threshold, thrust aside the men of the guard,
and went straight into the middle of the crowd, as though he could not
see them, as though they were air. Nor had his attitude anything in the
least constrained or anxious in it. He moved, as his habit was, with his
head bent a little forwards, his secluded, rather chilly hands hidden
in his cassock sleeves. Every step the silent Ter Haigasun took was left
free before him. Sheer curiosity -- what's he after? what's he going to
do? dispelled any other feelings. So, at a measured pace, he reached the
altar, on the lowest step of which he turned, not vehemently, but almost
as though he were settling down. This forced the crowd -- all God-fearing
Armenian men and women -- to turn their eyes towards the holy table,
from which sparkled the great silver crucifix, the tabernacle, chalice,
and many lamps. Sunbeams fingered their way through the screen of beech
leaves set up behind it. Nor did Ter Haigasun need to raise his voice,
since sudden curiosity created deep quiet around him.

 

 

"A great misfortune has occurred" -- he said it without any pained solemnity,
almost indifferently -- "and you inveigh against it, and want to be told
who are guilty of it, as though that were any use at all. Before we set
up this camp, you chose men to lead you, who now, for thirty-one days,
have sacrificed themselves on your behalf without having slept the whole
of one night. You know as well as I do that no other men among you are as
well qualified to be your leaders. I quite understand that you should be
dissatisfied with our present life. I am myself! But you chose perfectly
freely to come up here and live on the Damlayik, instead of going, for
instance, on the convoy, with Pastor Nokhudian. If you regret that now
-- listen carefully, please -- you can change your decision as freely
as you took it in the first place. There's a way. . . ."

 

 

The speaker paused for half a second, but his dry tone remained as before;
he continued: "We have an alternative. You, as you stand here now, form
a majority. But I'll also send for the men from the trenches. . . . Let's
surrender to the Turks! I'm perfectly willing if you'll give me the power
to do so, to go down straight away, to Yoghonoluk, in your name. Hands
up, at once -- anyone who wants me to do so."

 

 

In disdainful silence Ter Haigasun let two full minutes elapse. The quiet
remained as dense as ever, not a hand stirred. Then he climbed to the top
step of the altar, and now his angry voice beat across the square.

 

 

"I see that not one of you wants to surrender. . . . Well then, in that
case, you must realize that order and discipline must be kept. There must
be perfect quiet! Quiet, you hear, even if we've no more to eat than our
fingernails. There's only one form of treachery here, and its name is
disorder -- undisciplined behavior! Whoever betrays us in that way will be
punished as a traitor, be sure of that! Well, now, it's high time you went
back to work! We'll do our best for you. Meanwhile, everything as usual."

 

 

It was the method used with unruly children; at this moment it proved
the only right one. Not a word of protest, no heckling, not another
reproach, though Ter Haigasun's speech had not changed anything. Even the
brawlers and agitators held their tongues; they were disconcerted. This
alternative -- discipline or surrender -- worked like a cold douche on
these roused emotions.

 

 

Since Ter Haigasun's speech had dissipated the great revolt, it was
easy enough now to clear the altar square. The people, in noisy groups,
went back to work, and everyday life seemed to begin again in spite of
this horror. The guard blocked the mouths of the "streets," so that no
further demonstrations might trouble the counsels of the leaders, who
at last would have to leave their strife and face the merciless reality.

 

 

Ter Haigasun still stood looking down, across the empty square, from the
altar steps. Might it not be as well to form a very strong police force,
strong enough to quell, with bloodshed, the slightest unrest? But the
priest dismissed the thought with a weary gesture. What good did it do
to spread terror? With every day of real famine, order would vanish of
itself. The Turks had no need to attack again, to make an end.

 

 

Yet that same day saw a most surprising event, which, in all their
torturing up and down of hope and despair, raised their courage again
for a short while. This incident might, not unjustly, have been called
a miracle, even though the miracle proved ineffective.

 

 

 

 

Immediately after Stephan's death the doctor had released his wife from
all her other nursing duties and sent her off to look after Juliette.
It was a great sacrifice on the part of Bedros Hekim, since the
indefatigable Antaram had had sole charge of the hospital hut and the
isolation-wood. But it was for Iskuhi's sake that the good Altouni had
so decided. Iskuhi was worn out by long sick-nursing; she had become the
shadow of a shade. What a force of resistance she must have had in her,
not to have taken infection from her patient, in spite of constant,
close proximity -- or at least not so far! The new nurse lived in the
sick-hut, whereas Iskuhi moved to the one Hovsannah had relinquished.

 

 

Juliette was one of the patients with strong enough hearts to resist the
fever epidemic. As Gabriel began to be certain that, little by little,
his wife was turning the corner, he pitied her deeply. After the critical
time she had lapsed again into unconsciousness, or rather into the weakest
lethargy. Juliette, when her temperature was highest, had always been able
to take nourishment; now she refused it; that is to say her stiff, lifeless
body refused. Antaram did her best to wake Juliette up. It was very slow
work. Not till today had Juliette quietly opened her eyes, which seemed
again to look at the real world. She asked for nothing, wanted nothing.
Presumably she was trying to get back to those deep sea regions of
unconsciousness she had left so unwillingly. Nor did her expression change
as Gabriel came up beside her, though for the first time her face showed
quite clearly that she was awake. But what, now that the vivid rouge of
fever had died out of it, had become of Juliette's good looks? Her dry
hair hung as dead as ashes. Impossible to decide whether it had bleached
or turned grey. Her temples were two deep hollows, at the sides of her
jutting forehead. Her cheekbones traced the lines of a pitiful skull;
her shapeless nose, skinned red, stood out repulsively. Gabriel held
her shrivelled hand. Not real bone, it seemed, but brittle fishbones,
composed its skeleton. Could it be Juliette's hand -- her big, warm,
firm hand? This stranger, suddenly here, embarrassed him.

 

 

"Well, so now you've got over it, chérie; another few days and you'll
be about again. . . ."

 

 

Words which appalled him. She looked at him and answered nothing.
This thin, hideous patient had nothing of Juliette. Everything she had
been was extirpated, with cruel thoroughness. He did his best to smile
encouragement.

 

 

"It won't be easy, but I think we can still manage to feed you properly."

 

 

Her eyes had still their alert, clear emptiness. But behind this emptiness
was her fear that he might break the crust of coma which still protected her
against the encroachments of the world. Juliette seemed not to have heard.
He left her. Most of his time Gabriel now spent in the sheikh-tent.
He could not stand the sight of human beings and so neglected the duties
of his command. Only Avakian came three times a day with reports of the
general situation, which he heard in silence, without the slightest sign
of interest. Gabriel scarcely ever emerged from his tent. He could only
bear his existence in a closed space, in the dark, or at least the twilight.
He walked half the day up and down the sheikh-tent or lay, without getting
an hour's sleep, on Stephan's bed. For as long as his boy's corpse was
still above ground, Gabriel had striven, with the pains of the damned,
and unsuccessfully, to recall his image. But now that Stephan had been
lying a day and a night under the thin crust of earth on the Damlayik,
he came unbidden, at all hours. His father, lying still on his back,
received him. Stephan, in his present phase of eternity, was by no means
radiant and transfigured. Each time he brought his body, dripping with
wounds. He had no thoughts of comforting his father, or even of letting
him know that he had died in his arms, without suffering much. No, he
pointed to each of his forty wounds, to the gaping knife and bayonet
thrusts in his back, to the blow, with the butt of a gun, which had
broken his neck for him, and, worst of all, to the gaping slit in his
throat. Gabriel had to feel these forty wounds, one after another. When
he forgot one, he hated himself. Now he was at home in his grief, as a
blind man settles into a house, till he knows the feel of every corner
and angle. At these times, when Stephan came to see him, he could not
bear even Iskuhi. But, when the dead kept off, it eased him to have her
sit by his side and lay her hand on his naked body, over his heart. Then
he could even sleep for a few minutes. He kept his eyes shut. But Iskuhi
felt how the dull thudding under her hand grew shy.

 

 

His voice came from a long way off. "Iskuhi, what have you ever done
to deserve it? There are so many who've got away and can live in Paris
or somewhere."

 

 

He looked at her, at her white face with very deep shadows under the eyes,
no more now than the shadow of a face. But her lips seemed redder than ever.
He shut his eyes again. Everything threatened to melt into Stephan's face.

 

 

Iskuhi slowly drew back her hand. "What's going to happen? . . . Do you
mean to tell her? And when?"

 

 

"That depends on how much strength I have."

 

 

Gabriel very soon got the chance to display this strength of his. Mairik
Antaram called him and Iskuhi. Juliette had tried to sit up for the first
time and had asked for a comb. When the patient recognized Gabriel, fear
came into her eyes. Her raised hand both sought and put him off. And
the voice in her swollen throat would still not obey her.

 

 

"We've lived a long time with each other -- Gabriel -- very long time . . ."

 

 

He stroked her head, uncertainly. She spoke almost in a whisper, as though
afraid of waking truth: "And Stephan -- where's Stephan?"

 

 

"Hush, Juliette!"

 

 

"Shan't I be able to see him soon?"

 

 

"I hope you'll soon be able to see him."

 

 

"And why . . . mayn't I see him now -- just through the curtain . . ."

 

 

"You can't see him yet, Juliette. . . . It isn't time yet."

 

 

"Not time? And when are we going all to be together again -- and away
from here?"

 

 

"Perhaps in the next few days. . . . You must wait just a little longer,
Juliette."

 

 

She slid down and turned on her side. For a second it looked as though she
might weep. Two long shivers passed down her body. Then the empty peace,
with which Juliette had waked that morning to life, came back to her eyes.

 

 

Outside the tent it looked as though the strong sunlight was blinding
Gabriel, whose walk was unsteady. Iskuhi used her unlamed arm to support
him. But he caught his foot on a rough place in the ground, and, as he
fell, pulled her down along with him. He lay silent, as though there were
nothing in the world still worth the trouble of getting up for. Neither
did Iskuhi rise, till she heard the steps which came nearer quickly. They
scared her to death. Was this her brother? Her father? Gabriel knew
nothing of her struggles, which she had kept from him. At any hour now,
she expected her family to invade her, though she had sent Bedros Hekim
to her father, to say that Mairik Antaram still needed her help. Iskuhi's
fears had been unfounded. Not the Tomasians were approaching, but two
breathless messengers, from the north trenches. Sweat glistened on their
faces, since they had run hard, the whole long way. They were so excited,
they interrupted each other.

 

 

"Gabriel Bagradian -- Turks -- Turks are there -- six or seven --
they have a white flag and a green one with them. . . . They want to parley.
. . . Not soldiers. . . . An old man's the leader. . . . They've shouted
across that they'll only speak to Bagradian Effendi, and to nobody
else. . . ."