Nobody's Child (10 page)

The priest was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “There are a few possibilities.”

Kevork saw Anna's shoulders relax just a bit, and a look of hopeful anticipation formed on her face.

“Did you know that there is an orphanage in Marash run by the Near East Relief?”

Anna's shoulders sagged. “I am not going to put Kevork in an orphanage.”

The priest said nothing.

Anna continued, “Kevork is not my only concern. There are four other children and two other women.”

The priest frowned. “These are all survivors of the Adana massacre?”

“No,” said Anna. “They are from Marash, but their family was killed with the barley harvesters who had travelled to Marash, and now they have no means of support.”

“You are not the first who has come to me with a sad story,” said the Vartabed.

Kevork could see that the priest's face was troubled, but that he was struggling to remain firm.

“The orphanage could help,” said the priest. “The missionaries are good people.”

“But these children have lost so much already,” said Anna. “Is there not a way that I could get a job and support them?”

The priest looked at her with troubled eyes. “Dear sister Anna,” he said, “who would hire you? People are superstitious. Being a woman is hard enough, but a woman with your affliction — that makes it impossible.”

Kevork could see tears well up in his aunt's eyes. He didn't know if they were tears of anger or sadness, but
he suspected they were of anger. His aunt was one of the most determined people he knew.

“You must help me,” Anna said fiercely. “These children must stay together, and I will do everything possible to make that happen.”

“Let me see what I can do,” said the priest.

Anna and Kevork walked back to the Hovsepian household in silence.

A week later, early one morning, the bell at the door in the street wall chimed.

Ovsanna hurried to answer it, then ushered their guest into the courtyard. “Please wait here for one moment,” she said excitedly.

“Anna Adomian, there is a priest here to see you.” Ovsanna could barely contain her curiosity as she stepped back into the main room. She found Anna just as she had left her. Anna had folded up the bed linens and propped them up against the storage space built into the wall. She was in the midst of rearranging the heavy carpet that hung from the ceiling and draped over the bedding, hiding it for the daytime and creating space in the room for daily activities.

Since Anna had arrived, this was one daily ritual that she had taken over. In her home village, everyone slept around the tonir, and she was fascinated with the bed that went into the wall and disappeared during the day.

Anna quickly tucked in the last sleeping pillow behind the wall carpet. “Do I look all right?” she asked
Ovsanna, straightening her hair and smoothing down the front of her dress.

“You look fine,” said Ovsanna with a smile. “I will show him in.”

Anna stood nervously clasping her hands in front of her as Ovsanna ushered the priest in. He was so tall that he had to bend his head to walk through the door.

She knelt before him. “God be your helper, Very Reverend Father.”

“Bless you, child,” he said, then helped her to her feet.

Anna looked up to the priest's face and she saw that his kind eyes sparkled with excitement. “I have good news for you,” he said.

Anna's heart pounded with anticipation. So he had found a job for her after all? That would be such welcome news to the household. She didn't know how much longer they would be able to last. However, she knew it was rude to ask him his news before she had offered him hospitality.

“Please sit,” she said, indicating a richly embroidered cushion close to the fireplace.

The priest sat down, a smile on his face.

“I shall make us some coffee,” she said. Then with trembling hands, she walked to the shelf and took down the coffee grinder, then poured in a measure of beans. As she cranked the handle and breathed in the aromatic blend, her heart beat in anticipation.

Anna filled the long-handled pot with water and set it on the metal platform in the fireplace to boil. As the water heated, she turned to smile at the priest.

“I have spoken to the administrator at the orphanage about you,” he said.

Anna's smile began to crumple. She was about to respond but stopped, afraid she would say the wrong thing.

“You can live there,” the Vartabed continued. “They will give you room and board and a small fee each week.”

Anna could feel tears forming in her eyes. She thought she had explained to the Vartabed that the family could not be split up. She knew the Vartabed was being kind, but didn't he realize that she couldn't live at the orphanage? Who would look after Kevork? And what about Marta, Mariam, and Onnig? And what about Anahim Baji, Ovsanna, and the children? Her small fee couldn't possibly support them all, and besides, she would be torn from them. This didn't seem like a solution at all.

“Is there something the matter?” asked the Vartabed. A tear rolled down Anna's cheek, and she wiped it angrily away. “I can't be separated from these children,” she said.

The Vartabed grinned. “I know that.” He reached forward and took Anna's hand. “That's the best part: Josefine Younger, the orphanage administrator, has agreed to let you bring Kevork with you.”

Anna was about to say something, but the Vartabed held up his hand. “Marta and Mariam and Onnig are welcome too. If they would like to go.”

“But they have family here,” said Anna. “Many of the children at the orphanage have some family living,” replied the priest. “And they can visit on
Sundays. But in the meantime, the children will be given an education, and food and lodging.”

Anna was silent as she considered the idea. “You will have no expenses, and yet Miss Younger will pay you a small weekly fee.”

Anna could tell by the way he said it that this was an arrangement he had gone to great lengths to make.

“It is not much money, but it will help the ones who stay in this house.”

Vartabed Garabed was silent as he waited for Anna to say something. She had completely forgotten about the boiling pot of water, and it would have boiled dry, except Ovsanna had slipped in quietly. She sat down beside Anna and wordlessly made the coffee, handing a demitasse to the priest and another to Anna. She was about to get up and leave, but Anna reached out and placed her hand on Ovsanna's forearm.

“Stay,” she said.

So Ovsanna sat back down.

After a minute or more of silence, Anna asked, “Did Miss Younger say what she would be hiring me to do?”

“She wants to meet you before making a firm decision.”

“Will the children be able to stay together?” Anna asked.

“The girls will be together at Bethel and the boys will be at Beitshalom.”

“How soon are we to leave?”

“As soon as you wish,” said the Vartabed Garabed. “The children will need time to adjust to the idea,” said Anna.

“Of course,” said the priest. “A few days will not make a difference.” He blew on his coffee, then drained it in a single gulp. “This will be the best for all,” he said. Then he handed the empty demitasse to Ovsanna and stood up.

Anna and Ovsanna stood up too and walked him to the door, then through the courtyard to the gate.

When the gate clicked shut behind him, Ovsanna turned to Anna, angry tears in her eyes. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “The children cannot go to an orphanage.”

“We need to talk about it, all of us,” said Anna. “This may be the only way for us to survive.”

That evening, once dinner had been eaten and cleared away, and the bed had been pulled back down from behind the wall carpet, the family cuddled together in the dim light of the fireplace to talk about the day's events.

Ovsanna sat on a cushion leaning against the foot of the bed, with Onnig tucked in the crook of one arm, Gadar on her lap, and Aram in the crook of her other arm. “I think it is a good opportunity for you, Anna,” she said, holding her children close.

Anna sat on the bed, her feet curled under her, directly behind Ovsanna. Kevork sat next to her, cross-legged and rigid, waiting to hear what his future would be.

In the middle of the bed sat Anahid Baji, her back propped up with pillows, and her granddaughters, Mariam and Marta, on either side.

“It could be a good opportunity for us all,” said Anahid Baji.

Ovsanna tightened her embrace on the three children in her arms and replied, “What do you mean?”

“Did you know that the orphanage provides an education to their charges?” said Anahid Baji.

“I can teach my own children to read and write,” said Ovsanna.

“But you can't teach them a trade,” said Anahid Baji. “How will these children support themselves as they grow older?”

Ovsanna stayed silent in the darkness.

Anna cleared her throat, then said, “There is a more immediate problem, Mairig.”

“What is that, child?” answered Anahid Baji.

“We have no source of income for the household,” said Anna. “All of the coins, both yours and Mariam's, are nearly gone.”

Anahid Baji was silent for a moment. What Anna said was true, but she didn't know the other woman realized it. “And how will your working at the orphanage resolve that problem?” she asked.

“Kevork and I are eating your food, but not contributing to the pot,” said Anna. “My salary at the orphanage could be given to you as repayment for your kindness.”

“You and Kevork are family now,” said Anahid Baji. “What is mine is yours.”

“And what is mine is yours,” returned Anna. “There will be fewer mouths to feed, and the children will be educated.”

“My children will not go to an orphanage,” said Ovsanna fiercely.

“Your children are still young,” said Anna.

“Onnig is also too young,” said Ovsanna.

“Let us not argue,” said Anahid Baji. “This is the way it shall be. Onnig and Aram and Gadar shall stay in this house. They are too young to go to school, and so there is no advantage for them at the orphanage.”

Ovsanna let out a huge sigh of relief. “You are right, Mairig,” she said. “They are too young.”

“Mariam needs an education,” said Anahid Baji, “and her sister should stay with her.”

Mariam swallowed back a sob in the darkness. She knew her grandmother was right, but the prospect of living at an orphanage was terrifying. She felt her grandmother's hand grasp hers in the darkness and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You and Marta can always come back here if it doesn't work out,” she said.

“We will give it a try,” said Mariam in her bravest voice.

“What about me?” asked Kevork.

“You will be coming with me to the orphanage,” said Anna firmly. “You need a trade, and I need you near me.”

The family settled into silence after that, pondering their newly minted future. Mariam tried to hold back her sobs, but the thought of leaving her grandmother's house and all she held dear was too much for her. She bit the edge of her pillow and silently wept. Even more terrifying than leaving this home was the prospect of being separated from her baby brother. In her head, she knew that he was much better off staying with Ovsanna and her children,
but her heart was breaking. One more part of her family was being torn away.

Mariam pasted a brave smile on her face as she and her sister walked towards the stone gate that circled the huge orphanage complex. Kevork and Anna were mere steps behind them, but everyone was silent in their own thoughts.

They stepped up to the street door, and then Mariam reached up and pulled a rope hanging from a bell at the top of the door. The bell rang once, and then the door opened just a crack.

Mariam's heart pounded wildly in her chest. Who would answer? And what did this place have in store for them?

“Who is it?” a small voice from the other side of the door asked.

Mariam peered through the crack, but didn't see anyone, but then her sister said, “Hello!”

Mariam looked down and saw one mischievous brown eye. Anna stepped forward. Crouching down so she could look into the eye, she said, “Miss Younger is expecting us. I am Anna Adomian.”

The door opened wide. A little girl, perhaps five years old, with unkempt hair and a broad smile stood there. “My name is Paris. Mother Younger told me you'd be coming!”

Mariam's eyes widened as they stepped inside of the complex. It was huge. A city within a city. Directly in front of her was the kind of street Mariam had heard about in
England and France. It was straight and broad and paved with bricks. The buildings on either side of the road were made of the same kind of uniformly sized bricks as the road, and they were several storeys high. They had hundreds of windows of plain rectangular glass that reflected the sunlight. As far as Mariam's eyes could see, there was huge square building after huge square building. They looked cold and foreign, as far as she was concerned.

Paris gestured with her hand for them to follow her, and then she scampered down the street.

As the little group followed Paris down the street, Mariam was greeted with a number of sensations. She could hear voices floating from the buildings as she passed. She caught snippets of an arithmetic lesson, and then a flash of German grammar. Her nose wrinkled at a brief scent of chalk, and then of bread baking, and then of laundry soap. So much activity, yet no one in the street.

Paris walked up to one of the buildings and knocked on the door. It was opened by a foreign woman with yellow hair parted in the middle and pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a Western-style long-sleeved white blouse and a plain black skirt.

“Thank you, Paris,” the woman said, then patted the girl affectionately on the head. Paris scampered away. The woman turned towards them. “Welcome.”