The Doves of Ohanavank (19 page)

Late April is magical in the highlands. Every mountainside glows with the bright red and purple of wildflowers, every meadow boasts more shades of green and yellow than any camera or paintbrush could possibly capture, and the overflowing creeks and rivers produce unabashed symphonies proclaiming the exuberance of spring.

Agassi opens the large iron gates and Laurian drives in, waves, and goes straight to the main house, some hundred meters inside the property. He
is too impatient to even bring his suitcase in. He quickly changes his shoes and they walk out, inspecting first the newly planted rows of poplars. It is easy to plant poplars. Just push freshly cut branches into the soil, before the buds sprout in the spring. Then it is a matter of watering regularly, and in April and May the rains minimize that task. Agassi has completed the poplar plan—six hundred sticks are lined up in six straight lines in the mud.

In the fruit orchard, the apple and pear trees planted last year have done well, but the cherries and plums have not survived the winter. Agassi was supposed to replace all the dead trees with new saplings. But he has not managed to secure cherry and plum trees from the nursery in Yeghegnadzor, and has replaced everything with walnut trees instead. Laurian is not happy with the choice.

“These are a new sort,” says Agassi, defending his decision. “These are the dwarf walnuts. They start giving walnuts in three years. It takes forever for the regular trees to start giving fruit. And these don’t grow very tall.”

Laurian lets it be, but he still wants his cherry and plum trees.

“Let’s drive down to the nursery tomorrow and check what they have,” he says. “There is room to add two more rows; we’ll do one row of cherries and one of plums.”

“
Vonts kuzes
, Edik jan.” As you wish. “But we’re going to have problems with those again next year. We are too high up for cherries.”

“Let’s try,” says Laurian. “We’ll plant a few by the house also, where they’d be more protected.”

Then they check the pine trees that were planted last fall, and see that all have survived the winter, with the beginning of fresh new growth already visible. Laurian is happy. He has always wanted more evergreens.

It is already dark when he returns to the house. Vartiter has arrived and is busy in the kitchen.

“How hungry are you?” she asks, and her trademark smile warms Laurian’s heart.

“I’m starved, don’t go cheap on me tonight. Is Saro in the village?” Saro is the Mayor of Vardahovit, a close friend of Laurian’s.

“Should be. You want him to join you?”

“Yes, and why don’t you and Agassi join too.” Laurian is tired, but not in the mood to eat alone and quietly retire. For him, being back here after a few weeks’ absence is exciting and worth celebrating. “Sorry to increase your work at the last minute.”

“No problem, Edik jan,” laughs Vartiter. She is the most easygoing and contagiously content woman Laurian has ever known.

“Shall I tell Saro an hour?” He likes to chat with the Mayor after each absence, to catch up on anything new in the region.

“An hour is fine. I’ll have at least something for you men to start with by then.”

“Let’s sit in the front.” The front terrace is his favorite place, because it has stunning views, including some of the most spectacular sunsets.

He calls Saro, brings his suitcase in, unpacks, sets the laundry aside for Vartiter, and takes a quick shower.

It is close to seven p.m., time to enjoy the magic outside. Vartiter has already set the table, and taken out some of the cold appetizers. Laurian opens a bottle of wine and settles into a chair. Earlier that week he was in Paris. Even though he has traveled all over the world, it still amazes him how quickly one can get transported from a noisy, dirty city, to a place that can inspire awe and boundless peace at the same time.

He takes his first sip of wine and smiles at the vast mountains spread before him, when Gagik calls.

“I’m glad you’re back!” he says.

“Just sat down a minute ago,” says Laurian. “Landed this afternoon. Drove straight up. How are things?”

“We need to meet,” says Gagik, and something in his voice and tone puts Laurian on edge.

“Tell me,” he says.

“All hell has broken loose in Saralandj, Avo is up in arms, and I think we may have found the villain we were looking for at our last meeting in Ashtarak.”

“Is everything okay with Lara?”

“I’ve not heard anything, but she needs to meet with us. Maybe we can finalize the message to Anastasia.”

“Gagik jan, why don’t we all meet here this time,” says Laurian. “I just got back, and frankly am not up to driving back down so soon. Even Avo should be able to take one day off. Why don’t the three of you come tomorrow and stay the night. We’ll cover everything.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ll see if I can round them up.”

Chapter Seventeen

I
have to admit that I am excited about going to Edik’s place. Last time I was there, everything was so dramatic that I do not remember much about the place itself. We slept there the first night I regained my freedom, and I was still in a daze the next morning. Edik has invited us back a few times, but everyone has been too busy, or unwilling to go up there during the severe winter months.

Gagik will pick Avo up and head to Yerevan for me. I am expecting them to arrive around nine, so we should be at Edik’s place by late morning. We’re supposed to return tomorrow evening.

Ahmed calls again yesterday, from Singapore. He says his next meeting is in Manila, and he’ll try to fly straight to Yerevan from there.

“I don’t think there are any flights from Manila to Yerevan,” I say, and immediately realize that I made another stupid comment.

“Sure there are,” he says, laughing. “On Air Al Barmaka.” He means his private jet. I don’t think Ahmed has ever seen the inside of a commercial aircraft.

“Sorry, I forgot about that one,” I say, even though he himself has not told me about his airplanes, Sumaya has.

“Well, it was I who told you to forget the past, didn’t I?” he chuckles again.

It has now been around seven months since I ran away, and Ahmed still talks as if nothing has changed between us. I don’t understand how men can do that. It does not seem to matter to him that I was a captive, that I was not allowed to leave my villa, let alone the compound, without permission and an escort. I was not allowed to use the Internet, or to mail letters, without the sharp scrutiny of Sumaya. It does not seem to matter to him at all that he had bought me, albeit for one year, to be his concubine. How can all that not matter? It is almost all that matters to me.

And I know that if I talk to Edik about him again, he will extract from me the truth, which I have been denying even to myself. That perhaps sometimes I do want to be with Al Barmaka again, without the captivity, without the ‘being bought’ defining me and our relationship, without the rules and restrictions. Just to be with him. But how can anyone break away from her past to that extent? Simply pretend that the circumstances of our past relationship never existed? How can I move from being his property to his friend, let alone lover, without ‘the whore’ constantly looking over our shoulders, haunting us?

You can, I tell myself, because it was neither you nor him who made you a prostitute. He never treated you as one, and you never chose to be one. You were forced into this, Lara, and you fought it with everything you had, and you abandoned him and ran away, which is the ultimate proof that you were not the prostitute. So stop telling people you’re sorry you ran away. You’re
not
sorry you ran away. If you had not run away, Ahmed would have every right to still look at you as his property.

Oh, how I hate these demons! These loud, intrusive, obnoxious lurking demons. They so love to contradict each other, and often they contradict even themselves, just to confuse me. And they succeed.

Avo calls to say they are two minutes away. One flight of stairs by foot, then the elevator, and then into Gagik’s car. I have only a small overnight bag. I hop into the back seat, lean over the front to kiss Avo, and tap Gagik’s shoulder as a greeting. I feel the excitement of a little girl going on a picnic. Let’s go! Let’s get out of the city. Let’s go to the peaks, to the
clean highlands, where there is more dignity than we can find anywhere in in Yerevan. That is what we all need right now. Serenity and peace!

Of course, Avo does not share my enthusiasm. He is somber and serious. He also feels uneasy about leaving Saralandj and his farm. But he need not be. He has given clear instructions to Sago and Aram; surely they can handle the farm for two days.

Gagik drives fast, and we do not stop anywhere on the way. We arrive twenty minutes earlier than we expected. We find Edik walking around in his knee-high rubber boots, his shotgun slung over his shoulder, planning something with Agassi. His face lights up when he sees Gagik’s car at the gate. He beats Agassi to it, flings the gate open and gives everyone a bear hug. Then he tells Gagik and Avo to drive to the main house, but holds me back. “You come with me,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

He has nothing to show me. He just wants me to walk with him to the house.

“What’s it with Avo?” he asks.

“He’s losing his pig farm. That farm was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“He’s losing the farm? How?”

“Gagik will explain everything. It is complicated.”

He looks at me for a few minutes.

“I’m so glad you’re back here,” he says. “It has been too long.”

“I know, I don’t remember much from the last time.”

The walk from the gate to the main house is interesting. He has pine trees planted on either side of the narrow pathway. The apple orchard is on the left, and a small cluster of poplar trees on the right, and before the poplars is Vartiter’s flower and vegetable garden, freshly planted in neat rows and columns. It won’t be until June that anyone sees what will come to life in that patch.

“Lunch will be served at one,” says Edik. “Saro will join us after lunch to say hello. So we have time to talk privately before he gets here. Vartiter has prepared some light snacks to hold you over. But I warn you, if you get full before lunchtime, you’ll regret it! You won’t want to miss this feast.”

We wash up and go to the front terrace. Edik has the large green umbrellas open, as the sun is very strong. We all have coffee and water,
and some of Vartiter’s sandwiches of cheese, yershig and chicken. Gagik is impatient, and wants to start the discussion.

“I’ve gathered a lot of new information,” he says. “Let me explain the basic facts, before we begin arguing, okay?”

“Okay,” says Edik, but he looks confused. He is not aware of the latest development. Avo and I nod.

“This is how he does it,” starts Gagik so quickly that it’s obvious he’s been dying to tell this story for hours. “He has been granted an effective monopoly in certain products for five years. That is his reward for helping out with the last elections.” Gagik is animated in a way that I have not seen before. This is not Gagik talking. It is
Khev Gago
talking.

“Gago, stop,” interrupts Edik. “Who are you talking about?”

“LeFreak!” screams Gagik, “Who else?”

“Gago, you need to slow down a little,” says Edik. “Assume we know nothing and I really don’t. So explain from the beginning.”

“From the beginning,” says Gagik impatiently. “First, I’ll explain how he operates in general, and then we’ll get to the details of the pork business and Avo’s farm. He ‘helped’ with the last elections. His reward is a five-year monopoly over key agricultural products, including wheat, flour, pork and animal feed. He has his fingers in other products too, but let’s focus on these for now.”

Gagik stops and looks around, to make sure he has not lost anyone again. His eyes are intense and wild with emotion.

“The customs office has authority to set the reference price for all imports,” he continues. “They impose import duties based on the reference price. Now imagine this: Let’s say I want to import wheat, and LeFreak wants to monopolize wheat imports. Let’s say I have a shipment arriving in a month, and he has a shipment arriving in six weeks. A few days before my shipment arrives, the customs office raises the reference price by fifty percent. I go to clear my shipment from customs, and I am told sorry, the reference price you have there in your documents is no longer valid. Please take all your paper work and go to such and such office.”

Gagik stops again, and watches our faces.

“Are you with me so far?”

We all nod.

“Obviously,” he continues, “I do not want my shipment of wheat to rot in the storage bins of the customs office, so I go to the office they direct me to. They show me an import duty invoice, which is fifty percent higher than what I had before. Of course, I can contest their claim, because I have documents setting the import fees at much lower levels. But if I do, I am almost guaranteed that my wheat will be eaten by rats before I resolve the issue. So I accept.”

The
Khev Gago
gaze pierces us for a second, and when no one utters a word, he continues.

“Two weeks later, LeFreak’s shipment is due to arrive. A day before the due date, the custom’s office lowers the reference price to a fraction of its original value. LeFreak clears customs by paying a small fraction of the import duties that I paid only two weeks earlier.”

Gagik stops for effect. He is not used to talking this long without being interrupted, if by no one else, at least by Edik. But Edik is quiet. Like the rest of us, he sees the scenario clearly.

“So what do you think happens next? LeFreak offers wheat on the market at a huge discount, and he does that at a profit. I cannot compete. If I match his price, I end up selling at a loss. If I don’t match it, I cannot sell any of it. So what do I do?” asks Gagik, his small dark eyes flinty. “I’ll tell you what most small importers do in this case. They go to
him
. They offer to sell their wheat to him. And oh, he is so gracious, so generous. He agrees to buy everyone’s wheat at whatever it cost them, which is substantially more expensive than the price at which he is selling his own wheat. ‘So you don’t lose money on this shipment,’ he says. ‘But you have to agree never to import wheat again.’ Everyone agrees. Tens of small wheat importers are eliminated from the competition in one afternoon. LeFreak is the king of wheat. In a matter of a few weeks, wheat prices start to rise again. No one understands why. It is the market, they say. Prices fall, then prices rise. Who knows why?”