The Doves of Ohanavank (9 page)

“Thank you,” he says. “Good to meet you. You’ll be with me for the next three days, right?”

“Twenty four hours a day!” responds Armen with another huge smile. “What’s the program?”

What’s the program?
No hired help has ever talked to Manoj like this. Spoken as if he’s excited about an outing with an old friend. After a decade of service to Al Barmaka, he has never dared to address him in such an informal manner.

As his nervous tension melts away, Manoj starts to laugh. He chuckles, first in short bursts, and then more fully. Armen starts to laugh with him, which reinforces Manoj’s good mood. What the hell, he might as well befriend this driver for a few days. That may serve him much better than a more formal relationship.

“The program,” he says, still chuckling, “is…wait, what was your name again?”

“Armen”

“Armen. Okay. The program, Armen, is that we start with a lunch other than a cheeseburger and fries. Where can we get a good lunch that will not kill me by this evening?”

“A local lunch!” says Armen laughing. “Come, we go to the Dzor.”

“We go where?” Manoj is still laughing.

“To the Dzor,” repeats Armen. Then he realizes that he might be expected to explain further and adds, “Mr. Manoj, there are only four places one can be in Armenia.
Dzor
, which means valley.
Sar
, which means mountain.
Kaghak
, which means the city, meaning Yerevan; and
khaghakits durs
, which means outside the city. That is all. You cannot be anywhere other these four places in Armenia!” Armen looks like he has just solved the mysteries of the Universe. “So,” he adds, “the closest local restaurants are in the Dzor. Fifteen minutes from here. I know a good one by the bank of the river. You’ll love the food and I guarantee that it will not kill you.”

“Let’s go!”

Armen reminds him of the smart, enterprising but underprivileged youngsters in Mumbai, whose only asset is their wit, and who manage to scrounge a living in the streets, appearing always happy and full of energy, but in reality they live much darker lives when they end their public day and return to the privacy of their living quarters, which, for the lucky ones could be a room in a deserted building, and for most others a street corner partially protected from the elements.

Lara Galian freezes at the top of the stairs as she leaves the University building, no longer aware of the fresh breeze after the stuffy lecture hall. She stares down at the woman waving to her. This is the last place on earth she would have expected to see Anastasia, her coach when she was first thrown into prostitution in Moscow. Anastasia is more conservatively dressed than she used to be in the hotel bars in Moscow,
but still stands out. Her posture and overall attitude are not those of a student.

Lara continues down the steps and walks up to her. Anastasia smiles enthusiastically. She looks genuinely happy to see Lara.

“Lara,
aziz jan, vonts es
?” That’s exactly how she used to talk to her two years ago. Lara, dear, how are you?

Lara does not want to be rude, so she returns the smile, but she does not want to engage Anastasia as if everything is the same.

“How did you find me?” she asks, guiding her out of the University grounds and starting down the street.

“I’m good, am I not?” grins Anastasia. But Lara senses that she is nervous, and is trying hard not to show it. She does not respond, waiting for an answer to her original question. Anastasia remains silent, but picks up the pace a bit.

“How?” repeats Lara, looking at her as they walk.

“I’ll explain everything,” says Anastasia with another wide smile, and this time there is no doubt in Lara’s mind that the smile is fake. Anastasia isn’t just nervous; she is afraid. “Right now, act like you’re happy to see me.”

Lara had almost forgotten the feeling—the feeling of being constantly watched, followed, the sense of permanent fear of more beatings and rapes. She feels her head spin and a cold sweat dampen the hair on the back of her neck. She does not want this. She will not have this again, no matter what. A wave of blinding anger begins to well in her chest.

“Happy to see you?” she says with such sarcasm that Anastasia looks away. “What are you doing here? I do not want to be dragged into any of it again. What do you want?”

“Let’s get in a taxi,” says Anastasia nervously. “We’re being watched. I’ll explain everything when it is safe.”

Before Lara can say anything, Anastasia stops a taxi and opens the door. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are pleading with Lara to get in. “Please,
aziz
jan,” she repeats. “I’ll explain everything.”

Lara gets in and scoots over; Anastasia follows. “Just drive,” she tells the driver. “Towards the Monument.” The ‘Monument’ in popular parlance refers to the statue of ‘Mother Armenia,’ on a hill overlooking Yerevan, which, in 1962, replaced a statue of Joseph Stalin, built as a memorial of
victory in World War II. Anastasia takes her cell phone from her pocket, turns it off and sits on it. Then she leans close to Lara and whispers.

“I’m sorry you’re upset, but at least hear me out. Someone I used to know a long time ago in Moscow, who worked for the Ayvazians, says the Ayvazian family is back in full control. He says all old debts have to be paid.”

“What does that have to do with me? I have no debts to anyone.”

“Don’t be so naïve, Lara, please. This guy, his name is Yuri, beat me, threatened me, and forced me to fly to Yerevan with him.”

“I thought both Viktor and that animal Sergei were dead,” says Lara, trying to give herself time to think.

“They are. I thought it had ended with them too. For many months I was keeping all the money, imagine that! Then this guy Nicolai shows up and forces me to pay him. He says he’s the new boss. Then Yuri shows up and says the family knows who killed Sergei and Viktor and wants everything back.”

The blood drains from Lara’s face. They know who killed Ayvazian? That is impossible. They would have been all over Saralandj if they really had known anything. She does her best to recover before Anastasia notices her panic.

“Why did they bring you to Yerevan?” Lara asks calmly.

“To talk to you. To see how much you know.”

“How much I know about what?”

“About the killings, and about who brought you back home and how.”

“Why should I know anything about the killings?”

“Because they say you returned about the same time as the killings happened.”

“So? How could I know anything?”

“They’re just checking, that’s all. I am not supposed to tell you any of this. I am supposed to befriend you again. Try to make you talk. I am taking a huge risk by telling you the truth. Remember Lara, I was a good friend to you in Moscow; the fact that you hated being there does not change that.”

That part is true. Lara remembers the day when Viktor, after being told by Dr. Melikov that she was pregnant, ordered him to perform an abortion. She did not even know that she was pregnant. It was Anastasia who was there when they released her from the hospital. She took her to her
apartment and tended to her for the next three days. She fed her, washed her, and talked to her constantly. She tried to put things in perspective for her.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” she asks.

“Let’s pretend that we’re friends, talking about old times. Just for a few days. Then I tell them whatever you want me to tell them, things you confess to me in confidence and in friendship. That’s the only way they think they’ll get the truth from you. That’s the only reason why they have not come after you directly yet.”

“Yet?”

“Lara, anything is possible. A lot depends on what I tell them. So let’s think about this carefully.”

“What’s it with your phone?” asks Lara, changing the subject.

“My phone?”

“You’re sitting on it.”

“Oh, sorry.” Anastasia leans even closer to Lara and whispers in her ear. “I’ve heard that they can listen in on my conversations through the phone. That’s why I turned it off, but sometimes apparently even then they can listen. So I sat on it. That’s why I have the window open. The noise from the street should drown our whispers.”

“Okay,” whispers Lara, “we’ll play this game. As long as you understand that I have no intention of going back to that life. I think I’ll be happy if I do not see another man for the rest of my life.”

“Lara,
aziz
jan, of course. I’m very happy for you, please understand that. I used to tell you that you’d be better off accepting it because you really had no other choice back then. But now it seems that you do. I’m glad, really. But this is all I know. I just want to go back to my clients in Moscow.”

“Did they say they want me to work for them again?”

“Where to, lady?” asks the driver. They have passed the Monument and are driving up the road toward the suburbs.

“Go a few more blocks then turn back,” says Anastasia. “Can you then wait for us at the Monument for a little?”

The driver grunts his consent and keeps driving.

“They did not say that to me,” responds Anastasia. “Honestly. My mission is to find out what you know about the Ayvazian killings and how you managed to leave Dubai and return home. That’s all. I’m not here to talk
you into being a good hooker, like in the old days…” And Anastasia can barely hold back a chuckle. “You have to admit, we had some good times back then.”

“You were having a good time back then, not me,” says Lara a bit too curtly, and regrets it. She does not want to judge her; all she wants is to be left alone.

“
De lav
, Lara jan.” Oh enough of that, Lara. “Don’t you remember the American at the Sheraton? He wanted you for the whole night? He paid a fortune! How bad was that?”

It always amused Lara to hear Anastasia, who is Ukrainian, use colloquial Armenian phrases. Their conversations have always alternated between Lara’s broken Russian and Anastasia’s broken Armenian.

“Look, I will not lecture you about this, because you will not understand,” says Lara, sounding determined and exasperated at the same time. “I have no problem with you doing what you do. I’m happy for you too, as long as you’re doing what you want to do. And yes, that night with the American was not so bad, but
only
if you accept that you are a prostitute in the first place. If you don’t, that night was as bad as any other.”

The driver pulls into the courtyard of the Monument and stops.

“Give us a few minutes,” says Anastasia. Then turns to Lara. “Let’s walk a little.”

They stand at the edge of the courtyard. It is already late afternoon, and it is getting dark. They watch as the city lights turn on in Yerevan below.

“It is amazing how things can look so beautiful from afar,” says Lara, staring at the city. “And yet, there is nothing beautiful out there, once you get closer.”

“You’re as philosophical as ever,” says Anastasia seriously. “I remember how I could never make you take anything lightly. I personally don’t think anything good ever comes from overthinking. It is the same city, from up here or from down there. It is neither beautiful nor ugly. It is what it is.”

Lara looks at Anastasia for a few minutes. ‘It is what it is’ she repeats silently. How true. Anastasia is okay. She too is what she is. The fight I need to fight is not with her, not even with what she does for a living. The only fight that I really have to fight is with myself.

Lara pulls Anastasia toward her and gives her a big, long hug. “We don’t need to pretend,” she says, “we
are
old friends. We’ll talk about old times all we want. And everyone else can go to hell.”

In a black Mercedes SUV with darkened windows, no more than fifteen meters from them, Yuri and Carla are watching the drama.

“You should have bugged her, as I told you,” she says.

The girls get back in the taxi and head down the hill to Yerevan. Yuri waits for a few minutes and follows them from a safe distance.

Chapter Nine

A
lthough I believe Edik’s offer to Avo and me to call at anytime, with any issue, is genuine, so far I have not asked him for help. Avo has, when he needed the money to start the pig farm, and we both noticed how pleased Edik was to be called upon.