The Ghosts of Anatolia (38 page)

“As you wish, Son, but at least you might consider a switch to the Christian school.”

Sirak peered solemnly at Ammar. “Okay, I’ll consider it.”

Riding on in silence, the frustration of both men was palpable. One yearned desperately to lend assistance; the other felt trapped by an unbreakable web of tradition; while both were unwilling prisoners to the past.

Sirak climbed down from the wagon and tied the horse to a rail. He helped Azusa, Layla and Izabella out of the bed. All the women wore customary dark-blue dresses and white head coverings.

Fatima and Nazira rushed across the lot to greet them. “Wasn’t it the loveliest wedding you’ve ever seen?” Fatima asked excitedly. “Nadia was so beautiful.”

Azusa kissed them both. “It was a stunning ceremony.”

Fatima and Nazira kissed Sirak on the cheek. “How’s school?” Fatima asked.

“It’s great. I’m studying with Qaseem Jumblatt this month.”

Nazira gave Izabella a hug. “I missed you.”

“Then why don’t you come visit me anymore?” Izabella replied timidly.

Nazira took Izabella’s hands. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been so busy helping Umar’s parents with their new house. Sit with me at the reception and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“You women will have plenty of time to gossip later,” Ammar said. “Let’s go join the others.”

The family walked across a grassy plaza and past a gathering of
Uqq
l
leaders sitting in a large circle. Several hundred Druze villagers from throughout the Rashayya area had already gathered for the reception. The men crowded around tables piled extravagantly high with food and drink, while the women congregated in a nearby courtyard. Many adults, both male and female, had outlined their eyes with dark kohl.

Sirak stuck close to Ammar. They served themselves and sat on the ground beside a roaring fire pit where several men engaged in a spirited conversation about ongoing French intrusions into Druze affairs.

Sirak listened for the better part of an hour before wandering off to the yard outside the
khalwa
building. He loathed weddings and funerals, for it was these events, so steeped in Druze tradition, when he was most painfully aware of being an outcast from both his adopted family and the community.

Ammar took a sip of wine. “It’s excellent, Kamil. I haven’t had wine since my daughter’s wedding last summer. If you don’t mind, I’ll take Sirak a glass.”

The portly farmer nodded. “Of course, what’s a wedding without wine?”

Ammar spotted Sirak sitting by himself in a grassy yard next to the
Khalwa
temple. He was gazing up at the nearly full moon.

Ammar wove his way through the throng of men and cheerfully greeted everyone he passed. When he broke clear of the crowd, he looked up and stopped dead in his tracks.

A slender young woman, who was standing apart from others beneath a tree, peered out toward the temple. Sirak looked up and they locked eyes for a long moment. Finally, Sirak looked down and the young woman turned back to her friends.

Ammar retreated to the gathering of men. He sat alone beside the fire pit, and looking up, caught sight of Abdullah Mousa headed his way. Abdullah was rather tall for a Druze and his long beard was generously sprinkled with gray.

“Greetings, Ammar. God has blessed us with a glorious evening.”

“Yes, He has, Abdullah. It’s been a wonderful day for a wedding.”

“Truly. How’s your family?”

“Growing,” Ammar replied with a chuckle. “Fatima is expecting another child.”

“Congratulations to you all! And how was your harvest?”

“We’ve never harvested more apples and olives, and the wheat crop was exceptional, too.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I want to talk with you about Sirak.”

“What about him?”

“How old is the boy now?”

“He’ll be twenty-one in February.”

“Twenty-one already. Where does the time go? The mischievous boy has become a strapping young man.”

“Yes, he has, with a loyal heart of gold.”

“I’d expect nothing less since you and Azusa raised him. There’s something difficult I must ask you, my friend. Does Sirak know of the
Tawhid
doctrines concerning outsiders?”

Ammar’s smile faded to a frown. “What do you mean?”

“He knows he can never be counted among the
Muwahhidun
?”

“Yes, he’s painfully aware of his circumstance. In fact, we spoke about it just today.”

“Having three sons myself, I can’t begin to imagine how painful this must be for both of you,” Abdullah said ruefully. “Has he made a decision about his future?”

“He’s preoccupied with school. He wants to be a doctor.”

“A doctor,” Abdullah exclaimed. “That’s certainly a lofty ambition. Have you encouraged this choice?”

“I’ve had nothing to do with it. When Sirak was a young boy, there was an American missionary doctor in Anatolia who cared for him after a viper bite. He encouraged Sirak to pursue medical training, and the boy’s never forgotten.”

“It’s a worthy choice, indeed; but if Sirak’s to fulfill this dream, he must leave Rashayya to receive proper training. Either Damascus or Cairo would be a good choice.”

“Someday, perhaps, unless he changes his mind. As you know, young men often dither about their chosen vocation.”

“Yes, that’s certainly true. Ammar, let me be frank with you, we
Ajaweed
discussed Sirak’s situation last Thursday night. You and Azusa are to be commended for your noble efforts to rescue these orphans.
You’ve raised them to be trustworthy and responsible citizens, but the
Ajaweed
have decided they’ll both be further harmed psychologically if they continue to reside among us. It’s time for him to return to his people. His sister must go with him.”

“The
Ajaweed
decided this?” Ammar asked guardedly. “Would this decision have anything to do with Ezekiel Jumblatt’s daughter?”

“Yasmin? No, not in the least. Why would it? The girl is betrothed.”

“Yes, I know—the girl is engaged to your son. Perhaps someone is concerned about feelings lingering in the girl’s heart?”

Abdullah’s black eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts. He peered at Ammar for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’ve come to you as a friend, Ammar, and I hope to leave as a friend. The girl is
Muwahhidun
, and she must marry
Muwahhidun
. Would you destroy her relationship with her family and her community? You know what her family’s response would be to infidelity, or even the hint of infidelity. You must consider the girl’s well-being, too.”

Ammar glanced past Abdullah. Sirak was still sitting by himself next to the
khalwa
building. “You’re right,” he whispered despondently. “I’ll talk to Azusa and the children.”

“It’s the right thing to do. You can rest assured the community will provide whatever financial assistance is needed to resettle them.”

“Thank you for your candor. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

“Good evening, my friend. May God grant you the wisdom of
al-Hakim
.” Abdullah turned and walked slowly back to the
Uqq
l
gathering.

Ammar watched two of the
Ajaweed
get up from their seats to talk to him. He downed the rest of his wine, rose to his feet, and ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. Then he walked across the grassy clearing to the temple. “Sirak.”

Sirak looked up dejectedly. “Yes,
Abee
?”

“It’s time to go home.”

Sirak nodded. He stood up and walked with Ammar to fetch the women for the journey back to the farm.

A week later

Azusa rested her head on Ammar’s shoulder and wiped tears away with her fingertips. “Why do the Ajaweed have such callous hearts?” she asked dejectedly. “They know Izabella’s completely dependent on us for her physical and emotional support. Who’ll mind her while Sirak attends school?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps the church in Jerusalem will help them or maybe Sirak will find a wife. As hard as this will be, we must consider his future, too. His prospects will be limited if he stays here. There’ll be a better chance for him to pursue his dreams in Jerusalem.”

“Who’ll see that they get there safely?” Azusa asked fretfully. “The journey to Jerusalem is long and perilous.”

“Mustafa, the basket-weaver, knows a merchant who travels here from Jerusalem to buy merchandise twice a year. He’s dealt with him for many years and he assures me the man is trustworthy. Mustafa expects him soon. I’ll ask him to take Sirak and Izabella to Saint James Cathedral when he arrives. We must trust that they’ll care for their own. Dry your tears now and I’ll go find Sirak.”

Ammar got up from the bench and headed outside. After a few minutes, he stepped back inside with Sirak.

“Please sit down,” Ammar said. “Azusa and I have something important to talk with you about.”

Azusa grasped Sirak’s hand mournfully.

Sirak glanced at Azusa and frowned worriedly. “What’s wrong,
Abee
?”

Ammar stared at his hands. Looking up at Sirak, he opened his mouth to speak, but then turned away.

“
Abee
, what’s wrong? Is it Izabella?”

Ammar took a deep breath. “No, my son, Izabella’s fine, but I have something difficult to discuss with you. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Sirak’s shoulders drooped with apprehension.

“Azusa and I want to tell you how much we love you, and how proud we are of you. The past fourteen years have flown by and you and Izabella have enriched all our lives beyond comprehension. We thank God He entrusted us with your lives.”

“You’re sending me away,” Sirak whispered.

“It’s not our decision,” Ammar muttered. “It’s the last thing Azusa and I wanted.” He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “We’ll always love you, both of you. But the
Ajaweed
decided you and Izabella must leave the community, for your own good.” Ammar took another deep breath and shook his head. “Dear God, help me,” he whispered. He clenched his fists. “It’s the last thing we wanted. The last thing…” Overcome with grief, the proud Druze lapsed into tortured silence.

Sirak wrapped his arm around Ammar and hugged him. “I understand,
Abee
. We all knew this day would come someday, and now it’s here. I thank you both with all my heart for everything you’ve done for Izabella and me.” He turned and smiled lovingly at Azusa. “May God bless you both.”

“Oh, Sirak,” Azusa sobbed. “Our hearts will surely break.”

“Have you told Izabella?”

Ammar shook his head. “No, we wanted to tell you first.”

“Let me tell her. Where should we go?”

“That’s your decision,” Ammar replied. “Perhaps Jerusalem would be the best choice. Many Armenians live in the Holy City, and the medical school is highly regarded.”

Sirak nodded pensively. “Finally, we go to Jerusalem. Perhaps, at long last, we’ll find my papa and brother there.”

Ammar nodded. “It’s decided, then. Mustafa, the weaver, knows a merchant who travels regularly between Rashayya and Jerusalem. He’s expecting him in a week or two. Say your goodbyes and prepare to leave. We must break the news to Izabella soon so she’ll have time to accept it.”

Sirak nodded. “Where is she?”

“She’s in sewing with Nazira,” Azusa replied. “Tell her now, before someone else does.”

Sirak got up from the bench.

Azusa rose to give him a warm hug. “Go easy with Izabella, Sirak. She needs to know you’ll always stay with her.”

“I know.”

Sirak headed back through the kitchen. He stopped in front of a heavy drape hanging over the doorway. He heard Nazira giggle. “Izabella, can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Just a moment,” Nazira replied. “I’m trying on a dress.”

The drapes opened a few moments later. “You can come in now,” Nazira said. “We’re making a dress for Fatima.”

Sirak ducked inside the windowless room lit by an olive oil lamp. The small table in the center was strewn with fabric and spools of thread.

Izabella was seated at the table with her hair pulled back beneath a white scarf. “Are you looking for your Bible?” she asked timidly. She set the worn, leather-bound volume on the table. “I was reading it before Nazira got here.”