Authors: Martine Madden
Anyush (17 page)
‘P
lease wait, Anyush. Dr Stewart will be back in a moment and he’ll escort you home.’
‘I’m going to Parzik’s house, Bayan Stewart. Her uncle will bring me.’
‘Really, Anyush, we promised your mother. I would prefer if you waited.’
‘It’s very close. Just over there.’
‘Well …’
‘
Bari yereko
, Bayan Stewart. I will see you tomorrow.’
The doctor’s wife stood watching until Anyush had turned the corner at the end of the lane. Lying to Bayan Stewart did not come easily to Anyush, but it was the only way to see Jahan. Once she was close to Parzik’s house, she would double back through the wood and meet him at the beach. She hadn’t gone very far when she heard a sound behind her. Footsteps. She thought it might have been one of the Stewart boys coming to escort her, but when she looked over her shoulder, she froze. A soldier was giving chase and fast bearing down on her. Taking off in the direction of the village, she ran towards Parzik’s house. Anyush risked a glance behind her. The gap was closing, and the soldier shouted something she couldn’t catch. Taking a left into the churchyard, she ran down
the lane, skirting round the vestry at the back. This was not a safe place, dark and overhung with trees, but if she could make it out the other side, it would take only seconds to get to Parzik’s house. She was almost there. She could see the window of Parzik’s old room with a wedding braid still hanging from the shutter, when a hand clamped roughly over her mouth. She bit down hard.
‘
Khoz
! Do that again and you’ll feel my fist.’
Anyush recognised the voice. It was Jahan’s lieutenant. His arm was across her chest, lifting her bodily off the ground. She kicked at his shins with her heel.
‘
Kakhard
! Be still you, witch. I have a message from Captain Orfalea.’
The fight drained out of her. Something was wrong. The lieutenant put her down and took a paper from his pocket. He handed it to her, telling her about the events of that morning.
‘The captain has been relieved of his command. He’ll be sent back to Constantinople and then … who knows? Probably the front. He wants you to write to this address.’
Anyush stared at the paper.
‘Do you understand what I’m telling you? Captain Orfalea is being punished for something he should never have become involved in.’
The soldier talked on, but all Anyush knew was that Jahan was gone. Really gone.
‘He’s not coming back. You know that, don’t you? Better for everyone if you do.’
‘He’ll come back,’ she whispered. ‘He will.’
She looked into the lieutenant’s face and, whatever she thought she might find there, she did not expect his pity.
Mushar
Trebizond
July 6th, 1915
My dearest Jahan,
I have just learned that they have taken you away from me. The lieutenant says you are to be sent to Constantinople and I hope this letter will reach you there. My heart is broken, Jahan. The village already seems so different without you. Everything is changed. Everything is wrong. I went to the ruin, even though a storm was blowing and the noise inside was deafening. The rain and the wind comforted me, Jahan, because no one could hear me weep. I said a prayer that they have not hurt you and that you will be with me again very soon. My only consolation is that you thought of me as they took you away. I will write to you every day, Jahan. I will think of you every second until we are together again.
Let me know that this letter has reached you and that you are safe.
Yours always,
Anyush
‘I was afraid when he finished plastering that they’d send him away, but he’s re-roofing the barracks now and it’s the answer to our prayers.’
Parzik and Anyush were sitting by the edge of the pool, the laundry at their feet. Parzik’s old uncle Stepan was dozing in the shade and the washing-pool was otherwise empty. Since the attack on Havat, fewer women were coming there, and those that did came in large groups or with male relatives.
‘He hates the work and hates the gendarmes, but it’s a job,’ Parzik said, her voice carrying across the water.
She paused to shift her position and rest her hand on her belly. ‘At least I know where he is so I don’t worry so much. Anyush … are you listening to me?’
‘Sorry, yes. That’s good.’
Parzik looked at her friend closely. ‘You don’t look well. Is something the matter?’
Anyush could have told Parzik then. About the prayers she was saying twice, three times a day that her monthly bleed would come. She could have said she had blasphemed in the house of the Lord and that He was punishing her. That she would carry a bastard child with no one to console her. Khandut would banish her from the house, and she couldn’t bear to think what it would do to her grandmother.
‘I haven’t been sleeping,’ she said. ‘Because of Havat.’
‘Poor Havat. What will become of her?’
Parzik picked up a pair of trousers and held them to the light. ‘There’s a new captain in the village. From Trebizond. I wonder what happened to the other one?’
Anyush remembered the day in Sosi’s yard. The first time she had seen
Jahan. She closed her eyes, thinking of the last time.
‘There was something strange about that captain … you know … at the wedding? The way he danced with you?’
A shrill, piercing whistle rang out across the water. Near the treeline Husik was standing on the bank, gesturing to them. ‘Soldiers!’
The girls ran to the shore, picking up clothes as they went.
‘Leave them!’ Husik shouted. ‘This way. Quickly … hurry.’
Parzik shook old Stepan awake and led him after Husik into the trees. They could hear the sound of the soldiers’ boots on the high shore and a lone voice telling the others to be quiet. Husik moved without making a sound, bringing them further into the wood, but Stepan, half blind in the darkness and disorientated from his sudden wakening, was crashing through the undergrowth, hitting off low branches and stumbling over roots. Husik went to him and signalled everyone to be still. They had been climbing upwards along the hillside and could see through the trees down to the river below. Standing around the water’s edge, the soldiers were looking at the deserted pool. A man in a uniform, just like Jahan’s, kicked over the abandoned clothes basket. He turned slowly, surveying the land around him, before looking upwards at the exact spot where they were hiding. Stepan was out of breath, breathing far too loudly. If the soldiers entered the wood, they would have to keep climbing, but Stepan would not get far. Parzik’s lips moved in silent prayer and her arm curled around her belly. Only Husik looked out from behind his tree, one hand raised to keep the others quiet. For what seemed an age, they stayed hidden in the trees before another sound reached them. Anyush risked a look. The soldiers had gone back onto the road and were leaving, the sound of the horses’ hooves dying away.
Mushar
Trebizond
July 12th, 1915
My dearest Jahan,
With every day that passes, I pray it will be the day I hear from you. The lieutenant told me you were to board a ship in Trebizond, so you must surely have reached Constantinople by now. I worry that you have been arrested or are unwell, because I know if it was possible to write to me you would have done so.
Life here in the village grows more dangerous every day. The captain who replaced you is feared by everyone and even the Jendarma are said to stay out of his way. A few days ago another girl was assaulted like Havat Talanian and people are saying Captain Ozhan and his men are to blame. Everyone is afraid to leave their homes but even there they are not safe. Arshen Nalbandian was dragged from his house and beaten. Nobody knows what his crime was, but it seems these men do not need a reason. Our village begins to look like a ghost town. The Armenian houses are empty, the contents stolen and the doors kicked in. The few animals left have been taken or butchered, so that even the air itself seems to reek of blood. And those who still have homes are being evicted from them. Parzik and Vardan watched Ozhan’s men burn their farmhouse to the ground. Poor Vardan. It is as if he has been twice bereaved.
As for myself, Jahan, every day seems as long as a lifetime. I wait and hope and pray to hear from you.
Yours always,
Anyush
Diary of Dr Charles Stewart
Mushar
Trebizond
July 13th, 1915
Another member of staff was missing today. Anyush Charcoudian’s reliability is second only to Manon’s, and when she didn’t show up at the clinic this morning everybody was concerned. The mystery was resolved when I found the girl’s grandmother, Gohar Charcoudian, waiting in our garden to see me. The old woman is thinner than when I last saw her, and seems a little unsteady on her feet. Her arthritis has come back with a vengeance, and there are bruised-looking pouches beneath her eyes. She has all the appearance of an anxious, frightened, old woman, but then everyone in the village looks the same. Since the arrival of Nazim Ozhan, attacks on women have become commonplace. Everything I suspected about the man has been borne out. He is a bully and a thug who takes the law into his own hands and delights in the suffering of others.
The old woman asked if she could speak with me, and I invited her to come inside. Hetty sat her at the table and put a bowl of soup before her, which she took in both hands and ate as though she hadn’t tasted a hot meal in quite some time.
‘
Tesşekür
,’ she said, when she’d finished, and asked if she could have a word privately.
‘Thomas, go help Robert in the stables,’ I said, ‘and tell the others they can watch Arnak shoeing the mare.’
My eldest son sloped reluctantly from the room as a creaking noise came from the bassinet in the corner. Lottie’s tousled head peered out from under the canopy, and two thin arms reached for her mother. My youngest daughter is small for her age and slight, with purple shadows like pewter half-moons beneath her eyes. An ill omen, the chekeji would say, an indication that she is under the influence of the evil eye. Lottie’s poor colour and small size have more to do with a weakness
of the kidneys and a tendency to infection and fever than any misbegotten hex. She sat on Hetty’s lap, her little blonde head ducking like a sparrow’s beneath her mother’s chin, while Gohar Charcoudian told us that her granddaughter was ill with inflammation of the stomach.
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ I said. ‘Would you like me to see her?’
‘That will not be necessary,
Doktor
. She has eaten mussels she should have thrown away and her stomach has been complaining ever since.’
I assured her she wouldn’t be the first, and Hetty insisted that Anyush should stay in bed for a few days’ rest.
‘
Teşekkür ederim
, Bayan Stewart, Dr Stewart.’
The old woman stood up from the table and looked for a moment at my daughter. Gohar Charcoudian is an arresting sight, tall with deformed, arthritic hands and clothed from head to toe in sepulchral black. She is a woman who is full of common sense and is mostly responsible for the charming girl her granddaughter turned out to be, but on first sighting she is intimidating. Lottie, however, liked her instantly and smiled happily at her.
‘God bless you and your baby,’ the old woman said.
I couldn’t be certain afterwards, but as I escorted her to the door I thought I saw tears in her eyes.
‘E
nough for this evening, Anyush. We can continue this tomorrow.’ Anyush closed the book of French grammar and was startled to feel Bayan Stewart’s hand on her arm.
‘I’m concerned about you. Are you fully recovered? You don’t seem well.’
‘I am better, Bayan Stewart. Just a little tired.’
‘Forgive me but I know what it is to feel tired. Is that really what troubles you?’
Tears filled the girl’s eyes so that she had to turn away.
‘Anyush … my dear! You know how fond Dr Stewart and I are of you. You are like one of the family. I think of you as a friend. Are we not friends?’
Anyush nodded miserably.
‘Then can you not tell me what is the matter?’
With all her heart she wanted to. If anyone would listen and not judge her too harshly it was this woman. She didn’t want to imagine what Dr Stewart would think of her carrying a bastard child, but she knew Bayan Stewart would not turn her away. Her good opinion was more important to Anyush than that of any other living person, the very reason she said nothing.
‘I’m sorry, Bayan Stewart. What happened to Havat has upset me. I just need to go home.’