Anyush (16 page)
Authors: Martine Madden
J
ahan and Anyush were lying in each other’s arms in the old church. It was almost completely dark outside but the breeze that blew across the cliff was warm and redolent of the sea. From inside the ruin they could see the last vestiges of the disappearing light.
‘I don’t like the way he looks at you.’
‘How does he look at me?’ she teased.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘It’s only Husik. He thinks he’s protecting me.’
‘He’s obsessed with you and
I
should be protecting you.’
‘You are,’ she said, leaning in to kiss him.
His mood that evening was sombre and irritable. Events of the past weeks were still fresh in his mind and the dangers Anyush faced daily troubled him. It was madness bringing her to the ruin, but the thought of not seeing her at all was worse. What they were doing was wrong on so many levels that he couldn’t think clearly. There had to be a better way to manage the situation, but if there was it eluded him. In light of what had happened, he couldn’t expect her to keep coming, as he couldn’t live with himself if anyone should harm her. There had to be a way around it, a solution that would keep her safe and both of them together. Out of
the blue, the perfect answer came to him.
‘Marry me.’
She sat up, blood rushing to her cheeks.
‘You don’t need anyone else to protect you. Marry me.’
He couldn’t read her expression. She seemed shocked at first, but then pressed her lips together and drew away from him.
‘You want to marry me because you’re jealous of Husik?’
‘No. Well, yes but that’s not–’
‘A trapper?’
‘He’s Armenian and has more claim to you than I’ll ever have!’
She sighed. ‘We can’t change who we are, Jahan.’
‘Why not? Why does an ignorant peasant have more right to you than I do? You want to know why I’m jealous? I’m jealous of your family who see you every day. I’m jealous of the bed you sleep in and the food you eat and the damn air you breathe!’
He got to his feet, unnerved by his sudden temper. He looked out at the sea, almost invisible now but murmuring quietly in the distance. Night had fallen and only a greenish glow lit the sky above the horizon. The gravestones leaned into the darkness, black shapes cut from the evening sky. ‘Don’t you get tired of it?’
‘Of what?’
‘This place. A filthy ruin. Having to hide like criminals. I’m tired of it, Anyush. I’m tired of pretending I don’t know you because I’m not supposed to. Or feeling that what we’re doing is wrong. I want to make it right. Anyush, marry me.’
The moonlight threw his outline in a long black shadow towards her as she sat there in the dark.
‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘It is simple! Anyush, it is if we make it so.’
He went to her and took her hand. ‘Don’t you want to marry me?’
‘How can it be possible, Jahan? It would never be allowed.’
‘I’m not asking anyone’s permission. Only yours.’
‘You know how things are in the village–’
‘I know how things could be. I never said it would be easy.’
Anyush looked at him and he saw the cold light of fear in her eyes, the first time he had ever seen it there. But he felt strong enough for both of them. He was young, and certain of his decision. He gripped her hand firmly in his.
‘If you don’t feel anything for me, then I will accept that. Really I’ll try. You can marry Husik, or anyone you like, and I’ll not say a word against you. But if you feel about me as I think you do … if you love me, Anyush, then I’m asking you to be brave. Trust me. I will make you happy. I know I can.’
‘Jahan, what we’ve done–’
‘We’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. We love each other … is that wrong? Are you ashamed of me?’
‘No,’ she said, laying her hand against his cheek.
He shifted his weight so that he was kneeling properly, one knee resting on the stone floor. ‘I can’t imagine life without you, Anyush. I’m miserable when I’m not with you and there’s nobody that makes me this happy. I love you, Anyush Charcoudian. So please … I’m asking you again … will you marry me?’
Her eyes, grave and dark, looked into his. He knew that it was not a simple proposal of marriage he was offering. Anyush would have to deny her Armenian upbringing, her religion, family and friends. As a Turkish wife she would be expected to convert to Islam or to practise her own faith in secret. His parents would oppose the marriage for any number of reasons and might never accept her. Many would consider the sacrifice too great. But then she smiled, slowly at first, spreading to her eyes and bringing a rush of colour to her cheeks. It was too dark to see her
blush, but he could feel it. The heat warmed his hands when he laid them against her face and even the lobes of her ears were tingling. He began to laugh and she laughed with him.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will marry you.’
‘Say it again.’
‘I will marry you. I love you, Jahan.’
He leaned in to kiss her, but just at that moment there was a shuffling, scraping noise over their heads. They looked up to see a bat flying crazily above them, darting in all directions and beating its wings frantically against the walls before escaping outside into the evening sky. Anyush started violently in his arms and that was the memory of her that stayed with him: her pale face looking upwards at the broken dome as though the heavenly host was sitting in judgement above them.
‘I
hate Turks,’ Parzik said, brushing away angry tears. ‘I curse their entire miserable race.’
On the other side of the treatment room door, Dr Stewart was putting stitches in Vardan’s face. He had come home from Trebizond swollen and bruised, his ribs broken and unable to see out of his left eye.
‘He did nothing. Nothing that deserved this. How could he be working too slowly? He was plastering same as usual.’
Twisting the thin gold band around her finger, Parzik glanced at the door to the treatment room. Like everyone in the village, Anyush knew that Vardan had been trying to make the job last in an effort to avoid conscription now that Parzik was pregnant. She took her friend’s hand and held it.
That morning Anyush had come to work thinking only of Jahan’s proposal. Nothing could spoil this day. She was to be married to Jahan, the man she loved, the man she scarcely believed wanted her for his own. Her name would no longer be Anyush Charcoudian, village girl, but Bayan Orfalea, army officer’s wife.
All through the wood she had whispered her name to the leaves, Anyush Orfalea. Bayan Anyush Charcoudian Orfalea. There was a
rhythm to the names together, a perfect fit. She had wanted to shout it at the treetops and at the waves breaking on the shore. Near the end of the path Husik had appeared.
‘
Barev
, Husik,’ she’d said, smiling.
He had stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Her greeting had taken him by surprise, but she’d said nothing more, holding her secret close.
Anyush had told no one of her news but longed to tell Sosi and Parzik. It was not so long ago that the thought of stepping into Parzik’s shoes seemed laughable, but now she could think of little else. Would there be enough money to buy a calf for her shordzevk? Would Sosi decorate the church as she had done for Parzik? And the dress … what should she wear? Bayan Stewart’s dress. And who could she ask to give her away? Dr Stewart maybe, if Father Gregory would allow it.
But finding a badly beaten Vardan on the clinic steps changed everything. As she listened to Parzik rage against the Turkish race, the reality of what she had been planning struck her. Did she really believe her friends would be happy for her? That Parzik would welcome the news of her marriage to a people who had hanged her father-in-law and beaten her husband? Or that Sosi would feel anything but horror after what had happened to Kevork and Havat? As well as the fact that her mother would disown her or throw her down the well. And what would she tell her grandmother? Sitting in the waiting room, holding her friend’s hand, Anyush tried to swallow her fear. If she married Jahan, she would lose the right to call herself Armenian. Living in the village would not be possible and she would leave it an orphan. She could, of course, call herself Bayan Orfalea, but everyone she cared about would call her something far worse. And yet she knew that she
would
marry Jahan. Losing everything only proved how much she loved him. Gripping Parzik’s hand, she whispered a prayer that God might intercede for all of them.
T
he lieutenant followed behind his captain, their horses walking the path in single file and treading carefully over the loose stones. On the landward side, the treeline rose along the foothills, throwing the riders into deep shade, while on the seaward side the ground crumbled away steeply towards the ocean and the rocks below. They had climbed up through the hills to the lookout, the highest point overlooking the Black Sea, and were making their way back down to the base. In the distance, the water met the sky in an uninterrupted blue line.
‘No Russians today, lieutenant.’
‘No,
bayim
.’
‘Time for breakfast. An empty sea does wonders for the appetite.’
‘Yes,
bayim
.’
The captain looked at his second-in-command. ‘Something on your mind, Lieutenant?’
‘Word has got out, sir. About your letters.’
‘Go on.’
‘Our own men are not too concerned. They’re mostly loyal to you. But Ozhan’s company are not pleased.’
‘Their well-being is not my concern.’
‘Captain Ozhan is well connected,
bayim
. He’s not a man who likes to be threatened.’
‘Ozhan is a rapist and a brute. He deserves to be flogged.’
‘Word is out that he’s been making contact with important people. It worries me,
bayim
.’
‘Stop worrying, Ahmet. I have connections of my own and I’m not afraid of a man like that.’
They rode slowly along the trail, descending gradually down the steep incline. Where the track joined the coast road, they had a view of the village below and the grain store on its northern side. Drawing nearer, they could see mounted soldiers assembled in the yard and others moving in and out of the building. These were not his men. As Jahan watched from the top of the hill, he realised that Ahmet’s concerns were well founded. The arrival of these soldiers could mean many things but none of them good.
‘Lieutenant, I need you to do something for me.’
Reining in his horse he took the small volume of poetry he carried with him in his pocket and tore out the fly-leaf. Writing out his father’s name and family address in Constantinople, he handed it to Ahmet.
‘Bring this to Anyush Charcoudian. You know who she is. I’m not going to pretend that you don’t. Wait for her at the clinic or at Dr Stewart’s house. Give this into her hand, not to anyone else. Tell her to write to my parents. They’ll know where I am.’
Jahan and his lieutenant had been spotted at a distance of a half mile, so that when they entered the yard it was full of waiting soldiers.
‘Captain Orfalea?’
The man standing in the doorway was roughly the same height as the captain but had light brown hair that might once have been fair and a thin ginger moustache.
‘I believe you know who I am, Captain. Well, of course you do. You’ve
been writing about me.’
‘Ozhan.’
‘Captain Ozhan. I have been given the pleasure … the honour … of escorting you to Trebizond.’
‘You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘No indeed. I am a savage and a barbarian after all.
The
barbarian who was chosen to relieve you of your command.’
‘By whose authority?’
‘By the authority of Colonel Abdul-Khan. Now, Captain, if you turn about, my men will accompany you to Trebizond.’
‘I have to get my belongings.’
‘We already have your belongings and papers. Very meticulous they are too. Oh and don’t worry about the villagers. I understand you are something of a champion for Armenians around here, but I will take good care of them. Rest assured, I will give them my particular attention.’
