Forty Days of Musa Dagh (112 page)

 

 

So that only Ter Haigasun remained to defend the interests of the people,
that is to say to persuade the officers and doctors not to separate
families unnecessarily, and to see to it that even the troopship got
the right passengers.

 

 

Gabriel approached the medical board, which functioned not far from the
landing jetty. He put his two hands on Ter Haigasun's shoulders.
Ter Haigasun turned. His face was as quietly waxen again as ever.
Only his singed beard and the burn on his cheek told of the last events
on the Damlayik. His shyly resolute eyes remained fixed on Gabriel.
It had seldom happened in all these days: "Good that you've come, Gabriel
Bagradian; I've something to ask you."

 

 

Ter Haigasun was speaking very quietly, though certainly the French
would never have understood his Armenian. "The two worst scoundrels have
disappeared, I mean Oskanian and Kilikian, and some others as well. . . ."

 

 

"Kilikian's dead," said Gabriel, and the thought did not worry him
in the least.

 

 

A brief glint in Ter Haigasun's eyes seemed to indicate that he understood.
He pointed across to the flat rock, where a knot of Armenian men stood
herded together. "Well, this is my question. Have those scoundrels over
there any right to be saved? Oughtn't I to drive them back?"

 

 

Gabriel took a second or so to answer. "Had we any right to be saved?
And who's doing the saving? Anyway, we, the saved, haven't the right to
exclude anyone from safety."

 

 

Ter Haigasun's eyes were twinkling. "Good. I only wanted to make certain.
. . ."

 

 

The priest was now no longer the sorry sight he had been that morning.
A ship's chaplain had supplied a coat. His old trick of hiding his hands
in his sleeves forced them, with an unaccustomed movement, into his pockets.
"I'm glad, Gabriel Bagradian, to find that we still agree about everything
as we always did."

 

 

And now his smile had almost a look of embarrassed tenderness. Gabriel stood
a long time to watch the commission. Since his thoughts were far from it,
he saw only empty coming and going.

 

 

At last Ter Haigasun turned, in some surprise. "Still here, Gabriel
Bagradian? The motor launch for the Jeanne d'Arc has put out again. . . .
Look! You shouldn't stop here helping me. Your duty's finished. Mine isn't,
yet. So go with God's blessing and rest. I shall be on the Guichen."

 

 

Something in Gabriel impeded any final leave-taking. "Perhaps I'll be back
here later to look for you, Ter Haigasun."

 

 

He pushed his way back through the waiting crowds and went aimlessly
a few paces up towards the mountain path. Avakian came down it to meet him.
After him Kristaphor, Missak, Kevork, dragging the Bagradian trunks. The
faithful Avakian had saved everything which human strength and ingenuity
could manage to drag down this steep path. Only the bedding and the
furniture had been left to burn in the tents.

 

 

Gabriel laughed. "Hullo, Avakian! Why all these exertions? This looks like
a pleasure trip up the Nile."

 

 

Reproachfully, through nickel-rimmed glasses, the student gazed at his
employer with the eyes of a poor man who knows the value of things better
than the unsuspecting rich.

 

 

But Gabriel put his arm into the tutor's, and held him fast. "Avakian,
there's something more I want you to do for me. I've been thinking all
this time how we can manage it. I'm endlessly in need of rest. I must have
it. And it's just what I shan't get in the next few days. The admiral has
asked me to sit at his table. So that for hours on end I shall have to talk
to indifferent strangers, tell them stories, brag, or pretend to be modest,
all equally tiring. Anyway, another prison! And I won't do it!
You understand, Avakian? I refuse! At least for these three days I'll be
alone -- entirely alone. And so I've decided not to go on the Jeanne d'Arc,
but on the troopship. There there'll be only a few officers. They'll be
bound to give me a berth to myself, and I shall rest."

 

 

Samuel Avakian seemed horrified. "But, Effendi, the troopship is certain
to be kept in quarantine."

 

 

"Well, I'm not afraid of quarantine."

 

 

"But wouldn't it be another prison, which might last even longer than
forty days?"

 

 

"If I really want it, they'll let me out."

 

 

Avakian sought hesitant objections. "Won't you be hurting the admiral,
who, after all, is our good angel?"

 

 

"That's just it. And this is where I want you to help me, Avakian.
You must go to him at once in my name, and apologize with some really
convincing reason. Tell him the troopship has some of our most undependable
people on board, people without prospects. And say there's been no time to
get the thing properly organized. Tell him there must be somebody there who
can guarantee to keep people like that in order. Say I've undertaken it.
. . ."

 

 

Avakian did not seem in the least convinced. But now Gabriel insisted:
"It's really quite a good reason. You needn't worry. An old sailor like
that will perfectly well understand a scruple of that kind. He just won't
give it another thought, believe me. Well -- do it, Avakian, please!"

 

 

The student still hesitated. "So we aren't going to meet for the next
few days?"

 

 

These words sounded anxious. But Gabriel glanced across at the embarcation
jetty. "Time to go, Avakian! The motor launch of the Jeanne d'Arc mustn't
have to make any more journeys. Stick to those papers of mine for the
present."

 

 

The motor launch was signalling impatiently. Avakian scarcely had time
to shake Gabriel's hand. Gabriel watched him go, lost in thought. Then
he asked one of the officers what time the last boat would leave for
the troopship. Most patients were on board, he was told, the rest, those
told off to travel on her, would be shipped last of all. That may go on
for hours, thought Gabriel, watching the dense crowd which still pushed
and shoved round the isolation commission on the landing place. He felt
rather pleased and rejoiced to know himself free of the admiral and
life on board the Jeanne d'Arc. He lounged away towards the mountain
path. Since he had so long to wait, it would be a relief to get far from
these sounds of cackling women, the glare of this September sun, into the
shadows and quiet. Gabriel had to pass the place where the lousy herded,
waiting, sent there to be out of the way of the more favored. Many of
them, especially the churchyard folk, had gone there at once to avoid the
trouble of submitting themselves to inspection for lice. Bagradian watched
his future fellow passengers. Sato grinned, ran a bit of the way with him,
and stuck out a begging paw. She had never done it in Yoghonoluk. A few
contrite deserters sprang up eagerly. Nunik and the other keening-women
sat on sacks whose moldy treasures they intended to carry off to another
continent. They held long staffs in their left hands, with the right
they touched their breasts, lips, foreheads, to greet the master, Gabriel
Bagradian, the last, the son of Mesrop, grandson of Avetis Bagradian, the
great benefactor and founder of churches. But in him Nunik, the timeless,
beheld the child at whose birth she secretly had worked a magic, carefully
hidden away from Bedros Hekim, traced crosses on walls and lintel with
her sis, to drive off devils. The blind, white-headed prophets crouched
on the rock, gently singing to themselves. Thick clusters of flies were
on their eyelids, and they did not trouble to drive them off. Unmoved
by what had been, untroubled by what was to come, these prophets sang in
their low voices. They scarcely cared to ask how all this had happened;
having lost no homes, they followed only the rumors in their minds,
and let Nunik, Wartuk, Manushak, the guides of the blind, lead them,
wherever they might choose. Their frail hummings sounded pleasantly
mournful, with rapturous, high-pitched, treble quaverings.

 

 

Yet this was the sound which made Gabriel's heart sink. It lured Stephan
to his side. He climbed on and on up the path as far as he could get
from the song of the blind. But in exchange he had soon to listen to
Juliette's parrot-chatter all over again, and then to her scream:
"Look after Stephan!" He went on, faster and faster, thinking too
deeply to know his thoughts. At last he stopped in surprise; he had
come so far up the mountain. But this seemed a pleasant enough spot. A
natural rock seat, shaded with myrtle and arbutus, with a mossy back to
it. Here, in this pleasant place, he sank down. From here he could see
everything below him, the swarm on the rocky beach, the five blue-grey,
motionless ships, fast soldered to their thick waves. The troopship was
the farthest out to sea. The Guichen, with Iskuhi, was the next. The
pastor's fishing raft had been roped in firmly to the rocks. Over it
the marines had set a plank bridge. The rescued multitude shuffled in
single file, down the long plank, to reach the boats. Often the whole
contraption began to sway, spray flew up, and the women screeched. This
picture put everything else to flight. The swarm still looked as big as
ever. "I've a long, long time," thought Gabriel. But that he ought never
to have thought. Nor should he have sunk down in this pleasant place,
any more than a half-frozen man should lie down in snow. The embarcation
dimmed before his eyes. God spread a mighty sleep over Bagradian. This
sleep was made up of all the strain, all the watchful nights, of the
forty days. Against it there was no longer will nor strength.

 

 

A mother whose child can no longer keep its eyelids from shutting says
of it: "He's dropping with sleep." Gabriel Bagradian was dropping with
the sleep of the dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

7. TO THE INEXPLICABLE IN US AND ABOVE US!

 

 

Five ship's sirens hooted. Their entangled notes were various: short,
threatening, hollow. Gabriel quietly opened his eyes. He looked down for
the swarming ant-heap which he imagined he had seen a minute ago. Surf
leapt more angrily than it had on an empty beach. The raft was beginning
to come apart. The Guichen had already turned her course. Her bows,
running southwest, cut a deep foam-cleft in the sea. The other ships of
the squadron were ahead of her. Like heavy, yet gracefully purposeful
dancers, they strove to execute a perfect figure. At its center, the
Jeanne d'Arc slowly maneuvered. Gabriel watched all this attentively.
Only then did he think: And Ter Haigasun? Didn't he notice? No! He thinks
I'm on the Jeanne d'Arc. Gabriel jumped up and began to shout, with
signalling arms. But his voice would not carry, and the movements were
not those of a desperate man. Just then the sun struck the jutting
rocks of Ras el-Khanzir, and the high cliffs of Musa Dagh lay deep in
shadow. All reason should have sent Bagradian flying out to the rocks,
to climb the furthest of them, and use any means to get himself seen.
The deck of the Guichen was thronged with Armenians, leaning over the rail,
to watch their mountain out of sight, which seemed to lower darkly over
them with the glumness of a murderer balked of his prey. Though the sea
might be breathing loud, the screw throbbing, someone on deck, or in the
observation turret, would surely have seen Gabriel Bagradian. But the
wretched Gabriel not only refused to leave his shadowy place, he even
stopped his cries and signallings, as though grown tired of such vain
formality. A man placed as he was ought surely to have shouted for help
like a madman; he ought to have hurled himself into the sea, swum after,
been fished out, or drowned, if necessary. The ships seemed to move so
slowly. There was still time.

 

 

Gabriel could not understand his own calm. Was he drowsy still? The flask
which the Frenchman filled with café and cognac for him still lay on
the pleasant rock where he had sat. He drank long gulps to make himself
feel desperate. They had just the opposite effect. His blood quickened,
his muscles began to feel more alive, but his peace remained, just
as before. No cries. No deathly panic. He felt joyous, consoled. The
earthy, the material Gabriel was ashamed. I'll climb to a higher point
with a clearer outlook and wave my coat. But there was no sense in
doing that. Gabriel was merely making excuses to hide his intentions
from himself. He was impelled to climb, not to descend. And, naturally,
he was still thinking: What shall I live on? He felt in his overcoat
pockets. Three rolls and two bars of chocolate, that was all. No food at
all in his jacket pockets, the map of the Damlayik, a few old letters
and notes, an empty cigarette case, and then, Agha Rifaat Bereket's
coin, with the Greek inscription. He kept his hold of this golden object.
Then he remembered that on the evening of the great exodus, he had
turned back to the villa to get the coins. How much better to have left
them. And it felt as though now, at the very last, he would throw the
amulet away. He did not, but pocketed it again, and began to ponder the
inscription. Not in the earliest day of the defense had Gabriel felt so
strong and well. Every trace of fatigue had gone out of his legs, his knees
felt supple, his heart was not beating a jot faster than usual, so that,
before he knew how it had happened, he had come out on to a free ledge,
high above the sea. Gabriel walked to the end of the jutting point, to
wave his greatcoat in wide circles round his head. But scarcely had he
even begun to do this when he let his arms drop to his sides again. And
now in one clear flash, he realized -- that
he did not want the ships
to see him
. That his being here was no unlucky accident, but the deepest
decision; not God's decision only, but his.