Forty Days of Musa Dagh (43 page)

 

 

"Sarkis Kilikian, report to me in two hours, in the north trenches.
I've got a job for you."

 

 

The Russian's eyes (he had still not turned them away from Bagradian)
took on the dull shimmer of an agate. He replied with a jerky laugh:
"I may come, and again I may not. I really don't know what I'd care to do."

 

 

Gabriel knew that everything would depend on his reply. He must make quite
sure of his rank. His authority would be gone for ever if he struck the
wrong note, or fate went against him. They were all listening eagerly;
many a hidden, unholy joy flared up. Gabriel had made for himself a
uniform, out of a hunting-kit, scarcely worn, which had belonged to
Avetis. With it he wore leggings and a sun-helmet. This he put on before
bearing down, in slow, swinging steps, upon the Russian. The helmet made
him taller by half a head. He struck at his leggings with a cane.

 

 

"Listen to me, Sarkis Kilikian -- and keep your ears wide open."

 

 

His approach had been so direct that it forced the Russian a step back.
Bagradian paused. His heart was thudding; he could feel that his voice
was not quite steady. This good luck he conceded his opponent. He waited,
therefore, never taking his eyes off this death's-head, till he could
fill to overflowing with clear, cold will power.

 

 

"I myself give you leave, Kilikian, to do whatever you think you must. But
before you leave here, you'll have to have made up your mind. . . . You're
free. You can go to the devil, no one's keeping you. People of your sort
are the very last we need in this camp."

 

 

Gabriel paused, as though expecting Sarkis Kilikian to avail himself
immediately of this permission and slouch off in his usual slow,
contemptuous way without another glance at the Damlayik. But the Russian
stood rooted. An inquisitive glint had found its way into the dead,
agate shimmer of his eyes.

 

 

Bagradian's voice became coldly pitying: "I intended to distinguish you,
who've been a soldier, from your comrades, by entrusting you with a post
of leadership, since I know you've had more to bear from the Turks than
most of us. You might have taken bloody revenge on your own behalf, and on
theirs. . . . But -- since you really don't know whether you'll care to --
since you're really nothing but a skulking coward of a deserter, who can't
even see his duty to his own people, after having taken a solemn oath --
get out! We don't need a slacker, an insolent hound, eating the food
of our wives and children. If you ever dare show yourself here again,
I'll have you shot. Go over to the Turks. Their regiments will soon be
here. They're expecting you."

 

 

For such a man as the Russian there should really have been nothing left
after this but to rush on this "capitalist" and bash his face in. But
Sarkis Kilikian never moved. His eyes lost their staring calm and strayed
from man to man in search of supporters.

 

 

Gabriel let five seconds elapse, seconds which raised his authority like
a wave before bellowing with unrestrained harshness: "You seem to have
made up your mind. Well -- quick march. Get along."

 

 

It was curious how this sudden cracking of the whip could transform the
Russian into the old jailbird he was. His head sagged down between his
shoulders, his sulky eyes glowered up at Gabriel, now much the taller
of the two. Kilikian's whole weakness lay in the clarity with which
he could estimate his position. He was fully conscious that this was a
moment of nauseating defeat -- yet all violence depends on a spirit so
drunk with hate that the will is not lamed by a previous calculation
of consequences. For months he had lived secure on Musa Dagh. He had
begged enough to eat in the villages. This general migration on to the
heights came as an unforeseen improvement in his condition. But, should
he get turned out of camp, his last chance of finding human sustenance
would have vanished. He would not dare show himself in the valley, while
even the surrounding hill-country would be invested, in a hand's turn,
by the Turks. Death, which had so often passed by him carelessly, might
snap him up. The least he could expect from the Turks would be to be
flayed alive, killed by inches. All this had flashed, in the fraction
of a second, upon Kilikian, and neither his pride, his hate, nor his
defiance prevailed against such certain consciousness. He attempted
another laugh, but could manage only a piteously degraded sneer.

 

 

Gabriel did not budge an inch: "Well? What are you still hanging about for?"

 

 

Sarkis Kilikian's face, the cowering face of an old convict, turned.
"I want . . . "

 

 

"Well . . . ?"

 

 

The Russian looked up, but with different eyes, no longer of a pale
untroubled agate, but the eyes of a hesitating schoolboy. Gabriel had to
remember the boy of eleven, with a carving-knife in his hand, shielding
his mother. It was some time before Kilikian could manage to announce
his defeat: "I want to stay."

 

 

Gabriel reflected. Would it not be as well to force this recalcitrant to
his knees, make him whine out his petition before the assembled decads,
and oblige him to take a more rigorous oath? He decided against it,
not merely out of pity (his vision of the boy of eleven) but because
his deepest instinct forbade. It would have been beneath any leader's
dignity to make too much of this puny victory, and unwise to burden his
own defence with the hate of a profoundly humbled enemy. He allowed a
tinge of kindness to creep into his officer's growl: "This time I don't
mind letting you off, Kilikian, and I'll watch your behavior for a bit.
But you aren't worth the slightest responsibility. Look out! You'll be
under surveillance. Dismiss!"

 

 

So the South Bastion was to be manned only half by deserters. As Kilikian's
insolence had shown, they needed a martinet in command of them. A poisoned
thorn would have to be driven into their flesh. Bagradian felt certain that
in Oskanian, the self-opinionated dwarf, he had found the right kind of
commander. So he offered that somber little schoolmaster the leadership
of the South Bastion. He was to enforce impeccable service, the sharpest
discipline -- was, above all, instantly to report the most trifling
slackness or sabotage.

 

 

Hrand Oskanian puckered his low forehead, so that his thick, black eyebrows
formed a single line above his nose. He appeared to be magnanimously
considering whether this half pedagogic, half punitive job was beneath
so considerable a man. At last he stated his conditions: "If I'm to
take charge of the South Bastion, I must be very well armed, Bagradian
Effendi. The fellows'll have to see I'm not to be trifled with."

 

 

So Teacher Oskanian arranged with Chaush Nurhan that he was to be given,
not only a rifle with a double belt of five cartridges, but a huge holster
pistol and a large, broad-bladed fascine-knife. Thus, armed to the teeth,
he hurried off to Three-Tent Square, where he advanced pompously on
Juliette to announce his rank. He did not deign a glance at Gonzague
Maris, convinced that this smooth-tongued weakling would vanish at the
sight of him -- the warrior.

 

 

 

 

During this first day on Musa Dagh work on the trenches advanced so well
that there was every hope of completing all the essential defences before
sunset. This fever of industry so enthralled them that past and future
alike were forgotten in laughter and songs.

 

 

The morale of the Town Enclosure turned out to be far less satisfactory.
Ter Haigasun and Pastor Aram had their work cut out to deal with the crop
of problems that arose. Gabriel's suggested solution, at the first sitting
of the council, of that major problem, private property, had already
displeased the mukhtars and the rich. But now these hardheaded peasants
saw for themselves that no life would be possible on the Damlayik without
communal ownership of the herds. So and so many sheep must be slaughtered
daily, by precise regulation of supplies, and therefore it would be quite
impossible to consider individual owners of flocks. Every reasoning
person could also see that the slaughtering must be done by communal
butchers on ground set apart; that the delegates of the Council of Leaders
must superintend the daily distribution of meat to decads and families,
unless there were to be injustice, and so, dangerous discontent. Since
one thing leads to another, the mukhtars had at last been got to consent
even to a communal kitchen. And this was still not enough! Their duty
demanded that not only should they provide these common necessities,
but should supervise their distribution, and make them palatable. Such
recent converts found it no easy matter to struggle to establish a social
order whose ingrained opponents they were themselves. The housing question
was solved more easily. Ter Haigasun had always insisted that too rigid
and constricting a community, from which there could be no escape, would
seem unnatural, and be bound sooner or later to bring its own nemesis. To
adapt oneself with the minimum of friction to a new day-to-day life --
such was the formula which he championed. So that living quarters were
to be made as extensive as possible. Even tomorrow, as soon as hands and
tools could be spared from trench-building, Tomasian senior was to start
work on the new settlement of huts, to be built of branches as designed
by Aram. There were about a thousand families on the Damlayik, so that
a thousand of such huts were intended, planned according to the numbers
each must contain. There was abundant wood, to be cut down. Gabriel,
even today, had released a certain number of men for tree-felling.

 

 

All this was hard, but the real difficulties only began with bread and
flour. Here, in view of the urgent necessity to economize, Ter Haigasun
was implacably communist. Every sack of grain which single families
still possessed -- oats, bulgur, maize, potatoes -- all that they had
baked in their own ovens and labored to carry up the mountain must be
surrendered without mercy. Out of this communal store, at the morning
distribution of meat, each family would receive a minute ration. And
not only flour was to be sequestered, but salt, coffee, tobacco, rice,
spices -- all the precious things which careful housewives, with the
greatest labor and wisest foresight, had got together for their own
use. Opposition to this drastic decree continued for hours. At last Aram
Tomasian and the mukhtars, by prayers and curses, had got so far that
a few of the more virtuous fathers of families reluctantly set out for
the depot, with their bread and flour, their coffee and tobacco. These
confiscated goods of the people were classified and arranged there for
distribution. Such exemplary self-sacrifice brought imitators, till,
little by little, spurred on by shame (since the open camp afforded no
means of concealment), the majority followed. Sacks of flour and maize
were piled up one beside the other. Old Tomasian was commissioned to
build, early next morning, a roof for protection over these stores. Five
armed guards were posted round the depot. Ter Haigasun chose these five
from the poorest families in the villages.

 

 

Ter Haigasun, Gabriel, and the Council had planned, without self-deceiving
optimism, against the annihilation of Musa Dagh from all four quarters of
the globe. But one danger-spot had so far escaped their calculations. And
so, shortly before sunset on the following day, it was just this quarter
that delivered an irreparable onslaught, the effects of which were never
to be made good. That day the work was going better and better, if only
because the sun was overcast. It refrained from slanting its grilling rays
across the bent backs of these poor robots, and no one was forced to seek
shelter. But, although the sun was covered, there was not a cloud in the
whole sky, nor was it any cooler than yesterday. The air was saturated in
some composition of dreary mist, some hog-wash rinsings of the universe,
surrounding the world like an unclean conscience; instead of the blazing
heat, sultriness lay mountainous over all things. The sea was glassy;
from time to time a hot puff of wind came from the west, without ever
rippling its firm surface. Yet, for all its heavy immobility, from
midday onwards surf kept leaping upon the rocks, with more strength,
more suppressed anger, each minute. The workers, their minds fast set
on their own care and labor, had paid no heed to the evil squintings
of the sky. So that the sudden deluge fully achieved its aim. Four,
five gusts of rattling wind, like a short ultimatum of war. The whole
Damlayik -- every rock, every tree, every myrtle and rhododendron bush --
became alert with terror. A terrific thunderclap-war was declared! And
already this southern storm, bristling with flashes, and itself as
swift as any lightning, swept on to the attack, enveloping all things
in its stifling thicknesses of dust. Mats, coverlets, beds, cushions,
white sheets, headkerchiefs, pots and jugs, lamps, heavy things, light
things, clattered and swirled past one another, were upset, caught up,
and swept away. The people, lifting up their voices, chased malevolently
fugitive gear, ran into one another's arms, trod one another's goods
into the soil. This noise of assault drowned the wailing voices of
many babes, who had all seemed to sense the deeper meaning of this
celestial thrashing on their first day. Almost at once this mad chase
of vanishing possessions was cast to earth by such a hailstorm as few
among these mountaineers could remember. After vain efforts to stand up
to it, many lay down flat on the steaming earth, offering their backs to
the bastinadoing skies. They bit the ground. They longed to perish. A
sudden shout -- the munition dump! But luckily Gabriel Bagradian had
had the cartridges moved into the sheikh's tent, while Chaush Nurhan
had found means for keeping the loose gunpowder dry. Provisions! came
the second thought. The men rushed shouting to the grain depot. Too
late! The flat cakes were reduced to a sticky mass, the loaves to
eviscerated sponges. All the meal sacks steamed like slaking lime. This
destruction was a very serious matter. Most of the salt had melted into
the ground. Many began to think of that age-old threat, that on Judgment
Day a man shall pick up with his eyelids whatever salt he has spilt
during his life. This disaster made them cease to struggle. Drenched to
their skins, whipped with hailstones, they huddled on the marshy earth,
indifferent to the deluging clouds which poured down swathes an inch
thick. Not even their women complained and yammered. Everyone wrapped
himself up in brooding solitude, nursing unutterable wrath against Ter
Haigasun and the Council, who had this food depot on their consciences,
this thrice-accursed order to give up stores. Nothing so much relieves
the pent-up breast of a human being as to make individuals responsible
for a natural disaster and heap reproaches. Nor did the glowering folk
on the Damlayik consider, till long after this, that disaster was in no
way the result of Ter Haigasun's command to deliver supplies, since in
private hands it would have been just as impossible to rescue them. In
the minds of these peasants Heaven seemed, by this punishment, to make
manifest its wrathful dislike of communal ownership, its championship of
private property. The converted mukhtars, with squinting Thomas Kebussyan
at their head, relapsed at once to their first persuasion. They mingled
their growls with the reproaches which now assailed the priest from
every side.