Forty Days of Musa Dagh (63 page)

 

 

Iskuhi's voice came subdued and hesitant: "I only wanted to ask you
whether it would disturb you too much if tomorrow I stayed somewhere
near you."

 

 

"There's nothing in the world that does me so much good as to have you
near me, Iskuhi."

 

 

Gabriel bent close over Iskuhi to look far down into her eyes, which
met his ardently. An odd thought sped across his mind. This feeling
which drew them together might not be love, at least not love in the
ordinary meaning of the word, not the kind of love which had bound him
to Juliette, but something very much greater, yet less than love. It
heightened all his faculties immeasurably, made him celestially happy,
without any desire diverting that happiness. It may have been the unknown
love of the same blood, which quickened him like a mystic spring, welling
up in Iskuhi's eyes; not the wish to be joined in future, but the utter
certainty of having been so in the past. His eyes smiled into hers.

 

 

"I have no sense of death, Iskuhi. It's mad, but I simply can't make myself
think that this time tomorrow I may not still be alive. Perhaps it isn't
a bad omen. What do you feel?"

 

 

"Death's sure to come anyway, Gabriel. There isn't any other way out for us,
is there?"

 

 

He did not extract their double meaning from her words. An incredibly light
assurance sprang up within him. "One oughtn't to look too far ahead,
Iskuhi. I won't think anything but tomorrow. I don't even think of
tomorrow night. Do you know I'm looking forward to the morning!"

 

 

Iskuhi stood up to go back to her tent. "I only wanted to ask you to
promise me something, Gabriel. Something quite obvious. If things get so
that there's no more hope, please shoot me and then yourself. It's the
best solution. I can't live without you. And I shouldn't like you to go
on living without me -- not a second! So may I still stay somewhere near
you tomorrow, please?"

 

 

No! She must give him her word not to leave her tent during the fighting.
But, in exchange, he promised that if things got desperate he would
either fetch or have her sent for, and kill them both. He smiled as he
was promising this, since indeed nothing in his heart felt the slightest
prescience of an end. Therefore he did not fear in the least for Stephan,
or Juliette. Yet, as he again took up his work on the guns, he found
himself surprised at his own assurance, which the fiercest reality all
round him, in a threatening half-moon of fire, seemed so contemptuously
to disprove.

 

 

 

 

The Kaimakam, the yüs-bashi from Antakiya, the red-haired müdir, the
battalion commandant of the four companies sent from Aleppo, and two
other officers sat that evening in the selamlik of Villa Bagradian,
holding a council of war. That reception-room was as brilliant with
candlelight as it had been when Juliette received notables. Orderlies
cleared away the meal, which these officers had eaten in her salon. Bugle
calls sounded outside the windows, and all the pother of resting and
victualling soldiers. Since with these Armenian devils you never knew,
the Kaimakam had ordered a guard for headquarters. It was now engaged
in setting up its camp, laying waste the park, orchard and vegetable
garden in the process.

 

 

This council had lasted a fairly long time without showing signs of
complete agreement. They were discussing an important matter. Would it,
or would it not, be really advisable to begin operations against the
Damlayik tomorrow at sunrise, as arranged? The Kaimakam with the
misanthropic complexion, the dark-brown pouches under his eyes, was the
hesitant, dilatory member of this discussion. He defended his lack of
resolution by insisting that, though at the Wali's request the general
in Aleppo had sent them a full infantry battalion, he had failed in
his promise of mountain artillery and machine guns. The Kolagasi (staff
captain) from Aleppo explained this by informing them that such arms had
all been cleared out of Syria, with the transferred divisions to which
they belonged, and that in all Aleppo there was not so much as a single
machine gun. Would it not, demanded the Kaimakam, be better not to attack
for the next few days and send an urgent telegram to His Excellency Jemal
Pasha, begging him to assign them the weapons they needed? The officers
considered this impossible. Such direct appeals were likely to irritate
the incalculable Jemal, and might even move him to countermeasures.

 

 

The yüs-bashi from Antakiya pushed back his chair and took out a sheet
of paper. His fingers shook, less from excitement than because he was
a chain-smoker. "Effendiler!" His voice was thin and morose. "If we're
going to wait about for machine guns and mountain artillery, the best
thing we can do is to winter here. The army in the field has so few of
them that our request would simply be ridiculous. May I again remind
the Kaimakam of the exact strength of our attacking force?"

 

 

Tonelessly he read out his figures: "Four companies from Aleppo:
say a thousand men. Two companies from Alexandretta: five hundred men.
The strengthened garrison from Antakiya: four hundred and fifty men.
That means nearly two thousand rifles of trained infantry. Why, regiments
at the front can't be nearly as strong! Further -- the second line: four
hundred saptiehs from Aleppo, three hundred saptiehs from our own kazah,
four hundred chettehs from the north -- that's another eleven hundred
men. And, besides all that, there's our third line, of two thousand Moslems
from the villages, whom we've armed. So that altogether we shall attack
with a force of about five thousand rifles. . . ."

 

 

Here the yüs-bashi stopped to gulp down a small cup of coffee and light
a fresh cigarette. Somebody used the pause to interrupt him:

 

 

"Don't forget the Armenians have two howitzers."

 

 

The major's hatchet face looked almost animated; his yellowish forehead
began to glisten. "That artillery is completely useless. First, they have
no ammunition. Second, nobody knows how to use the things. Third, we shall
get hold of them very quickly again."

 

 

The Kaimakam, who, bored or weary, had sunk far back in his chair, raised
heavy eyes. "Don't underrate this Bagradian fellow, Yüs-bashi. I've only
seen the man once, in a bath. But he behaved with unusual insolence."

 

 

The young freckled rnudir with the carefully manicured nails interposed
reproachfully: "It was a great mistake on the part of the military
authorities not to have called him up. He's in the reserve. I know for
a fact that Bagradian volunteered several times. Without him the coast
would be perfectly quiet and normal."

 

 

The major cut short these reflections: "Bagradian this! Bagradian that!
Such civilians aren't so very important. I went up yesterday and reconnoitred
the Damlayik just to see for myself what the position was. They're a
ragged-looking crew. Their trenches seemed to me to be quite primitive. At
a generous estimate they've got between four and five hundred rifles. We
should have to spit in our own faces if we hadn't cleared them out
by midday."

 

 

"We certainly should, yüs-bashi," agreed the Kaimakam. "But any animal,
even the smallest, gets ferocious when it's fighting for its life."

 

 

The Kolagasi from Aleppo most explicitly endorsed the major's view.
He fully hoped that within two days he would be out of this primitive
neighborhood and back in the pleasant town of Aleppo.

 

 

Since the officers all seemed so confident, the Kaimakam dismissed the
sitting with a yawn: "Well, then -- you guarantee success, Yüs-bashi?"

 

 

That draconian officer poured swaths of smoke out of his nostrils.
"One can guarantee nothing in any military enterprise. I must reject the
word guarantee. I can only say that I don't want to go on living if the
Armenian camp isn't liquidated by this time tomorrow."

 

 

Upon which the lolling Kaimakam heavily rose. "Well, let's get to bed."

 

 

But that night the potentate's sleep was not of the soundest. He had taken
up his quarters in Juliette's room. It was still saturated with perfume
from the many flasks of scent that had been broken in it. They enmeshed
the slumbering dyspeptic in such cloying and irritating nightmares that
his rest was broken by several sleepless hours.

 

 

 

 

His awakening was no better than his sleep had been. Scarcely had the light
begun to break when he started up to the sound of a terrific explosion.
He rushed, half-dressed, outside the house. The destruction was great.
The shell had dropped sheer in front of the steps. The fragments of every
window in the whole house strewed the ground. The gust of the shell had
torn a wing of the front door off its hinges and flung it back into the
hallway. Three deep breaches gaped in the brickwork, and iron shards
stuck up everywhere out of the ground. But worst of all was the sight
of the Aleppo staff officer. That unfortunate had been designed by fate
to be making his way out of the house at the very instant of the explosion.
Now he sat huddled against the wall. His blue eyes looked vacantly childish.
He breathed heavily, seemed lost in some dreamy past. A splinter had
skimmed all the flesh off his right shoulder, another wounded his left
hip. The yüs-bashi was assisting him. It looked as though he were telling
him rather sharply not to give way so comfortably to his wound. But the
Kolagasi was insubordinate. He paid no attention whatever and lurched
over, slowly, on to his side. The yüs-bashi turned away angrily and
bellowed at the frightened men not to stand about there with their mouths
open, but go along and fetch the doctor and an ambulance. It was not so easy.
The surgeon was attached to the third company in Bitias. The major had the
wounded Kolagasi carried upstairs into Stephan's bedroom and deposited on
Stephan's bed. He returned to consciousness but only to implore the major
not to leave him until his wound had been dressed. The Kaimakam by nature
a confirmed civilian to whom bloodshed was as repugnant in practice
as it frequently seemed desirable in theory, crept into the cellar as
though by accident -- down the dark cool stairs. Gabriel's bombardment
continued. Another shell had just come crashing into the orchard.

 

 

It was more than ironic fate which had directed the trajectory of the
first straight to Bagradian's own front door, checkmating the battalion
commander. Perhaps it was not mere accident, but a living witness to the
fact that God is not invariably on the side of the biggest battalion. In
any case this laming of the command delayed the attack by over an
hour. The Turks, in the orchards and vineyards, who had already disposed
themselves in extended order to advance, were kept back. The Armenian
swine seemed to have known what to aim at, and have expert gunners! And,
though the next eight shells were not quite so lucky, the valley was at
least wide enough to ensure that, wherever they might drop, shrapnel and
grenades caused panic. Three houses in Bitias, Aziz and Yoghonoluk were
set alight. A detachment of encamped saptiehs, drinking morning coffee
out of tin mugs, sustained heavy losses from a grenade. Leaving three
dead and many wounded, these upholders of law and order retired forever
from the engagement, without having fired a single shot.

 

 

This howitzer bombardment at least gave the results envisaged by Gabriel,
though he got no clear perception of his success. It disorganized the
Turkish plan of attack. The morale of the new civil population was so
disastrously affected by it that shoals of Turkish women had begun already
to take flight in the direction of the Orontes plain. Not least was the
paralysis of the leadership, whch lasted a considerable time. Not till
long after the howitzers had ceased their fire, did lines of riflemen
summon enough courage to advance and disappear into the woods on the
lowest slopes of Musa Dagh. For an instant Bagradian reproached himself
with not having possessed enough audacity to post at least the four
hundred men of his first defence, the half of his decads and komitajis,
here and there along these lines of advance, and so molest the attack
before it had time to develop properly. But in any case the hundred
komitajis already enrolled had disposed themselves halfway up the height
so skilfully, and were fired with such mad, clear-headed audacity,
that they wrought more damage and confusion among the groups which came
panting past them than any open attack could have achieved. Twice, three
times, their invisible cross fire hurled these companies, engaged in
toiling their way through thickets, wildly apart, and fully dispersed
them. Cut off from their leaders, and expecting death at any instant,
these groups went rushing down the slopes. It was not cowardice. Defence
was impossible. After which unsuccessful attempt there was nothing left
for the major but to rally his companies on the line of the lowest slope,
order a short rest, and serve out rations. Meanwhile the komitajis were
undisturbed as they gathered up the rifles and cartridge belts from dead
or wounded, and carried them off behind their lines.

 

 

The Kaimakam, who had come out to see the command, caustically inquired
of the yüs-bashi: "Are you going to repeat your tactic? If you do,
it doesn't look as if we'd ever get up the mountain."

 

 

The irate major's face turned coffee-colored. He began to bellow at
the Kaimakam: "Take over the command yourself if you like! It's your
responsibility far more than mine."

 

 

The Kaimakam perceived that one must be careful in dealing with this touchy
officer. This was not the moment at which to quarrel. He shrugged, in his
usual sleepy way. "You're quite right. It's my responsibility. But don't
forget, Major, that you'll be responsible to me. If there's another fiasco
we shall both of us have to take the consequences, you just as much as I."