Nobody's Child (2 page)

In the morning, Mariam awoke to the aroma of fresh coffee. Her mother had lit a fire just big enough
to boil a bit of water in the long-handled pot and then threw in a handful of freshly ground beans.

“You're old enough now,” said Parantzim, handing her oldest daughter a chipped demitasse cup of the rich dark brew.

Mariam nodded gravely, then breathed in the heady aroma before taking her first sip.

Parantzim gave Onnig and Marta each a piece of flatbread and a dried apricot and they ate quickly, quenching their thirst from a stream nearby.

Mariam savoured her coffee to the last dregs, then she did what her mother always did: she turned the demitasse upside down in the saucer and gave it half a turn. Parantzim sat down beside her oldest daughter, balancing her own demitasse of coffee. She regarded Mariam's inverted cup resting on the ground beside her.

“Would you like me to tell your fortune?”

Mariam's eyes sparkled. “Yes,” she said. And she handed her mother her cup.

Parantzim placed the pad of her index finger on the bottom of the upturned cup. “It's cool enough now,” she said. She turned the cup right side up and peered inside.

Mariam looked in too.

The coffee grounds had made a pattern of black-brown rivulets down the side of the cup. Parantzim pointed to a splotch just below the cup handle. “That's you,” she said.

Mariam nodded.

“You are surrounded by people who love you.”

Mariam smiled. She knew that.

Parantzim frowned. “They all love you,” she said, “but the people on your left love you for your good heart, while the people on your right love you for … I can't make it out.”

Mariam looked at her mother. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know,” said Parantzim, frowning. “There is much love. Yet …” She set down the cup. “This is all nonsense, anyway,” she said. “I never believe the coffee grounds.”

Parantzim finished her own coffee, and Mariam noticed that she didn't invert her cup. Her mother stood up, then brushed stray bits of dust from her gown. “It is time to go to the fields,” she said. “Keep an eye on Onnig and Marta.”

Then she and Hovsep and Aram gathered their tools and walked towards the fields.

Mariam liked to pretend that she was Onnig's mother, so she balanced him on her hip. Marta balanced her doll on her own hip and then the two sisters wandered away from the campsite to pick the colourful spring anemones that grew so abundantly under the wild olive trees that dotted the meadows. Mariam was amazed by the vast variety of spring flowers. Being a city girl from Marash, she was used to cultivated flowers, but not these lush wild ones in every imaginable colour. She made a long chain of giant daisy-like pale mauve flowers and draped it around Marta's neck. Marta grinned with pleasure at the adornment.

“Let's explore further,” Mariam suggested.

In the distant horizon, they could see a strip of deep blue sea and the outline of an ancient Crusader castle. The sight took Mariam's breath away. She had heard tales of the Crusaders since she was little. What must it have been like to live in such a splendid place so many centuries ago?

“I want to go there,” said Onnig, pointing to the castle.

“It's much further than it looks,” replied Mariam.

Not too far from the flower-covered meadow was a barren rocky area close to the farmer's fields, and the children were drawn there. They found a series of shallow caves and even more patches of spring flowers and fragrant wild grasses. Onnig was restless, so Mariam let him down from her hip.

While Adana itself was miles away, when Mariam stood on one of the big rocks she could see a patch or two of flowering bushes, and if she breathed in deeply, she could catch the faint spicy scent of mulberry blossoms. This area was known for its cultivated mulberry trees. She had never tasted the berries, which were reserved for the precious silk worms. The scent was marvellous enough.

She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked in another direction. There was a small village within easy walking distance. Perhaps there were other children down there, she thought. Maybe they'd be able to find someone Onnig's age and they could play together. With her eyes, Mariam motioned to her sister.

“As long as we avoid the Turkish quarters, we should be all right,” Mariam reasoned.

The children had learned early to always avoid the Turkish area of any village or city. It was common knowledge that Turks considered Armenians barely human, and retribution came swiftly to Armenians who got out of line. Mariam had never questioned this attitude. It was a fact of life.

The trio headed down.

The first thing they saw when they stepped through the stone gates was a haphazard row of clay one-storey homes that looked just like those in their own neighbourhood in Marash. Each home had a flat roof that doubled as a terrace, and each had a walled-in fruit and vegetable garden where a goat or a few chickens could run free. Just as in their own neighbourhood, the streets were narrow and maze-like, with dead ends and twisty turns. Mariam saw a photograph in a book once of a street in London. It amazed her that the houses were lined up uniformly along either side of a wide paved street. The strangest thing about the foreign English houses was that they were so far away from each other that you would never be able to walk from roof to roof. In virtually any town Mariam had ever been to, it was possible to travel blocks without ever setting foot on the ground. That's probably why they have wide streets, mused Mariam. They needed them for all their walking. Some day she would love to travel to London and see that strange city for herself!

The children walked through the maze of streets, backtracking several times when they reached a dead end. Then, suddenly, the street they were on opened up to a wide square. There was a communal well, the church, and open-air stores. Several wives gossiped by the well,
while husbands watched two elderly men play a board game of dama under the shade of a tree.

Mariam knew it was the Armenian section right away because there were many women out in public, and the bottom half of their faces weren't covered with veils.

Mariam could hear the shrieks of children playing. She squinted her eyes from the sun so she could see beyond the well, and saw that a game of “Turks and Armenians” was in progress.

“Look, Onnig,” she said, lifting him up so he could see better. “Would that be fun?”

Onnig grinned. “I want to play.” He struggled down from her arms, then grabbed one of her hands and one of Marta's. “Come on,” he said excitedly, pulling his sisters towards the other children.

Mariam smiled as she watched two children play the familiar game. It could involve two or twenty children, as long as there were enough for two teams. No one ever wanted to be the Turks, however, and so straws would have to be drawn. Then the children would make a pile of stones in the middle of the play area. This was the “fortress.” And then each team fought for possession of the fortress. The children on the Turks side would call their opponents “infidels” and the children on the Armenian side would call their opponents “curs.” It was all in good fun, Mariam thought.

A boy and a girl, both about her sister's age or maybe a bit older, were chasing each other for possession of the fortress, screaming “cur” and “infidel” at each other as they ran. There was a woven carpet
spread out under the shade of a tree where a woman sat with a girl younger than Onnig at her feet. She was keeping one eye on the older children playing while she shelled almonds into an earthen bowl. The little girl was making a pyramid of nut shells in the dirt beside the carpet.

Mariam, her sister and little brother in tow, walked over to where the woman sat. “My name is Mariam Hovsepian, and this is my sister, Marta, and our brother, Onnig.”

The woman met Mariam's eyes and smiled. She was about the same age as Mariam's mother, and she had the same kindly work-worn look about her.

“Are you with the barley workers?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Mariam. “We've travelled all the way from Marash.”

“Sit down,” said the woman, patting a space on the carpet beside her.

Mariam sat down, but Marta stayed standing. She was more interested in playing “Turks and Armenians” than talking to an old married woman.

Onnig looked uncertainly at the little girl on the carpet playing with the nut shells, but didn't make a move to sit down. The little girl looked up and smiled at Onnig. Then she noticed Marta's doll.

“Dolly,” the girl said with excitement. She reached out to touch it.

Mariam noticed the frown that was beginning to form on Marta's brows. Before her little sister could say anything, Mariam asked, “Would you like to hold it?”

The girl grinned.

Mariam gave her sister a meaningful look. Marta sighed, then handed the doll over. “Just be careful with it,” she said.

Then she ran over to play ball with the older children, Onnig in tow.

“My name is Anoush Adomian,” said the woman, extending a callused hand to Mariam. “And this is my daughter, Arsho.”

Arsho was so busy admiring the rag doll that she barely looked up when she heard her mother use her name. “And that is my son, Kevork,” she said, pointing towards the boy playing ball. “The girl is our neighbour, Taline.”

Mariam found it cool and pleasant to sit under the tree with Anoush. It was a welcome relief after so many days on the dusty road. Anoush was full of questions about life in Marash, and Mariam answered her while keeping one eye on Onnig. She listened to Anoush's comments with half an ear. She wasn't worried about Marta at all. Marta was certainly old enough to handle herself, but Onnig was much younger than the others. She was just waiting for a crisis. Any minute now, he would burst into tears and run to her arms for comfort, full of stories of how the big kids were picking on him.

It surprised her, then, when it didn't happen. Instead of ignoring the little boy and playing around him, Kevork and Taline made a point of including both Marta and Onnig in their game. They both seemed genuinely delighted to have other children to play with, even though one was so young.

“… so it surprised me to see you,” continued Anoush.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?” Mariam asked.

“With the unrest,” said Anoush. “It's not a good time for women and children to be away from home.”

“My mother wanted us all to stick together right now,” explained Mariam.

“I have heard rumour of massacres,” said Anoush. “But I don't believe it. Who would get the grain in if the Armenians were killed?”

“Indeed,” said Mariam.

After that first day, Mariam made a point of taking her younger siblings to the village whenever she could so that they could play with the other children. There were chores to do at the camp, like washing clothing, preparing food, and gathering kindling. Sometimes Kevork and Taline would walk up to the camp to find Onnig and Marta. Whenever they did this, Mariam was happy to let them all play while she did her chores, as long as they kept close enough for her to keep an eye on them. It was hardly necessary, though, because the children were so good with Onnig.

One morning in the middle of April, Mariam finished her chores, then gathered Onnig and Marta and headed down to the village.

As they approached the village gates, they didn't stop to notice the eerie silence. The little one-storey clay homes all seemed empty. Even the goats and chickens were quiet. The children walked down the street all the way to the well without meeting a soul. The dama table was abandoned, although it looked like a game had been in progress just moments before.

The open-air market stalls were unmanned, although there were some lemons, wicker baskets, cheese, and other goods that had been in the process of being laid out for display. Mariam looked over at the church and noticed that the doors, usually kept open, were closed tight. She walked up to the church door and put her ear to it. She could hear frightened whispers of people inside. She put her hand on the elaborately carved wooden handle and pulled, but it was locked, so she knocked on the door and called, “Is anybody in there?” The frightened whispers stopped. Mariam could almost hear a collective gasp of fear.

Suddenly, Mariam could feel vibrations rumbling at her feet and she heard a sound — something like thunder — in the distance. It was coming from the direction of the village gates, and when she looked that way she saw a cloud of dust and angry-looking men on horses. Some of them carried bayonets, and some carried torches.

Mariam ran to Onnig and picked him up in her arms, then she ran down the street. “Marta, follow me,” she called.

Marta looked from Mariam to the rumbling of men, then ran after her sister.

There was only one way to go, and that was in the opposite direction of the village gates. They ran through the maze-like streets, past the house where Taline lived. Then past where Kevork and Arsho lived with Anoush, and past the bathhouse. They passed another common courtyard area, and soon they were in a part of the village they had never seen before.

Suddenly, a gunshot pierced the silence. Mariam instinctively placed a hand over Onnig's mouth.

A woman's scream.

Onnig struggled in his sister's arms, trying to cry out in protest, but her hand remained clamped over his mouth. “We have to hide,” Mariam whispered to her sister.

There was a bush not too far away, so they ran to it and fell in a heap behind it.

“I dropped Bibi,” whispered Marta, glancing tearfully out into the courtyard at her doll.

“Forget Bibi,” hissed Mariam.

At that comment, Onnig bit Mariam's fingers and wailed. “I want my mommy!”

“Shut up,” Mariam whispered frantically. But Onnig kept on wailing. Mariam was about to slap him hard across the face but stopped, her hand poised in mid-air. “You must be quiet, Onnig. They'll kill us if they find us.” Onnig's eyes were suddenly round with fear, and he let out one loud sob, but then covered his own mouth with both hands. Mariam breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad that Onnig understood.