The Dark Valley (4 page)

Badi mumbled to himself as such as he sat by the stove downcast with his shoes in his hands. A thousand more thoughts crossed his mind and went to the depths of his heart as he moaned and sighed. His tearless eyes flickered like an extinguishing lamp.

Habud left the next day.

His parents accompanied him to the edge of the village. They talked, cried, and kissed a thousand goodbyes, and then returned home alone to their ramshackle hut by the Atans’ great walnut tree.

On that day the village herd was driven to the pasture late for the first time. Even the cattle were confused as they lowed their way past Vands’ Badi’s house.

* * *

Several months passed.

Habud regularly sent home letters. He had been sent to the front, had been wounded in the leg, had lain in the military hospital, had healed, and had been sent to the front again.

Habud complained in his letters. He wrote that the army was hungry, that they had no proper clothing, that they sent him from one battlefield to another, and that there were no prospects for peace. In one of his letters he also wrote that he was getting a leave soon and would be able to return home.

Habud’s parents were infinitely happy. After receiving that last letter, Hatam’s daughter ran to harvest crops in the Isans’ field. The Isans were given the letter to read and reply to. In return, Hatam’s daughter harvested crop in the Isans field for two days without pay.

Habud wrote that the army had looted shops in a few places and that the cost of those losses was high. He wrote many other things as well. His father could not understand why things were the way they were. The penman and the elder of the Isans’ brothers got angry. In another letter, Habud wrote, “Why do we have to fight the Germans? What good is it to us?”

“You brute! You have been made a soldier and you dare ask these questions?” the Isans’ son exclaimed as he read the letter.

And then one day news came from the city. A telegram was wired saying that the army had started a rebellion and dethroned the Czar. The villagers did not believe it at first. Landlords, the penman, and even Zaki-the-Messenger stood in the middle of the main square and told the villagers that the news was false. Father Gevorg, who knew Solomon’s Song by heart, was convinced that without a shepherd there could be no sheep, that the people needed a leader, and that those who were spreading the news were mere meddlers, or worse, German agents.

Two days later two men from the city arrived in the village with a piece of red cloth around their arms. One of them was Minas-the-Teacher and the other was a young man. The villagers were well acquainted with Minas-the-Teacher.

Minas-the-Teacher began to give a speech, saying that the Czar was gone, that there was freedom now, that the land will be given to the villager, that the people are hungry, and that that is the reason why they must defeat the Germans in the war to the bitter end. The young man also spoke, and then they decided to elect a leader.

The elder of the Isans’ brothers, Khachums’ Ohan, and one of the landlords turned to the committee. One of the villagers in the crowd complained that he did not want the landlord to be the leader because he was an extortionist. Zaki-the-Messenger glared at him in such away that the poor man lost his heart. Father Gevorg noted that the landlord was a man with a conscience, compassionate and thoughtful.

After the meeting, the new committee, along with Father Gevorg, Minas-the-Teacher, the young man, the penman, Zaki-the-Messenger, and several others, joined at the Isans’ house for dinner. They ate and they drank, and at the end of the evening, the teacher and the young man returned to the city quite tipsy.

Hatam’s daughter told her husband everything that had been said that day. Vands’ Badi did not believe it at first and considered the news to be nothing more than thin air, but then he started to get his hopes up.

“Could it be possible that the war will end and Habud will be able to come home?”

Hatam’s daughter was unable to get her head around it all. Haphazard news made its way to her ears, but she only heard incomprehensible jabber. Apparently the city’s leader had been arrested and put to jail. Now they were looking for new recruits to join the army—freedom or death. There was no Czar, but there was war.

The village committee had begun its work. The Isans’ shop raised the price of its products and collected wheat and cheese for loans, which they proceeded to send to the city.

Minas-the-Teacher came to the village once more. He organized a meeting in which he spoke about the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, cursed the Mensheviks, and said that whoever was not a member of the Federation was not an Armenian. The villagers gasped and the literate people signed a piece of paper that the penman and the teacher had prepared.

Minas-the-Teacher said that soon people will come to measure the lands, steal from the rich and give to the poor. They will also distribute cloth and start a cooperative society in every village. Every village will also be provided with two doctors and three teachers. Minas-the-Teacher finished by saying that it was only sensible to vote for the Federation, because it would defend all their pains in the greatest assembly of all, where all of Russia’s nations merge.

The villagers did as Minas-the-Teacher said. They took the elder of the Isans’ brothers more seriously, looking attentively into his eyes. Who could speak against him or win an argument? Some owed him grain, and others had no choice but to get their cloth and sugar from his shop. Who was crazy enough to argue with him?

Meanwhile, Habud regularly sent letters. He was glad that the Czar had been dethroned, but he wrote that that was not enough. Changes would have to be made so that every man would be able to eat from the honest sweat of his brow. Habud wrote many more things in his letter, but the Isans’ son would not read it to his father.

“Your son has turned foolish, brother Badi. He has lost his senses.”

Vands’ Badi refused to believe that his son had lost his senses. He knew that his son had an open mind. Who knew what the Isans’ son’s problem was with Habud? He had disliked Habud from the beginning.

Habud wrote that he had turned to a regiment’s committee and that his regiment did not want war. In the evening, Badi would talk with Hatam’s daughter and ask her what had been said in the village. One evening Badi said:

“Hatam’s daughter, have you heard what they are saying about our Habud? They say he has become a Bolshevik.”

“A what?”

“A Bolshevik. The Isans’ son was saying so. He is a Bolshevik who wants to mix the rich and the poor and make them equals.”

* * *

Another month passed.

Then one day Habud came home without warning.

It was already dark outside when he entered with a bag on his shoulders—a sturdy young man with a beard and moustache.

There had not been as much joy in Vands’ Badi’s hut since the day it was built. There were questions, tears, hugs, and boundless happiness. Habud announced to his parents that he no longer needed to serve and that he no longer wanted to fight.

“Let the Isans’ boys fight for a while.”

After two years of absence, and exhausted from moving from one village to another, Habud laid his head next to his aging mother’s on the mat in his native hut.

* * *

The news of Habud’s arrival spread through the village the next day.

Many were happy and ran over to Hatam’s daughter’s house to give her their blessings. But the Isans’ son, the penman, and even Zaki-the-Messenger were not happy.

The Isans’ son said that Habud had become a Bolshevik, that he will cause chaos in the village, and that the waters will turn murky. Zaki-the-Messenger promptly commissioned himself to find out who Habud was with, where they were going, and what they were doing.

An opportunity soon arose.

At a meeting in the village, where Minas-the-Teacher was also present on behalf of the city’s committee, Habud said a few words about the Isans’ son.

The meeting was about collecting taxes for the city’s committee. Minas-the-Teacher was saying that the revolution was in danger, that the Germans had bribed the Bolsheviks to crush the Russian troops. It was therefore necessary, Minas-the-Teacher was saying, to reinforce the army and be ready to lay down one’s life for the homeland.

“I, for one, am ready! If I am called to leave my hearth and home, my work and duties, I shall gladly volunteer!” Minas-the-Teacher boomed as he thumped his chest and turned his hands like the sails of a windmill.

The elder of the Isans’ brothers agreed that national taxes must be paid, because they are holy debts. He added that any troublemaker in the village should be chased away and that the few deserters of the village should be caught and sent to the city to fight the enemy.

“And when are you planning on going?” Habud called out. He had been listening with his head bowed down, biting his lip.

“Be quiet, you son of a bitch!” the penman and the messenger bawled out from across the room as they glared at him and signaled for him to be beaten. A few young men—the penman’s acquaintances—jumped at Habud to beat him, but Habud had not come away from the front without any experience. After several blows had been delivered on both sides, the villagers stepped in to separate the two camps.

Habud left the meeting, went home, and calmed his mother. That night, he and two of his trusted friends left for the city. Habud ordered his mother not to say anything to anyone and told her that he would be back the next day.

The incident at the meeting had a negative effect on Vands’ Badi. He was outraged at those who had dared raise their hands against his son in broad daylight in a crowd. From that day on, the Isans’ son became an eyesore for Vands’ Badi.

On the following day, as he was driving the cattle to the pasture, Badi was tempted to separate the cows of his son’s enemies from the rest of the herd, but his conscience would not let him. How could a tongueless beast be guilty of sin?

On his way to the pasture Badi was lost in deep thought about why Habud had gone to the city, what the papers were that he had brought with him from distant places, why he was dissatisfied with the way things were in the village, and why he opposed Minas-the-Teacher.

The following day, Habud came home, had a few bites to eat, and began to write.

“Habud, you have written enough. Your eyes will be ruined,” his mother said to him in the middle of the night. But Habud continued to frantically write and erase. Dawn was close when Habud folded the papers, pressed them against his chest, and was on his way out.

“Where to, my child?”

“I’ll be back soon. I’m going to the city. I have some work to take care of. I’ll be back in the evening.”

Badi pleaded with him that it was too dark outside, that it was an evil hour, that there were thousands of wicked spirits. He pleaded with Habud to wait until the sun was up, but Habud would not listen.

“I’ll be all right. I’m not a virgin to these roads,” he said, closing the door behind him.

On the next day, close to evening, news spread in the village that the city had experienced upheavals. The Bolsheviks, together with their troops, had attacked the city and knocked down the committee’s office. The people had looted shops. After the attack, the Bolsheviks had been surrounded and those who had knocked down the committee’s office were arrested.

Vands’ Badi and Hatam’s daughter impatiently waited for Habud’s return. There was deafening silence in the hut. Had they been struck by misfortune?

Habud did not return that evening. Early the next morning, they learned that he had also been arrested.

“Can you believe that cretin? No one in our entire province is smarter than Minas-the-Teacher, but Badi’s son Habud, the son of a cowherd, is not satisfied!” the Isans’ conceited son was gloating to the crowd that had gathered in front of his shop that morning.

“Now look who’s playing around with high prices: me or him? He never liked us, dear people, you be the judge,” he implored the villagers, feigning innocence.

That day the price of cotton went up from one to two coins.

* * *

That day Vands’ Badi did not drive the cattle to the pasture. Instead he headed to the village and sadly announced that he was going to the city to find out what happened to his son.

“He’s locked up in the fort. What are you mourning for, old man?” Zaki-the-Messenger said.

Some of the villagers felt for him and drove the village cattle to the pasture themselves.

It had been many years since Badi had been to the city. He remembered Master Khachi’s caravansary at the edge of the city. He told himself that he would go there, ask around, and find out what happened to his son.

But no sooner had Badi set foot outside the village than he was told that the caravansary had also been burned down, because the Bolsheviks had tied up their horses there.

To whom was he to go? Why not straight to Minas-the-Teacher? He was an important man with a committee in the city and all. He would plead with him, kiss his hands and feet, and hope that that would be enough to free Habud.

The closer Badi came to the city, the more his knees shook, and the more he shuffled his feet. He stopped a few times, wiped the sweat off his brow with his hat, caught his breath, and continued on the road.

He finally reached the caravansary. The beams were still smoking. All that was left standing were the charred walls. As he entered the city, Badi saw someone in the street wearing a red armband. He gathered up his strength, shuffled toward him, and greeted him.

“Do you know where I can find Minas-the-Teacher’s office?” he asked.

“What do you want?”

“I have a problem, you see, a misfortune has befallen my head…”

And with teary eyes, Badi told him what he had heard about his son.

“Hm…” the man muttered, pointing his finger toward a white building close by.

Badi walked to the building, but was denied entry. He was told to come back the following day.

“But I’m an old man. My cattle are left unattended. Can you not tell me anything about my son?” Badi pleaded and sat by the threshold on the paved sidewalk.