Nobody's Child by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch Read Free Book Online Page B

HAPTER F IVE
    A s the weeks wore on, the survivors fell into a comforting routine. Anna, the only adult, was the nominal head of the household, but her ability to help the children was limited. While the Turks left her unmolested, they also left her unhired. There was no opportunity for her to earn money and look after the children she had become responsible for. All they had to live on was Mariam’s purse of coins. With each succeeding week, the purse got lighter, and there was no means of refilling it.
    Most of the surviving Armenians gradually moved out of the village and Turkish families took over the Armenian section. There were no children for Onnig, Marta, and Kevork to play with. So their house became a refuge and a prison. Each night, Mariam counted her piasters and liras, and each night she tried to estimate how much longer their money would last.
    Once, when they were in the bathhouse, Mariam overheard a conversation between two Turkish women:
    â€œThe Sultan has been deposed.” The woman who said this was young and pregnant, and she was sitting at the edge of the warm water pool with her feet dangling over the side. She had a towel loosely thrown over her shoulders, but otherwise, she was naked. She looked down at her friend, who was neck deep in the pool.
    â€œHe has?” exclaimed her companion in surprise. “By whom?”
    â€œThe Young Turks,” replied the pregnant woman. “They’re going to be putting the Sultan on trial.”
    Mariam’s heart soared at this tidbit of information. Her parents had been supporters of the Young Turks when they briefly came to power in 1908. The Sultan’s counter-revolution had been a shock to all. The Young Turk government had been promising freedom and democracy — even to non-Muslims. For the first time in weeks, Mariam felt like grinning.
    As fall approached, there was a chill in the air, so Mariam lit the tonir before covering it with the sleeping carpet. Once they were all snuggled up under the carpet and ready for the usual evening of storytelling, Mariam announced, “It is time for us to leave the village.”
    Kevork had just settled into the warm carpet, but the announcement brought him up short. “Where would we go?”
    â€œHome,” said Mariam. “We have family in Marash.” Kevork didn’t want to say it out loud, but he wondered whether her grandmother and aunt were still alive. Didn’t the massacres happen there, too?
    Mariam saw the look of pain on his face. “There is no way of knowing without going there,” she said. Mariamknew what Kevork’s real concern was: if they left, how would his parents find him? But they had waited long enough. “Besides,” she continued, “with the Sultan deposed, it has to be safer for Armenians.”
    â€œWe have money, a roof over our heads, and a supply of eggs and goat’s milk,” said Kevork. “It could be worse.”
    â€œWe must get back to our family,” said Mariam. “And once winter approaches, we’ll have trouble travelling.”
    Kevork brushed his hand softly against the blue veil cover of his pillow. “I can’t leave.”
    Mariam was silent. If there were a chance that her parents were alive, she’d be acting the same way.
    Anna propped herself up on one elbow and looked at her nephew. “If your mother is alive,” she said, “she is no longer the mother you knew. Put her out of your mind.”
    Kevork’s face blushed bright red. “Don’t say things about my mother. She was taken. She couldn’t help it.”
    â€œThe fact is,” replied Anna, “that she ran off with a Turk.” Anna had never been particularly fond of her beautiful sister-in-law.
    Kevork swallowed back tears. The last thing he wanted was for his aunt to see how sorrowful he was at her statement. Armenian women who were taken by Turks had a moral duty to kill themselves.