The Doves of Ohanavank by Vahan Zanoyan Read Free Book Online Page B

butchershop, lost his job. He tried to earn money by buying foodstuffs from nearby villages and selling to shops in the town, but could not make enough. He started drinking heavily, and asked her to get money from her parents. She went home once for help, but her father refused to give her money. Her mother didn’t have any money herself. Her husband started beating her and telling her how useless she was.
    One day, he came home drunk and asked her to come with him. “I’ll take you to see someone,” he said. “Just do whatever he tells you.” He dropped her in front of a house in the outskirts of town, where a man was waiting for her. They went in the house, and it turned out that the man expected to have sex with her, because he had already paid her husband for it. Anna was horrified and tried to run away, but the man grabbed her and raped her. “I paid your pimp a lot of money for you,” he kept yelling.
    Her husband was waiting for her when she came out. She refused to get back in the car with him. She was shaking with shame and anger, but he was acting as if nothing unusual happened. “Since you cannot earn money any other way, this is what you’ll do from now on,” he told her. “Get in the car right now!” Anna refused, and started screaming, threatening to tell the police what had just happened. She screamed so loud that her husband, wanting to avoid attention, drove away. “Fine, walk home!” He yelled as he left her.
    Anna did not walk home. She walked to the bus stop and caught the last bus to her village. She went home, but her father refused to accept her. “Go back to your husband,” he said. “Married girls don’t run away from home like mad dogs.”
    I cannot imagine how any father can treat his daughter in that manner. Anna spent that night with her aunt. The next morning she borrowed some money from her and took the bus to Yerevan. Her aunt arranged for her to get in touch with her sister-in-law, and she found a job as a sales girl in a women’s clothing store. Her husband found out that she was in Yerevan, but could not find her. He visited the aunt’s sister-in-law, who denied having seen her. A month later Anna moved to a room like mine, a few buildings down the road from me.
    Now Anna lives in constant fear. Her husband can show up anytime and force her to return. No one can stop him from abusing her if he finds her—neither her family nor the police. She believes the only reason he hasnot found her yet is his fear that she’ll tell the police the story of how he sold her for sex. She uses a different last name to rent her place and at work.
    Anna’s story has made me realize how lucky I am and how great my own family really is. My father would never have treated any of his daughters like hers treated her. My sisters and brothers have accepted me in spite of the stigma I carry. I have heard stories of angry brothers who slit their sister’s throat when they found out that she had worked as a prostitute; that is a matter of family honor in some of our villages. I have not faced any of these threats. I have been welcomed.
    And yet I cannot accept their kindness. I often find it crueler than outright rejection. It gives me no room for retaliation, for escape. It gives no justification for my being in Yerevan, rather than at home. No one asked me to leave; they all asked me to stay.
    It has always been easier for me to deal with those who have wronged me than with those who have been kind. It is not easy to reject kindness.
    My father used to say that there is a pathway between hearts. “Wisdom is taught by love,” he’d say, “that’s why it cannot be taught in schools. Wisdom gets transferred through that pathway.” I was young then, maybe twelve or thirteen, and he would look at my baffled face, kiss my forehead, and add: “Lara, the pathway between hearts is real; it can be very busy with traffic. One day you’ll understand. When you do, do not turn a deaf ear to it. Right