V.H. Apelian's Blog

V.H. Apelian's Blog

Monday, March 18, 2024

Aram Arvangians of Khoups, Keghi and Worcester, MA

 Aram Arvanigian was our khnami Gary Arvanigian’s father.  He was born in Worcester, MA, in 1924. His father’s name was Karekin. It is thought he was named after his father's paternal uncle Aram Toros Arvanigian, who was born in the village of Khoups in Keghi in 1874, and was martyred in 1915 during the Khoups’ last stand. Attached are Aram Arvanigian’s obituary and a biographical sketch of Aram Toros Arvanigian. Their life stories are a microsome of the ramification of the Armenian genocide that fundamentally altered the course of the millennia old Armenian nation.


Left: Aram Toros Arvanigian (1874-1915 - Khoups, Keghi)
Right: Aram Arvanigian (1924 -2023, Worcester, MA)

Aram Arvanigian

Vahe H. Apelian

 

Today, August 29, 2023,  Marie and I attended Aram Arvanigian’s funeral services, interment and subsequently memorial luncheon. He was our khnami Gary Arvanigian’s father. 

Aram Arvanigian was 99 years old and was born in Worcester, MA. His funeral service was held in the Holy Martyrs Armenian Apostolic Church of Worcester. He, along with his brother George and son Gary, is a godfather of the church.

He collected stamp. Years ago, he had put his collection of the first Soviet Armenia stamps, some of which depicted the stamps of the first republic, for auction to raise funds for the church. Our son and daughter-in-law Nicole, had bid on Nicole’s grandfather’s stamp set and had gifted it to me. I keep them in my Armenian stamp collection as they were purchased. It is a rare Armenian stamp set.

Aram was a veteran. His coffin was draped with the flag and he was put to rest with military honor and after the Flag-Folding-Ceremony, the 13 folds of the Old Glory  was presented to his widow. 

The Arvanigian family hailed from the Khoups village of Keghi. All those interested may read his namesake’s, presumably his father's  paternal uncle Aram Toros Arvanigian's story. 

I have attached Aram Arvangian’s obituary as it appeared on the funeral home’s webstie.

“ Worcester- Aram Arvanigian, 99, passed away on August 25, 2023.

He was born in Worcester on May 8, 1924, a son of the late Karekin and Nevart (Avakian) Arvanigian. He graduated from Worcester Boys Trade School before enlisting in the United States Coast Guard to proudly serve his country during World War II. Possessing a strong entrepreneurial spirit, Aram successfully owned and operated Arvco Computer Company in Oxford for many years. Aram was a longtime member of Holy Trinity Armenian Apostolic Church and the Freemasons.

He leaves behind his loving wife, Linda S. (Winter) Arvanigian; his children, Gary Arvanigian and his wife, Janis, Nancy Brown and her husband, Kermit and Stephen Grier and his wife, Patty; three grandchildren, Mark, Christine, and Nicole; five great grandchildren; several nieces, nephews and extended family members.

Besides his parents, Aram was predeceased by his first wife, Elsie Hovanesian and his siblings, Irene, Alice, Edward, and George.

A visiting hour will be held from 10-11am on TUESDAY, August 29th at Holy Trinity Armenian Apostolic Church, 635 Grove St., Worcester. A funeral service will begin at 11am. Burial will follow at Worcester County Memorial Park. Arrangements are in the care of the Callahan, Fay & Caswell Life Celebration Home, 61 Myrtle St., Worcester

In lieu of flowers his family asks that memorial donations be considered to Holy Trinity Armenian Apostolic Church, 635 Grove St., Worcester, MA 01606 or to Beacon Hospice, 36 Williams St., Leominster, MA 01453 for the exceptional care provided to Aram.”

***

Aram Toros Arvanigian

Source: Levon Baronian (Լեւոն Պարոնեան) in  “Keghi, Khoups Memorial Album” (Յուշամատեան  Քղի, Խուփս), Fresno (1968). Translated and abridged by Vahe H. Apelian

“Unaccountable is the number of the victims of the Armenian people. From the First World War and onward the names of many martyred victims have been forgotten. Among them is Aram Toros Arvanigian who was better known by his endearing nickname Vartabed. He was martyred in 1915 along with the brave Khoupsetsis.

Aram was born in the village of Khoups in Keghi, on March 10, 1874. He left the village early on and joined his brothers in Istanbul who enrolled him in the Armenian Seminary of Jerusalem to prepare him for priesthood. Aram finished the Seminary’s course but did not want to be ordained as a priest. His temperament was not suited for an ecclesiastic life.

During the 1895-96 persecution and massacres of the Armenians in Istanbul and in the interior of the country, his brothers managed to escape to Bulgaria. In 1900’s Aram left Jerusalem and joined them. He did not stay with them for long. In 1903 he came to America and settled in Providence where there was a sizeable vibrant Armenian community and joined the ranks of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation. Thanks to his calm, composed and persuasive personality he soon became a much-noted member of the community and was endearingly nicknamed Vartabed in recognition of his upbringing in the Seminary of Jerusalem. Through his efforts the first women’s Gomideh was established in America whose founding meeting took place in the residence of Mrs. Hripsime Arvanigian.

Aram left Providence in 1911 and returned to his beloved village Khoups where he continued to be an active member of the community. He paid particular attention to the state of the education in Khoups and became a natural leader around whom the youth of the village congregated and organized themselves. He married Arousiag Mouradian who was a teacher. They both espoused the same ideals and formed a happy family. However their happy lives were short lived.

In October 1914 the Turk and the Russians declared war on each other. The Turkish government seizing the warring state armed the Turks and Kurds in the region who started threatening the very existence of the Armenians. The villagers of the Khoups, under the leadership of Aram, formed a military council to defend themselves.


On May 9, 1915 representatives form the government arrived to the village and ordered the villagers to prepare leaving Khoups in a week for the government to escort them to Kharpert. Meanwhile thousands of armed Turks and Kurds were encircling and threatening the village.


The Khoupsetsi held a meeting in the yard shared by the church and the school. Mikael Nalbandian, from the military council, and Aram Arvanigian spoke to the people. Aram presented the grave situation they were facing and asked the villagers if they are willing to fight and die honorably or abide by the order and face an uncertain future. The villagers unanimously declared that they would rather stay and die defending themselves in their village.

On May 18, between 8 to 10 thousand soldiers and armed civilians, under the leadership of the regional Turkish governor, attacked Khoups. The Khoupsetsis put a fierce defense for the next seven days, until May 24. Between 40 to 45 combatants died defending the village. On the morning of May 25, fighting came to a lull and the Turkish forces appeared retreating. The Military Council called for another meeting and presented to the villagers the bare facts of their situation. Their stock of bullets had considerably diminished. Should the attacks resume they will not be able to defend themselves for any appreciable period of time. They decided instead to find a way through the mountain passes nearby and reach Dersim. Few young men took the responsibility surveying the safety of the mountain passageways.

The surveyors brought word that the passageways appeared safe for crossing. In the evening the Khoupsetsis started leaving the village on their way to Dersim through a neighboring friendly village whose Kurdish tribe spoke the local Dersim dialect and had refused to accept arms from the government against the Armenians. It would have taken them three hours to reach to their safe destination.

The retreat of the Turkish army proved to be a ploy. Barely twenty-five minutes after leaving the village, Turkish soldiers and armed irregulars from a Kurdish tribe known for its violence encircled them. A fierce fight erupted. Men, women, young and old Khoupsetsis put a fierce resistance that lasted all night long. By the morning of May 26 an eerie calm prevailed over the battleground. Barely 200 out of the 2151 brave Khoupsetsis had survived.

The members of the Military Council were killed fighting with the rest of the fallen Khoupsetsis. Their remains remained between Khoups and the Armenian village Sakatsor, but their memories linger among the Khoupsetsis and the rest of the Armenians." 

Thursday, March 14, 2024

Discovering Aurora Mardiganian

The attached is a reproduction of my abridged translation of a chapter from Anahid Meymarian’s book Իմ Սուրբ Հայրենիք ("My Holy Fatherland"), published in Los Angeles in 2005. My translation was first posted in Keghartdotcom on March 7, 2015.  This account about Aurora Mardiganian may be the last personal account about her after whom the Aurora Prize for Awakening Humanity was established. Subsequently, the late Mrs. Meymarian shed light about Aurora’s remains, which I added to the translated text. I also attached Mrs. Anahid Meymarian's obituary.  Vahe H. Apelian


“Sometime in the early 1990s, "Ungerouhie" (a female associate) Yevgine Papazian, an elderly member of the Armenian Relief Society’s Anahid Chapter of Greater Los Angeles, told me about a granny by the name of Aurora  Mardiganian who lived alone in Van Nuys and was in need of help. She also told me that Aurora had formerly lived in New York.
A few days later Yevgine and I paid Aurora a visit. We knocked at her door and after a while, a granny dressed in woolen clothes let us in. We passed through a narrow hallway into a fairly large room. We were astonished to see the room was full of cardboard boxes as if she had arrived from New York only yesterday, although she had been living in Los Angeles for fifteen years. There was hardly any room to move around. Next, at the entrance of the room, there was a chair and a desk. Next to them, in large letters, there was a telephone number and on the wall was the calendar of the New York Prelacy.
We sat over the cardboard boxes next to the entrance. On one of the walls, there was a picture of a tall man with a teenage boy. The granny told us the man in the picture was her son Martin and the teenager is her grandson.
Granny Aurora had a likable face with a smooth skin and a pair of black and expressive eyes. She spoke in a soothing and impeccable Armenian, although her accent was different from ours. I asked her where was she born. She said she was from Chemeshgazak, a town about 20 miles from Kharpert.
I asked her who took care of her. She said her son visited her once a week; brought her necessities and left soon after.
“With the aid of my cane, I used to walk to the grocery store on Burbank Street and purchase groceries. I am not able to do it anymore.”
Mayrig (Mother), call me, and I will gladly bring to you what you need,” I said.
We became friends. Every now and then she would call me and ask for grapes, pomegranate, her special brand of cheese and the like. One day I mustered the courage to suggest that she allow me to move the cardboard boxes and let us furnish the room for a more comfortable and pleasant living. She refused. “Let us open the windows so that you'd have sunshine in the room,” I then suggested. She refused again. The sun would shine outside but we would be sitting in a nearly dark room.
Another time, a lady who lived in the same building stopped when she saw I was knocking at Mayrig's door. She had hardly finished telling me that I was knocking at the wrong door because no one lived in that apartment when the granny opened the door to her neighbor’s astonishment.
Granny Aurora had fallen from her bed the night before. She was bruised but she had not fractured any bones. For the very first time since meeting her, I entered her bedroom to lower her bed. At that very moment, she pulled a bundle and unwrapped a book. The book was Ravished Armenia
- “Mayrig, let me borrow the book. I will read it and return to you in no time,” I promised.
-  “I cannot give it to you,” she said. “Already people came and took everything away. Only this book remained,” she said.
I was able to secure a copy of that book in microfilm in one of the public libraries. I could not believe what I read in the book: maybe one of mankind’s worst crimes, which were perpetrated by the Ottoman Turks against the Armenians.
Her baptismal name was Arshaluys Mardigian. She was born in 1901 in Chemeshgazak to a wealthy family. The Mardigians were one of the best-known and respected names in Chemeshgazak. Arshaluys was a vibrant girl with long black hair, expressive eyes, with a sunny disposition much like her name. She was the second eldest among her siblings. She had an older sister, a younger brother, and two younger sisters.
On Easter morning in 1915, her father promised her that the following year he would enroll her either at a Constantinople or a Paris school. In addition to attending the American College of Marsovan, she was privately tutored at home. Not long after the conversation with her father Turkish gendarmes entered the room to take her to the local pasha’s harem. Her father sent the gendarmes packing.
Shortly after the incident, the deportations and the massacres of the Armenians began in full force. Her father and her 15 years old brother Boghos were killed almost right away. From April 1915 to November 1917 Arshaluys witnessed the killing of the rest of her family. She survived by taking refuge in a series of towns--Arapgir, Malatia, Diyarbekir, Urfa, Mush, Yerzenga ending up in Erzeroum at an opportune time. The Russian army was advancing into the city.
In Erzeroum she took refuge at the doorstep of a building that carried the American flag. Exhausted, she passed away at the entrance. The house was the residence of American missionary Dr. F.W. MacCallum who took her under his protection. Gen. Antranig happened to be in town also. Having heard of her story, he visited her. The Armenian hero complimented her for her courage and took his parents’ wedding ring from his finger and slipped it on her finger telling her to tell her story when she landed in America. The American Relief Organization sponsored her travel and on November 5, 1917, she arrived in New York.
A New York Armenian family took her in. Not long after, Harvey Gates, a writer, asked her to tell him of her experiences during the genocide. The Armenian family had her narration translated into English. In 1918 Ravished Armenia was published. The book was reprinted in 1919 as Auction of Souls.
In November 1918 Ravished Armenia was made into a film. Gates and his wife Eleanor changed her name to Aurora Mardiganian and put her on stage. From 1919 to 1920 Aurora Mardiganian, as the author of the book, the star of the movie and as a witness to the Armenian horrors, was presented to the public whenever the movie was shown--in the United States and in England. She became an instant star. People wanted to see her in person as much as see the movie. Screenwriter Gates and producer Col. William N. Selig became the prime beneficiaries of the profits generated from the movie. By 1920 Aurora was worn out. Physically and emotionally drained, she refused to make further public appearances
She married in 1929--after overcoming her long-time aversion to the company of men. She tried to live a normal life away from the limelight. The couple had a son, Martin Hovanian.
I met Aurora when she was 91-years-old. Her daughter-in-law was not Armenian. Relations between them had soured to a point that her daughter-in-law did not let her grandchildren visit her. Over the years, people who had been interested in her and had visited her had gotten what they wanted and had moved on. Joy and contentment had long ago abandoned her. The fear that she would be harmed had never left her. She lived alone, praying, reading the bible and the periodicals she received from the Prelacy of the Armenian Apostolic Church in New York.
One day, when I visited her, I found Aurora Mayrig very weak and withdrawn. It was obvious she had not slept well the night before. She had had a nightmare. She told me that the "Turks had cut the rope". In the movie, There is a scene where Aurora escapes from the harem by jumping from the roof of a building. But instead of landing on the next roof, Aurora fell 20 feet and broke her leg. The movie producers continued shooting despite her pain.
Aurora Mayrig was meticulous in grooming herself. That day I noticed that she was not her normal self. She seemed too weak even to wash her hair.
Not long after, on January 3, 1994, she moved to the Ararat Nursing Facility in Mission Hills. I continued to visit her. I found her sitting in a wheelchair, withdrawn and not taking notice of her surroundings or participating in the social activities the social workers were conducting. She was in no mood to engage in conversation. That became my last visit.
On January 17, 1994, earthquake damaged our Los Angeles home. Busy attending to the repairs and certain that Aurora was in safe hands, I had not visited her for some time.
Months had passed by when I heard that she had died. I went to the Ararat Nursing Facility to find out the circumstances of her death. “Who was she?” Mrs. Evelyn Jambazian, the nursing director, asked me. Then she said that the only thing she remembered of Aurora was that one day a limousine had stopped in front of the facility and out had come a granny--Granny Aurora.
I smiled. Of course, she was Aurora Mardiganian, the one-time movie star. If others did not pay her attention, it's fair that she treated herself, I thought. Mrs. Jambazian told me that Aurora had passed away not long after. She became ill on February 5 and was taken to the Saint Cross Hospital where she had passed away.
Mrs, Araksi Haroutunian, who for many years had attended to her as well and I tried to find out where she was buried so that we could visit her grave, offer a prayer, place a wreath and burn incense in her memory. However, we could not get any information. The hospital would not tell us because we were not related to her. Her son’s telephone number had been cut off; we did not know any of her relatives to get the information we were looking for.
We found out that we had to go to Norwalk where personal public records are kept. My husband and Hagop Arshagouny went there and after searching unearthed the following.
Aurora Mardigian had died on Feb. 6, 1994. Her remains were cremated in the U.S. County Hospital public crematorium. Two individuals unknown to us had witnessed the affidavit. Her ashes? No one knew where they were scattered. (see note)
The news was heartbreaking. The one-time Arshaluys Mardigian of Chemashgazak had ended up not having a grave. What remained of her? Sweet memories and her book that Kourken Sarkissian translated into Armenian in 1995. In 1997 a new edition of her book appeared, edited by Anthony Slide. Plans are underway in Argentina to have the book translated into Spanish.
From Arshaluys Mardigian and from all those who became victims of the Armenian Genocide another major 'relic' also remained: their just cause. The world may disavow the Genocide of the Armenians. Eventually, we will prevail because our cause is just.”

Note: Mrs. Anahid Meymarian’s  later found out that Aurora Mardiganian’s ashes were buried in an unmarked grave after having remained unclaimed for four years. The four years were a grace period the county gives to claim the cremated remains of a deceased. No one had claimed her ashes.  Vahe H. Apelian, 12/03/2015

***


Lest we forget: Mrs. Anahid Tootikian Meymarian

http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2020/02/lest-we-forget-anahid-tootikian.html



Wednesday, March 13, 2024

Armenia

 


Hagop Oshagan: Last day and interment – 2/2 -

Hagop Oshagan unexpectedly passed away in Aleppo during his visit. Antranig Zarougian was with him throughout his stay. The unexpected death happened on February 17, midnight at 10:30 pm, in Aleppo. Coincidentally Shavarsh Misakian, the eminent editor of Haratch Daily in Paris, happened to be in Aleppo as well. The attached is an excerpt from Antranig Zarougian’s book titled “The Greats and the Others – Մեծերը եւ Մոյսները”, published in Beirut in 1992. The title of the chapter is “The Solitary Giant – Մենակեաց Հսկան»Բնագիրը կցուած է։ Vahe H Apelian 

Ar Hagop Oshagan's thomstone, in Aleppo.
On extreme left Manuel Keshishian (deceased), on extreme right Levon Sharoyan
March 29, 2017. Courtesy Levon Sharoyan

The interment.

We went to the church. Srpazan was hardly awakened from his sleep, his first response was not better than mine when we broke the news to him. He said:

-       What are we going to do now?

You will sit and telegram the Catholicos so that he, in turn, may break the news to his family and to the newspapers in Beirut,

He sat at his desk to start writing. Suddenly he put his pen at rest on the table and said:

-       No, I cannot write, until I see with my own eyes.

-       You are right. Let us go and see with our own eyes. 

We started walking on the silent and deserted streets; three of us, without talking. Not a single word was said from anyone of us to another. We could hear our shoes making strange squawking sounds. Especially the shoes Yeretzian wore made a grievous sound on the black cobblestone streets. His shoes had a metal guard nailed underneath his shoes in the front. At times sparks flew as the nailed metal guards of his shoes hit the cobblestones.  On our way, we deviated a bit and headed to photographer Kevork Gorarian’s house to have him join us with his camera.

It was early dawn when we entered his room. A white sheet was spread over his body. A gentle breeze blowing through the window was fluttering the sheet. I have written all about what I saw, what I felt, the emotions that overran me at that hour in that place and with pictures. Writing again will be redundant and absurd, especially now, when I try to relive the moment, almost forty years later. The emotions I felt then are not there anymore. However, there is something strange that comes to my mind and it has to do with ……. elephants.

True or false, I have read somewhere the following. The old elephant, when it realizes it is at the last moments of its life, heads far, far into the deep parts of the forest where, behind large trees and dense bushes, finds the clearing where there are skeletons, bones of its kind;  settles there and waits until it dies. Among the other skeletons, its remains also become one. 

When I removed his passport from his pocket, I saw that he also had a visa to visit France. But he did not go to France. The great “elephant” had chosen to come to Aleppo instead. There, to die in bosom of his nation.

March 29, 2017. The late Manuel Keshishian and Levon Sharoyan having students
visit Hagop Oshagan's gravesite, in Aleppo.
Courtesy Levon Sharoyan

Srpazan, being in a hurry, had forgotten to bring frankincense with him. I had someone, who like a lightening brough two pieces of incense and a poorvahr (censer). Srpazan’s prayer in silence  was followed by us reciting the Lord’s Prayer. We took leave through the smoke and incense. We saw Shavarsh at the door of the social club (agoump).. The expression of his bewildered face was more moving than Oshagan;s lifeless body. He did not say a word. He did not ask question. He had learned.

Three days later in the church, Shahan Berberian gave an eloquent obituary, on behlf of Catholicos Hovsepiants. In the cemetery, at the burial site, Shavarsh Missakian and I were the ones who spoke.

“The ray of light, cannot be interred”, became the team of Shavarsh’s (Missakian) eulogy echoing Bedros Tourian.

I, on the other, much like always, do not remember what said. I know that among the thousands who were looking at me, were teary eyes. When the casket was lowered and the earth covered it, sobbings were heard. It might be that I did not say it, but I surely must have thought of it. 

Why are they sobbing? Today, at this hour and in this very place,  the first day of Hagop Oshagan the writer’s immortality began.


 

NO MORE IS

Western Armenian Literature’s

TITAN

COLOSSAL LITERARY OUTPUT AND A UNIQUE LEGACY

The INGENIOUS LABORER

THE GREATEST LITERARY CRITIC OF ALL TIMES

UNEQUALED MASTER

HAGOP OSHAGAN

The last breath of his mortal body

Unexpectedly extinguished on Februar1948 on the night of

17 to18 dawn, precisely at 10:30 pm,

In the city of Aleppo, in his compatriot Yeretsian’s home.

Peace to his tortured boned, and restless soul

and everlasting glory

TO HIS WORK

NAIRI

 


*****

Բնագիրը






 

 

Tuesday, March 12, 2024

Hagop Oshagan: His last day and interment – 1/2 -

 Hagop Oshagan unexpectedly passed away in Aleppo during his visit. Antranig Zarougian was with him throughout his stay. The unexpected death happened on February 17, 1948 midnight at 10:30 pm, in Aleppo. Coincidentally Shavarsh Misakian, the eminent editor of Haratch Daily in Paris, happened to be in Aleppo as well. The attached is an excerpt from Antranig Zarougian’s book titled “The Greats and the Others – Մեծերը եւ Մոյսները”, published in Beirut in 1992. The title of the chapter is “The Solitary Giant – Մենակեաց Հսկան»։ My notes in the text are in italics. Բնագիրը կցուած է ներեւը։ Vahe H Apelian 

Hagop Oshagan

The death

We were seating in the garden of the Armenian social club (agoump), talking about our visit to Deir ez-Zor. All arrangements were made to the last detail. We were to drive in two cars, along with  Arcbishop – Srpazan - Zareh (Payaslian). I had already told my friend Kaspar who lived in Deir ez-Zor, to have the lunch prepared outside, in an open field along the banks of the Euphrates River, where Srpazan would have a requiem service. For that purpose, a scribe (tbir) was going to accompany us.

I imagined Oshagan and Shavarsh bowing their heads over the waters of the Euphrates River, like two ripened heads of the two wheat stalks that had miraculously escaped the bloody scythe that harvested their martyred friends, Zohrab (Krikor), Vartkes (Serengulian), Varoujan (Taniel), Siamento (Adom Yardjanian) and Agnouny (Khachatur Malumian), Khajag (Karekin), Zartarian (Roupen), Shahrigian. (Harutiun). 

Suddenly, it was Shavarsh who said:

-                  Oshagan, let us go and have a picture taken together and have your fur hat immortalized with the rest of us.

-                  How many meters are we going to walk? Asked Oshagan

-                  Not much, I say hardly one hundred and fifty steps. 

-                  No, that would not work for me. I cannot walk more that 100 meters. 

-                  One hundred fifty steps make one hundred meters, said Shavarsh. We convinced Oshagan, if he ever got tired, we would slow our pace and walk slowly and so forth.

We were in the photographer’s studio. Oshagan was between the two of us, in front of the camera.

-                  Between two thieves,  remarked the photographer.

-                  You said it wrong, replied Shavarsh. It would have been correct if you had said between two “tashnags dogs – tashnag shnehr” (obvsiouly making allusion to Antranig Zarougian’s famous poem – Letter to Yerevan – Tught ar Yerevan,  (see note 1)

As the photographer was arranging us to sit still, Shavarsh, found time to remark and said.

-                  Oshagan, however you try to distance yourself from us and approach the Tekeyans, it will be us who would be coming to your defense.

-                  When the photographs will be ready, Shavarsh asked the photographer as we were getting ready to leave.

-                  I will try to make them available in two days, said the photographer. 

Oshagan would not live long enough to see these photographs.

Hagop Oshagan had one more day to live.

First Row, Lto R: Yetvart Boyadjian, Shavarsh Misskaian, Hagop Oshagan
Send Row, L to R: Minas Tololyan, Antranig Zarougian, Armen Anoush.

***

It was midnight. I was in bed. I had just finished reading one of the Agatha Christie’s books and was ready to put off the light when someone started banging the door rapidly and forcefully. My mother opened the door. Outside, in the courtyard, seating on the stairways, holding his head with his two hands, it was Krikor Yeretsian who was sobbing

-       What happened Krikor, what happened?

-       The man left.

-       Where did he go?

However stupid and odd that sounds, those were the words that first came out of my mouth as I grasped the happening.

-                  When did it happen?

-                  Half an hour ago. 

-                  Our neighbor doctor Kantarjian came and confirmed.

We stepped upstairs, not for tea. I got dressed sat down with Yeretsian. There is an issue we need to settle. Should we tell Srpazan right away? Or should we wait and break the news early in the morning. I realized that it made no sense to wait until the morning. Srpazan should have gone to bed early to get his rest for tomorrow’s trip to Der ez-Zor. I thought it was better to break the news midnight rather than break the unexpected happening first thing in the morning. 

Note 1: “Written in 1944 in response to Soviet Armenian writer Gevorg Abov's «Մենք չենք մոռացել» ("Menk chenk moratsel," "We Have Not Forgotten"), and published the following year, «Թուղթ առ Երեւան» (Tught ar Yerevan, Letter to Yerevan) made Zarukian a prominent voice in the Armenian Diaspora almost overnight—from the Middle East to Europe and the Americas. The poem was republished more than a dozen times in various Armenian communities—including in Syria, the United States, Lebanon, and Cyprus—up until the early 1990s, and as a result became a source of inspiration for tens of thousands.” (Amazon.com)

To be continued

Բնագիրը՝