Hamasdegh’s Pesa Ovan

Yesterday I happened to read a story from Hamasdegh. Every now and then I find refuge in such readings.  The story is titled “Pesa (groom) Ovan”. Hamasdegh’s characters and stories are fictional but fortunes may change in real life, and thrust us in ways we could not imagine. Although Life was simpler in Hamasdegh’s Armenian villages, but misfortunes were not. But life endured. Vahe H Apelian

Our ancestral village keurkune in my youth. Asterisks next to our paternal grandparents house.

Prelude:

Tlgants Ovan had not been working for the past five years because he practically had lost his eye-sight. He could have been suffering from diabetes. He spent his days, outside their home, seating at the village center. Villagers would greet him on their way to the fields. In the evening they could gather around him and talk of the happening of their day. Ovan’s wife worked to keep her husband their son going.  The money they had saved to buy a new set of clothing for Ovan, they had recently given it to the tax collector. I translated the abridged the last segment of the story.

***

“Pesa (groom) Ovan

One evening, Ovan said to his wife:

“E~h woman, see, if you could patch my pants and put it in order. See, one of the patches came apart” said Ovan showing to his wife his worn-out pants.

But what could his wife do? She placed the pants on her lap and attempted to patch, but other patches started falling apart. If she stitched in one place, three other stiches next to it came apart. The fabric had simply worn out.

-       “what can I do, woman. When it rains, it pours. Even if I were to lit forty candles, it will be of no avail. I cannot step out anymore with these pants. My eye’s, my poor eyesight are not getting any better….

-       “Do something, ask for a loan and get a pair of pants for you, you are the man.’

-       “Did you say loan? No, Martha, no. Who would loan Tlgants Ovan? They say he does not work. They say his eyes do not see. They say, it is his wife who is providing for her husband and their son.”

What could Ovan  do? He could not step outside their house with his pants coming part. He had thought of himself that he too had a standing, had friends and enemies.

Husband and wife were silent. His wife next to the lamp, in vain continued attempting to patch the pants.

-       “Let me go and get your dress from the chest. Wear them tomorrow”. Said his wife.

-       “What clothing, woman? “

-       “The clothing you wore at the wedding.”

Husband wife went silent for a long time.

It had been twenty years Martha and Ovan were married. Throughout those twenty years, Martha had kept Ovan’s wedding dress neatly forded in the chest. Ovan had hardly wore his wedding dress twenty times, during those twenty years. He  wore them during the feast of paregentan, or when he too would be invited to a wedding. E~h, those were good days. His parents had their only son married. They had held his wedding celebration at the church's courtyard and had invited the whole village and served them harissa. His father had specially ordered an expensive silk suit for his son and had arranged his son to marry Martha from the neighboring village.

It was getting late in the evening. Martha went downstairs to get the clothing from the chest.

Ovan was overwhelmed with emotion. He wanted to cry like a new born child.

It was getting late and time to go to sleep. Ovan was getting ready to put the lamp off. He finally spoke

-“E~h woman, who would have guessed that we would come to this? ”

****

Early next day, the matriarch of their neighbor looked outside to see how far the sun had risen and look for Ovan. She was surprised to see Ovan seating in his customary place but dressed like a groom. Soon the word went around

-       “Did you see Ovan? He is dressed like a groom.”

-       “What is that for, Ovan? Have you become a groom?”

Undoubtedly Ohan did not like such remarks. But what could he do? How could he make people understand that things change and a man is forced to wear his wedding dress?

From that day and on, the villagers referred to him as Pesa Ovan.”

***

Long years and many years passed. One day, in America, I was introduced to a tall, handsome young man, Parsegh Ovanian.

“I hail from Perjenk”, he said.

In vain I tried to connect to the name.

-       “Our house was next to the villge’s mortar”

-       “Aha, I remember. Don’t tell me. You are Pesa Ovan’s son. "