Read Online Orhan's Inheritance by Aline Ohanesian - Free Book Online Page B

formation, but the customary bustle is missing. Only Demitrius, the Greek half-wit and son of the village midwife, is loitering around the cauldrons, waiting for instruction. The six men, including Hagop and Nazareth Melkonian, who soak, stir and dry the wool, are nowhere to be found. Kemal’s father eyes the bushels of wool lying around the yard.
    “Our sheep are sheared once a year. Where in God’s name do they get all this wool every month?” his father whispers.
    “Magic sheep,” Kemal says, suppressing a smile.
    Before his father can respond to his son’s indolence, Hagop Effendi bounds toward them, spectacles in hand, vest uncharacteristically unbuttoned, a furrowed brow in place of the placid tranquillity that usually graces his face.
    “Kemal, where have you been?” he says, breathless.
    “Good morning, sir.”
    “Nazareth’s gone. He was taken in the night,” Hagop Effendi says.
    “Taken where?” Kemal asks.
    “He’s been assigned to the labor battalions.”
    “Perhaps we should come back later, at a better time,” his father says, already inching his way out of this family drama. Whispered rumors of impending doom have been circulating for weeks. The fate of these infidels is no concern of his. Kemal, on the other hand, feels as if he’s been struck.
    “And Lucine,” Hagop continues. “She is upset. She left the house hours ago. I’ve looked everywhere. Go and find her.”
    Kemal mounts the rough back of his father’s mule and races to the river, where he knows she likes to take Nazareth’s horse. The landscape, like his grandmother’s shawl, melts into multiple shades of green wool. In his mind’s eye, he can see Nazareth being dragged out of the house. Did they press the tip of a bayonet firmly to his back? Was there time for him to pack a few things: his dagger, his lucky riding coat, the one with the missing button?
    His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the Red River, whose chatter grows louder by the minute. Kemal sees Nazareth’s horse and dismounts. He ties his animal to an apricot tree about a hundred yards away from the riverbank and makes his way toward the water. His heart thumps with excitement when he realizes he will finally be alone with Lucine.
    She is seated on a sunburned slope of honey-colored grass. Her hair is loose and wild from the morning ride, her swollen eyes fixed upon the river, the stillness of her gaze confronting the river’s restlessness. Kemal doesn’t see the steady stream of tears or her small chest heaving silently until he is standing just above her.
    He says nothing and lowers himself onto the grass beside her. She takes a deep breath but does not look at him.
    “He’s gone,” she whispers between sobs.
    “I know,” Kemal says. They are the first words he’s uttered to her in a long time, ever since the sight and scent of her became too much to manage.
    “You mustn’t worry,” he says. “He is brave and clever. He will persevere.” Kemal puts a timid arm around her shoulder. It is the first time he’s touched her in so intimate a manner. When they were little, he would hoist her up by the waist as she climbed a tree, and console her when she inevitably fell, but all that was a very long time ago. Kemal lets his palm cup her shoulder. The gesture releases a flock of tears as Lucine folds into him. He knows he should say something, but the feel of her soft hair brushing against his face, the scent of her, a hint of honey and jasmine, the curve of her neck make him dizzy. She’s just a child, he tells himself. A rich Armenian child.
    “If he isn’t safe, then nothing, no one is . . .” she says, removing herself from under his arm and turning her eyes back to the river.
    “Shh, that’s enough. How long have you been crying?” he asks, trying to coax her back to the present.
    Lucine shakes her head. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she says. “You’re not him. Since when did you start talking to me again