with drums and bells; many people cried, and the number of widows multiplied in the village.
Everything in the village had been turned upside down. Days had become years, poverty was on the increase, the price of bread was rising, and sugar had become medicine for the sick.
It seemed as though there was no end to it.
Peti tended his work with his head cast down. It would not be unfair to say that the village hardly paid any attention to him. The jokes from the old days were no longer told. The calf that had been born on the mountain no longer brought joy to the owner.
“Peti, bring some news, some good news, from the Germans’ prisoners.”
Peti shrugged his shoulders and left without saying a word. The wages had also decreased. People did not give as much bread as they used to. Instead of bread, many gave money—paper money—whose value Peti did not know.
Nobody gave away old clothes anymore. In fact, many were wearing worn-out clothes themselves. Peti himself sat under a lamp in the barn and passed a woolen thread through a needle in order to sew the old patches on his woolen overcoat. His rug had become close to useless, but nobody thought of giving him a new one. More often than not the supplier only had stale bread. The villagers sold oil and cheese at the price of gold. The rich and abundant days of yore had vanished.
And whenever Peti drove the cattle to the foot of Mount Ayu, he recalled Zar’s sister’s words:
“A misfortune is going to befall the village, Peti…”
He recalled her words and looked toward the city, but his slow mind could not put the pieces of the puzzle together and arrive at a conclusion.
Winter came. The cattle were in the barns, but it was not the way it used to be. It so happened that he remained hungry for days, working in the barns, but never being called for dinner by the owners. And he was too ashamed to ask for food.
Peti sat in the barn and listened to the cows ruminate, and felt the necessity to eat as well.
And then an old thought, as from his childhood memories, rose in his head and crawled like a green caterpillar. It was a secret thought from the old days about having a house of his own—the suppressed wish of building a home, which surfaced when he had eaten well—and the blood in his veins warmed up.
He smiled to himself. And, for a moment, the smile radiated from his pockmarked face, but then faded and died out. His head dropped, his eyes fixed on one spot, and his thoughts whirled in his head for a long time until sleep finally defeated him.
* * *
And then one day news came to the village that there was freedom, that the army was going to come home, that there was no longer a Czar, and that the war had ended.
A variety of people came to the village, said a thousand things, and held meetings. But the only thing that the villagers understood from all that commotion was that the situation was going to get worse and that new misfortunes were waiting for them in the days to come.
Soldiers were returning at night, with arms, but without guns. They hid in haylofts during the day and fled to the nearby mountains whenever they heard that someone was coming to the village to hold a meeting to form a new army.
It was autumn when news arrived that Armenians and Turks had turned against each other in neighboring provinces, that villages were under fire, that both sides had become fierce instigators, and that blood was flowing through the villages.
Arms outnumbered clubs in the village. There were machine guns and people spoke of cannons. Children talked of arms, and odd and even shots became part of everyday life.
Together with arms, pillaging was also on the rise. The village was no longer safe. People locked their doors more tightly before going to bed. There was theft in the courtyards—the village was clearing out old grievances by setting fire to the fields of neighbors and avenging troubles that had been kept hidden in peoples hearts for decades.
Almost
Everything in the village had been turned upside down. Days had become years, poverty was on the increase, the price of bread was rising, and sugar had become medicine for the sick.
It seemed as though there was no end to it.
Peti tended his work with his head cast down. It would not be unfair to say that the village hardly paid any attention to him. The jokes from the old days were no longer told. The calf that had been born on the mountain no longer brought joy to the owner.
“Peti, bring some news, some good news, from the Germans’ prisoners.”
Peti shrugged his shoulders and left without saying a word. The wages had also decreased. People did not give as much bread as they used to. Instead of bread, many gave money—paper money—whose value Peti did not know.
Nobody gave away old clothes anymore. In fact, many were wearing worn-out clothes themselves. Peti himself sat under a lamp in the barn and passed a woolen thread through a needle in order to sew the old patches on his woolen overcoat. His rug had become close to useless, but nobody thought of giving him a new one. More often than not the supplier only had stale bread. The villagers sold oil and cheese at the price of gold. The rich and abundant days of yore had vanished.
And whenever Peti drove the cattle to the foot of Mount Ayu, he recalled Zar’s sister’s words:
“A misfortune is going to befall the village, Peti…”
He recalled her words and looked toward the city, but his slow mind could not put the pieces of the puzzle together and arrive at a conclusion.
Winter came. The cattle were in the barns, but it was not the way it used to be. It so happened that he remained hungry for days, working in the barns, but never being called for dinner by the owners. And he was too ashamed to ask for food.
Peti sat in the barn and listened to the cows ruminate, and felt the necessity to eat as well.
And then an old thought, as from his childhood memories, rose in his head and crawled like a green caterpillar. It was a secret thought from the old days about having a house of his own—the suppressed wish of building a home, which surfaced when he had eaten well—and the blood in his veins warmed up.
He smiled to himself. And, for a moment, the smile radiated from his pockmarked face, but then faded and died out. His head dropped, his eyes fixed on one spot, and his thoughts whirled in his head for a long time until sleep finally defeated him.
* * *
And then one day news came to the village that there was freedom, that the army was going to come home, that there was no longer a Czar, and that the war had ended.
A variety of people came to the village, said a thousand things, and held meetings. But the only thing that the villagers understood from all that commotion was that the situation was going to get worse and that new misfortunes were waiting for them in the days to come.
Soldiers were returning at night, with arms, but without guns. They hid in haylofts during the day and fled to the nearby mountains whenever they heard that someone was coming to the village to hold a meeting to form a new army.
It was autumn when news arrived that Armenians and Turks had turned against each other in neighboring provinces, that villages were under fire, that both sides had become fierce instigators, and that blood was flowing through the villages.
Arms outnumbered clubs in the village. There were machine guns and people spoke of cannons. Children talked of arms, and odd and even shots became part of everyday life.
Together with arms, pillaging was also on the rise. The village was no longer safe. People locked their doors more tightly before going to bed. There was theft in the courtyards—the village was clearing out old grievances by setting fire to the fields of neighbors and avenging troubles that had been kept hidden in peoples hearts for decades.
Almost
Similar Books
