33
The valley of the shadow
It’s early evening when we stagger into the nearest of the villages, the one with the church tower. Mariam smiles. “Arman says he’s not missed the wedding. The qavor – that’s the priest – was delayed, because there is only one road leading up to these villages from the valley. It is a difficult journey, even in daylight. So, he has only just arrived.”
We can hear music; we step into the village street, and turn a corner. I see a crowd of people. In the centre, at the door of the church, a priest in long, dark robes stands between a man and a woman. Over the groom’s robe-like coat, green and red sashes are draped. “Green for love: red for sacrifice” Mariam says.
We all stand quietly, watching. I feel like I’ve walked past a wedding in Putnam, and stopped for a moment to look. But this ceremony is more colorful. The groom’s long coat shimmers; it must be pure silk. The bride wears a white chemise and a little blue jacket. She takes off her lace veil and a turret-like hat, decorated with silver disks. The priest puts a thin metal circlet, crowned with a cross, on each bared head. Then he stands between them, holding a tall golden crucifix above them.
We’re silent. Even our news must wait. The priest holds out a metal cup; I see a glint of dark wine in it. The man and woman drink, and Mariam explains to us. “It reminds us of Jesus at the Last Supper, and how he shared the wine in the Holy Grail. From now on, this couple will share Jesus in their marriage.”
The solemn, silent moment lasts only a few seconds. Suddenly, the man and the woman are laughing; tears of happiness shine in their eyes. Then they turn to the congregation, bowing with hands held in an attitude of prayer, and repeat a single phrase “tsavt tanem”. Mariam repeats it too, then looks at me. “It is like your English ‘thank you’ but much, much stronger. Literally, it means ‘I will take your pain on myself’.”
The couple, and the priest, can see us now: their eyes widen in surprise. Other people too are pointing, at these strangers who have arrived from nowhere. The priest steps over quickly towards us. In moments a crowd is gathered around us. Mariam acts as translator: Yuri speaks to her.
“Ottoman soldiers are coming this way. They will kill everyone, if they can. No Armenian living anywhere south or east of Ararat is safe now. Everyone must leave.”
Mariam turns to the crowd, and relays the grim news. I see faces changing as they hear her message. Then the priest starts speaking, addressing the crowd so that everyone understands. Various voices are calling out, some quavering with shock and fear. But the priest bends down and talks quietly to Mariam. Finally, she turns back to us, and translates.
“They had heard of violence, of massacres of Armenians – but in places far away. They were wondering about leaving, and trying to get across the river to the Republic of Armenia. They knew they would be safe there from the Ottomans. But they had decided to stay, because they did not expect the shadow to fall on this valley. These villages are remote and far from any of the troubles, and there has always been good friendship in this area between Turks and Armenians. And, it is harvest time. It is hard to leave villages your families have lived in for hundreds of years.”
Yuri and the professor nod at her as she continues.
“The priest says that messages will be sent to all the villages to tell everyone to pack up and leave. This is one of six villages, all close together, in this valley below Ararat.”
Yuri and Rufus look at each other. On the descent, they’d had a long discussion about escape routes. Yuri speaks to Mariam.
“The best way of escape is over the saddle between the two Ararat peaks. Beyond that, the land slopes down northwards, to the Aras River. Aim for the tower of the monastery of Khor Virap, on the far bank. Once you cross the river, you will be in the Republic of Armenia.”
She relays Yuri’s message to the priest, and the process of communicating it to everyone is repeated. Then she translates the response back to us. “Yes, that’s exactly the way they planned to go. They have plenty of horses and donkeys to carry those who cannot walk. They will pack overnight, and leave just before dawn. They know the way as far as the saddle between the two Ararat peaks. But no-one knows the slope on the other side, between the saddle and the river.”
Yuri looks at Rufus, then speaks to Mariam. “Tell them that this man is called Rufus. He will go with you; he is an airplane pilot, and this morning he flew above those slopes. He saw the Aras River with his own eyes this morning.”
“Will there be Ottoman patrols?”
“We think not. All the Turkish forces have moved away to fight in Baku. But take any guns you have with you. And you can have this rifle that I brought from Baku. Rufus has a gun, too.” Yuri doesn’t mention that Rufus’s gun doesn’t work; it’s the gun I found in the lake, which I’ve given to him.
Mariam repeats Yuri’s words to the priest, then turns to us and translates again. “Everyone says thank you. They only have a couple of hunting rifles themselves. Soldiers came at the beginning of the war and took most of their weapons from them. But, they want to know, how will they cross the river?”
“There will be Armenian soldiers guarding the far bank. Signal to them; they will help you.”
Several voices are speaking to Mariam at once. Then she turns again to us.
“Everyone says: ‘We have bread and salt among us’. Which means, we all welcome you, as if you were our own family. Now, you must eat. We must all eat. We have a wedding feast here…”
It’s four in the morning. Last night, we sat with the villagers, amid the bustle of packing, and we ate a feast of lamb and a rich, meaty soup. We politely refused endless offers of wine; Mariam relayed Rufus’s words to them. “Your wine is marvellous. But we have an early start, and we need clear heads in the morning.” So instead, we ended up drinking an awful lot of pomegranate juice.
Now we are waking in the light of lanterns, on soft bedding, under a low roof of wooden beams. Around us is a bustle of people, and I hear the snorts of several donkeys outside the door. I look, and see they are laden with huge packs, and that bronze pots and pans and colorful carpets are fastened everywhere to the poor beasts. Everyone is ready to leave.
The villagers assured us that we could afford to take a few hours to rest and recover from our journey, without risk of the Ottoman troops arriving. There is only the one narrow mountain road up from the valley to these remote villages. No-one, the villagers say, would try to drive it at night.
Now we too are ready to go; we have a plan. While Rufus and Mariam go uphill with the villagers, Yuri, the professor and I will walk down the road towards the main valley. By dawn, we should reach a small wooden bridge. It carries the road across a deep ravine cut into the side of the valley.
I’ve insisted on going with them to help them, despite both of them saying I should accompany Rufus. But on the rough road descending the hillside, Yuri strides briskly, and to my surprise Axelson keeps pace with him. I fall far behind.
Finally, I round a corner and, a few yards ahead of me, I see the bridge, lit by the first rays of the rising sun. As the villagers told us, it’s a simple wooden structure, only about ten yards long, carrying the road over a narrow ravine. I hear Yuri speaking to Axelson.
“The villagers were right. If we cut this bridge, we’ll stop all vehicles getting to the villages. So even if they arrive today, the Ottomans will never catch the villagers. Let’s use the two axes.”
I see them both walk over to the far side of the bridge, and begin chopping.