The Apricot Flute
Translated by Nairi Hakhverdi I am leafing through my travel notes and between the pages I find two leaves of marjoram, dry and gray like extinguished ash. I lean over the page and my nostrils flare at the scent of marjoram and I leaf the journal tremblingly… Then I take the whip, which is tight as a braid, off the wall. I stroke the whip and Tsolak looks at me with sagacious eyes....