I’d heard a lot about you from your mother when I was married to her in the States. I’d heard stories about how, when you were a little girl, your father had abandoned the two of you and how he was the devil. Since I divorced your mom years ago I’ve understood what a storyteller she is and I question her versions of everything. But you told me yourself that in front of you when you were young, she attempted suicide.
But this is what I want to say. You were being raised by your grandparents in Armenia. That was a better environment for you to grow. Your mom and I were in the States but I felt a certain connection with you looking at photographs of you sent when you were a child.
Finally I returned to Armenia. I’d been there a few times before. So I knew my way to your metro station and your district, K- in the capital Yerevan easily. I walked a few dusty blocks until I found the apartment building where you lived with your grandparents. The entrance to the building was in the back and I wandered through the backyard to get there. I heard the voices of a bunch of kids playing merrily nearby. Would I find you with them? No, you were tossing a ball up in the air by yourself singing softly. I was an only child too and also was content playing by myself. Again, I immediately felt a strong connection and now I was the closest I’d be to being a father.
The truth is that those were happy days between your mom and I. I was pleased to visit your family home and enjoy wonderful meals. I would sit on the couch with your grandfather watching Russian television. I gazed at liter-sized soda bottles filled with warming water sitting in the sunlight behind the window, later to be used for the gravity-feed shower. A rooster clucked and strutted around the room and perched himself atop the tv set. This bird was going to be the featured guest at a madagh, to be sacrificed. Your aunt was lacking in good luck and thought this would be a way to reverse her fate. Grandmother was preparing dinner on a simple stove in the kitchen as others made a happy riot in the two bedroom apartment. Through the window, off in the distance our Massis smiled.
This was the richest of my trips to Armenia because I was happy and felt genuinely connected with your family. There was magic, too. One day we all crammed into your cousin’s small car and travelled on winding country roads to Mount Aragats. Everything was going smoothy, the car crowded with family. But when the car was half way up the mountain, it broke down. Normally in the States when that would happen, the road service would be called, there’d be a lot of stress and commotion.
Your cousin was in the business of driving fine cars from Europe to be be delivered and sold in Yerevan. So, he knew just what to do. He waited, then calmly lifted the front hood and sprayed bubbly mineral water all over the engine. Confidently he lowered the hood, waited again, and started up the engine. It roared like a lion. Unbelieveable.
Once we had made it to the top of the mountain we followed a tradition. We and many other daytrippers ordered some khash from a stand perched on the slopes. Khash is cattle shanks boiled overnight until it produces a tasty thick broth, popular in the Caucasus, served with lots of garlic. It’s good for you and the bunch of us, except for you, washed it down with plenty of vodka. That’s the right way. Afterwards the hillside was strewn with napping Armenians. I lay side by side with your mama.
As the afternoon progressed and we all sobered up, we loaded back into the car and rolled down the hill. I mentioned that I wanted to visit Amberd fortress, an ancient Armenian ruin that according to my map was located further down the mountain. Everyone amiably agreed.
I didn’t suspect a thing when we got there. What I remember was that I heard voices. After climbing around the ruins, we passed dozens of local tourists. I’m not supersititious at all but as I passed one older woman I clearly heard, in my head, my long since deceased grandmother’s voice greeting me in Armenian and basically making me unusually calm. She said, in Armenian: â’never feel alone. I am always with you.’ My grandmother had never been to what had been to the former Soviet Armenia, she came from Anatolia. Anyhow, as she passed me the old woman just smiled. This was maybe a spirit more than a voice, but whatever it was was an experience that lasted a while and made that place special to me.
You were nine then, didn’t speak English and we had to rely on my pathetic version of Eastern Armenian.
Then you, your mom, and I flew to Petersburg or what you still called Leningrad. We got to know your cousins there. One was a businessman and he was always armed with a 45 automatic. â’It’s not safe to be a successful Armenian businessman in Russia’ he’d smile to reveal the gun tucked behind his belt. He referred to Russians as white Turks. I kept you company when your mom visited the cousins across town. We played badmitton in the dim evening light in a lot behind the apartment building where we stayed. I was glad that you seemed to accept me. When your mom and I woke up the next day, you charged into the room and happily pounced on us.
I remembered how happy I was to treat you and your mom a trip to the Hermitage Museum. On the top floor was a collection of world class paintings, Manet, Gaugin, Picasso and such. We were careful not to let you out of our sight. You asked what was so important about seeing all this. I responded that if you had a chance to see the shadow of the finger of god, wouldn’t that be significant? Being nine years old it was normal that you ignored me but were patiently walking with us in the various rooms. I thought â’The shadow of the finger of god’ sounded pretty good coming from a die hard atheist.
Now you live here, you’re twenty, playing violin in a symphony, busy with college, working and life seems quite a bit different. Your mom is virtually out of the picture. Your grandparents seem content living here with you. I’m honored to be treated as a best friend.
Why am I writing this? The truth is that I tend to forget things now but I don’t want to forget any of this and hopefully you won’t either.