Anyush (29 page)

Anyush wasn’t paying attention. The past was a place that didn’t concern her any more, only the present.

‘Anyush, listen to me. When your father died and you were born you looked so like him I felt I had my child again. I wasn’t about to lose him a second time. Nobody was going to take you from me, not even your own mother. There were times she tried to get close to you. Many times, but she found it hard. She didn’t trust easily and I made sure she got none from you. I came between you.’

Lale had finished feeding and Anyush held the baby against her shoulder, but Gohar wasn’t done.

‘When the soldiers came and took her into the bedroom, I could see what I had never seen before. That she was only a child herself. A girl who never had a chance. But it was too late. There was nothing I could do for her. God forgive me, it was too late.’ Gohar shook Anyush’s arm. ‘You have to find her. Promise me, Anyush.’

‘
Tatik
–’

‘Promise. You must promise.’

‘Yes … yes, I will find her. I promise.’

As darkness fell on the sixth day the convoy stopped for the night just
short of a mountain pass. They were now in bandit country where the Shota tribes held sway. Rather than enter the defile as night approached, the captain decided that the caravan would pass through at first light while the sun was still low in the sky. Gohar’s progress had noticeably slowed by this time and she collapsed onto the roadway when the caravan halted. With very little water in the goatskin, Anyush had barely wet her lips all day so that her grandmother might have more. She had also been carefully rationing the bread and had almost lost it to the pilfering hands of an old man sleeping near them. What little was left she kept hidden in a fold of her skirt. Between stops she made her way to the wagon where Parzik lay in a fever. She no longer recognised Anyush or Seranoush, but called in a weakening voice for her child. Her two thin arms reached out for Lale, nestled in the sling at her mother’s breast. Anyush laid her daughter beside her friend, and Parzik smiled, kissing the baby until they both closed their eyes.

Over the past few days Lale had become quiet, so still that Anyush could scarcely feel her breathe. Every now and then, Anyush would stop walking, pressing Lale tightly against her until she felt the small chest move against her own.

In the evenings, at Gohar’s urging, she searched for her mother. Looking at the faces she passed, the dead as well as the living, she could find no trace of her. Khandut seemed to have vanished. Cholera and dysentery were spreading rapidly through the camp and on that sixth evening it claimed Parzik’s godfather, Meraijan Assadourian. His body was left at the side of the road when the convoy marched into the gorge the following day.

The five-mile ravine was almost in full shade in the early morning, but
by noon the sun was directly overhead and burned through headscarves and clothes. People cried out for water, but there would be no stopping. The captain announced that the convoy had to be fully through the gorge by nightfall. With Lale slung across her back, Anyush linked her grandmother’s arm and urged her to keep walking. Some time in the afternoon Gohar whispered that she needed to relieve herself urgently. Squatting down by the side of the road, the old woman clutched onto her granddaughter for support as evil-smelling diarrhoea splashed onto her legs and feet. Anyush struggled to keep them upright, watching the old woman clutch at her belly in pain.

‘Please God,’ Anyush prayed, cleaning her grandmother as best she could with a piece of her own skirt. ‘Please God, may it not be cholera.’

The old woman’s legs were shaking as she tried to stand, and Anyush tipped the last dregs of water into her mouth.

‘I have to sit down. Just for a minute.’

Gohar’s breath was coming unevenly, and Anyush lowered her gently to the ground.

‘You. Get up.’ The Ferret walked over, whip in hand. ‘Captain says no stopping. Get up, I said.’

His hateful, animal face leered down at them. Anyush wanted to shout at him, to scream that her grandmother was old and hungry and sick, but she bit her tongue and whispered in Gohar’s ear. ‘Come on,
Tatik
. Let’s get this rat off our backs. Up you get. Lean on my arm, that’s it.’

The Ferret covered his nose with his sleeve. ‘Wallowing in your own shit! Armenian sow!’

Spitting on the ground at their feet, he backed away.

The caravan struggled on and they clung to the base of the defile where shade was starting to creep across the valley floor. Jahan, the lieutenant and the German soldier rode up and down the line, scanning the slopes either side and shouting at the marchers to keep moving. For
a time Jahan rode at the back where Anyush was walking with Gohar, holding her by the arm and urging her to walk just a little further. Something fell on the ground near her feet. A piece of salted meat wrapped in oilcloth and a water bottle. Anyush dived for them.

Jahan

A
progress of sorts had been made. Despite the diminishing water and food supplies and the outbreak of cholera, the convoy had marched enough miles that reaching their destination began to seem possible. If Jahan could maintain this pace for four or five days more, they stood a good chance of reaching Gümüşhane. It would take another six days to get to Erzincan, and at a terrible cost. For every mile marched there was a slew of bodies in their wake. Disease and hunger, exposure and dehydration would claim many more. The number of marchers falling ill grew daily but there could be no stopping. He had to keep them moving. In open countryside they were an obvious target.

Jahan hadn’t spoken to Anyush since leaving the village but watched from afar as she tried to keep her grandmother on her feet. They were separated now by a new reality, hunger, fear and desperation. All they had was this unending present where time existed only in miles. He watched her become frail and thin, weakening like the others. It was only in her eyes that he recognised something of her. Her eyes gave him hope.

The broad expanse of plain was tantalisingly visible beyond the valley walls when he spotted the first of the Shota at the mouth of the gorge. A second group closed in behind where Anyush and her grandmother
brought up the rear. The convoy was surrounded. A wall of mounted bandits was strung across the valley, shaded by the mountain behind them. Jahan scanned the long line of faces. To look at, these men might have been musicians or entertainers who trawled the bazaars and marketplaces in the towns. They wore colourful waistcoats, wide-sashed breeches and blue caps, which lent them an almost comical air. In contrast to their style of dress they carried belts of bullets across their chests and rifles at their sides. Far and wide these men had a reputation for rape and murder. Jahan and his sisters had been reared on cautionary tales of their brutality, and even the dogs on the street lived in fear of them. Word spread quickly down the line. Women stifled screams and those children who had mothers clung to them.

Two men, one older and broader than the others, broke away from the Shota line and rode towards the caravan. Ahmet and Jahan moved out to meet them. The older man greeted the captain in Kurmanji.

‘
Merhaba
,’ Jahan replied, noticing the bandit was missing his right hand.

Murzabey smiled, revealing even white teeth. ‘You are travelling with quite a following, young captain. Where are you making for?’

‘I was about to ask you the same question.’

Murzabey threw back his head and laughed. ‘This …’ he gestured to the flat expanse beyond the valley, ‘is my country. I cross it at will.’

‘On the contrary, this land belongs to the Ottoman Empire of which we the soldiers of the 23rd Regiment are a part.’

The Shota’s smile never faltered as his eye travelled over the line of women and children at the captain’s back.

‘The convoy is going to Gümüşhane and then Erzincan, by order of Colonel Abdul-Khan,’ Jahan said.

‘Then the colonel is an expedient man. You are carrying very little provision for such a journey.’

‘We have enough.’

‘I hear Gümüşhane is not a very welcoming place. It would be too bad
if you were turned away on empty bellies. My friend the colonel tells me it’s a rough town.’ A ripple of laughter spread through his ranks. ‘But I will tell you, my friend, what I will do. I will relieve you of your charges. Take your men and ride on to Gümüşhane, and my men …’ Murzabey paused as more Shota appeared along either side of the valley walls and bolstered his rear. ‘My men will give you safe passage.’

Jahan’s horse pawed the ground nervously and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Armin watching. The German’s camera would be of no use this time.

‘If the colonel is your friend, then you will already know about this convoy.’

‘What if I do?’ Murzabey said guardedly.

‘Then you know of the convoy coming two days after us.’

‘I know nothing of a second convoy.’

‘Presumably the colonel has taken you into his confidence about the final destination of this one?’

‘You’ve already told me you’re going to Erzincan.’

‘Is that what he told you?’ Jahan laughed. ‘You know Mother Yazgan’s brothel? Her Erzincan establishment?’

‘I know the old whore,’ Murzabey said. ‘What of it?’

‘The colonel has, shall we say, an interest in the place. A business interest. But as his friend you already know this.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I shouldn’t have said. I spoke out of turn.’

‘What does Yazgan have to do with this?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘You will speak of it or I will rip your throat out.’

The Shota’s voice echoed around the valley walls and the marchers cried out in fear. Jahan looked at his lieutenant. Ahmet had no idea what the captain was talking about but took his cue and nodded.

‘Yazgan pays the colonel for every serviceable woman or child he delivers and a percentage of the profits. On condition that she hand-pick the best herself.’

Murzabey looked unconvinced.

‘If the colonel promised you spoils, then it’s from the convoy behind us.’

‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’

‘You don’t. But if you know the colonel, you will think long and hard before crossing him.’

Murzabey took time to consider. Either side of him Shota eyes counted the marchers, eager for the reckoning. ‘Very well. Bring the colonel his women. I will congratulate him on his talent for business next time we meet.’

The Shota leader spurred his horse closer, coming to within whispering distance. ‘But if I find you have lied to me, be assured you will beg for mercy and I am not a merciful man.’

With that he turned about and, as suddenly as they had come, Murzabey and the Shota disappeared.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Armin said.

‘We have to reach Gümüşhane before Murzabey talks to the colonel. Is it possible Ahmet? Can we get there in two days?’

‘Two days!’ the lieutenant shook his head. ‘Even if we had enough food and water to go around and if everybody was healthy and well, the best we could hope for is three and more likely four.’

Jahan looked at what remained of the convoy. Most of them couldn’t walk another mile and those still on their feet would not last much longer. His eyes landed on Anyush sitting near the end of the line.

‘We’ll just have to try.’