The Doves of Ohanavank (13 page)

For the second time in a week, Lara goes through the same shock as when she first saw Anastasia at the foot of the stairs at the University. Her past indeed seems to be coming back to haunt her.

“Where in the Middle East?” she asks, aware that it is a stupid question, but she needs time to think. If she had been alone with Laurian, she
probably would have immediately given him her best guess of who the visitor was. But she does not know how to break any of it to Avo.

“I have no idea,” says Laurian. “But if I had to guess, it would be Dubai. And it has to be about you. Sorry, Lara, we don’t have much time, what is your best guess here?

“The driver is Armenian, but the guy asking the questions is not?”

“That’s right. Gago said the guy looks Indian.”

“Indian? He cannot be from Ayvazian’s organization.”

“Then what?”

“Let me talk to this man first. Then I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Kurig,” says Avo who has been quiet so far, “how did these people reach Saralandj? Who are they? Why are they after you?”

“Avo,
kyanks
, let me talk to him first. I have no idea till I talk to him.”

“They have come to Saralandj!” exclaims Avo, and looks like he immediately regrets his outburst. The pain on Lara’s face is clear as day. Laurian notices it and intervenes.

“Avo, let her talk to him. There is no harm in that. And then we’ll figure out what to do. There is other news that we need to talk to you about, and we never got the chance. We’ll have a busy day.”

Manoj has seen poor villages in India, but is still shocked as they enter Saralandj. The streets are so narrow that the car barely avoids rubbing against a fence or a wall; the village homes must have been built when the mode of transportation was the donkey, he thinks. The muddy potholes, the chickens running around, children staring from windows, all add to the eerie feeling he has. How can beautiful Leila come from a place like this? What would Al Barmaka think if he saw this?

Manoj snaps photographs of the road from the car without lowering the window, since he is not sure how the villagers might react if they saw him taking pictures. Still, he needs Al Barmaka to get a visual impression of this place. A woman is sweeping the mud away from her door front into the street. A few villagers are squatting under a walnut tree, smoking. A three-year-old boy is chasing a cat down the road and into an alley.

A couple of dogs bark at the car and run toward it, then, having done their duty, drift away, looking bored. The road presents a challenge, but Armen does not seem fazed by any of it.

“I bet you don’t see places like this in Dubai,” he says, laughing.

“No, not in Dubai, but I’ve seen similar places in India.” He does not want to make any negative comments.

“Aside from the introduction of electricity, which was a big Soviet program, this place has not changed in six-hundred years!” says Armen.

“What do people do here? I mean, what’s the source of their livelihood?” He knows Al Barmaka will ask him the same question.

“Agriculture. They keep animals—sheep and cows, largely—the fruits and vegetables that they grow are for their own consumption, I think their only cash crop is wheat, but I’m not sure.”

Gagik drives slower than usual. He is not sure how the driver following him will manage the road. As he leaves the village, he is happy to find the big ditch filled. It would be even more awkward to have the visitors walk the last twenty meters.

Lara, Avo and Laurian are waiting outside when they arrive. Gago waits for Manoj to get out, and they walk together toward the house. Lara has not met Manoj, but Manoj has seen her pictures. He politely nods at the two men, and addresses Lara.

“A very good afternoon to you, Ms. Leila,” he says, exercising his famous charm. “I trust I find you in good form and in good spirits. My name is Manoj Gupta. I work for His Excellency Ahmed Al Barmaka.”

Manoj is speaking English. Lara has learned enough in the past two years to be able to communicate. That was the language they used in Dubai, and her classes in the past few months have helped polish her English more. Avo does not understand a word, Gagik a few words, and only Laurian is fluent, and amazed at the flowery greeting.

By now the driver, Armen, who was checking under the hood of the car, has joined them, and briefly greets everyone. It is an awkward moment, with five men and Lara standing on the wet ground in front of the melting pile of snow, all, except Manoj, with serious and uncomprehending expressions, and Manoj doing his best to keep the kind smile on his face and make it look natural. Some of Lara’s siblings are watching with interest from the kitchen window.

“Hello,” says Lara at last. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh…is there a place where we can talk? I promise I won’t keep you long. I just need to pass on a message from His Excellency.”

Lara remembers how she was expected to call him ‘Your Excellency’ until he asked her to call him by his first name, and how amused he was as she struggled with the Arabic heavy ‘H’ in Ahmed.

Her first instinct is to say “we can talk here,” but she realizes immediately how rude and inhospitable that would be. After all, the man has somehow managed to arrive here all the way from Dubai, and is doing his absolute best to be courteous.

“Just a minute,” she says to Manoj in English, and then shifts to Armenian and turns to Avo. “We need to invite him inside for a coffee,” she says. “He says he has a message for me. Edik is the only one who will understand what is being said, so there’s no point in everybody coming in. Is it okay if only he joins me while I talk to this man?”

Avo is uncomfortable, but realizes that what Lara is suggesting makes sense. He nods. Lara gestures for Manoj and Laurian to follow her, and walks up the several steps to the house. She asks Arpi and Alisia, who rush away from the window and pretend to be busy with kitchen chores, to leave. They scurry out, blushing heavily.

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asks, once Manoj and Laurian take seats on the stools by the low dining table.

“Many thanks, Ms. Leila, that is very kind of you indeed,” beams Manoj, “but absolutely no need to go through the trouble. I will not be long. I need to get back to Yerevan soon.”

Lara joins them at the table.

“This is a close family friend,” she says pointing at Laurian.

“Edward Laurian,” says Laurian, extending his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Laurian.” Manoj uses every diplomatic bone in his body to hide his discomfort with the whole situation—the room, the smell, the presence of Laurian, the other men waiting downstairs. It is time to deliver his message and leave.

“His Excellency is very concerned about you, Ms. Leila,” starts Manoj.

“Mr. Manoj, my name is Lara,” she interrupts.

“I’m very sorry, of course, I meant no offense, it’s just that that’s how His Excellency always refers to you. Once again, my apologies.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Manoj.” She has already regretted bringing up the issue of the name.

“Thank you, Ms. Lara. His Excellency sent a message to say that he cares about you deeply. And… he’d like to see you again.”

Lara is terrified when her heart suddenly starts to pound. She did not expect, nor want, to react like this. She worries that Manoj and Laurian will notice that her hands are trembling, raising her nervousness by a few notches.
It’s just the guilt
, she keeps telling herself.
I betrayed the trust of a man who treated me kindly. That’s all this is…

“Mr. Manoj,” she says, keeping her hands firmly clasped together in her lap, and staring at the table. “My going back to Dubai is out of the question. I am now enrolled at the University and cannot leave Armenia.”

“Your going to Dubai is not necessary, Ms. Lara,” says Manoj, very much aware of the change in her. “His Excellency will be delighted to hear that you are now enrolled at the University. I am sure he will be amenable to visit you in Yerevan.”

Laurian’s curiosity is now piqued as to who His Excellency is. But his role at this meeting is simply that of an observer, as it would have been unthinkable to leave Lara alone in what is partly a bedroom with the stranger. Meanwhile, Lara is at a loss as to how to answer. It is Manoj who breaks the silence again.

“Perhaps it would be best if he could call you first, Ms. Lara,” he says with the gentlest smile. “He asks your permission to call you, and, if you agree, for your telephone number.”

Lara looks at Laurian for the first time since they’ve come to the room. He nods—the slightest tilting of the head, his approval being communicated more through the expression in his eyes than through his nod.

“I have no objection if he wants to call,” says Lara finally. “You may have my mobile number. It is best to call during the week, when I am in Yerevan. Please give my regards to His Excellency.” Manoj enters her number into his cell phone, and carefully repeats it. Getting that number makes him feel like he has found a hidden treasure. Then he stands up.

“Ms. Lara,” he says extending his hand, “please accept my deepest gratitude for your affirmative response. His Excellency will be very happy when he hears from me. With your permission, I must now leave.”

Lara and Laurian stand up and walk him out and down the stairs. Avo, Gagik and Armen watch them. Laurian joins them and stands next to Avo, giving him a reassuring nod, indicating that the meeting went well and
there is nothing to worry about, while Lara walks Manoj to his car. Armen opens the door for him and he gets in.

“Excuse me, Mr. Manoj,” says Lara approaching the car before Armen gets a chance to close the door. “May I ask you a question?”

“But of course, Ms. Lara, anything.”

“I was just curious, how is Ms. Sumaya?”

“Ms. Sumaya, along with the other…uh…ladies, has been dismissed,” says Manoj casually. “His Excellency no longer requires their services.”

“Thank you. I wish you a safe journey.” And she walks back to join the men waiting by the pile of snow.

Chapter Eleven

E
dik looks amused. He barely manages to restrain the smile that’s struggling to burst across his face, but his eyes give him away.

“No woman,” he says with exaggerated theatrics, raising his right hand as if he is giving a sermon, “
No
woman, in the
entire
Republic, has
ever
been addressed with as much reverence, as much courtesy, as much respect as this stranger addressed Lara today.” The smile breaks free.

I feel my face grow hot, and wonder if I’m blushing. Thankfully, I am in the process of making coffee, so I can keep my back to them most of the time.

“
De lav
, Edik jan,” I say putting the pot of water on the stove and turning away again to fetch the cups and saucers. “Don’t exaggerate.”

Avo and Gago still have no idea what has gone on and maintain their serious and impatient expressions. Glancing at them briefly, I set the cups on the table and turn my back again, thankful that Edik is acting the way he is. That will go a long way to lighten the mood.

“I said no woman in the entire Republic,” says Edik laughing, ignoring me, “but now imagine a young lady, who smells like she has been rolling in
the stable with the piglets and their mama, being addressed like she is the queen or some princess or the first lady…”

I instinctively bring my right arm to my nose. The sleeve of my sweater is saturated with the pigs’ odor.

“That is right, Ms. Lara,” he says, then, shifting to English, he adds “and please accept my deepest gratitude for your affirmative response.” His imitation of Manoj is so good that I start laughing too.

Funny as this is, it is uncharacteristic of Edik, and even Gagik, who knows him the best, is somewhat surprised. Usually Edik is the sober one, taking seriously details that the others dismiss or laugh about, analyzing all the implications and consequences until everyone starts to roll their eyes. And here he is amused, acting like a clown, and not a bad one at that.

“So when are you two going to tell us what the story is?” asks Avo. He is still impatient, but the extreme gravity seems to have lifted from his face.

“Lara jan, it’s really your story,” says Edik. “I myself am dying to know. Who is His Excellency?” He is not joking around anymore. My mind registers two new observations about Edik: he has read Avo well, and he is a good manipulator. I’m glad he’s on my side.

“His name is Ahmed Al Barmaka,” I start, trying to sound as casual as I can. “He is a very wealthy and influential man, and has many important government positions in Dubai. That’s why they refer to him like that.”

“What does he have to do with you?” asks Avo.

I hear the water boiling and get up again to add coffee and watch the pot. It’s good to have something to do while I tell the story.

“I was with him during the last three months before I came home. It is from his palace that I escaped.” I know I need to choose my words carefully, but there is no roundabout way of telling the basic facts. Avo looks confused.

“You escaped from his palace?” he says, scratching his head. “Why? Was he beating you? But wait, why were you in his palace in the first place?” How much of this do I need to spell out?
Common, Avo
, I plead in my mind,
figure out the rest yourself!
Then I decide to take the plunge. I take the coffee pot off the stove; I won’t be able to watch it and focus on what I need to tell Avo at the same time. Then I sit opposite Avo.

“Avo jan, listen,” I say looking at him, as if the others are not in the room. “Ayvazian sold me to him. I was his. He never beat me, or mistreated me in any way. He is the only person in those horrible eighteen months
that treated me with dignity and affection. That is the truth. So why did I escape? Because I wanted to come home, Avo. I wanted to see Mama before she died, remember? I missed you and our sisters and brothers. Because I did not like being sold. Do you understand?”

There is total silence in the room. Edik stares at me, then looks at Avo. Gagik has his head in his hands and is looking down at the floor. I expect a burst of anger from Avo. But his eyes are surprisingly soft. I feel affection and love in the way he looks at me, not anger. My short-fused kid brother, whose rage I feared even before returning home, is now looking at me with affection. I was so convinced that he’d be unable to accept where I’ve been and what I’ve done, so sure that he wouldn’t be able to stand being in the same room with me, to look at me, if he knew the truth. I was wrong.