The Doves of Ohanavank (35 page)

“Sorry you had to enter my house through the back door,” he says, “but check this out.” As we walk out the front door, Ahmed’s jaw drops. The scenery is truly breathtaking.

“This is my front yard!” Edik sounds like a spoiled kid who’s just received a new bike for his birthday. But there’s no denying the spectacular view that opens in front of us. A wonderland of highlands spreading as far as the eye can see. The mountain peaks are still covered with snow and the fields below are all green with fresh, lush spring vegetation, highlighted by bright purple and yellow wild flowers. “
Allahu Akbar
,” utters Ahmed under his breath. That’s when I know that he gets it. God is great. Only some divine presence could inspire the type of awe that nature inspires here.

We fall onto the food on Vartiter’s table. She has outdone herself, if that is humanly possible. Everything except pork. Everything perfect.

“I have an interesting wine for you to try,” Edik tells Ahmed. “The taste may not be anything special, but its story is. The most famous wine region in Armenia is right here, in Vayots Dzor. But this wine comes from
somewhere else. There is a little town near Etchmiadzin, called Aghavnatun. Aghavnatun literally means ‘home of the dove.’ Do you know what dove that refers to?” Ahmed shakes his head, still seeing God’s presence in his surroundings.

“That is the dove that Noah released from the ark to check if it was safe to disembark. The dove flew and the first place that it landed was on a tree in Aghavnatun. Hence the name of the village. Remember, the ark landed on Mount Ararat, and Aghavnatun is not far from Ararat. Then it returned to the ark with a green branch in its beak, and Noah knew that it was safe to disembark. Now, legend has it that Noah then came to the same spot where his dove had landed, and planted the first grape vine with his own hands. This wine, my dear Ahmed, is from the very same vines planted by Noah.”

Edik is a master storyteller. He is so convincing when he tells that story that everyone expects a miracle when they touch the wine to their lips. But of course the miracle is already here, where we are. The magic has hit everyone already.

After we all take a taste of the wine from Noah’s vines, Edik opens a different bottle.

“We’ve had the spiritual experience,” he says laughing, “now let’s try a really good wine.” It is a bottle from his Bordeaux stock, a 1985 Margaux.

Manoj sits quietly at the end of the table, under the shade of the umbrella. The two drivers are next to him. The easiest thing to do is to focus on the food, and that is what they do. Agassi has joined the table, and sits next to Armen, and the two of them chat about their backgrounds and get to know each other.

“Ahmed,” says Edik raising his glass, “I want to formally welcome you to Vardahovit. I am very pleased and honored that this opportunity presented itself, not only for us to meet, but for you to visit my home.”

“The opportunity you speak of has a name,” says Ahmed turning from him to me. “Lara, thank you for an incredible experience.”

“Are you sure this guy is not Armenian?” asks Edik in Armenian. “Who talks like that?”

I think that’s one of Edik’s rare lapses in courtesy, because Ahmed knows he’s talking about him. So I translate what he said, as closely as I can. To my relief, Ahmed just laughs.

“I myself am not sure that I’m not Armenian. Here’s to the mountains that we are!”

Vartiter is busy freshening up the table. Empty plates are taken in and returned full, and cooling dishes are taken in and returned warm.

Ahmed stands up, walks to Manoj, whispers something in his ear and returns to his seat. Manoj talks to the two drivers, and Armen talks to Agassi. They all stand up. Agassi asks Edik if it is okay for them to go to the guardhouse for coffee, because the big guest wants to be alone with him and me. Edik nods. “Take good care of them,” he says. Then the four of them go, leaving just Ahmed and me with Edik on the terrace.

“Before any of us have any more wine,” says Ahmed, “I want to cover an important business matter. Let me warn you both,” he adds with a chuckle, “once that matter is covered to my satisfaction and we resume drinking, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

“Tell me,” says Edik.

“It is about the shelter idea that Lara proposed. After hearing the story of the pig farm, I understand why Lara wants me to be involved. At the same time, I cannot accept a new commitment without being sure that I can do it justice. And a shelter for abused girls in Yerevan is so out of my realm that, no matter how sympathetic I may find myself to the cause, I cannot, with a clear conscience, pretend that I can personally do justice to it.”

He sees the somber expressions on our faces, and stops for a second.

“So I have a non-negotiable proposal to you both,” he continues. “I will help you set up the shelter, under my name and even under the patronage of my government, on two simple conditions. First, Lara will act as the executive director, and will run the operations of the shelter. She will be responsible for the staff as well as for who to accept as residents. She will be responsible for the budget and expenses. She will hire an assistant to handle administrative details with which she has no experience. Lara may delegate other tasks to the assistant, at her discretion, but she will be responsible to the board of trustees. I have some ideas about what the shelter should provide, but since those things are negotiable, I will not spend time on them now. My second non-negotiable condition is that Edward serves on the board of trustees, and formally represents me at all board meetings that I cannot attend. Formally, I will be the chairman of the board. But most probably you’ll end up acting as my proxy at all board meetings. Finally, I will decide the monetary compensation of the executive director, and there shall be no argument about it. The board and Lara will accept whatever I propose. We’ll put together the
board later, a good mix from Armenia and the Emirates; the total should not exceed five people, so we need only three others. I suggest that they be women, but that too is negotiable, and we have time. The members of the board of trustees will not be paid for their time, sorry about that, Edward,” he says with a smile and stops.

Edik and I look at each other for a minute, trying to read each other’s reaction before speaking.

“I’ll do it,” he says. “I accept all your conditions that deal with my role.” Then both men look at me.

“Ahmed, thanks for accommodating us like this, and for your confidence in me, but no one takes an eighteen year old girl seriously in this country. Even with your sponsorship, we’ll have to deal with government agencies, and with the police department, to make sure the shelter receives the necessary protection. I will have neither the credibility nor the authority with these people to do the job of executive director.”

“You will have the confidence of the board of trustees. That is all you need. We’ll give you all the high-level backing that you need. You will also enroll in accounting and management courses at the University. In the meantime, my office will provide you with technical support to handle the accounting and budgeting tasks.”

I look at Edik, and he nods and then says, “In practical terms, Lara is right. Her assistant should carry the necessary credibility with the authorities.”

They wait for my nod. But my head is buzzing with a million practical questions—staffing, finding a house, creating accommodations for the residents, the logistics of everyday needs, security, finding the victims and convincing them to come to the shelter… I must be frowning, because they notice the angst on my face.

“This is way, way over my head,” I whisper.

“It seems that way now,” jumps in Edik. “But it actually is not as daunting as it seems. We need to hire a few key people at the beginning and we need to find a house, preferably a large old house with five to six bedrooms that can accommodate two to three beds per room. You have to think of a full time psychiatrist, someone to manage the kitchen, and of course security. The shelter will need a car and a trustworthy driver. Ideally, the driver should have a room on the same property as the house. These are the basics. You’ll think of everything else on the job.”

“You sound like you’ve given this some thought,” says Ahmed happily. “Perfect. Lara, all you have to do now is give me an answer. Don’t let the details distract you, they can all be sorted out later.”

“How long do I have to commit to?” I have never had any responsibility of this magnitude. Come to think of it, I’ve never really had any normal responsibility in my life. At sixteen, I moved straight from Saralandj into Ayvazian’s web.

“Lara, look at me,” says Ahmed. “It’s me you’re talking to. Do you really think I’ll ever make you stay somewhere and do something that you no longer want to do? Tell me, do you?” I shake my head. “Then stop worrying about how long. Right now, you’re the most qualified person I know for this.”

“Why? What makes me so qualified to run a shelter? I’ve never even seen one!”

“Okay, I’ll tell you why. First, trust. You had a chance to take the money yourself, and you turned it down. I will not worry about you misappropriating any funds. Who can we trust more with three million euros than someone who could legally have taken it but offered to use it for this cause instead? Second, you’ve been there. Yes, you have not run a shelter before, but that kind of experience can be hired. All the required technical skills that you don’t have can also be hired. Even influence with the authorities can be hired. You have experience in something much more valuable—you’ve felt the pain of the girls we’re trying to help. You are credible. That, we cannot hire. Third, you may be eighteen, but you’re more thoughtful than a fifty year old. You’ll figure this out.”

“I couldn’t have said it any better,” exclaims Edik, jumping to his feet. “Lara jan, stop fighting this. You’re in.”

“Fine,” I say, but my voice is shaking slightly. “I’ll do it.”

“How far is this bench?” asks Ahmed and jumps up so suddenly that Edik and I burst out laughing.

“I’d say around twenty minutes, if you get used to the rough terrain quickly,” says Edik. Then he turns to me, “Lara, do you remember how to walk there?”

I nod.

“Then I’ll let you two go there alone, if you don’t mind. I want to wrap up a few things here before we head back to Yerevan,” he says and winks at me. Edik’s consideration seemingly has no bounds.

“Edward, may I then be rude and ask for a bottle of wine and two glasses to take with us?”

“By all means,” laughs Edik. “You have the right idea.”

It takes us closer to forty-five minutes to get there, because Ahmed stops to study every shrub and flower. I try to explain to him as much as I remember from Edik, the poplar forest, the wild fruit trees, the bears, the rosehip bushes, how most of the wild plants are actually edible, and the villagers gather them and cure them.

In the last fifty meters the path passes very close to the ravine.

“Be careful,” I tell Ahmed, imitating Edik, “walk exactly where I am walking. The grass can be slippery around the edge.”

“Yes dear.” I am leading and he does not see me smiling, finding this entire experience utterly ironic, an incredible twist of fate. The desert has come to the mountain; my captor is witnessing the very symbol of my liberation.

We get to the bench.

“Oh my God....” Ahmed cannot express it in any other way.

He opens the bottle and fills the two glasses. He looks at me, leans over and kisses my cheek, and lifts his glass to me. Without a word, we drink, and stare into the horizon.

I don’t know how long we sit in silence. One loses a sense of time here. Sometimes, I even lose a sense of the bench itself, and get the sensation of floating into the vast space beyond.

Then I hear his voice. It is even, low and steady, but it resonates.

“I apologize for all the grief that I have caused you.” He is still staring into the endless ruche of valleys and mountains, as if he wants them to witness his apology. Then he turns to me. “I cannot undo the past. But I won’t repeat it. And you’ll have your shelter. You have my word.” I realize that this is how he has resolved the heart wrenching remorse that I saw on his face in the restaurant in Dzaghgadzor. As I accept his apology in my heart, a huge weight escapes from my chest and is swallowed by the void under our feet. I turn to him and gently kiss his cheek.

Chapter Thirty

I
t has been a few days since Al Barmaka left. It was not an emotional farewell, because Lara and he both were trying to avoid one. There were practical matters to go over, such as the honey trade and the shelter. Al Barmaka covered them again, telling Lara that it may take a few months before he could sort out the legal issues involved with the villa.

“The most important first step is to register a foreign-sponsored charitable organization,” he told Lara. “Then you’ll have to open a bank account in its name, so I can transfer money, which I’ll do in stages. You, Edward and Manoj will each have signatory authority. Have you thought of a name?”

“Not yet. I’ve asked Edik for ideas.”

“Don’t delay. You need the name to start the registration process.”

Al Barmaka then told her about her salary. “I have done some research on salaries in Yerevan, and I have decided that the salary of the Executive Director should be four thousand dollars a month.”

“No one makes that kind of salary in Armenia, least of all someone working in a charitable organization. What type of research did you base that figure on?”

“Remember my non-negotiable condition. No arguments. That is the salary. When the bank account is opened, you will receive automatic payments every month. So don’t delay. And don’t delay finding a house.”

In spite of the seemingly unemotional and business-like goodbye, his visit has left a deep mark on both of them. The absence of any sexual approaches by Al Barmaka during the three days was a relief for Lara, who still cannot tolerate physical intimacy with anyone. More importantly, it made her believe that perhaps it
is
possible to kill the past. The awkwardness of the memory of their three-month sexual relationship (which seemed to haunt Lara a lot more than him) notwithstanding, the time they spent together was meaningful and consequential in ways that would take each of them a while to understand.