Like Water on Stone Read online

  “Mama.

  Swan down.”

  “Yes. Mama.

  She puts the tray

  into the oven.

  Meat and mint

  perfume the air.

  We make more

  and more

  and more.

  She rolls the pin

  front to back.

  Rotate the dough

  front to back,

  rotate the dough.

  Out of the oven

  we stack them

  into a tower.

  We are ready

  for everyone

  when the mill work

  is done.”

  “Where’s Shahen?”

  I listen

  for my brother’s

  footsteps.

  The moon rises.

  Night grows.

  “I want Shahen.”

  No footsteps.

  My head aches.

  My gut pulls

  to nowhere.

  I search the stars

  for south.

  I search the treetops

  for the right branch,

  ready to leave

  without him

  when the moon

  touches it.

  “Shahen, goozem.”

  The moon moves.

  Shahen does not.

  He’ll never get here.

  The moon

  wins the race.

  Soldiers may have

  found him.

  He won’t be

  in Aleppo.

  I place two sticks

  on the ground.

  With a bit of red thread

  I tie them into a cross.

  I pull Mariam

  to her feet.

  I grab the pot.

  “Time to run,

  little one.”

  Shahen

  It is dark.

  Please, Sosi,

  wait for me.

  I can’t go yet.

  People wander outside

  between and around the houses,

  like we did at home

  in summer

  on the roof

  at night,

  singing,

  dancing.

  Cold air hits me,

  makes me shiver.

  I make it summer in my mind.

  Summer on the roof,

  apricot summer,

  dancing the tamzara.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  Full of life

  for hours,

  waiting,

  Sosi and Mariam waiting.

  Wait for me.

  Please.

  This village still stirs.

  Those men

  might be soldiers.

  I cannot go.

  I let my mind

  join the line.

  dancing the tamzara

  with my brothers,

  Mama, Anahid,

  and Sosi.

  Boy, girl, six in a line,

  hands on each other’s shoulders,

  the sound of the zurna

  piercing the air.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  Kevorg,

  Mama,

  Misak,

  Anahid,

  then me

  and Sosi.

  Our hands slip to clasping.

  The moon is too high.

  Those men must be soldiers.

  Why don’t they sleep?

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp,

  the bad things

  leave us

  as we stomp

  on the roof.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  Papa comes to the line.

  He pulls me from it.

  He says I’m a girl.

  I push to join them,

  Kevorg and Misak,

  stomp, stomp,

  content with the mill,

  stomp, stomp.

  I pull Papa’s arm,

  stomp, stomp,

  from my shoulder.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  Kevorg and Misak,

  stomp, stomp.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  Content with the mill,

  stomp, stomp.

  One—two—three,

  stomp, stomp.

  White faces

  like clowns,

  stomp, stomp.

  The soldiers leave,

  stomp, stomp.

  I step out

  like lightning.

  The moon is too high.

  My feet know the way.

  I run alone.

  Faster

  without them,

  white faces

  like clowns,

  to a steady pulsing beat,

  to my sisters

  in the woods

  by the stream.

  Sosi

  I pull Mariam back to the stream.

  Moonlight cuts through the trees,

  lighting a clear white path in the water

  rushing through the stone.

  Oh, Mama, my Mama,

  are you making dolma?

  I’ve got the pot.

  Papa, my Papa,

  plucking the oud.

  Misak and Kevorg

  white from the mill.

  Anahid, my sweet sister,

  has your new baby come?

  I hope it’s a girl.

  Girls don’t leave.

  I can hold your baby in my arms

  and breathe in

  the pure, sweet smell

  from the top of her head

  that I remember

  from baby Mariam.

  I put down the pot.

  I pick up my sister.

  I bury my face

  in her stale, knotted hair.

  Shahen can go to America

  by himself.

  I must go where

  Vahan can find me.

  I pick the pot up

  and turn to the north.

  We’re going home.

  Shahen

  I fly down the stream bed,

  searching each stone

  for the place

  where we turned

  and they waited.

  But I can’t find the place

  and the moon is too high.

  I cannot call out.

  Back in the village

  those men,

  they might hear me.

  I cannot call out.

  How can I find them?

  Strong, bright moon,

  help me, please.

  Help me

  find them.

  A large bird

  flies over me,

  not an owl

  or a bat.

  It’s a day bird,

  an eagle,

  out at night

  like me.

  Sosi

  Without Shahen

  night sounds grow.

  Mariam heavy

  like a sack of milled wheat,

  the pot like a stone.

  I follow the light in the stream

  back to home.

  More night sounds:

  wind,

  footsteps,

  breathing.

  Ours?

  Shahen said,

  “If I do not come back,

  they’ll be looking for you.”

  He said,

  “Go fast.”

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  I go fast.

  Back to home.

  With the light

  down the stream,

  back to home,

  where I’ll find them

  waiting for me.

  The eagle passes over us,

  then turns and comes toward us,

  flying upstream

&
nbsp; as we go down,

  coming close to my head,

  the strong flap of wings

  beating like the dumbek

  and a strange whistling sound,

  its cadence starting high,

  then gliding down and fading,

  like someone begging.

  Again he comes over us

  and makes a tight turn,

  his beating wings and whistle

  filling my ears.

  But I won’t turn around.

  We’re going home.

  Shahen

  I’ve gone past the place

  where we turned,

  I am sure,

  so I retrace my steps

  on each stone,

  going slow

  till I see it.

  I missed it before:

  a pile of stones

  in a heap

  at the stream,

  left just for me

  by my Sosi.

  I leave the water’s edge

  and turn into the woods

  till I find the soft spot

  where they waited.

  And there on the ground

  where my sisters once sat

  is a cross of two sticks

  tied with red thread

  pointing north.

  North!

  Sosi, no.

  They will find you

  and kill you.

  Not north.

  Not the river.

  Not the soldiers.

  Not north.

  There’s a bear in the sky.

  Run away.

  Run away.

  Not into his claws

  and his teeth.

  Cross in my fist,

  I run back

  to the stream

  as if the earth

  is made of fire.

  Step, step, step, step,

  breath, breath, breath, breath,

  step, step, step, step.

  Then from that steady pulse

  I hear it in my mind,

  baron Kaban’s duduk winding

  da dee da dee da dee, daaa, da da dee da

  da dee da dee da dee, daaa, da da dee da,

  the drum pulsing,

  the Alashkerdi kochari

  calling me into a line of men

  shoulder to shoulder.

  Step,

  hey,

  step,

  hey,

  step,

  hey,

  step,

  hey,

  our call back to the drum

  syncopated,

  the drum pushing my steps,

  the duduk winding

  da dee da dee da dee, daaa, da da dee da.

  Step,

  hey,

  step,

  hey,

  step,

  hey,

  step,

  hey,

  faster and faster,

  all in a line

  we shift

  into double time.

  I fly across the earth.

  Wings whoosh.

  Eagle flies low

  over streambed,

  moon striking

  his feathers,

  and talons fierce.

  Sosi

  I hear footsteps

  coming after us.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  Coming.

  Purple light washes through the sky.

  Stars fade.

  I’m not fast.

  I must hide us.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  Quiet, Mariam.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  Closer,

  breathing.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  My eyes

  close tight,

  my grip on Mariam

  tight as my eyes.

  We do not breathe.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  They’re coming.

  I want to go home but I can’t.

  It’s over.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  Coming closer.

  My eyes are shut tight.

  My arms firm,

  squeezing Mariam

  to my chest.

  But she squirms

  and she breaks

  from my arms.

  I cannot hold her back.

  They will shoot her.

  How will I tell Mama?

  I hug the pot to my gut.

  I pray they shoot me first.

  Someday, Mama

  will meet me in heaven.

  I hope I can tell her

  they shot me first.

  Then she will tell me

  what happened with the goat.

  I open my eyes

  to see,

  to tell Mama

  about my end.

  I see Shahen,

  Mariam

  in his arms,

  coming

  to pick me up too.

  Shahen

  “Sosi, you fool!

  What were you thinking?

  Don’t ever go north.

  There are bears in the north,

  hungry from sleeping

  and raising their cubs.

  They wait by the river.

  The bears, they will eat you.

  You’re running right into their

  mouths.

  Don’t ever go north.

  Papa said to go south.

  I said to go.

  Listen to me.

  I’m the man here.

  Listen to me.

  No more north.

  Promise me.

  No more north.

  No more.

  No.”

  Sosi nods.

  “Good.

  “You went fast.

  But I caught you.

  I caught this for you.

  See what I have?

  Bastegh

  basturma

  bread

  cheese

  nuts

  halva.

  Eat, sweet sister,

  eat.

  “Os, os, os,

  little Marig,

  you were good,

  you saw me.

  You saw me.

  We have food now.

  A kind mother gave us food,

  dense food.

  It will stick to you like I do.

  It will keep you warm.

  It will give us many days

  to go south

  to Aleppo.

  Never go north.

  Never.

  “Eat, sweet sister,

  eat.

  “North there is nothing.

  Never was.

  Nothing.”

  DAY 41

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  a piece of cheese,

  some flat bread,

  so many nuts,

  a big piece of spicy basturma,

  a piece of shiny bastegh

  like Mama’s,

  and a piece of sweet, sweet halva.

  I fly through the woods

  to Aleppo.

  DAY 42

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  a piece of cheese

  some bread

  some nuts

  basturma

  bastegh.

  No halva today.

  The hard bread

  turns soft and sweet

  in my mouth.

  DAY 43

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  five small pieces of cheese,

  each of them wrapped

  with a ribbon of basturma,

  and halva for dessert.

  The ribbons taste pretty.

  I want more.

  Sosi

  Each day

  I give Shahen

  some of my share.

  He must stay strong

  to carry Mariam

  when she tires.

  I c
arry the pot.

  His eyes like

  a prison guard’s

  follow me

  always.

  These gifts

  he does not see.

  DAY 44

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  three pieces of cheese,

  only three,

  very small,

  and three large nuts,

  each of them wrapped

  with a ribbon of bastegh.

  Sleepy

  me.

  Shahen

  I should have asked

  the mother for more

  or taken it.

  She had more,

  plenty more.

  I could have carried more,

  much more.

  But it looked like so much

  when she gave it to me.

  Almost gone now.

  No going back.

  And would Sosi stay

  if I went

  for food

  again?

  DAY 45

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  two small pieces of cheese,

  two nuts,

  and one thin piece of basturma.

  No ribbons.

  She tells me

  halva

  again

  tomorrow.

  I eat slow.

  I walk slow.

  DAY 46

  ENGIZEK MOUNTAIN

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  one nut,

  one thin piece of bastegh,

  and a bite of halva.

  No cheese,

  no bread,

  no basturma,

  no Mama,

  no Papa,

  no.

  DAY 47

  Mariam

  Sosi gives me

  one big nut,

  one thin piece of basturma,

  and one tiny pinch of halva.

  Shahen carries me.

  My wings won’t flap.

  DAY 51

  AHIR MOUNTAIN

  Shahen

  We each eat

  one last pinch of halva,

  and the food

  from the mother

  is gone.

  This bare mountain

  offers nothing but stones,

  steep stones to climb

  and small stones like candies

  that would break our teeth,

  already soft in our swollen gums,

  if we dared to take a bite.

  The night eagle soars above us.

  His strange whistle

  blends with the wind.

  It’s colder as we climb

  above the tree line.

  More wind,

  the smallest sliver of moon,

  almost set.

  Mariam

  tied to my back

  with the cloth

  from the mother,

  emptied of food,

  gone

  to feed our bellies.

  Mariam heavy

  even with no food.

  She warms my back.

  Sosi carries the pot,

  heavy,

  empty.

  This must be the last one,