Like Water on Stone Read online

the last mountain,

  this must be.

  Father Manoog’s maps

  still shine the way to the top

  in my mind.

  I want the crumbs

  from his beard

  here with me now.

  Soon the sky will open.

  We will see

  through the desert

  to Aleppo.

  If we were goats

  scrub grass would fill us.

  Our hooves could grab rocks.

  But I’m not a goat

  and I slip.

  I fall.

  “Sosi!”

  Sosi

  Shahen screams my name

  just once.

  Falling stones echo.

  Steep rock surrounds us.

  I call back.

  I hear nothing but Mariam crying.

  Mariam in a ball

  tied to his back.

  I rush down in the dark.

  In the dark, down is harder.

  Up is climbing to weak moonbeams.

  Down is stepping to emptiness

  ending in the rock below.

  I count each step.

  Forty.

  Till I find them with my ears.

  They are wedged deep in a dark crack.

  Mariam whimpering.

  Shahen silent.

  I sit on stone’s edge, stretch down my feet,

  but my toes cannot touch them.

  Mariam wails. Holding one end,

  I drop the ball of thread down to her,

  small red ball in her hand in my mind.

  I sing Mama’s song till she stills.

  I tear out the lining from my coat,

  the seams once filled by Mama.

  I wait till dawn’s light on distant branches

  calls me from the summit

  to find a long branch

  to

  reach

  down

  to

  them

  stuck

  between

  the

  stones,

  Shahen’s

  head

  on

  stone

  pillow.

  Sosi

  Good girl

  come off his back

  good girl

  use the stick

  pull the cloth the mother gave us

  make it loose

  come off his back

  let the cloth

  be his blanket

  good girl

  take the lining

  of my vest

  from the stick

  wet your lips

  suck on it

  drink it in

  good girl

  fold the lining

  find a clean spot

  for Shahen

  wet his lips

  wipe his forehead

  good girl

  gentle

  Shahen’s head

  good girl

  fold the lining

  wipe the cut

  stay on the edges

  good girl

  touch his temples

  trace the cut

  kiss the cut

  that’s right

  good girl

  lick the cut

  for you

  hungry girl

  good girl.

  Shahen

  Soldiers with guns

  poking me,

  pointing.

  “You, girl,

  over there

  with the other girls.”

  Poking

  guns pointing

  pointing with guns

  poking my dress

  poking Misak

  poking Kevorg

  insisting.

  “We have a paper.”

  Pointing with guns

  poking them

  poking me.

  “You come with us.”

  Poking them

  poking me.

  “You are not a girl.”

  Poking Misak

  poking Kevorg.

  Three shots

  and we are gone.

  Papa shakes me.

  He has the goat

  by his throat.

  Not the goat.

  Not the goat.

  Mariam

  Wake up,

  Shahen.

  Come back.

  Open your eyes.

  Come back.

  There are no goats.

  It is safe.

  No goats.

  Wake up.

  Please.

  Wake up.

  DAY 52

  Sosi

  Dawn.

  The skin of my palm

  gathers toward

  the hard quill tip

  when I push it in.

  I let go.

  My skin settles back,

  leaving only

  the print of a small

  circle in my palm.

  The quill’s feathery end

  like Mama’s touch

  leaves no trace

  on my skin.

  Back and forth

  on my arm

  I touch.

  Air whispers

  quite near me

  as the eagle lands on stone

  just as if I called him

  with the quill,

  his quill,

  the one I found

  with Mama,

  the one that Papa held

  on our roof

  while Misak and Kevorg

  danced

  and I poured

  my secret

  into Anahid’s ear.

  He’s so close

  I see the second

  thin veil of lid

  covering

  his yellow eyes.

  Short golden feathers

  on his head and shoulders

  shimmer

  in morning light.

  Above his claws

  fine tufts

  of red-gold down

  sprout

  as though he wears

  short pants.

  He moves his head

  to the right,

  pointing down the hill

  as if to coax me,

  to show me.

  He takes two steps.

  Wings whoosh him into flight.

  I put the heavy stone

  on top of the end of the thread,

  the other end with Mariam.

  I take the black pot in hand,

  call to Mariam and Shahen

  that I’m going,

  that I will follow the eagle

  back down the mountain path.

  Shahen

  Mariam’s ancient eyes

  stare into mine.

  Where is Sosi?

  She calls me from above,

  her face

  surrounded

  by blue sky.

  A thin red thread

  connects us.

  Heaven?

  Sosi

  Back down the mountain

  I find soft earth

  and new spring leaves.

  Flowers tell of fat bulbs

  underground.

  In the day I can find

  all the things

  nature hid.

  It’s good I came out

  in the day.

  I loosen the earth

  with small sharp sticks.

  A circle of holes

  encloses

  leaves and stem

  where soil

  meets air.

  I grab.

  I twist

  and pull,

  poking a stick

  into the ground,

  where it holds

  the roots of the

  thick, fleshy bulb

  we need

  tight to the earth.

  I want it more.

  The earth

  it gives.

  I collect the bulbs

  in my dress.

 
; I wash them

  in the mountain spring.

  I eat some,

  a juicy nut taste

  tingling

  my tongue.

  I put the rest

  into the pot

  on top of

  curled fern tips,

  a mound of

  fresh green spirals

  like a nest

  for the bulbs,

  round and resting eggs.

  I carry them

  up the mountain

  for Shahen and Mariam.

  I pass the pot to Mariam,

  its handle knotted to the stick

  with a strip

  from the hem of my dress.

  “Ardziv jan,

  thank you,”

  I say to the sky.

  “Tomorrow

  I’ll get even more.”

  DAY 53

  Shahen

  My head

  heavy

  hurt

  on stone pillow

  memories throb

  from bloody lump.

  I missed a step.

  I fell

  down

  down

  landing

  belly and hands

  first

  Mariam

  on my back

  not under

  safe.

  Memories throb

  from hardened heart

  of Papa

  and Mama

  the goat

  and the butchering knife.

  Blue sky opens

  above rock walls

  eagle

  sky

  sky

  sky

  sky

  sky

  eagle

  sky

  sky

  sky

  sky

  sky.

  He flies small, tight

  circles above me.

  DAY 54

  Sosi

  Strong now

  Shahen stands

  on the pot.

  Tall now

  like Papa,

  he holds Mariam high.

  Day now

  I lie flat on the edge of the crack

  and stretch my arms down.

  Shahen pushes Mariam up

  till we touch.

  Our hands meet.

  I pull her up and out,

  straight up to stand

  with this brave small girl.

  I squeeze her so tight

  her thin bones might break.

  She buries her head in my chest,

  grinding her temples

  back and forth

  into my breastbone.

  Bone to bone.

  “My girl,

  my girl,

  my sweet little girl.”

  She stops rubbing,

  looks into my face.

  The dull in her eyes

  starts to warm

  like sunbeams

  down on my back.

  Her eyes ringed with dark,

  her hair thin and flat,

  she turns up the edge

  of her cracked lips

  to a smile.

  But before it can spread

  her eyes flash.

  Burning hot shoots through my feet,

  kicked out from under me.

  We crash to the ground.

  She is yanked from my arms

  twisted behind me.

  I’m pulled from the edge.

  My face scrapes on stone.

  No.

  No.

  I twist round to see.

  My shoulder blazes.

  It’s one man,

  just one man,

  one twisted face,

  spit round his mouth.

  Sharp black hairs

  sprout from his ears,

  Mariam under his arm.

  “Shahen,

  Shahen!”

  Mariam screams

  “Shahandukht,” I tell him.

  “Our sister.

  Just a girl,

  Injured.

  She will die.

  She’s stuck in the crack.

  We can’t get her out.

  Three sisters.

  Just leave her.

  Let her die.

  She’ll die.

  Just take us.

  She will die.”

  The man ties us together,

  goes back to the edge,

  and he snorts

  and he spits

  in the crack.

  He stoops,

  grabs a stone,

  throws it into the crack

  with such force

  that it hits with a whack.

  From below,

  from my Shahen,

  not even a whimper

  floats up.

  The only sound

  the beat of wings.

  Shahen

  Face down

  in the dark

  skirt spread

  out wide

  inside

  every muscle

  fiber tense

  like a shield

  outside

  seeming

  almost dead

  and a girl

  almost dead

  to him

  to the gob

  of spit

  that hits

  my head scarf

  acting

  almost dead

  to the stone

  that burns

  a hole

  in my back.

  I do not flinch

  acting

  almost dead

  almost

  dead.

  Sosi

  Man turns

  Shahen safe

  Shahen strong

  Man walks

  Shahen safe

  Shahen strong

  Man here

  Shahen safe

  Shahen strong

  Man cuts

  Shahen safe

  Shahen strong

  my dress

  Shahen safe

  Shahen strong

  Man drools

  Shahen strong

  Pot up

  Man strips

  Shahen up

  Shahen walks

  Man pants

  silent walk

  Shahen strong

  Pot hands

  Pot up

  Crash down

  Man falls

  Blood pours

  on me

  on Mariam

  on me

  on Mariam

  heavy man

  on us

  Shahen strong

  pulls man

  by legs

  over stone

  into crack.

  Man gone

  Shahen here

  Shahen here

  Shahen here.

  Shahen

  The first word comes

  “Os,

  os, os, os,

  Sosig

  Mariam

  Sosig

  Mariam

  He’s gone.

  He can’t hurt you.

  He’s gone.

  You were smart,

  my Sosig.

  You saved me

  your sister

  my Sosig

  so smart

  my sister

  three sisters.

  You saved us.

  You

  Mariam

  Me.”

  Sosi

  Shahen

  “No, Shahen. You.

  You saved us, Shahen.

  You and Papa.”

  “Papa?

  He had nothing to do with it.

  He put us here

  with that man,

  that bloody man.

  We should have left Palu

  before any of this.”

  “It’s our home, Shahen.

  Our home.

  How could we leave it?”

  “Now his blood

  is on our hand
s.”

  “That man would kill us.”

  “On Papa’s hands.”

  “Papa’s hands.

  “Papa,

  Mama.

  Where are they?

  I need to know.

  Where’s Mama?

  Where’s Papa?

  What happened with the goat?”

  Shahen

  I step back to the crack

  and look down inside

  to where the man lies

  still as stone

  except for the pulse of his breath.

  “Don’t you know?”

  Her body trembles with knowing

  as she shakes her head no.

  She holds Mariam tight.

  She knows what happened.

  I don’t need to say it.

  She saw death today.

  She knows.

  She must know.

  “Mama and Papa killed the goat,

  ran toward the soldiers

  covered with its blood

  so soldiers thought we were dead.”

  I hear Mama’s sounds like an animal

  and hear her screaming,

  “You should have killed me instead.”

  “And then the soldiers killed them,

  so we had time to run.”

  Sosi’s fingers press hard on Mariam’s arms.

  Soundless tears drip from chin to chest.

  Between us

  I see whole families

  wailing

  at river’s edge.

  The pot’s metal handle

  cuts into my palm.

  Sosi

  Shahen

  “They won’t be

  in Aleppo?”

  “They won’t

  be there. No.”

  “We’ll never go back.”

  “There’s nothing

  to go to.

  They burned

  all our homes.”

  “I didn’t want to know.”

  “I know.”

  “Misak and Kevorg?”

  “They shot them,

  I think.”

  “Anahid?”

  “We can pray

  that they

  saved her.”

  “They did.

  I can feel it.

  We’ll find her

  someday.

  She had her baby.

  A girl, I think.

  Her marriage

  was good.

  Papa was right.”

  “Papa right?

  If we’d left

  when I wanted

  they wouldn’t

  be dead.

  We have only this

  heavy empty pot.”

  This pot,

  solid, black, hard,

  heavy in my hands.

  This pot,

  Mama’s pot.

  I pull it to my gut.

  Hard metal

  pangs shoot

  up and down

  my spine.

  Mama’s pot.

  My tongue thick,

  metallic,

  wet.

  We have it.

  It’s ours.

  For the first time,

  I see it

  this precious pot,