Like Water on Stone Page 11
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,