Like Water on Stone Read online

  give way

  to broken stones

  under us,

  I see them to the east.

  Massive headless stone bodies

  sitting ramrod straight

  in a row with a

  pointed peak behind them.

  Six of them,

  feet evenly spaced.

  And on the ground around them

  huge heads sprout from the earth.

  Heads without noses,

  that one like Papa,

  an eagle,

  and a lion.

  This can’t be real.

  It must be the hunger

  playing tricks.

  No Papa.

  No quills.

  No eagles.

  But my sisters see them too.

  Mariam

  The eagle calls me.

  Just his stone head.

  He has no body,

  just a giant head

  rising from the ground.

  I let go of Shahen

  and go to him.

  I kiss the tip

  of his beak.

  Sosi

  A pagan temple.

  It must be.

  Gods forgotten

  high on a mountaintop,

  just as our God

  has forgotten us.

  Heads cut off

  like those at the river.

  I pull Mariam from the eagle.

  We need to hide

  before dawn comes.

  Ardziv

  The little one,

  Mariam,

  lay very still,

  large, dark eyes wide open,

  head flung back toward the sky.

  She opened her mouth,

  open shut,

  open shut.

  Then she swallowed the air

  three times more,

  open shut,

  and she swallowed.

  Just like a hatchling

  she spoke to me.

  I rose to the sky

  for the hunt.

  DAY 23

  KOCAHISAR MOUNTAIN

  Mariam

  Look

  Food

  Rabbit

  We have food.

  Good

  Food

  Shahen

  I strike one stone

  with the edge of another

  as I study the stars.

  I brought us too far south.

  We’ll lose the safety

  of the ridge this way.

  We must go a bit north

  as we go west.

  My sisters do not

  know the stars.

  They won’t know

  I’ve added steps.

  A sharp-edged flake

  splits off. I slice into the

  still-warm flesh,

  lifting chunks of muscle

  from the bone.

  My sisters’ mouths

  are red with rabbit blood,

  their white teeth gleaming.

  DAY 24

  ONUR MOUNTAIN

  Shahen

  Sosi

  We cannot eat snake.

  Why not?

  It’s food.

  We’re hungry

  and it’s here

  like a gift.

  But snake?

  It’s not snake.

  It’s a gift.

  Don’t question it.

  Just eat.

  And why is it here?

  Who would give

  us a snake?

  An eagle.

  Don’t be a fool.

  I’m not a fool.

  If we had fire

  I’d make soup

  in the pot.

  But we don’t.

  Just eat.

  It’s good.

  Like the back

  of a lamb.

  Lamb?

  Yes.

  Lamb.

  Ardziv

  As they starved

  I hunted harder,

  heading down

  from the mountains

  to valleys

  warming

  well into summer.

  For five straight days

  I placed small animals

  on the ground

  where they slept

  just as the sun set.

  The children woke

  and ate them raw

  before starting

  the night’s run.

  But when a brown she-bear

  with large curved claws

  and pointed teeth,

  ravenous from raising cubs,

  caught the scent of blood

  and began to trail them,

  I had to stop.

  Instead of leaving meat for them,

  I left a trail

  of small animals

  for the bear and her cubs,

  taking them far from the children.

  DAY 30

  KOÇALI MOUNTAIN

  Sosi

  When Mariam walks

  on her own—

  she does it less and less—

  Shahen’s hands rise

  to his chin and lip

  to search for hairs

  that will never come,

  not without food.

  Shahen does not

  need to know

  my monthly blood

  has stopped.

  I am glad.

  How would

  I stay clean

  here

  if it

  didn’t

  stop?

  Shahen

  Mariam

  Come here,

  little bird.

  Time to play

  the bird game?

  No.

  Writing bird?

  No.

  Then I

  will write

  on you,

  little bird.

  Remember bird?

  No.

  What, then?

  Mama.

  Write Mama.

  Mama:

  swan down, wave,

  smile, smile,

  half smile.

  Curve.

  Smiles gone.

  Swan down, wave,

  curve, curve,

  half curve.

  Mama.

  DAY 31

  ULUBABA MOUNTAIN

  Sosi

  First I ate the skin

  by my fingernails.

  Then I chewed

  on a nail all night

  while we walked.

  Now my nails won’t grow.

  I chew a twig

  and touch the quill

  back inside a seam,

  my seam,

  where it’s safe

  as we walk.

  I pull it out

  when we stop

  before full dawn

  and Shahen goes

  to search for food.

  I touch Mariam’s neck and face

  with the quill’s feathery tip

  so she sleeps.

  I touch my own

  neck and face once

  to remember

  the shimmering

  feeling of Vahan

  before I put the quill back,

  hidden from Shahen,

  who cannot know I have it.

  If he threw it away again

  I might never find it.

  DAY 33

  BUZ MOUNTAIN

  Shahen

  Sosi

  The pot is heavy

  and you are weak.

  Let’s leave it.

  Leave something

  that we have

  from home?

  Never.

  You need

  your strength,

  Sosi jan,

  for the journey.

  The pot is heavy

  and I need

  my strength

  to carry

  Mariam.

  Never, Shahen!

  Never.

  Yo
u wanted

  to leave.

  Not me.

  This pot

  is every meal

  we ever ate.

  This pot

  is black

  with the smoke

  from our hearth.

  This pot is Mama

  and madzoon

  and dolma.

  It gives me strength.

  From that,

  you may

  find yours.

  DAY 35

  BUZ MOUNTAIN

  Shahen

  Without olive oil, fire, and Mama’s touch,

  wild onions and garlic pulled from the earth

  leave a sour tang in my throat.

  Our stomachs cough up

  yellow clumps

  after we eat.

  Mountain grass and flowers

  are sweeter but cannot fill us.

  The seams are empty like our stomachs.

  Water from cold springs hits our insides.

  Filling bellies with worms and bugs

  empties our other parts.

  I fill us with a story.

  The first mother gave birth to the earth.

  Like all good mothers,

  she fed it with milk so it could grow.

  In the sky you see her milk

  flowing in a circle

  around the earth.

  When God saw how the earth had grown

  so beautiful,

  he filled it with his children.

  He made Eve from Adam’s rib.

  Eve fed her children with milk

  like the first mother

  who gave birth to the earth.

  Look at the sky.

  You can always feel full

  from drinking in Dzir Gatin,

  the Milky Way.

  DAY 36

  Mariam

  Ma:

  Swan down, wave,

  curve, curve, half curve.

  Swan down, wave,

  curve, curve, half curve.

  Ma

  Ma

  Mama

  Ma

  Ma

  Mama

  Cold

  Hungry

  Mama

  DAY 37

  BORIK MOUNTAIN

  Shahen

  Mountain snows

  melt with summer sunshine.

  Streams rush.

  Flowers bloom.

  But this high up

  it’s still too early

  for ripe fruits.

  This wide stream glistens

  from early moonbeams.

  A voice inside it says

  find water,

  follow it to people.

  We find a place

  in the woods

  for the girls to wait

  one night,

  one full day,

  one half night.

  I follow the stream.

  I promise to return with food.

  I tell them,

  “Leave

  if I’m not back

  by tomorrow night.

  Leave

  when the moon is high.”

  Sosi’s brows knit

  like thick black wool.

  Like a burr from a field,

  Mariam grabs my skirt.

  She won’t let go.

  I pull apart her fingers.

  “I will come back.

  But if soldiers find me

  you must leave

  before they find you too.”

  The mounds by the river

  rise here by this stream.

  Sosi sees them too,

  I know.

  I tell her,

  “Go south.

  Use the stars.

  Stay high

  till you see the desert

  from the ridge.”

  Sosi’s sharp bones

  cut into me as we hug. She says,

  “You’ll find us in Aleppo

  with Mama and Papa,

  Kevorg,

  Misak,

  and Anahid.

  Together we’ll go home.”

  I nod.

  She lets me go.

  Sosi

  The red cloud of wool

  so soft and so fine

  is ready to spin.

  I pull a tiny pinch

  between the tip of my thumb

  and finger.

  I rub it back and forth

  between finger bones,

  pulling as I rub.

  Pull it out bit by bit,

  rub it back and forth.

  The red cloud becomes

  a long red thread.

  I can make it back

  into a bird

  again.

  I must.

  Mariam

  Shahen.

  Wave,

  curve to the side.

  Shahen.

  DAY 38

  Shahen

  I follow the stream for hours

  to some houses on its bank,

  houses pink with dawn,

  filled with other people and their food.

  I retie my head scarf.

  I watch from behind the trees

  while women and girls

  help men and boys

  get ready to leave with the sheep.

  I choose the one who smiled

  as she gave her boy food.

  I ask her,

  not right away,

  while the morning chatter continues,

  Kurdish and Turkish mixed together,

  but after,

  when the women

  go back to their houses.

  I smooth my skirt.

  I open her door,

  Mama’s coin in my open palm.

  “Please, mother.

  Do you have food for me and my sisters?

  Our village was burned.

  Our parents killed.

  Please, mother?”

  She closes my hand around the coin and answers,

  “Come.”

  She pulls me inside

  onto the warm soft carpet.

  Colors rise through the soles of my feet.

  Cinnamon surrounds me.

  My mouth fills with wet.

  She cuts a slab of cheese,

  bread and olives,

  hot tea

  for me.

  “Eat slowly, so it

  stays down,” she tells me.

  Warmth flows

  from my throat

  to my toes

  to my crown

  to the tips of my fingers

  with each swallow.

  My belly’s full so fast.

  The bread and cheese

  sit before me.

  Inside a cloth she wraps

  basturma

  bastegh

  cheese

  halva

  nuts

  foods

  rich

  dense and dry.

  They will take us

  over mountains.

  She asks no questions.

  She wraps and ties the cloth

  tight and secure like a swaddled child.

  She folds the cheese inside the bread.

  I put it in my pocket. Our eyes meet.

  She sees through my dress and scarf to me.

  She places one hand on the side of my head.

  A kerchief cannot hide a mother’s touch. She says,

  “Your clothes, they are good. Stay like this.

  Don’t let them know. Hide till nightfall.

  Soldiers were here a few days ago.”

  My clothes.

  My face burns.

  If soldiers catch us,

  what good could

  these clothes do?

  Soldiers would strip me

  like all the girls at the river.

  Girl after girl, naked.

  I saw them.

  Young boys died clothed.

  I’d be stripped

  and they’d know,

&nbs
p; and then what?

  Ardziv

  I circled the village

  all day while he hid,

  rising high enough

  to see Sosi and Mariam too.

  Sosi pulled wool

  into thread

  as Mariam slept.

  Lines of soldiers

  marched in the distance.

  Small groups combed

  the woods

  for strays

  like Shahen,

  Sosi, and

  Mariam.

  Sosi

  Mariam

  Mariam wakes

  in the dark.

  She wants to run.

  She expects it.

  “Yalla,

  come on.

  We must

  find Shahen.”

  I cover her mouth.

  She quiets.

  We go back

  to the stream.

  We drink.

  We eat grass.

  We wait.

  We place stones

  in a heap.

  He’s got to know

  how to find us.

  We listen

  for Shahen’s

  footsteps.

  Without running,

  night is huge.

  Wind

  water

  branches

  breathing.

  “I want Shahen.”

  “Let’s go back

  to the wood.

  Shahen went

  to get food.”

  We wait till the moon

  is high.

  “Come closer.

  I will draw

  a story

  on your back.

  We are at home,

  with Mama

  making lahmajoon.”

  “Lahmajoon.”

  “Shahen’s happy.

  Lahmajoon is

  his favorite.

  “Around the big

  rolling stone

  Mama breaks

  off small pieces

  of dough.

  She gives one

  to you, and a stick

  Papa made smooth

  for rolling.

  You poke holes

  in the dough.

  Mama pushes

  down hard.

  She rolls the pin

  front to back.

  Rotate the dough

  front to back,

  rotate the dough.”

  “Mama.”

  “Circles of dough

  go onto the tray.

  I spread

  meat

  onions

  peppers

  tomatoes

  and mint

  on top.”