“We’ll be going away soon and then you can be outside all you want,” she says, ruffling his hair.
“Even so, we’ve got no horse,” he says. “Just a big dumb ox that clip clops like the heavy-footed farmer’s wife with one thick-soled shoe.” Bedros imitates the poor woman’s bowlegged gait, making Lucine laugh. “What are they doing in there anyway?” he asks, gesturing toward the next room where Mairig and the governor sit.
“Mairig is going to ask Muammer Bey for help.”
“I want to listen,” he says. Lucine knows she should object, but the truth is she wants to listen too.
“All right, but be very quiet. We can stand outside the doorway,” she whispers.
From the open doorway, Lucine stares at the back of the governor’s fez with a mixture of fear and hate. She can hardly believe that this same man once amused her by making his handkerchief disappear. That was a long time ago. Before the governor started making eyes at Anush. And the last time he made something disappear it was her uncle Nazareth.
Sitting across from Mairig and Aram, balancing his haunches on the tiny European furniture of which their mother is so proud, Muammer Bey looks uncomfortable. Drops of sweat gather around his fez, trickle down the back of his thick neck and disappear into his collar. He clears his enormous throat. Lucine can hear the clink of his worry beads banging against one another under his massive fingers.
“I wonder where his magic handkerchief has gone,” whispers Bedros.
“What are the charges?” Mairig asks the governor as she wrestles with Aram, who is trying to climb onto her head, his little fists pulling at her locks like ropes.
“There have been several complaints about the location of your house,” the Governor says. “As you know, it should not be on higher grounds than those of your Muslim neighbors.”
“And what about all the other men? Their houses are located in the valley.”
“It doesn’t matter. The men are accused of political agitation, but that’s not the point. I warned Hagop this would happen.”
“What is the point?” asks Mairig. “What is the point of arresting all our men?” She is beginning to sound like the chicken women on the street.
“Madam, the Ottoman Empire is at war. Try to understand,” the governor says. “The Russians have crossed our borders in the eastern part of Anatolia. In the south, the British have conquered Basra and the Tigris-Euphrates delta. The Russians, French, and British, the bastards—excuse my language—are even now planning to dismember the empire bit by bit. Our courageous leaders, may Allah keep them, have wisely chosen to side with Germany.”
Lucine cringes at the word bastard, knowing the governor would never use that language in front of her mother if Hairig were present.
Mairig lifts her palm, interrupting his current events lesson. “I hear the news, Governor, I know what is happening to the empire, but the days of the sultan are far behind us, are they not? We have a parliament and a constitution. These men are innocent.” Mairig’s voice trails off, making her sound as if she’s pleading.
“Be that as it may, the Christian minority is considered by some to be an internal threat. The government’s plan, and I think it’s a fair one, is to move the Armenians south of Anatolia.”
“Where are we to go exactly?” Mairig asks, her eyes scanning his face.
“To the Syrian Desert,” he says.
“By oxcart?”
“You can’t stay here, hanim. You must all go.”
“And what about our men?” Mairig asks. She picks at the cross at her neck, digging one of its points into the hollow of her neck where a scar is beginning to form.
“They are being held for questioning. That is all. The men will be released later, at which point you will all be reunited.”
“Like the students at Gemerek were questioned?” Mairig asks the question in English. Her eyes dart to where Lucine and Bedros are standing, then return to the governor. She does this when she thinks the children are listening, but their English has improved. And they know about the dozen students who were killed in the town of Gemerek.
“You mustn’t believe everything you hear,” the governor responds in Turkish.
“And what about my brother, Nazareth? Is there any news about where he is stationed?” she asks, fingering the tiny cross at her neck again.
“No, hanim. I’m afraid there’s very little I can do. These orders are from central government.” He clicks away at the worry beads in his hand. “Unless, of course . . .”
Mairig waits.
“Your eldest daughter consented to take an oath to Allah and became my bride, then as my extended family, I could offer all of you some measure of protection.”
When Mairig does not respond, the governor adds, “Please understand that I may not be in the position to make this offer again.”
“Yes, yes, I understand. But it’s not possible. She is betrothed to someone else,” she says finally.
“Oh? To whom?”