Before she can ask him what he means, the sliver of silence between them is suddenly filled with the sound of shuffling feet. Kemal grabs Lucine’s arm and pulls her low behind the courtyard wall.
“Who is it?” she whispers.
Kemal puts his finger to his lips. Hiding behind the climbing grape leaves, Lucine can make out a group of forty or fifty men. Arranged in a single-file line, with their hands bound in front of them, they walk with their heads bent low. The only protest comes from their feet, which they drag across the dirt path leading out of the village. The procession moves silently before the front gate. Lucine tries hard to make out their faces in the dark. Stepan the sheepherder and his young son, Gevork the apothecary, even Arzrouni the blacksmith, who has a very good relationship with the governor, are all shuffling along in silence. No one asks any questions. No one resists. They wear the shroud of being Christian and Armenian. Or maybe they are in disbelief.
At the very end of the procession, a man wearing a red fez suddenly falls to his knees. That’s when she sees them: two gendarmes wielding bayonets. One picks up the fallen man by the elbow and tells him to keep moving. When the man stumbles to his feet, he turns toward the house. Lucine lets out a tiny gasp and Kemal quickly cups a hand over her mouth. Hairig’s eyes are wet with grief, but he manages to keep moving. The line of men is all but gone when Lucine dares to speak again.
“Come on,” she says, gathering her skirt.
“Where?” asks Kemal.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Are you crazy?”
“They have my father.”
“You’ll get killed,” Kemal says.
“Then you go,” she says, pulling his hand to her cheek. “Please, for me.” She knows he will not refuse.
Kemal moves quickly, trailing the men at a safe distance and staying low to the shadowed ground. Lucine slides down to the ground and presses her forehead to the earth.
A sin against God. Hairig’s words come back to haunt her now. She disobeyed her fathers, both in heaven and here on earth. Her prayers come hard and fast. They pour out of her mouth and stream out of her eyes.
“Der voghormia. Der voghormia. Lord forgive me,” she repeats over and over again, the way she has heard it repeated in the liturgy every Sunday since her birth.
SHE IS STILL there, with her forehead pressed firmly to the cool earth, when the rooster finally begins to crow and Kemal returns. He walks toward her, placing one foot before the other as if the ground beneath him is the back of a giant sorceress he doesn’t wish to wake. Lucine searches his face for answers but finds a bright red scratch instead. Kemal stands dumb and mute, clutching his apron with both hands.
“What happened?” she whispers. “Did they hurt you?” She dabs his brow with her handkerchief.
“No,” he says, taking it from her. His skin gleams with sweat. “I fell as I was running back.”
“And Hairig? Where have they taken him?”
Kemal swallows hard, pressing his apron into a ball.
“Can you take me?” she asks.
Kemal does not answer.
“What?” she asks louder. “Tell me.”
“He’s . . . gone,” Kemal whispers. “He’s dead.”
Lucine jumps to her feet. Impossible. He’s mistaken. It was dark. Kemal takes her hand and pulls her body back down to the ground. Lucine wails, burying her head deeper into the folds of her skirt. She remains there, bent in half, despair pouring out of her until there are no sounds left in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Kemal whispers.
When the sun illuminates every corner of the courtyard, Kemal removes his arms from around her hunched back. He holds her head in his hands and lifts her face up to him.
A sin against God. Hairig’s voice will not leave her.
“You are not safe,” Kemal says. “Let me help you. I know that this is a difficult time, but it’s the only time we have.”
“A difficult time? We?” she asks, indignant, her hands involuntarily forming into fists. “This is no time for drawings.” Lucine pulls away from him and stands up. “This is no time . . . I have no time for anything.” Her voice bounces from one cauldron to the other until it fills the entire courtyard. “Don’t you understand? Nazareth is gone. Anush is always crying. Mairig moves as if in a trance, and I still have Bedros and the baby to consider. And now Hairig.”
“Listen to me, Lucine,” Kemal interrupts. Still seated on the floor, he reaches for her hand. “You are in grave danger. It is too late to help your father, but it’s not too late for you. You need to hide or go north. I can help you. If we go north, we can make it to the Black Sea.”
“We’d get killed before we reached the town wall.”
“Then we’ll stay.” He stands and moves closer to her now, placing his hand on her elbow.