But one piece of carelessness was too much for him. The bonfire! On the
west flanks of the South Bastion, where the Damlayik curves off seawards,
three high redoubts had been thrown up as flank protection. These redoubts
dominated the whole steep descent at that side of the mountain which ebbed
away in wooded terraces towards Habaste and thus made every outflanking
maneuver impossible. And here, twenty paces below these redoubts (also
crowned by protecting walls), a big cosy bonfire was flaming on the open
foreground area -- in friendly invitation to the Turks! It was one of
the most stringent regulations that no open fires should be lit in the
trenches unless they had been sanctioned by the leaders. Yet even this was
not enough! Round this fire there squatted not only a ragged crew of the
least desirable deserters, but two trollops who had moved from the Town
Enclosure to this society. And these women were turning the tenderest
goat's flesh on long spits before the flames. Chaush Nurhan and the others
hurled themselves in a frenzy on the group. Bagradian came slowly after them.
Nurhan gripped one of the deserters by his ragged shirt and jerked him up.
He was a long-haired lout with a brownish face and small, quick eyes,
eyes which did not look in the least Armenian.
Nurhan's long grey sergeant's mustache twitched with fury at him.
"You louse! Where did you get that goat from?"
The long-haired deserter tried to free himself. He pretended not to know
who Chaush Nurhan was. "What's it to do with you? Who are you anyway?"
"That's who I am!"
One crack on the jaw sent the fellow spinning, nearly into the fire.
He picked himself up and began to whine: "What did you hit me for? What harm
have I ever done
you
? We went out at night to Habaste after this goat."
"To Habaste, you filthy pig! You found that goat in the camp, you poor
crook. You stole their last bite from starving people. . . . Now we've
our explanation. . . ."
The long-haired thief turned shifty eyes on Gabriel, who stood aside,
leaving his subordinates to deal with this very uninspiring business.
"Effendi," the deserter whined, aren't we human beings? Do we feel less
hunger than anyone else? And yet you ask us to work; we've got to be on
duty all day and night, worse than in any barracks . . ."
To this Bagradian answered nothing, but signalled sharply to his people
to tread out the fire and impound the goat's flesh.
Chaush Nurhan menaced, waving a roasted goat's leg: "You'll get hungrier
yet before you've done. Better start eating each other up."
The long-haired culprit approached Bagradian, with humble arms crossed
on his breast. "Effendi! Give us munitions! We've only got a cartridge
belt each. You've taken all the rest away from us. Then we could go out
hunting and shoot ourselves a hare or a fox. It's all wrong that we haven't
a few more cartridges. The Turks might come along any night."
Gabriel turned his back on him. On their way back into camp, Nurhan the
Lion declared, still very excited: "We ought to clear out that whole
South Bastion. Best thing would be to turn twenty of the worst of them
out of camp!"
But Gabriel's thoughts had long been occupied with more important things
than this very unpleasant little incident.
"That's impossible," he said absently. "We can't send our Armenian fellow
countrymen out to certain death."
"Armenian fellow countrymen?" Chaush Nurhan spat far and scornfully.
The face of the long-haired man came to Gabriel's mind. "There must be scum,
among five thousand. It's the same everywhere."
Chaush glanced suspiciously at Gabriel. "It's bad to let a crime of this
sort pass."
Bagradian stood still; he took hold of the old sergeant's Mauser rifle and
stamped the butt of it hard on the ground. "We've only got one punishment,
Chaush Nurhan -- and this is it. All the rest is absurd. Wasn't it too
ridiculous to shut Kilikian up in the govermnent hut, where he had poor
Krikor to keep him company? To punish these fellows round the fire,
we should have to shoot the lot of them."
"Well, that's what we ought to have done. . . . But now we ought to put
them into separate units, Effendi -- "
Gabriel stopped again. "We'll have separate units, Chaush Nurhan,
something entirely new . . ."
He said no more. He himself was still not sure what this new thing was.
When, on the morning of September 6, the women came to the distributing-
tables to receive the day's ration for their families, some of them
were given only bones, with a few stray morsels of donkey's flesh still
clinging to them. In desperation the mothers besieged the mukhtars,
who as usual superintended the distribution, each at the table assigned
to his village. These headmen stepped back before the flood, grey and
green in the face, like their own bad consciences. By Council's orders,
the best meat had gone to the trenches, they stammered; the fighters had
to get up their strength for the coming attack. And as for the very last
she-goats and donkeys, it had been decided not to slaughter them; the
goats for their milk, which went to the smallest children; the four last
donkeys because they would be needed in the fight. Nothing, therefore,
remained but that mothers of families should begin to look about for
their own provender. They must try to concoct some kind of herb-broth,
of arbutus berries, acorns, Indian fig, wild berries, roots, and leaves,
which at least should serve to deaden hunger. The mukhtars, as they gave
this disconsolate counsel, kept bobbing and putting their hands in front
of their faces, fully expecting that these women would strangle and tear
them in pieces in their rage. They did no such thing. They hung their
heads and stared at the earth. The feverish restlessness in their eyes
changed into that dazed expression which they had worn that day in the
church of Yoghonoluk, when the government decree had flashed down like
lightning on them. The mukhtars began to breathe again. They had nothing
to fear. The shoals of women began to separate. Slowly they turned their
backs on the empty distributing-tables.
Then, in a little while, these women dispersed in all directions, in long,
star-shaped lines about the mountain-plateau, went here and there among
the rocks on the coastside, and even ventured down into such green spaces
over the valley as fire had skirted. Their children ran with them,
some not older than three or four, getting under their mothers' feet
and hindering them. If only they could have crossed the North Saddle
as formerly, there might still have been hope of nutritious finds. But
the area within camp-bounds had been cleared as bare as the plundered
bone of a wild dog. Some of these women strayed for the hundredth time
in and out among the arbutus and bilberry bushes to glean what still
remained unpicked. Others among the rocks tried to climb down to those
rare places where grew Indian figs, whose big soft fruit was esteemed
a delicacy. What good was all that? Their bellies all cried aloud for
flour, for fat, for a piece of goat's cheese. No blessing lay on Pastor
Aram's fishery. Without the necessary assistance it was impossible
to construct a raft which would hold in the rough seas, and the nets
also had proved useless. Nor did better luck attend the bird-catchers,
though their decoys and springs were properly made. But here there were
no birds as yet; they were all still in the cool north. Quail, snipe,
and woodcock would not fly into such childish traps.
During these desperate expeditions of women the Council of Leaders held
a session. The leaders were still unaware that this was their last day in
the government hut. The wall of books set up by Krikor against the world
still remained unaltered. Ter Haigasun's face was a waxen death-mask. The
priest asked Pastor Aram to speak.
Today's counsels, and their very unfortunate sequel, were predetermined
by the strained feeling already arisen between Aram Tomasian and Gabriel.
Tomasian had still not questioned Bagradian. He loved Isknhi. Now that he
scarcely ever saw her, that Hovsamiah kept slandering his sister in the
wildest outbursts, he loved her as never before. Her words kept ringing
in his ears: "I'm nineteen, and shall never be twenty." So that Tomasian
tried not to bring things to a head.
But this first meeting with Gabriel, whom he had not seen since Stephan's
death, filled Aram with a kind of bitter embarrassment. He could not manage
to bring out a word of sympathy.
The sitting opened with his report:
"What we decided to do has been done. And now all the meat has been
distributed. Only the very last portion was secretly kept back for
the decads. At most it can last another two days. Today the women and
children have their first complete fast day, unless we care to consider
the rations of the last few days as a fast."
Mukhtar Thomas Kebussyan raised his hand, having first squinted round
the room to make sure that all his partisans of the last sitting were
in their places. "I can't see why the men in the trenches should be fed,
and the women and children left to starve. Strong, well-set-up young
fellows ought to be able to tighten their belts a bit."
Here Gabriel intervened at once: "That's very simple, Mukhtar Kebussyan.
The fighters need their strength now, more than they ever did."
Ter Haigasun, to support their leader, switched the debate off food again:
"Perhaps Gabriel Bagradian will give us his view of the real strength of
the defence decads."
Gabriel pointed to Chaush Nurhan. "The morale of the decads is really not
much worse than it was before the last fight. It's surprising enough, but
that's how it is, and Chaush Nurhan will bear me out in what I say. And
our defence works are far stronger now than last time. The possible points
for a Turkish attack are far more restricted. Roughly, there's only the
north for them to attack in, and all their preparations prove what I say.
In spite of this new general of theirs, they'll never dare attack the
bastion; that's as good as certain. The garrison there, as we all know,
does us no particular credit. But I intend sending Nurhan along there for
a couple of days to keep them in order for a bit. This Turkish attack in
the north will be worse than all the others put together. It'll all be a
question of whether they have artillery and how much they have. Up to now
we haven't managed to find out. It all depends on that. That is to say,
unless we resort to some new method . . . but I'll talk of that later."
Ter Haigasun, who had sat as usual, with chilly hands and downcast eyes,
could not suppress the essential question: "Good -- but what then?"
Gabriel, consumed with longings for the end and its freedom, spoke far
too resonantly for the little room: "Well, only think! At this minute
all over the world millions of men are living in trenches, just as we
do. They're fighting, or else they're waiting to fight, bleeding, dying,
just like us. That's the only thought that pacifies and consoles me. When
I think that, I feel I'm no worse, no less honorable, than any other
man among those millions. And it's the same for us all! By fighting,
we cease to be just manure, rotting somewhere round the Euphrates. By
fighting we gain honor and dignity. Therefore, we should see nothing
ahead, and think of nothing else, but how to fight."
A very small minority indeed seemed to share this heroic view of the
situation. Ter Haigasun's "what then?" was going the rounds.
Gabriel looked round, surprised. "What then? I thought we'd all agreed
on that. What then? We'll hope nothing more."
Here was a chance for Asayan, the choir-singer, to do his friend Oskanian
a service. He had promised that, in this sitting, he would let slip no
chance to sow mistrust. He need only hint at the "treachery" of Gonzague
Maris, at the Agha's mysterious visit to Gabriel.
He cleared his throat. "Effendi, a warrior's death is not always quite so
heroic and single-minded. Personally I wish nothing better. Nor do I
presume to express an opinion on your respected wife. Perhaps you made
some arrangements on her behalf with the Turkish pasha who visited you a
few days ago. We know nothing of that! But what, may I ask, is to happen
to
our
wives, sisters and daughters?"
It was in Gabriel's nature not to be prepared for such attacks. Arrows
of malice and vulgarity were more than he could readily contend with,
mainly because he always needed a certain time in which to become fully
conscious of them. He stared at Asayan, not understanding him.
But Ter Haigasun, who knew Bagradian's nature from A to Z, took up the
cudgels on his behalf: "Singer, keep a guard on your tongue! But if you
really want to know why the Agha Rifaat Bereket from Antakiya came here
to see the effendi, I'll tell you. Gabriel Bagradian could long since
have been safe in the Agha's house in Antakiya, eating his bread and
pilav in peace and quiet, since the Turk suggested that he should escape
and offered him a very good chance to do so. But our Gabriel Bagradian
preferred to keep faith with us and go on doing his duty to the last
minute."
This declaration was a necessary breach of Gabriel's confidence.
A long, rather uneasy silence followed it. Apart from Ter Haigasun,
only Bedros Altouni had known the truth. The silence continued. But it
would be a mistake to suppose that it expressed any general approval of
Bagradian's act in refusing the Agha. The mukhtars, for instance, had no
such thoughts. Each of these worthy men "of the people" asked himself how
he would have reacted to such a temptation. And they each quietly decided
that this European grandson of old Avetis had simply behaved like a silly
fool. Aram Tomasian was the first to ease the silence with his voice.