- Èëáõ±Ù »ë… DZÝÓ ¿ ÃíáõÙ, û± ½³Ý·Ý ¿: - îÕ³Ù³ñ¹Ý ³ÝѳݷÇëï ß³ñÅí»ó å³éÏ³Í ï»ÕáõÙ:
- à±í »ë, DZÝã »ë áõ½áõÙ, - ÙÃ³Ý Ù»ç Ó³ÛÝ»ó ÏÇÝÁ:
- ²ñ³ÙµÇ »Ù:
- ²ÝáõÝ ãáõÝ»±ë:
- ºë ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ »Ù:
ÎÇÝÁ ¹áõéÁ ÏÇë³µ³ó ³ñ»ó, ϳëϳͳÝùáí ݳۻó áõ ˻ûó.
- ²Ýáõݹ ÇÝã ¿, áñ ¹áõ ÇÝã ÉÇÝ»ë: - ²Ýëå³ë»ÉÇ ³ßËáõųó³í, - áñ ÷áÕ ï³Ù, ³Ýáõݹ Ï÷áË»±ë… - ï»ë³í Ñáõë³Ñ³ï ¿ª ËÕ׳ѳñí»ó, - ã·Ý³´ë, ëå³´ëÇ, - ¹áõéÁ »ñ»ëÇÝ ÷³Ï»ó áõ ÍÕñïáóáí ϳÝã»óª гٵ³¯ñÓáõÙ, г´Ùµá, ³´Û ËÉ³Ý³ë ¹áõ, áñ ËáõÉ »ë: - Ò»éùÁ ï³ñ³í ˳ɳÃÇ ·ñå³ÝÝ áõ ùÃÇ ï³Ï ÙñÃÙñóó. §ÒÇÝ Ýëï³Íª ÓÇ »Ù Ù³Ý ·³ÉÇë¦:
ܳ˳ëñ³ÑÁ, áñï»Õ ÇÝùÝ Çñ ßáõñçÁ åïïí»Éáíª ·ñå³ÝÝ»ñÝ ¿ñ ÷áñ÷ñáõÙ ²ñßáÝ, Ý»Õ áõ ÏÇë³Ë³í³ñ ë»ÝÛ³Ï ¿ñ, áñÇ µáñµáëÝ³Í å³ï»ñÁ í³Õáõó ³ñ¨Ç ϳñÇù áõÝ»ÇÝ, µ³Ûó åÇïÇ ¹ÇٳݳÝ, ÙÇÝ㨠гٵáÛÇ Ñ³ñ¨³ÝÇ ïÕ³Ý Ëáå³ÝÇó ·³, áñ ³ÝóÛ³É ³Ýݳ˳¹»å óáõñï ÓÙ»éí³ ³í»ñÇã ѻ勉ÝùÝ»ñÁ ÙÇ Ï»ñå í»ñ³óÝ»Ý, áõ ï»ëÝ»Ýù ·ÉËÝ»ñÇë ÇÝã Ýáñ ûÛÇÝ ¿ ·³ÉÇë: àñ ɳí ûñ»ñÝ ³ÝóÛ³ÉÇ ÑÇßáÕáõÃÛáõÝ »Ý, гٵáÝ Ù³½ ³Ý·³Ù ãÇ Ï³ëϳÍáõÙ, áõ »ñµ ѳñ¨³ÝÝ»ñÁ ëÇñï »Ý ï³ÉÇë, ûª ³Ù»Ý ¹Åí³ñáõÃÛáõÝ Ù³ñ¹áõ ѳٳñ ¿, г'Ùµá, ݳ ·ÉáõËÝ ¿ ûñáñáõÙª ǵñ ëñ³ÙïáõÙ ¿. §¾¯Ñ, ¿ß ÙÇ ë³ïÏÇ, ·³ñáõÝ Ï·³, ÛáÝç³ Ïáõï»ë¦:
гٵáÛÇ ÏÇÝ ²ñßáÝ ·ñå³ÝÝ»ñÁ ßáõéáõÙáõé ï³Éáíª Ã»Ã¨³ó³Í ßáõÝã ù³ß»ó (³¯Ë, ³ÝÇÍí»ë ¹áõ, ëÏÉ»ñá½ áõÕ³ñÏáÕ), »ñµ ÑÇÝáõÙÇÝ É³ÃÇ ÏïáñÝ»ñÇ áõ Ë××í³Í ûɻñÇ Ñ³ÝùÇó å»Õ»ó, ÙÇ ùñùñí³Í ÃÕó¹ñ³Ù ѳݻó: ¸áõéÁ ×éé³ó, ²ñßáÝ, ÙÃ³Ý Ù»ç ïÝÏí³Í Ï»ñå³ñ³ÝùÁ áïùÇó ·ÉáõË ã³÷»Éáí, ³é³ï³Ó»éÝáñ»Ý »ñϳñ»ó.
- ²´é, Ûáɳ ·Ý³, ÙÇÝ㨠²ëïí³Í ÙÇ ¹áõé µ³óÇ:
ʳí³ñÇ Ù»ç ³ñӳݳó³Í` ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ÃÕó¹ñ³ÙÁ ׳ÝÏ»ó áõ µé³Ý Ù»ç ×ÙñûÉáíª »ï ù³ßí»ó, Ïå³í å³ïÇÝ: àõ½áõÙ ¿ñ ·ÉáõËÝ ³éÝ»É áõ ÷³Ëã»É, µ³Ûó áïù»ñÝ Çñ»Ý ã¿ÇÝ »ÝóñÏíáõÙ: ºñµ ²ñßáÝ ¹áõéÁ ÷³Ï»ó, ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ëÏë»ó ѳñÙ³ñí»É ѳñóÏáõÙ ÇßËáÕ Ã³ÝÓñ ë¨ÇÝ: §àõñ»ÙÝ ë³ ¿É ã¿ñ, - Ùï³Í»ó ݳ, - ϳ٠ÏáÕùÇ ¹áõéÝ ¿, ϳ٠¿É… - ϳñϳٻó, - µ³ áñ ë³ ¿É ãÉÇÝÇ, áõñ»Ùݪ í»±ñç… áõñ»ÙÝ ³Ûëù³Ý ï³ñÇ ½áõñ ÑáõÛë»ñ »Ù ÷³Û÷³Û»É, ½áõñ »Ù ÇÝùë ÇÝÓ Ñ³Ùá½»É, û »ñµ¨¿ »ï Ϲ³éݳ٠áõ ϳë»Ù. ºë »Ï³, áñáíÑ»ï¨ ¹áõ ÇÝÓ ëå³ëáõÙ ¿Çñ, ϳñáÕ ¿Ç ³í»ÉÇ ßáõï ·³É ϳÙ` ³í»ÉÇ áõß, ϳÙ` »ñµ¨¿ ã·³É, µ³Ûó »Ï³, áõ½áõÙ »ë` ѳÛÑáÛÇñ, áõ½áõÙ »ë` ó÷³é³Ï³Ý ß³Ý å»ë íéݹÇñ, áõ½áõÙ »ë` ·ÇñϹ ³é, ÙǨÝáõÛÝ ¿, »Ï»É »Ù… »ë åÇïÇ ·³ÛÇ, »Ï»É »Ù:
- ø»½ ï»ÕÝ ¿, Ë»Éùǹ ÇÝã ÷ãáõÙ ¿, ³ÝáõÙ »ë, ã»ë ³ëáõÙª ï³ñÇù¹ ³é³Í ÏÝÇÏ »ë, µ³ áñ ÙÇ Í³Ýáà áõ µ³ñ»Ï³Ù ѳݹÇåÇ, DZÝã »ë ³ë»Éáõ, ³ë»Éáõ »ëª ¹éÝ»¹áõé ÁÝϳͪ ÙÇ Ïáñ³Í-ÙáÉáñ³Í Ù³ñ¹ »ë Ù³Ý ·³ÉÇë, áñ å³ñïù¹ ÷³Ï»±ë, µ³ ·»ïÇÝÁ ã»ë ÙïÝDZ… ÑÇÙ³ á±í ¿ å³ñïù»ñÁ Ù³ñ»Éáõ Ù³ëÇÝ Ùï³ÍáõÙ, ÑÇÙ³ áí ÇÝã ϳñáÕ ¿ª ÃéóÝáõÙ ¿, ã³ÝÃ»É ã»ë ϳñáÕ, áõñ»ÙÝ ÷³ë³÷áõë³¹ ѳí³ùÇ, ÝËßáõÝ »ñ³½Ý»ñ¹ ÷³ÏÇ ï³Ï ³é áõ ãùíÇ´ñ¦:
гñ¨³Ý ¹é³Ý µ³Ý³ÉÇÝ ³ÕÙáõÏáí åïïí»ó ÏáÕå»ùÇ Ù»ç:
- â³ñ³ÝáõÙ »ë, ¿¹ ÷áùñá·áõÃÛ³Ý Ýß³Ý ¿… àñ Çٳݳ٠ݻñáÕáõÃÛáõÝ Ëݹñ»Ùª ÏÝ»ñ»ë, í³½»í³½ Ï·³Ù, Ïãáù»Ù å³ïÏ»ñǹ ³é³ç áõ Ó»éù»ñë å³ñ½³Íª ϳճã»Ù, µ³Ûó ·Çï»Ùª ³ñ³Íë Ëá½áõÃÛáõÝ ¿ñ, áñ ¹áõ ÇÝÓ Ý»ñ»ë, »´ë ÇÝÓ ã»Ù Ý»ñÇ, - ¹é³Ý »ï¨Çó Ñëï³Ï ÉëíáõÙ ¿ñ ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹áõ Ó³ÛÝÁ, áñÝ ³ë»ë å³ïñ³ëïíáõÙ ¿ñ ÷áË»É ³ß˳ñÑÇ Ñ³Ý¹»å §áõ½íáñǦ Çñ í»ñ³µ»ñÙáõÝùÁ:
¸áõéÁ í»ñç³å»ë µ³óí»ó: ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ï»ëáÕáõÃÛáõÝÁ ɳñ»ó ¨ Ñáõë³Ñ³ï Ñá·áó ѳݻó: Üñ³Ý Ãí³ó, û Çñ µáÉáñ ¹Åµ³ËïáõÃÛáõÝÝ»ñÇ å³ï׳éÝ ³Û¹ ³ÝͳÝáà ϻñå³ñ³Ýùáí Ù³ñ¹Ý ¿, áñÇÝ Ïáõ½»ñ ¹³Ý³Ï³Ñ³ñ»É, ˻չ³Ù³Ñ ³Ý»É ϳ٠ÙÇ ù³ÝÇ ÷³Ù÷áõßï Çñ³ñ »ï¨Çó ¹³ï³ñÏ»É áõÕÇÕ ëñïÇ Ù»ç:
²ÛÝù³Ý ¿ñ ï³ñí»É ³Û¹ µéÝÇ å³ïÏ»ñáí, áñ ÝáõÛÝÇëÏ ³Ýëå³ë»ÉÇ ¹áõñë »Ï³í óùëïáóÇó ¨ Ó»éùÁ »ñϳñ»ó, áñ µéÝÇ ³ÝͳÝáÃÇ ÃÇÏáõÝùÇݪ å³ïÇ Å³Ù³óáõÛóÇ ß»ñ»÷Ç å»ë ï³ñáõµ»ñíáÕ »ñϳñ, ϳÃݳ·áõÛÝ ß³ñýÁ, µ³Ûó ëó÷í»ó áõ ë³ñë³÷³Í »ï ù³ßí»ó: îÕ³Ù³ñ¹Á ½·³ó, áñ íï³Ý·Á Ùáï»ñùáõÙ ¿, áõ ¹áÝùÇßáïáõÃÛáõÝÁ µéÝ»ó. ·ÉáõËÁ ϳ˪ Çç³í ³ëïÇ׳ÝÝ»ñáí, ÝáõÛÝÇëÏ ³ÝÑá· Ó¨³óÝ»Éáíª Ùáé³óí³Í ÙÇ Ù»Õ»¹Ç ßíßí³óñ»ó: ²é³çÇÝ Ñ³ñÏáõÙ áïùÁ ¹ñ»ó µ³½ñÇùÇÝ, ÏáßÇÏÇ Ã»É»ñÁ ù³Ý¹»ó áõ ѳݷáõó»óª ׳ϳﳷñÇÝ Ó»éÝáó Ý»ï»Éáí:
§îÕ³ »ëª ¹»Ùù¹ óáõÛó ïáõñ, ³ë»ÉÇù¹ ³ë³, û ã¿ ÃÇÏáõÝùÇó Ë÷áõÙ »ë, á±í ãÇ Ï³ñáÕ: ¾¹ ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹³í³ñÇ ãÇ'¦, - ÙïÙï³ó ݳ: ºñµ ßù³ÙáõïùÇó »É³í, óáõñïÁ íñ³ ïí»ó: úÓÇùÁ µ³ñÓñ³óñ»ó, ³ï³ÙÝ»ñÁ ϳ÷ϳ÷»Éáíª ù³ÛÉ»ñÝ ³ñ³·³óñ»ó:
ØÇÝã ì³ã³·³ÝÁ ù³ÛÉáõÙ ¿ñ óñïÇ ÙÇçáíª ÙdzÛÝ³Ï ÏáËÏñï»Éáí ÷áÕáóÇ ÙáõÃÁ, ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ßí³ñ³Í Ýϳï»ó, áñ ³Ï³ÝçÁ ¹»Ù ¿ ïí»É ¹é³ÝÁª ÷áñÓ»Éáí ÇÝã-áñ Ó³ÛÝ»ñ áñë³É: ø³ñ ÉéáõÃÛáõÝ ¿ñ. á´ã ßñßÛáõÝ, á´ã Ñá·áó, ÝáõÛÝÇëÏ ³Ù³Ý»Õ»ÝÇ ßñËÏ-ÃñËÏáó ã¿ñ ÉëíáõÙ, áñ ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹áõ Ñ»é³Ý³Éáõó Ñ»ïá ³ÏÝϳÉáõÙ ¿ñ Éë»É ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ` ϳñÍ»Éáí û Ù³ñ¹ áõ ÏÇÝ ×³ß»É »Ý ¨ ³éûñÛ³ Ñá·ë»ñáí ͳÝñ³µ»éݪ íÇ×»É, Ñ»ïá Çñ³ñÇó Ý»ñáÕáõÃÛáõÝ Ëݹñ»É, áñ ïáõÝÁ ï³ù å³Ñ»Ý:
´³Ûó á´ã. á´ã ¹é³Ý ÍËÝÇÝ»ñÇ ×ééáó ¿ñ ÉëíáõÙ, á´ã Ñáճó÷»ñÇ ùëïùëïáó, á´ã ¿É ¹³ñ¹áï »ñ·Ç Ó³ÛÝ: §Æ±Ýã »Õ³í ¿¹ ÏÇÝÁ, ٻ鳱í¦, - Ùï³Í»ó ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ¨ ÏÝáç³Ï³Ý ѳٻñ³ßËáõÃÛáõÝ ¹ñë¨áñ»Éáíª ¹áõéÁ óϻó: ØÃ³Ý Ù»ç ˳ñ˳÷»Éáíª ÷Ýïñ»ó ¹é³Ý ½³Ý·Á, µ³Ûó ½áõñ, å³ï³ë˳ÝÁ ͳÕñ³ÉÇ ÉéáõÃÛáõÝÝ ¿ñ: ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ³í»ÉÇ ÏÍÏí»ó: §ºñ¨Ç ÆÝùÁ ×Çßï ¿ñ, »ñµ ³ëáõÙ ¿ñª Ù³ñ¹áõ ³Ù»Ý³ãÝãÇÝ å³ñï³Ï³ÝáõÃÛáõÝÁ »ñç³ÝÇÏ ÉÇÝ»ÉÝ ¿, áñÁ ãϳï³ñ»Éáõ ¹»åùáõÙ áã ÙÇ å³ïÇÅ ãÇ ë³ÑÙ³Ýí³Í: î»ëÝ»ë ÑÇÙ³ áõ±Ù ¿ ÍáõÕ³ÏÁ ·óáõÙ Çñ ÇÙ³ëïáõÝ Ùïù»ñáí¦, - ˳ݹáï Ùï³Í»ó ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ áõ ùÙÍÇͳջó:
- ²ñ³´ÙµÇ ³ÕçÇÏ, -ßßáõÏáí Ëáë»ó ÇÝùÝ Çñ Ñ»ï, - ¿ë ÙóÝÝ áõ óñïÇÝ Ç±Ýã »ë Ïáñóñ»É ¿ë ³ÝͳÝáà ¹éÝ»ñÇÝ: ÐÇÙ³ ßáõÝÁ µÝÇó ¹áõñë ãÇ ·³ÉÇë, ¹áõ ¿¹ ù³ÝDZ ·É˳ÝÇ »ë, áñ ׳Ù÷³ »ë ÁÝÏ»É áõ ·ÝáõÙ »ëª áõñ ³ãù¹ ÏïñÇ… ÑÁ±, »´ï ¹³ñÓÇñ, Ñ»Ýó áïù¹ Ï³Ë ·ó»ë, ÙÇ ÷áñÓ³Ýù Ï·³ ·ÉËǹ, ßá´õï ³ñ³, ßá¯õï: - ÆÝùÝ Çñ»Ý ѳÙá½áõÙ ¿ñ ²ñ³ÙµÇݪ ѳëáõ ãÉÇÝ»Éáí Çñ³Ï³Ý ëå³éݳÉÇùÇÝ: ºñµ ³ãù ³Í»ó ßáõñçÁ, ï»ë³íª ѳë»É ¿ Ó»ÕݳѳñÏ, áõñ ³Ý¹áõÝ¹Ç ËáݳíáõÃÛ³Ý ³Ýëå³ë»ÉÇ Ñáï Éóí»ó éáõÝ·»ñÁ: §ÆÝãåÇëǯ ³ÝÏáõÙ, ǯÝã ˳Ûï³é³ÏáõÃÛáõÝ, - Ý»Õëñï»ó ݳ ¨ ÑÇß»Éáí ÏÝáç ϳëϳͳÙÇï ѳ۳óùÁª ÷ÕÓϳó, - áõñ»ÙÝ »ë Ùáõñ³óÇÏ »Ù, ѳ±, ãÙ»é³, Ùáõñ³óÇÏ ¿É ¹³ñÓ³±, ѳÝáõÝ ù»½ ¿±É ÇÝã»ñ »Ù ³Ý»Éáõ…¦:
ºñµ ¹áõñë åñͳí Ó»ÕݳѳñÏÇ ÉåñÍáõÝ ·³ÕçáõÃÛáõÝÇó, ѳëϳó³í, áñ áïù»ñÝ ³Ù»Ý ûñ Çñ»Ý ³Û¹ï»Õ »Ý µ»ñ»Éáõ, ÙÇÝ㨠ѳÙá½íÇ, û ÷Ýïñ³ÍÝ ³Ýϳñ»ÉÇ µ³Ý ¿: ÆëÏ »ñµ ѳë³í ûï³ñ³Ï³ÝÇ ¹é³ÝÁ, ͳÝáà ËÉñïÛáõÝ ½·³ó:
ÆÝãáõ±… á±í ϳñáÕ ¿ µ³ó³ïñ»Éª ÇÝãå»ë ¿ ëÏëíáõÙ ³Û¹ ³Ù»ÝÁ: ¸ñ³Ý ÇÝã ³ÝáõÝ ³ë»ë, ϳñáÕ »Ý ï³É. ïé÷³Ýù, ·áñáí, ·áõÃ, ÝíÇñáõÙ, ÇÝùݳÙáé³óáõÙ, ϳ٠¿É ³ëáõÙ »Ý` ë»ñ, »ñ¨Ç, áñáíÑ»ï¨ ¹ñ³ÝóÇó áã Ù»ÏÁ ã¿ áõ µáÉáñÝ Çñ³ñ Ñ»ï ¿… ϳ٠¿É… ÇÝã-áñ ·ñáÕÇ ï³ñ³Í ó³í ¿, áñÇó µáõÅí»ÉÝ ³ÝÑݳñ ¿, Ù³ñ¹ÏáõÃÛáõÝÁ ¹ñ³ ѳñáõóÇãÁ ëå³ÝáÕ áãÇÝã ãÇ Ùá·áÝ»É, áñ ËÙ»ë áõ ³å³Ñáí³·ñí»ë µáÉáñ ·³ÉÇù í³ñ³ÏÝ»ñÇó, ÇÙáõÝÇï»ï Ó»éù µ»ñ»ë áõ… ÷ñÏí»ë:
ÆÝùÝ ¿É ãѳëϳó³í, û ÇÝã ¿ ϳï³ñíáõÙ: ÆÝã ÉÇÝ»Éáõ ¿ñ, ³ñ¹»Ý »Õ»É ¿ñ: гçáñ¹ ûñÁ, »ñµ ù³ÛÉ»ñÝ áõÕÕ»ó ¹»åÇ Ù³ïáõéÁ, áñï»ÕÇó »ñ¨áõÙ ¿ñ »ñ»ùѳñϳÝÇ ïáõÝÁ, ³ñ³ÙµÇÝ ·Çï»ñ, áñ ×Çßï ¿ ³ë»É Çñ ³ÝáõÝÁª §²ñ³ÙµÇ¦: ÆÝùÁ ëáíáñ³Ï³Ý ³ñ³ÙµÇ ¿, ³Ùáõëݳó³Í ÙÇ ÏÇÝ, áñ ÙÇÉÇáݳíáñ Çñ ÝÙ³ÝÝ»ñÇ å»ë ɳí û í³ï ϳï³ñáõÙ ¿ å³ñï³Ï³ÝáõÃÛáõÝÝ»ñÁ, áñáß Çñ³íáõÝùÝ»ñ ëÇñáí ÝíÇñáõÙ Çñ ³Ûñ Ù³ñ¹áõÝ, áñáß Çñ³íáõÝùÝ»ñ Ãáõñ-Ãí³Ýùáí åáÏáõÙ ³Ù»ÝùÇóª ³Ý·³Ù ¹ñÏÇó §Ã³Õ ݳÛáÕÇó¦ áõ §ÙÇÉå»ïÇó¦, ½³í³ÏÝ»ñ ¿ ٻͳóÝáõÙ, ѳÝñû·áõï ³ß˳ï³Ýùáí ½µ³ÕíáõÙª ÏñûÉáí áõ Ù߳ϻÉáí ³½·Ç í³Õí³ ûñÁ…
ÐÇÙ³ á±õñ ¿ ³×³å³ñáõÙ Ù»ñûñÛ³ лÕݳñÁ: ²ÛÝï»Õ, áõñ ÇÝùÁ å»ïù ¿: ²í»ÉÇ ³Ýѻûà µ³Ý ³Ýϳñ»ÉÇ ¿ñ »ñ¨³Ï³Û»É: öñÏãÇ ÙÇëÇ³Ý í³Õáõó Çñ»Ý ëå³é³Í ï³ñµ»ñ³Ï ¿, ÇëÏ ÇÝùÝ ³ñ³ÙµÇ ¿:
ֳݳå³ñÑÇÝ Ùï³ÍáõÙ ¿ñ, û »ñÏñáñ¹ ѳñÏÇ ³Û¹ Ë»Õ× ÏÝáçÝ ÇÝãå»ë ѳÙá½Ç, áñ ÇÝùÁ Ùáõñ³óÇÏ ã¿, ·áÕ ã¿, áã ¿É ³ÛÝ Ï³Ý³ÝóÇó, áñ ·Çß»ñÝ»ñÁ áñëÇ »Ý »ÉÝáõÙ… ûå»ï Ýñ³ÝóÇó ³é³í»É Ýí³ëï ¿, ÇÝùÝ ûñÁ ó»ñ»Ïáí ·áÕ³ÝáõÙ ¿ áõñÇßÇ ï³ßïÇó, áõñ»ÙÝ ÝáõÛÝ µ³ÝÝ ¿ ³ÝáõÙ, ¹»é ³í»ÉÇ í³ïóñ ÙÇ µ³Ý, ù³Ý ·Çß»ñ³ÛÇÝ áñë³Ñ³É³ÍÝ»ñÁ: ÆÝùݳӳÕÏÙ³Ý Å³Ù³Ý³ÏÁ ã¿, û ³Ûë í»ñçÇÝ ×Ç·Ý ¿É ½áõñ í³ïÝíÇ, ¿É áã ÙÇ ÑáõÛë (Çñ»ÝÇó DZÝã ²ëïí³Í): ÆÝùÝ ¿É ãÝϳï»ó, û ÇÝãå»ë ѳë³í »ñÏñáñ¹ ѳñÏ áõ ¹áõéÁ µ³Ë»ó: àã ÙÇ ³ñÓ³·³Ýù. ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ³ÛÝå»ë Ñáõë³Ñ³ïí»ó, ϳñÍ»ë ³ß˳ñÑÁ å³ñáõñí»É ¿ñ ·»ñ»½Ù³Ý³ÛÇÝ ÉéáõÃÛ³Ý Ù»ç, ˻ɳóÝáñ ßÝã³ëå³éáõÃÛáõÝÁ ëïÇå»ó Ó»éùÁ ÷ñ÷áõñÇÝ ·ó»É. §´³ó»´ù, ³Ýí׳ñ µáõųÛó ¿, »Ã» ÑÇí³Ý¹ áõÝ»ù, µ³ó»'ù, áñ ·ñ³Ýó»Ù¦: òÝóí»ó Çñ Ó³ÛÝÇ ïÇñ³Ï³Ý ÑÝãáÕáõÃÛáõÝÇó áõ í»ñ Ãé³í, »ñµ ¹áõéÁ µ³óí»ó: úï³ñ Ï»ñå³ñ³Ýùáí Ù³ñ¹Á ѳÛïÝí»ó ó»ñ»Ïí³ ÉáõÛëÇ ¨ ë³Ý¹Õ³Ñ³ñóÏÇ Ý»Õí³ÍùÇ Ù»ç áõ Ñ»·Ý³Ýùáí Ý»ï»ó. §´³ñ»·áñÍáõÃÛáõÝÁ Ó»ñ ÑÇÙݳϳ±Ý ³ß˳ï³ÝùÝ ¿, û± Ó»éùÇ Ñ»ï ¿ë ·áñÍÝ ¿É »ù ·ÉáõË µ»ñáõÙ¦:
²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ³ÛÝå»ë ¿ñ ݳÛáõÙ, ϳñÍ»ë áõñí³Ï³Ý ¿ñ ï»ë»É. §ÆÝãåÇëǯ ÝÙ³ÝáõÃÛáõݦ, ßñÃáõÝùÝ»ñÝ ³ÝÓ³ÛÝ ß³ñÅí»óÇÝ, ϳñÏ³Ù³Í ³ñï³µ»ñ»ó.
- ¸áõù… ÑÇí³Ý¹… áõáõÝ»±ù:
- ÐÇÙ³ á±í ÑÇí³Ý¹ ãÇ, ÇëÏ ¹áõù ³éá±Õç »ù:
- º±ë… ³Ûá, ³ÛëÇÝùݪ áã, á’ã ³ÛÝù³Ý, µ³Ûó…
- гٵá ù»éÇÝ Ëɳó»É ¿, ÑÇÙ³ ݳ ÑÇí³±Ý¹ ¿, û± ËáõÉ»ñÇ Ñ³Ù³ñ Ó»ñ Ññ³ß³·áñÍ ¹³íóñÝ»ñáõÙ ï»Õ ãϳ, - ˳Ûûó ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹Á ¨ Áݹ·Íí³Í ù³Õ³ù³í³ñáõÃÛ³Ùµ ÙÇ ÏáÕÙ ù³ßí»ó, áñ ׳ݳå³ñÑ ï³: ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ÑÉáõ Ñݳ½³Ý¹í»ó: Ì˳ËáïÇ ïïÇå ÑáïÁ Éóí»ó ùÇÃÁ, ݳ Ó»éùáí ùÇÃÁ ÷³Ï»ó:
- ¸áõù ã»ù ÍËáõÙ, áñ µáÉáñÇó »ñϳñ ³åñ»ù, ³Ûá±, - ÏñÏÇÝ ã³ñ³Ëݹ³ó ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹Á, - ë˳ÉíáõÙ »ù, ³Ûëûñ å³ï³Ñ³ñÝ»ñÇó ³í»ÉÇ ß³ï Ù³ñ¹ÇÏ »Ý ٳѳÝáõÙ, ù³Ý Ãáù³ËïÇó, ÇëÏ ãÍËáÕÝ»ñÝ ³å³Ñáí³·ñí³Í ã»Ý íóñÝ»ñÇó, ³í³½³Ï³ÛÇÝ Ñ³ñÓ³ÏáõÙÝ»ñÇó ¨… ˻ɳ·³ñáõÃÛáõÝÇó: ¸áõù ÇÝÓ Ñ»ï ѳٳӳÛÝ ã»±ù, ÇѳñÏ» ѳٳӳÛÝ ã»ù, ¹³ Ó»ñ Çñ³íáõÝùÝ ¿… Ýëï»’ù, Ëݹñ»Ù… á´ã, á´ã, óËïÇÝ Ýëï»ù, áñå»ë½Ç µ³ËïÁ Ó»½ ßáõï-ßáõï ³Ûó»ÉÇ, - ÇÝùݳ·áÑ Ååï³ó:
- ¸áõù ÇÝÓ ×³Ý³ãá±õÙ »ù, - ³Ýëå³ë»ÉÇ Ñ³ñóñ»ó ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ:
- î³ñûñÇÝ³Ï Ñ³ñó»ñ »ù ï³ÉÇë, ÇÝãå»±ë ϳñáÕ »Ù Ó»½ ׳ݳã»É:
- سñ¹áõÝ ×³Ý³ã»Éáõ ѳٳñ å³ñï³¹Çñ ã¿ Ýñ³ Ñ»ï ³ÝÏáÕÇÝ ÙïÝ»É, ϳñ»ÉÇ ¿ µ³í³ñ³ñí»É ÙdzÛÝ Çñ³ñ Ñ»ï ÍÇͳջÉáí:
- ÆëÏ á±í ³ë³óª ³ÝÏáÕÇÝ ÙïÝ»ë, ÍÇͳÕÇñ, ÇÝãù³Ý áõ½áõÙ »ë, - ³é³Ýó ݳ˳µ³ÝǪ §¹áõ¦-Ç ³Ýó³í ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹Áª Ëáõë³÷»Éáí ÏÝáç ѳ۳óùÇó, - »Ï»É »ë, áñ ·ñ³Ýó»ë ÑÇí³Ý¹Ý»ñÇ ïíÛ³ÉÝ»ñÁ, áõñ»ÙÝ ÃáõÕà áõ ·ñÇã í»ñóñáõ, ·ñÇ. гٵ³ñÓáõÙ Ðáí³ÏÇÙÛ³Ý-ËáõÉ, ²ñß³ÉáõÛë Ðáí³ÏÇÙÛ³Ý-ëÏÉ»ñá½, ì³ã³·³Ý ´³ñÇùÛ³Ý-ݨñá½, ²ñÙ³Ýáõß ²½Ç½Û³Ý-÷³Ëëï³Ï³Ý, æáÝ èáµÇÝëáÝ-ûï³ñ³Ï³Ý. »ññáñ¹ ѳñÏáõÙ ¿É ÑÇí³Ý¹Ý»ñ ϳÝ... ݳ ÇÙ Ù³ÝÏáõÃÛáõÝÇó »Ï³Í í»ñçÇÝ å³ñ·¨Ý ¿: ²ÝÇÍÛ³¯É ó³í, - ÙéÝã³ó ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹Ý áõ ÷Éí»ó óËïÇÝ:
²ñ³ÙµÇÝ ³ÛɳÛÉí³Í ݳÛáõÙ ¿ñ Ýñ³Ý, áõ ½³ñÙ³ÝùÝ áõŷݳÝáõÙ ¿ñ: §î»ëÝ»ë ÇÝãáõ± Ùdzݷ³ÙÇó íëï³Ñ»ó, 㿱 áñ ³ÝͳÝáÃÇÝ, ³ÛÝ ¿É ÏÝáçÁ, ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹Á ÷áñÓáõÙ ¿ ÙáÉáñ»óݻɪ Ùáï ³å³·³ÛáõÙ Ýñ³ µáÉáñ ˳ճù³ñï»ñÝ û·ï³·áñÍ»Éáõ Ýå³ï³Ïáí: ÆëÏ ë³… ³Ûë Ù»ÏÁ ϳ٠߳ï Ëáñ³Ù³ÝÏ ¿, ϳ٪ ß³ï ³½ÝÇí, ѳٻݳÛݹ»åë, ÙÛáõëÝ»ñÇó ï³ñµ»ñ ¿¦:
- Ü»ñ»ó»’ù, »ë å»ïù ¿ ·Ý³Ù, áõß³ÝáõÙ »Ù… »ë ·ÝáõÙ »Ù, - ß÷áÃÙáõÝùÁ óùóÝ»Éáíª ³ë³ó ²ñ³ÙµÇÝ:
- ¶ÝáõÙ »ë, ·Ý³, ÇÙ ÏÛ³ÝùÇó ù»½ ÝÙ³Ý ¿Ýù³¯Ý Ù³ñ¹ ¿ ·Ý³ó»É, áñ ùá ·Ý³ÉÝ ³Ûɨë ß³ï µ³Ý ãÇ ÷áËÇ, - »ñµ ¹áõéÁ ÷³Ïí»ó, ϳñÍ»ë »ñ³½Ç Ù»ç Ëáë»ó ïÕ³Ù³ñ¹Á, ÝáõÛÝ ÇÝùÁ` ݨñá½áí ï³é³åáÕ ì³ã³·³Ý ´³ñÇùÛ³ÝÁ: ØÇÝã µ³×ÏáÝÇ ·ñå³ÝÇó ѳµÁ ѳݻÉáõ ³Ý׳ñ ÷áñÓ»ñ ¿ñ ³ÝáõÙ, ²ñßáÝ ÍÇÏñ³Ï»ó ÏÇë³µ³ó ¹éÝÇó.
- ì³ã³·³±Ý, - í³ï µ³Ý ·áõ߳ϻÉáíª í³Ëíáñ³Í ù³ÛÉ ³ñ»ó: ì³ã³·³ÝÁ Ùßáõßáï ѳ۳óùÁ ѳé»ó Ýñ³Ý: - àõßù¹ ï»±ÕÝ ¿, ïÕ³ë, í³¯Û, áÝó í³Ë»óñǯñ:
àõÅ»ñÁ ÅáÕáí»Éáíª ì³ã³·³ÝÁ ³ñï³µ»ñ»ó. - ´ÅßÏáõÑÇÝ ·Ý³±ó… ·ñ³ÝóáõÙ ¿ñ ÑÇí³Ý¹Ý»ñÇÝ, áñ ³Ýí׳ñ ¹»Õ»ñ µ³Å³ÝÇ, гٵá ù»éáõ ³ÝáõÝÁ ·ñ»±ó:
- ÒñÇ ¹»±Õ, ¿¹ á±í, - ³Ï³ÝçÝ»ñÇÝ ãѳí³ï³ó ²ñßáÝ: - êáõï ÏÉÇÝÇ, ѳ, ÑÇÙ³ ¹»Õ»ñÁ ¿Ýù³Ý óÝÏ »Ý, á±í ÓñÇ µ³Ý Ïï³: ¾Ý ÏÝDZÏÝ ¿ñ, áñ ùá ïÝÇó ¹áõñë »Ï³í, »ë ¿É ³ëǪ Ë»ÉùÇ »ë »Ï»É, ÏÝÇÏ Ïµ»ñ»ë, ¿ë ïáõÝÁ ϳñ·Ç ·óÇ:
- ¾¹å»ë Ñ»ßï ·Ý³óáÕÁ ãÇ, »ï Ï·³, ³ãù»ñÇó »ñ¨áõÙ ¿ñª ÙÇÝ㨠áõ½³ÍÇÝ ãѳëÝÇ, Ó»éù ãÇ ù³ßÇ: ´áÉáñÝ ¿É ÙÇ ë³ÝñÇ Ïï³í »Ý, - ßáõÝãÁ ï»ÕÁ µ»ñ»ó ì³ã³·³ÝÁ, - ÏÛ³Ýù¹ ½³ñ¹³ñáõÙ »Ý, áñ Ùdzݷ³ÙÇó ¹ÅáËù ¹³ñÓÝ»Ý áõ ãùí»Ý… ÑÇÙ³ »Ï»Éª ¹»Õ áõ ¹³ñÙ³Ý ¿ ³é³ç³ñÏáõÙ, í³ÕÁ ¿Ýå»ë ÏãùíÇ, áñ ϳÝã»ë, ·ÉËǹ í³Û ï³ë, ÍåïáõÝ ãÇ Ñ³ÝÇ, áÝó áñ ¿ëûñí³ áï áõ Ó»é ÁÝÏÝáÕÝ ÇÝùÁ ã¿ñ. µ³ñ»·áñͳϳÝÇ ëݳÝϳó³Í ïÇñáç å»ë ËáõÛë »Ý ï³ÉÇë ·ÃáõÃÛ³Ý ëáíáñ ѳ׳Ëáñ¹Çó, ù³ÝÇ áñ µ³ñ»·áñÍáõÃÛáõÝÁ í׳ñáíÇ ¿ ¹³ñÓ»É: ºí Ϲ³ñÓÝ»¯Ý:
²ñßáÝ µ»ñ³ÝÁ µ³óª ³Ï³Ýç ¿ñ ¹ÝáõÙ ì³ã³·³ÝÇ Ë»Éáù Ùïù»ñÇÝ, ѳÝϳñÍ ÙÇ ëáõñ ÍÕñïáó Éëí»ó, áñ í»ñ³Íí»ó ϳÕϳÝÓÇ, ³å³ µ³ñÓñ³Ó³ÛÝ áÕµÇ:
ì³ã³·³ÝÁ ﳷݳåáí ³ãù»ñÁ ѳé»ó ³é³ëï³ÕÇÝ` ãÉÇÝDZ…
²ñßáÝ Ý³Û»ó ì³ã³·³ÝÇ Ýí³Õ³Í Ù³ñÙÝÇÝ áõ ãѳëϳó³í, û áñï»ÕÇó ¿ ·³ÉÇë Ù³Ñí³Ý Ó³ÛÝÁ: ê³Ý¹Õ³Ñ³ñóÏÇ Çñ³ñ³ÝóáõÙÁ ëó÷»óñ»ó ²ñßáÛÇÝ, áõ ݳ, »ñ»ëÇÝ Ë³ã ѳݻÉáí, »ï-»ï ·Ý³ó, ÇÝãå»ë »Ï»Õ»óáõ ß»ÙÇó »Ý Ñ»é³ÝáõÙ, ³Ï³Ýç ¹ñ»ó:
- ¸ÇÙ³óÇ°ñ, - ѳïáõ ³ë³ó Ó³ÛÝÁ, áñ ³í»ÉÇ í»ñÇó Éëí»ó, ù³Ý »ññáñ¹ ѳñÏÝ ¿ñ: ì»ñÇ´ó Éëí»ó: - ȳóÇ Å³ÙÝ ¿É Ï·³, - ß³ñáõݳϻó Ó³ÛÝÁ. ÇÝã-áñ Ù»ÏÁ Ëñ³ïáõÙ ¿ñ ѻϻϳóáÕ ÏÝáçÁ, - ÑÇÙ³ ù»½ ѳí³ùÇ:
²ñßá Ù³ÛñÇÏÁ ë³ñë³÷³Í ·ÉËÇ ÁÝϳí, áñ »ññáñ¹ ѳñÏÇ ÝϳñÇã ²í»ïÇëÁ í³Ë׳Ýí»ó: §²÷ëá¯ëë, - ÙÕÏï³ó ݳ, - ç³Ñ»É ¿ñ ¿¯, ¿¹ ³Ýï»ñ ó³íÝ ³Ñ»É áõ ç³Ñ»É ãÇ Ý³ÛáõÙ, ãÝ³Û³Í ¿ë µá½ áõ ·áÕÇ ³ß˳ñÑáõ٠ɳíÁ ·Ý³ÉÝ ¿¦:
ºñµ ¹³·³ÕÝ Çç»óñÇÝ µ³Ï, ³ñ¨Á ¹áõñë »É³í: ¶É˳í»ñ¨áõÙ ì³ã³·³ÝÝ ¿ñ, áñÇ ¹»ÙùÇ ¹³ÉÏáõÃÛáõÝÁ ùÇã ¿ñ ï³ñµ»ñíáõÙ Ù»é³Í ÁÝÏ»ñáç ¹»ÙùÇ ³Ý·áõÛÝÇó: ²í»ïÇëÇ ³ÙáõÉ ÏÇÝÁ Éáõé ɳÉÇë ¿ñ:
²ñ³ÙµÇÝ Ñ³ÛïÝí»ó µ³ÏÇ ³ÝÏÛáõÝáõÙ áõ ù³ñ³ó³í: §Â³ÕáõÙ ¿... ¾ëûñ ¿É ë³ Ï˳ݷ³ñÇ, áñ ÙÇ Ï³ñ·ÇÝ Ñ³ñóáõÙ ³Ý»Ù: лÝó áõ½»Ý³Ù ÙïùÇë ¹ñ³ÍÝ ³Ý»É, ÙÇ ãݳ˳ï»ëí³Í ·áñÍ Ù»ç ÏÁÝÏÝÇ, ³Ù»Ý µ³Ý Ï˳éÝÇ: àõñ»ÙÝ, ²ñ³´ÙµÇ, ÷»ßǹ ù³ñ»ñÁ ó÷ ïáõñ, Ó»éù ù³ßÇ: î»ëÝ»ëª á±í ¿ Ù»é»É... »ññáñ¹ ѳñÏÇ ¿Ý ͳÝñ ÑÇí³±Ý¹Á, ÁÝÏ»ñÁ Ï·ÅíÇ, áí ·ÇïǪ ù³ÝÇ ï³ñí³ ÁÝÏ»ñ »Ý, ù³ÝÇ É³í áõ í³ï »Ý ÏÇë»É, ù³ÝÇ ³Ý·³Ù Ëéáí»É áõ ѳßïí»É, ¿¯Ñ, ³Ýï»ñ ÏÛ³Ýù ¿, û áõÙ ¿ å»ïù... ¦, - Ùïùáí ï³ñí³Íª ÇÝùÝ ¿É ãÝϳï»ó, û ÇÝãå»ë ѳë³í ó÷áñÇÝ ¨ Ù³ñ¹Ï³Ýó Ññ»Éáíª Ñ³ÛïÝí»ó ¹³·³ÕÇ Ùáï: ²ãùÝ ÁÝÏ³í ³Ýß³ñųó³Í ì³ã³·³ÝÇÝ, ëÇñïÁ ÙÕÏï³ó, Ù³ñÙÝáí ë³ñëáõé ³Ýó³í, »ñµ ѳ۳óùÝ Çç»óñ»ó ¹Ç³ÏÇ ¹»ÙùÇÝ: ²Ý³ÏÝϳÉÇó ß³Ýóѳñí»ó. ³ÛÝ, ÇÝã ÷ÝïñáõÙ ¿ñ, áñå»ë½Ç Ù»ÕùÁ ù³í»ñ, ÑÇÙ³ ³ÝËáë å³éÏ³Í ¿ñ ³ÛÝï»Õª ³ë»ë ͳÕñ»Éáí Çñ µáÉáñ ç³Ýù»ñÝ áõ ÑáõÛë»ñÁ:
2003Ã.
ARAMBI[1]
TRANSLATION BY HAROUTYUN KHOUDANYAN
EDITED BY DR. AGOP HACIKYAN
“Do you hear? Is that the doorbell?” The recumbent man moved uneasily.
“Who are you? What do you want?” his wife called out in the darkness.
“Arambi.”
“Haven’t you got a name?”
“I’m Arambi.”
Arsho, Hambo’s wife, pushed the door half-open, looked out suspiciously, and said sneeringly, “What do you expect, with a name like that?” With unexpected cheerfulness she went on, “If I give you money, will you change your name?” She realized the woman’s despair, and pitied her: “Wait, don’t go away.”
She slammed the door in her face and shouted, “Hambardzum! Hambo! Ah, may you turn deaf; you can’t hear anything anyway!” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her gown and mumbled, “I’m looking for the horse, and sitting in the saddle.”
Turning in the hallway, Arsho rummaged through her pockets. The hall was narrow and gloomy. Its moulding walls needed sunlight, but now they had to wait for Hambo’s neighbour’s son to return from abroad and repair the damage caused by the severe winter. Let’s see what else will go wrong. Hambo doesn’t doubt for one minute that his best days are distant memories; and when his neighbours try to cheer him up, saying that set-backs are part of the human condition, Hambo shakes his head and says, as if making a joke, “Eh, I’ll get lucky when pigs fly.”
Arsho turned out her pockets and breathed a sigh of relief when, from the mess of old rags and tangled yarn, she succeeded in digging out a crumbled banknote. The door creaked open, Arsho examined the figure that stood there, shrouded in darkness from head to toe, and handed her the banknote, “Take this. Try to get along on it until God opens a door for you.”
In the dark, Arambi, petrified, snatched the banknote and, crumpling it in her fist, moved back against the wall. She wanted to flee immediately, without looking back, but her legs would not coöperate. When Arsho closed the door, Arambi’s eyes adjusted to the thick blackness that enveloped the staircase.
So, this wasn’t it either, she thought. Perhaps it’s next door, or . . . She was numb. And if this isn’t it either, is it the one at the end? It means that all these years I’ve been cherishing futile expectations. I convinced myself in vain that I’d always come back and say, “I came because you’re waiting for me. I could’ve come earlier, or later, or never, but I came. Swear at me if you like, kick me out like a stray dog, or embrace me: it makes no difference. I’ve come . . . and here I am.”
She continued to reflect: you deserve your bad luck, Arambi. You do whatever you fancy. You don’t consider that you’ve grown older. And what if you meet a friend or relative . . . what will you say? That you’re looking for a lost man to settle old debts? Won’t you burn with shame? Who thinks about settling debts nowadays? Today, everybody steals what he can. Can’t you snitch? If not, forget your pipe dreams, collect your things, and beat it the hell out of here.
The key turned noisily in the lock of the next door.
You’re getting furious; that’s a beggarly sign . . . If I knew you’d forgive me after my apology, I’d run up to you, fall on my knees, and open my arms, begging and entreating out loud, but I know that what I did was beastly; even if you forgive me, I will never forgive myself.
Behind the door she clearly heard a man’s voice. She was going to change his shabby attitude toward the world.
At last the door opened. Arambi strained her eyes and sighed desperately. It seemed that the reason for all her misfortunes was this man, totally unfamiliar, whom she would like to stab, to strangle, to shoot straight into the heart with several bullets, one by one. She was so obsessed with this vicious scene that she emerged from her shelter unexpectedly and stretched out her hand to grab the stranger’s long, milk-white scarf, which swayed on his back like the pendulum of a clock. Then, realizing what she was doing, she stepped back in horror. The man felt that danger was close, but naïve idealism overcame his fear; head bent, he walked down the stairs, feigning indifference as he nonchalantly began to whistle an old, forgotten tune. When he reached the ground floor, he put his foot on the staircase, undid his shoelaces, and tied them again, challenging destiny.
Be a man! Show your face! Say what you want to say! Otherwise you’re stabbing in the dark. Who can’t do it? It’s not manly, he thought. When he went out the front door, the frost assaulted him. He raised his collar and, with chattering teeth, quickened his pace.
While Vachagan was walking alone in the cold, tramping down the dark street, Arambi noticed with embarrassment that she had put her ear against the door, trying to catch the sound of voices. There was a stony silence: no rustle, no sigh, not even the clatter of plates and dishes, which Arambi expected to hear, presuming that husband and wife had dined, under the influence of daily anxieties had quarrelled, and had later made up, to keep the hearth fire going. Arambi also thought that the husband had left quickly in order not to add fuel to the fire, and that the wife would be busy in the kitchen, her head bent, breaking the empty silence with the clatter of dishes. But no, there was no creak of doors, no shuffle of slippers, and no sound of doleful song. What has happened to the woman? Has she died? Arambi thought for a while and, in a display of female solidarity, knocked at the door—fumbling in the dark, she had looked for the doorbell, but in vain. Her efforts met with sardonic silence. Arambi got more depressed. Apparently he was right to say that being happy was the least of all the duties of mankind, but if one failed even in that there was no set punishment. I wonder who he’s ensnaring now, with his wise ideas? Arambi thought with envy, and grinned.
“Arambi,” she whispered to herself, “what have you lost on these strange thresholds? Are you out of your mind?—even the dog won’t come out of its kennel in this cold and darkness. How dare you go directly where your feet take you? Get out of here immediately! Don’t hang around or you’ll get in trouble. Come on, hurry up! Quickly!” Arambi assured herself, unaware of the real threat. She looked around and realized that she had reached the attic, where her nostrils were filled with the unexpected stench of abysmal dampness. Such disgrace! What shame! She became irritated, and when she remembered the woman’s suspicious look she burst into tears. So, I’m a beggar, am I? I’ve managed to become a beggar, have I? How? Well, what more will I do for your sake? Is there anything I haven’t already done?
When she had broken away from the clammy humidity of the attic, she realized that her feet would take her there every day until she was certain that what she was looking for was impossibility. And when she got to the stranger’s door, she felt a familiar commotion.
Why? Who can explain how it all began? Call it what you like—lust, affection, remorse, devotion, self-sacrifice, or some people call it love, perhaps— it’s none of those things and all of them, one at a time . . . or . . . some accursed pain that is impossible to cure; nothing has yet been invented to kill this germ, to immunize ourselves against all future infections, and be saved.
She did not know what was going on. What had to happen had already happened. The next day, when she redirected her steps towards the chapel from which the three-storey house could be seen, the arambi knew that she had been right to identify herself as Arambi. She was an ordinary arambi, a married woman who, like millions of other women, carried out her duties with reasonable success: affectionately surrendering certain rights to her husband, while for some other rights she fought with everybody, even with the District Authority and the Chief of Police; bringing up children; devoting herself to public work; rearing and educating the future of the nation . . . but where was she hurrying now, this modern-day Heghnar?[2] She was hurrying there, where she was needed. It was impossible to imagine a greater absurdity. The role of saviour was outdated, and she was nothing but an arambi.
On her way she thought of how to reassure the poor woman on the second floor that she was neither beggar, thief, nor one of those women who come out to hunt at night . . . although she was much baser than they: she stole what belonged to others in broad daylight . . . so she was the same, even much worse than those hunters of the night. It was no time for lacerating self-criticism: if this last effort was wasted, there would be no hope that she could ever forgive (she was too far from being God). She was not even aware of how she got to the second floor, where she knocked again at the door. Again there was no response; Arambi was deeply disappointed, as if the whole world were in the grip of a sepulchral silence. The oppressive suffocation made her clutch at straws: “Open the door! I’m a community medical worker: if there are any patients here, open the door and let me register them!” She was shocked at the vehement sonority of her voice, and was taken aback when the door opened. A man with an unfamiliar face appeared in the narrow gap of daylight that streamed out into the staircase. He snapped at her sarcastically: “Is charity your full-time job, or do you also do it part-time?”
Arambi stared at him as if she had seen a ghost. What a likeness! Her lips moved without a sound and she concentrated, barely succeeding in uttering:
“Do you . . . have . . . a patient?”
“Who isn’t sick these days? Are you healthy?”
“Me? Yes, in a way . . . no, not especially . . . but . . .”
“Uncle Hambo has gone deaf. Is he sick, then, or is there no place for deaf people
in your miraculous registers?” The man stepped aside with exaggerated courtesy to let her in.
Arambi obeyed submissively. The acerbic smell of tobacco filled her nostrils, and she put a hand to her nose.
“You don’t smoke because you want to live longer than everybody else, is that it?” the man gloated. “You’re mistaken. Today, more people die of accidents, assaults and . . . insanity than of T.B. or cancer, don’t you agree? Of course not; well, that’s your privilege. Sit down, please! No, no: sit on the couch, so luck can smile on you more often,” he said, smiling contentedly.
“Do you know me?” Arambi asked unexpectedly.
“What a strange question. Why should I know you?”
“You don’t have to go to bed with someone in order to know her. You can get to know each other just by laughing together.”
“Who says I want to go to bed with you? Laugh as much as you like.” With no preamble the man began addressing her more familiarly, using the second-person singular, and avoiding the woman’s stare. “You’ve come to register patients, so take your pen and write down: ‘Hambardzoum Hovakimyan, deaf; Arshaluys Hovakimyan, sclerosis; Vachagan Barikyan, neurosis; Armanoush Azizyan, fugitive; John Robinson, foreigner.’ There’s a patient on the third floor, too . . . a hopeless case, mal de siècle, the one, well, you know him: the last remaining friend of my childhood. Oh, damn it all!” the man roared, and crumpled onto the couch.
Her face distorted, Arambi looked at him and was even more surprised. I wonder why he trusted me right off. Men usually try to trap strangers, especially women, playing all their trump cards to win the game as quickly as they can, don’t they? But this one . . . this man is either very cunning or terribly honest . . . anyway, he’s not like others—he’s rather different.
“Excuse me, but I have to go, I’m late . . . I have to go,” she said, concealing her confusion.
“If you want to go, go. So many people have departed from my life up before this that if you leave it won’t change much.” When the door closed behind her the man was speaking to himself, as if in a dream: the same Vachagan Barikyan, who suffered from neurosis. While he feebly tried to take a pill from his jacket pocket, Arsho peeped in through the half-open door.
“Vachagan?” Expecting to find him in a bad state, she advanced anxiously.
Vachagan stared dimly at her.
“Oh, thank goodness! You haven’t fainted, my son? How you frightened me!”
Pulling himself together, Vachagan uttered, “Has the doctor left? She was registering patients for free medication. Did she register Uncle Hambo?”
“Free medication? Who is this fool?” Arsho did not believe her ears. “It can’t be! Oh, medicine is so expensive these days! Who is this crazy person who wants to give things away for nothing? Is that the woman who just came out of your flat? What a shame! I thought that you’d wised up and decided to settle down: get married and start a home.”
“She won’t go away so easily; she’ll be back. You could tell from her eyes that she won’t give up until she gets what she wanted. All women are the same.” Vachagan paused to catch his breath. “They brighten up your life, turn it into hell in no time, and then disappear. She came to offer medicine and cure a minute ago; tomorrow she’ll vanish, in such a way that even if you call out for her or mourn for her, she won’t say even one word, as if she weren’t the woman who was begging here a while ago.”
Her mouth agape, Arsho listened to Vachagan’s clever ideas. Suddenly they heard a high-pitched shriek, which turned into a howl and then into a loud wail.
Vachagan gazed at the ceiling apprehensively. “Isn’t that . . . ?”
Arsho looked at Vachagan’s feeble figure and could not figure out where the woeful sound was coming from. The bustle on the staircase brought her to herself, and, crossing herself as if coming out of church, she stepped back and pricked up her ears.
“Calm down!” a shrill voice said sharply, that seemed to emanate from beyond the third floor, from heaven.
“There will be time to wail,” the voice continued. Somebody was admonishing the weeping woman. “Pull yourself together!”
Mother Arsho realized in horror that Avetis, the artist who lived on the third floor, had died. “What a pity!” she began to sob. “He was so young! Oh, that damned disease spares neither old nor young. And who knows, in this world of whores and thieves, maybe you’re better off dead.”
When they took the coffin out into the courtyard, the sun appeared in the sky. Vachagan stood, looking down. The paleness of his face was not much different from the colourless complexion of his dead friend. Avetis’ widow wept silently.
Arambi appeared in a corner of the courtyard, and froze. A funeral. It will hamper my inquiries, today again. As soon as I decide to do what I have in mind, something unexpected crops up and spoils everything. So, Arambi, forget everything; give up. I wonder who’s dead. Is it the hopeless patient from the third floor? His friend will go crazy. Who knows how long they’ve been friends. How many times they’ve shared joy and grief. How many times they’ve quarrelled and made up again. Ach, this cursed life: who needs it?
Immersed in thought, she reached the funeral procession. She pushed her way forward and approached the coffin. Her eyes focused on Vachagan, who looked petrified. Her heart ached and her body trembled all over when she directed her gaze at the corpse’s face. She was thunderstruck. The man she was hoping would redeem her from sin now lay silently in the coffin, scoffing at all her efforts and hopes.
2003
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