By Far Euphrates A Tale 7

By Far Euphrates A Tale 7

Jack shared in the excitement. He was very curious to see this wealthy,

travelled, educated Armenian, whom he expected to find of a very

different type from the simple folk of Biridjik. And now, at last, he

was sure to find through him the opportunity of communicating with his

friends in England, which, however little eagerness he might feel in

the matter, he knew he ought not to neglect.

 

What could the duteous and admiring kinsfolk of Baron Thomassian do on

the occasion, except pay him the attention of riding "three hours

distance" to meet him on his way, even although it was midwinter, the

rains heavy and the wretched road ankle-deep in mud? Boghos led the

party, and Jack went among the rest. Old Hohannes had a few fine horses,

of which he was very proud; and he had given one of them to Jack, to his

immense delight and satisfaction.

 

In that district there is scarcely any snow, and the rain had happily

cleared off, so it was only a splashed and muddy, and not a drenched and

soaking company that drew up by the wayside in the shelter of a little

hill, to await the coming of the travellers.

 

At last the jingling of mule bells announced the approach of the

caravan. There was a long string of khartijes, or muleteers, there were

some servants on horseback, and a few zaptiehs to act as guards. These

were fully armed of course, and the central figure of the whole, Baron

Thomassian himself, rode a very fine horse, and actually carried a gun

at his side, for which he must have got a special "permit" from the

government. He was a good-looking middle-aged man, dressed _à la Frank_,

or in complete European costume, except that he wore a fez in place of

a hat, which was amongst the things forbidden to an Armenian.

 

There was something else which gave all the Biridjik folk a great

surprise. Beside him rode a slight young girl, closely wrapped in a long

"ezhar" of striped silk, which was drawn as a veil over the greater part

of her face, leaving very little of it visible except her large,

beautiful, dark eyes. Veiled though she was, Boghos recognised his

daughter, and Kevork at least guessed his sister. Scarce, for looking at

her, could they give their kinsman the customary greeting, "Paré yejock"

(your coming is a joy), or wait for the response, "Paré dessack" (we see

you with joy). And Thomassian hastened to say, "I have brought your

daughter back to you at the request of your cousin, Baron Vartonian. I

will explain the reason afterwards." Then Boghos kissed his daughter on

both cheeks, and she kissed his hand and asked for his blessing. Kevork

kissed her also; and Jack, keeping modestly in the background, thought

what a pleasant thing it must be to have a sister. He had already seen

lovely faces among the girls and women of Biridjik, but never, as he

thought, eyes quite so soft and dark, lips quite so rosy, and cheeks of

such perfect form and hue.

 

All the rest, who were old acquaintances, came crowding round her; and

then Boghos turned his attention to Jack, and made him known to

Thomassian, with much polite observance, as their English friend, John

Grayson Effendi.

 

They rode back together to Biridjik, Boghos devoting himself to the

entertainment of Thomassian. Jack could not help wondering that they all

showed so little pleasure at the return of Shushan; on the other hand, a

sort of constraint and gloom seemed to brood over the whole party.

Kevork would give him no explanation. Even when he said, "I am surprised

to see your sister looking so young. She seems scarcely fourteen. I

thought, of course, from what you told me, that she must be older than

you." Kevork only answered, with a quick, guarded look around, "She was

but ten years old when she left us."

 

After the festive supper in honour of the guest, Thomassian explained

the matter in private to Hohannes and to Boghos.

 

"Your former Kamaikan, Mehmed Ibrahim," he said, "has come to Urfa. He

has got some good office there in the Government. Somehow he found out

that Shushan was there with the Vartonians, and--he has not forgotten.

In short, she must go. There was no other way."

 

"Amaan!" or "Oh dear!" was all her father said. But he looked perplexed

and sorrowful, seeing trouble before them all.

 

Hohannes put the trouble into words. "He may find out, and send after

her here."

 

"The Vartonians thought not. You must keep her as close as you can, or

send her in disguise to one of the villages."

 

"How dare we--for the Kourds? A bride on her way from the church was

carried off the other day from Korti, and the bridegroom and her father,

who tried to defend her, were both killed. Our girls are not safe

anywhere, except in their graves." Though they sat within closed doors,

they all spoke in low tones, and with furtive glances around them.

 

"Our only possible protection," Thomassian said, "lies in the wealth our

abilities and our industry enable us to gain. The Turks and Kourds

consider our peace and safety marketable properties, which they are

willing to sell us at a good price."

 

"Yes," said Hohannes sadly, "until they find we have nothing more to

give, or until it suits them to take all together."

 

Thomassian, who probably did not much care to talk on these matters,

said that he was weary with his journey, and expressed a wish to go

early to rest.

 

Kevork had been hanging about watching for an opportunity of speaking

with him, and now, as soon as the door was opened, he came forward,

offering politely to attend him to his sleeping-place.

 

A little later he came quickly, and evidently in much excitement, into

the room where Shushan was sitting, with her mother and several other

women and girls of the household, who had come in to see her.

 

"Mother, I have done it!" he cried.

 

"Done what, my son?" asked his sad-faced mother.

 

She was sitting, as usual, behind her wheel, but its whirr was silent

now. She had enough to do in looking in the face of Shushan, and holding

her hand.

 

"I have made a conquest of old Cousin Muggurditch," said Kevork

triumphantly. "He will take me with him to Aintab, and put me to the

Foreigners' School."

 

A murmur of surprise ran round the room. But his mother asked, with some

shrewdness,--

 

"What did you give him?"

 

"What you gave me, mother. I owe all to you. It was those gold coins

that did it."

 

The other women looked significantly at Mariam. The strings of gold

coins which she wears about her person are the Armenian woman's only

absolute and indisputable possession. They stand to her instead of

settlements and dowry. That must be precious indeed for which she will

sacrifice them.

 

"He made little of the coins at first," said the quick-witted lad; "but

that was all in the way of business. I could see that he thought a good

deal of them, and liked well to get them."

 

"How much did you sell them for?" asked Mariam.

 

"I did not sell them. Not such a fool as that! I mean you to have them

again some day, mother. I only gave them in pledge to him--he promising

to advance my school expenses--until I should be able to repay him."

 

"But that is for ever and ever," said one of the women.

 

"Nothing of the sort. After two years at Aintab I shall be a teacher,

and able to earn money for myself."

 

Here Shushan looked up and spoke. She was very beautiful; not only with

the beauty characteristic of her race--soft dark eyes, black pencilled

eyebrows almost meeting, long curling eyelashes, and olive-tinted,

regular features--but with the rarer loveliness of a sweet, pure

__EXPRESSION__, that suited well her name, Shushan, the Lily. During her

four years of absence the familiar surroundings of home had become

strange to her, so she spoke with a certain timidity.

 

"My brother," she said, looking appealingly up to the tall youth whom

she had left a mere child--"my brother, will you do something for me

when you go to Aintab?"

 

Kevork protested his willingness, although somewhat surprised.

 

"My dearest friend," said Shushan, "the person I love best in the world,

next after my father and mother and my brothers, is just now going to

Aintab, to the school for girls. They hurried me away so quickly that I

could not see her to say good-bye. And I shall not see her now; for,

although she must pass by this on her way, she will not come into the

town, but lodge in the khan outside. Will you salute her for me, and

give her this as a gift from her poor little friend, Shushan Meneshian?"

She drew from her bosom something resembling a necklace, made of amber

beads, and held it out to Kevork.

 

He stooped down to take it, saying, "Well, then, my sister, what is the

name of the girl?"

 

"Elmas Stepanian; she is the daughter of the Badvellie."

 

"Badvellie" means "full of honour"; and the Armenians usually speak of

their priests and pastors by this respectful title.

 

"Stay, Kevork," said his mother. "You had better not take that

_tebish_. Shushan is a child, and does not know the world. But do you

think that it is possible the foreigners would allow the boys and the

girls to speak to one another? They are very good people, else surely

our cousins would not have let their own children, and Shushan, go to

school to them."

 

This certainly was a difficulty, and even Shushan looked perplexed. But

Kevork was equal to the occasion. "Yon Effendi tells me that the foreign

Effendis, men and women, talk to each other just as much and as often as

they like," he said. "Shushan, my sister, I will pray of the Effendi who

teaches me to give thy token to the Effendi who teaches Oriort[2] Elmas

Stepanian, and she will find some right way, I have no doubt, of giving it to her."