Nobody's Child by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

And she’d had a knife in her hand …
    The scene flashed in his head again: the Turk had knocked the knife away. His mother couldn’t kill herself. Was she alive? Did she wish she were dead? Honour or no, Kevork was glad there was still a chance that his mother was alive.
    Mariam looked from Kevork to Anna. This was an ongoing discussion between the two. “It is not up to you to judge,” she said to Anna. “You have never been in that situation.”
    Anna flinched.
    â€œIf either your mother or father is alive,” continued Mariam, “they’ll come here. You can leave them a note.”
    â€œHow?” asked Kevork. “As soon as we leave, this house will be taken over by Turks.”
    â€œWe can only hope that the new owners will pass on your message.” Not a perfect solution, but what was?
    The next few days were spent preparing food and packing.
    Anna slaughtered the chickens, and they ate well for those last few days. Sevo would travel with them.
    For Kevork, leaving the village was like closing a door on unfinished business. With sadness in his heart, he removed his mother’s veil from the piece of carpet he had been using as a pillow and rolled it into a blue rope. He tied it around his waist like a belt. Then he went up into the rafters and searched through the items his mother had stored there. He found a pure white kite in the shape of a bird that his father had made him. How many days had he stood on the roof with his father as they threw the kite into the air and watched as it caught in the wind? He would have loved to take the kite with him, but he knew it wasn’t practical, so he ran his finger against the wooden frame in a tribute of farewell, then set it aside.
    He found a wool vest that his father would wear during the cold winter months when he travelled,selling Anoush’s carpets. Kevork tried it on. It was way too long, reaching down to his knees, but he kept it on anyway, for memory as much as warmth. There was also a stack of swaddling cloth that had been used both for Kevork, when he was a baby, and for Arsho. He took a single length of it and held it to his face, breathing deeply. Who would look after Arsho’s grave? He folded the cloth and tucked it into his blue belt.
    Mariam’s prized possession was her mother’s small sickle. She sharpened it before the journey, then wrapped it in a cloth and stuck it in her belt. Marta had her doll, Bibi, and Onnig had become so attached to Arsho’s small pillow that they decided to take it with them.
    Mariam watched Anna go through the house one last time, but she realized that there was nothing of sentimental value for Anna to take with her. What must have her life been like before? wondered Mariam. She and her siblings had lost their parents, and Kevork had lost everything.
    What was it that Anna had lost? She watched the woman coldly turn her back on the house, and then watched as her eyes lit up when Kevork and Marta and Onnig appeared. It seemed to Mariam that while the others had lost their loved ones, Anna had gained the only family she had ever known.
    Anna and Mariam each wore rucksacks, and Kevork carried Onnig on his back. Marta, her doll on one hip, was in charge of Sevo, whom she led on a rope. Even Sevo had a job. Strapped across her back were several skins of water and Onnig’s pillow.
    As the little group walked down the main street and out through the village gates one last time, Mariam was struck with how much had changed in her life, yet how the world around them didn’t seem to care. An outsider who walked through this village now wouldn’t see anything amiss. What was once a thriving Armenian district was thriving once more. Gathered around the well were women with yashmaks covering their faces, gossiping while their husbands played dama under a tree. A barefooted boy darted past, nearly colliding into Mariam, as he chased one of his friends as they played