Nobody's Child by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch Page A

“Turks and Armenians.” It looked just the same as in April, except these people were all Turkish.
    As they walked past what used to be the church, Mariam put her hand to her chest and gasped. She smelled the sharp scent of charring meat and her mind was filled with the grotesque images of the burning church. She realized with a start that her nose wasn’t fooling her.
    In the midst of the rubble of the church, a man had set up a barbecue and was selling freshly grilled lamb on a stick. He smirked when he saw the Armenians pass.
    â€œLet’s go quickly,” said Mariam. The sooner they were out of this place, the better.
    They went up to the cave grave one last time to pay their respects.
    â€œI won’t go,” said Onnig stubbornly. He threw his wildflower bouquet down on the ground, then walked over to where Sevo was standing and put his arms around her neck.
    â€œYou don’t have to,” said Mariam. “Stay here with Kevork and Anna. We’ll be back in a minute.” She picked up the wildflower bouquet from the ground, then kissed her brother on the forehead. “I’ll put this on their grave for you.”
    Mariam pulled a veil over her hair and smoothed down her dress with her free hand. Kevork and Anna and Onnig with Sevo stood at the end of the pathway leading to the cave that doubled as a grave. It would be easier for her and Marta to visit the grave this one last time without their brother anyway, Mariam rationalized.
    The girls knelt side by side on the cold ground in front of the cave. Mariam could only hope that their parents’ souls were now at peace. She felt a surge of grief fill her throat as she placed her bouquet and then her brother’s down on the cold stone. She willed herself not to cry, but she noticed through the corner of her eye that her sister’s bouquet glistened with a single hot tear.
    From the pathway, Kevork watched the sisters at the grave. In one way, he envied them. At least they knew where their parents were. If his mother was still alive, how would she ever find him now? And what about his father? Was he really dead, or had he just taken off? At least Marta and Onnig and Mariam knew that they had been loved and that they hadn’t been abandoned. Kevork felt so utterly alone. He also felt, that by leaving the village, he was abandoning any hope of ever finding his parents. He looked down at Sevo, whose mournful eyes looked back up at him, as if she understood his worries. He scratched her fondly between the ears and was thankful that at least he had her. Then he looked at the little boy whose armswere wrapped so tightly around the goat’s neck, and he realized how much more he could have lost. Kevork at least had his memories. Would Onnig have that?
    Kevork reached down and gathered Onnig into his arms, hugging him tight.
    Mariam finished her prayer, then stood up, brushing the dust from her skirt. She reached down and tapped Marta on the shoulder, letting her sister know that it was time for them to leave.
    They walked back down the path and found Onnig fast asleep in Kevork’s lap, his arms thrown loosely around the older boy’s neck. Kevork’s head rested on Anna’s shoulder and Anna held Sevo’s rope with one hand. The goat grazed contentedly. More time had passed than they had realized.
    They stretched, gathered together, and started their journey in earnest. As they walked down the grassy path towards the dirt road, Abdul Hassan came into view, and behind him was his wife, who was noticeably thinner than she had been the last time they saw her. Abdul Hassan had a sack of threshed fall wheat on his back and a sickle in one hand, and he looked exhausted. Amina Hanim’s face, which was not covered with a yashmak, was red from the sun, and the edge of her veil was rimmed with sweat. She too held a sickle and a sack of wheat.
    Abdul Hassan glanced at the rucksacks on their backs. “So you’re