The Ghosts of Anatolia by Steven E. Wilson Page A

took us through the village down the river, where everything had been obliterated—even the church. If war comes, horrible atrocities like those could happen again. You and your family would be much safer in Istanbul.”
    “No, Bedros,” Mourad said, shaking his head, “Papa fought to keep this land, and I’d rather die than sell it.”
    “Look, I know how you feel. I feel the same way, but there are some things even more important than land.”
    The two brothers stared at each other for several moments.
    Finally, Mourad shook his head. “No, my brother; remember the last words Papa whispered to us before he died? I will never sell this land.”
    “Things have changed. Think about it. Anyway, the Turk, Abdul Pasha, came by while you were in Chunkoush. He renewed his offer to buy the farm.”
    “So that’s what planted these dreadful thoughts in your mind. That scum is worse than his father. Remember when his father tried to get Papa to sell the rest of the land after the Armenian massacres in Diyarbekir? He even threatened us. That must’ve been sometime in 1895 or 1896. Remember how Papa told Pasha to get off the farm? You should’ve done the same with Abdul. What’s it been, three years since the last time he came here? Damned vulture. I told him never to come back.”
    “He was pleasant enough. He offered one hundred thousand
lire
for the farm and all the livestock.”
    “
One hundred thousand!
That’s half what he offered three years ago!”
    “He said he’d offered you more, but he pointed out that the situation has changed since then, and he would be taking considerable risk in expanding his farm now. I told him he’d have to discuss it with you. He said he’d come back in a few days.”
    “I’ll never sell this land to him. Besides, where would we go?”
    “You could move to Istanbul and share our house. Kristina, Liza and the children would love being together again.”
    “That will happen when you finish with the assembly and move back here. This is where our family belongs. I am not leaving here—no matter what. ”
    Bedros stood up from the table. “Okay, I can see you’re determined. But don’t close the door just yet. Tell Abdul you’ll think about it.”
    “I won’t do it. Once the Turk senses weakness, he’ll never leave me alone.”
    Bedros sighed frustratedly. “You are a stubborn mule—just like Papa. I must get an early start in the morning. I’ll see to my horse and pack my bags before dinner.”
    “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
    “That’s what brothers are for. Besides, I got a chance to spend time with Mama and visit with the children. I took them to mass and we all got to see Father Murphy again. It was the first time I’d seen him since we left.”
    “It must’ve been a thrill for him. He never fails to ask about you.”
    “Did you know he’s retiring next month? He’s returning to Ireland.”
    “Really? He’s talked about that for years, but somehow I doubted it would ever happen. He’ll be sorely missed, I can tell you that. Sirak served as his altar boy last summer.”
    “He told me. I took Stepannos and Mikael fishing down by the bend in the river after mass...to that same place we used to go as boys. We had a long talk about the Empire and the Armenian contribution to peace between the different ethnic groups in Anatolia. They’ve both grown up to be fine young men. You should be very proud.”
    “God has truly blessed us, as he has you and Liza.”
    Bedros turned and stepped toward the door. “Send the boys to fetch me when dinner is ready.”
    “I will.”
    Bedros stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
    Mourad stared at the closed door until long after his brother’s footsteps faded into silence. “God, grant me wisdom,” he whispered, with a long, apprehensive sigh.

C HAPTER 5
    Bedros checked to make sure his bags were secure and patted his chestnut mare on the neck.
    Mourad gave Bedros a bear hug. “Take care, my