POSTMAN TIGO
Tigo was Ani’s postman.
He was from Kharkov. That is a small Armenian populated village situated on the left edge of the deep gorge of the River Akhuryan, three kilometers east from the city of Ani.
His fellow villagers called him Short Tigo. His thin body matched his short height; however, his head was a bit disproportionate compared to his overall build.
Postman Tigo was cunning: he grew an impressive beard and frequently groomed it, taking special care of it – it added a special look to the short and thin body of the postman. He had wide leather buckles fastened on his feet, which allowed him to walk easily and comfortably. The black, postman’s bag with flaps hung from his side. He held a cane which was unusual and expressive.
He brought the post from Ani station to Ani city every day.
Ani’s postman considered his position to be very important and his only complaint was that he didn’t have a metal chestpin like that of Ani’s messenger, forgetting that he only worked for three months a year (June, July, August), while Ani’s messenger worked all year round.
Postman Tigo was slow and lazy but when he was bringing in the post, after entering through Ani’s “Tigran” door and climbing the short, steep road to Tigran Honents Church, he would pick up speed and walk towards the scientist’s house nimbly and rapidly, completely covered in sweat, to prove that he was faultless and alert when it came to his “very important” position. He would deliver his post and take the documents to be dispatched.
He would always turn his head away with imperceptible displeasure when he accidently came across Aram Vruyr. He did not want to accept the idea that “a man without a moustache and beard could be considered a man”. He wondered, without being able to solve the question, as to why he would unashamedly avoid his moustache because a man’s honor was in his beard and moustache. If only he would follow the example of the Agha (the villagers called professor Marr Agha), Father Mikayel or the architect’s glorious moustache. “I spit on the dignity and shamefacedness of such a man”. On the other hand, he was thinking, “Maybe Vruyr is a Frank (Armenian catholic)” and considered it strange that an “Armenian catholic” would carry out the responsibilities of a clerk in an Armenian Apostolic Church and wondered how the Reverend Father tolerated it. These were inexplicable thoughts that were spinning round in the postman’s head.
After thinking long and hard, he concluded that if the Agha (N. Marr), who belonged to the Orthodox Church could be the godfather of Yesai’s daughter, who belonged to the Apostolic Church, then why couldn’t the “Armenian catholic Vruyr” be a clerk? After all, everything was happening with the Reverend Father’s permission. A. Vruyr’s mustache and beard, which had been subjected to the merciless blows of a razor, occupied postman Tigo’s thoughts.
Mikayel from the village of Kharkov, who was considered to be one of the best excavators, recalled that Short Tigo had a dream where that accursed “Armenian catholic” looks at him severely and accusatorily and, with a pair of huge scissors in his hand, attacks him in order to cut his glorious beard. Horrified, postman Tigo kneels in front of that “merciless Armenian catholic” and begs him in terror “please spare me, for the sake of the saints, the holy cross and the Bible”. That cruel man mercilessly takes his beard in his hand says, “Postman Tigo, I have to cut your accursed beard.” Shaking and terrified, Tigo stares at the open blades of those merciless scissors. And when the “Armenian catholic” brings those huge scissors close to the pale postman’s beard, he screams and wakes up from that terrible scene…
The postman loses sleep after that oppressive nightmare. Horrified, sitting up in bed, he imagines that a big, shiny pair of scissors, the blades of which are occasionally opening and closing, is hanging from the hole in the roof through which the cold rays of the full moon penetrate…
ALEKSANDRA ALEKSEEVNA
Aleksandra Alekseevna, the wife of the honorable scientist, had some knowledge of the art of medicine. Each year she would bring along a sufficient amount of different drugs. The multi-ethnic residents of the surrounding villages were deprived of medical care and whenever they learned about the arrival of the honorable woman, the daily visits by the sick would not stop. They would describe their pain with the help of a translator and would receive the necessary medicine for headaches, fevers, sore eyes, etc., all of which was done with great care and free of charge.
The honorable Alekseevna did not have a special translator in order to understand her sick visitors. Whoever was present acted as a translator; such as, the honourable scientist, H. Orbeli, Nune Vruyr and others. That responsibility also occassionaly fell upon me, even though my knowledge of Russian was very limited. I was, however, acceptable as a translator. It sometimes happened that there was no one present in the building and in that case Ohan from Alashkert or messenger Yesayi had to act as translators, but neither of them knew more than a handful of words in Russian. They could neither translate the patient’s words, nor completely understand Aleksandra Alekseevna’s. As difficult as that situation was for the doctor and torturous for the “translator”, nevertheless it was a great pleasure for the observer who would not have been able to get as much healthy laughter watching a beautiful comedy as from this “construction of the tower of Babel”. And this situation would only end when someone would appear like a rescuing angel and end Yesai, Ohan and the lady’s torture.
I once witnessed how a sick peasant was begging for a cure from the “khanum” (madam). I was standing in a corner, unobserved by the rest, listening intently.
The honorable doctor, unable to guess the patient’s problem, called Ohan, who was approaching.
“Ohan, Ohan, what hurts?”
“Woman, where does it hurt?” asked the “translator” of the patient.
“Brother Ohan, tell the madam that I am shivering very badly.”
The “translator” was deep in thought; he did not know how to explain it.
“Tell me, Ohan, what is she saying?”
Puzzled, Ohan started to sweat: he did not know what that accursed “shivering” word was in Russian… “How did that accursed shivering get to Panos’s daughter? If only it could have been a different sickness”, the Russian of which he had learned over time Ohan thought, outraged. The poor woman from Alashkert was moaning and shivering, but “shivering” remained “shivering”…
The patient was looking at the madam with pleading eyes and then at the awkward “translator”…
Finally, Ohan found a way to explain.
“Well… Madam … ah-ah, oh-oh… doing…” said the man from Alashkert, cleaning the sweat on his forehead with his arm and taking a deep breath.
“Ohan, what is this ah-ah? What is this oh-oh?” asked Alekseevna hopelessly.
“What a sickness you found, Panos’s daughter”, said Ohan angrily to the peasant.
“What? What?… Panos, tell me, why are you torturing me?”
At that moment, Ohan noticed me – it was as if I was an angel come down from heaven for him.
“Artashes, come and explain Panos’s daughter’s pain to the madam.”
“Artashes, ask her what is wrong with her.”
“Fever, Alexandra Aleskeevna”, I pronounced, barely recalling that cursed word.
“Oh, fever…” she turned to Ohan and said, “Ohan, fever. You should have told me so.”
“Yes, madam, feverer”, repeated the “translator” with a content smile.
The patient received quinine and instructions from the doctor and departed gratefully, freeing the woman from torture and Aleksandra Alekseevna from the “renowned translator”.
Of course, similar scenarios were scarce.
CHILDHOOD DAYS
The scarcely populated residents of Ani lived peacefully in harmony. Everyone was busy with their daily work, from the great scientist to the residents of the Igadzor caves. Of the children, only we – Volodia, Vahrij, Ara and Artashes wandered in Ani’s ruins, gorges and caverns, choosing different children’s games as pastimes. Sometimes we would play an invented game pretending we were “excavating”. Volodya was the leader of the “excavation” and the three of us were laborers. Volodia would ask his father’s permission and he would point out which location in Ani we could carry out our “excavations” in. We would start by clearing the area of fallen rocks and after finding any carved pieces or a piece of a cornice, we would immediately show it to the “little scientist” who, after making a “conclusion or remark” would order us to place it in a safe place with caution, recording it on a piece of paper. Sometimes he would get angry and reprimand the careless “laborer”.
We would frequently organize tours – Tsaghkotsadzor; the family mausoleum–caves of Honents; Mijnaberd; Glidzor; Akhuryan gorge; Hoviv church; and even undergound Ani (Gedan-Gyalmaz), and Fox’s gorge, which was on the road leading from Ani to Khoshavank where a small cross-stone stood.
Volodia did not join us all the time but the three of us were inseparable.
There were some places that we sometimes went to, the names of which we had come up with ourselves. For example, there’s a small cave in Tsaghkotsadzor, from which mineral water slowly flows out. The water that dripped from the walls of the cave had filled the entire floor of the cave and the colorful rays of the sun played on the smooth surface of the water, shining like a mirror. The mineral water which bubbled out from the floor of the cave added to the water already accumulated. The roof of the natural cave is quite low. It is formed from smooth rock and looks nothing like the hundreds of man-made artificial caverns carved into the pumice masses in Ani’s gorge. We named that cavern “Artashes’s cave”, after me.
Tsaghkotsadzor narrows from “Artashes’s cave” to Akhuryan and turns into a small gorge, becoming wider near Aghjkaberd and ends near the Akhuryan gorge. At the rocky bottom of that small gorge, the waters of Ani’s stream meet hunks of large cliffs, which break the normal course of the stream. The water gathers and becomes a pond, convenient for swimming. We would frequently go there to swim. Ara had chosen for himself a large piece of a smooth rock, which had been torn from the huge cliffs and landed on the edge of the stream. It had a smooth area on its apex from where it was convenient to get to the stream. Ara would not surrender that place to anyone. We named that piece of cliff, “Ara’s rock”.
There is a cold spring in Tsaghkotsadzor, on the right bank of the stream, which had been renovated and put in order by Father Mikayel and we named it “Reverend Father’s spring”.
Near Apughamrents church, where the left slope of Tsaghkotsadzor is almost vertical and impossible to climb up, approximately 50-60 meters above the base of the gorge, a cavern dug into the pumice mass stares west with its large mouth – inaccessible and mysterious. However, the entrance to the cavern was unknown to us.
We began our investigation at the base of Tsaghkotsadzor, not far from that cavern and around one hundred meters from the cavern we noticed a wide opening, which got deeper as it went up and as we moved forward, we were getting lost in the dark. Even though that dark and mysterious hole was horrifying to us, we encouraged one another and decided to continue our journey. The light air current which passed through the tunnel, gave us hope that the passage should get us out into the light. The dark passage was always winding upwards and we were constantly moving forward. The passage slowly started to become lighter and after a short while we found ourselves in a wide cavern, the mouth of which looked out at Tsaghkotsadzor. That was the inaccessible cavern we had seen, and we named it “Vahrij’s house”.
SIRANOUSH
In 1904, the soul of the Armenian stage, Ms. Siranoush visited Ani.
She came happy and returned bitter. I did not know why she was bitter, but at that time I was only seven years old.
She left a permanent imprint on my childish soul – I heard her heartbreaking voice, flowing out of the depths of her sensitive heart – she was speaking to my mother and I noticed a pair of bitter teardrops squeeze out from her flaming eyes.
Years later I frequently stared at Siranoushe’s picture – seated thoughtful and sad like a grieving mother, in front of the vestibule of Ani’s Arakelots church (picture taken in 1904), and the words of the great scientists would always be inscribed in my mind like an epitaph.
“The condition of the inscription not only shows how, as a result of the destruction of the building, the inscriptions have crumbled and become defaced… the valuable evidence of cultural life, but also how, as a result of destructive forces, the historic reality of Old Armenia has crumbled and become defaced.”
…she bid goodbye to the grieving city, disconsolate and in anguish…
EXCAVATIONS
The sky became red, east of Ani.
The abbot’s rooster greeted dawn with its third piercing call.
One after another the silent witnesses of our historic culture began to be outlined under the bright colors of dawn.
The Armenian, Kurdish and Turkish builders working on the excavations in Ani would travel towards Ani from the surrounding villages – Ani, Araz, Jala, Khoshavank, and Kharkov.
The excavation work began at six in the morning.
The break bell rang at eight o’clock; that was the one-hour breakfast break. The workers got tea and two pieces of sugar each. The two-hour long break was at twelve, for lunch. Work finished at five.
Besides the workers, carts with pairs of oxen, and horse-drawn carriages also worked on the excavation. On Saturdays, work ended earlier that usual. The workers received their wages once a week. The daily wage of the workers was 50 kopeks and the cart and carriage drivers received 1 ruble and 50 kopeks a day.
The excavations lasted three months – June, July and August.
The workers worked slowly, carefully, with the expertise necessary for excavation, as they had been hired to excavate and not ruin… in some places, if necessary, the soil already excavated or yet to be excavated was sifted with a sieve. In some places they would stop digging with spades and pickaxes and would start carefully scraping the soil with special metal claws. On coming across something new while excavating, the worker would stand and raise his arm – a conventional sign, and the reputable scientist would immediately approach him. Some years, when two different sites were being excavated simultaneously, the professor would move around on a horse.
Several workers had been trained and had acquired expertise during the excavation work. Due to their attentive and professional work, they were considered to be master excavators. Of these, Mukayel, Gabriel and Tigran from Kharkov village are memorable.
The expedition did not have an accountant, treasurer or other office employees; all those tasks were carried out by
The workers were reverential towards, and loved, the reputable scientist. In him they found a warmth and unbiased human approach which was out of the ordinary. Those workers had only seen the cruelty and rudeness of bailiffs, provincials, guards and village heads and they were touched when they saw in the form of a great scientist, a great human being.
THE “IDIOT” GODFATHER
The children living in the Igadzor caves called Ara “idiot” because of his weird character. Ara was a smart boy but he had an extraordinary and comical character. His weird actions and jokes often reached extremes – sometimes irritating, but usually funny, situations.
The “idiot” was stubborn – despite my mother’s appeals and irritation. Sometimes he would get as naked as Adam, wearing only his shoes. He would put on a hat made from a rolled-up newspaper shaped like a funnel, with a pointy tip, and attach a piece of colorful cloth to the end, the filaments of which would hang at the edge of that extraordinary paper hat. He would take a switch in his hand as a cane, attach a rope from Findo’s neck and wander among the piles of stones and ruins, pulling the shepherd dog behind him. Sometimes Vahrij and I would follow the “idiot” and laugh at his jokes or his funny appearance.
One day the “idiot” had gone to the ruined tower with his cortege. That had been the tallest tower in Ani; it had exceeded Manuchey in height. After the collapse of that tower, a large mass still remaining in the piles of rocks, showed the polygonal, circular body of the tower, and the winding stone stairs were visible within that mass. That large section of the ruined tower had fallen slightly at an angle which made entering from one side and exiting from the other, possible. The “idiot” entered that piece of the tower and Findo and Bochka followed him. And when Ara exited the other side wearing his clown’s paper hat with a pointy tip, a group of peasant women who had come from nearby villages to collect broom, upon seeing that strange image exiting the tower, dropped their broom sheaves and ran, terrified, towards Reverend Father’s apartment. They were aghast, running, and every once in a while, looking back and screaming, “the idiot… the idiot…” We found that scene to be very funny. The “idiot” quickly climbed onto the top of the large section of the ruined tower and started flailing his hands and legs in order to add to the horror of the terrified brides. That was how the “idiot” was.
Ohan’s wife, Zmo, went into labor in the historic caves of Igadzor and gave birth to a daughter. And so one day my mother took Ara and me to Igadzor to visit Zmo. The swaddled baby would occasionally let out a scream. The old cave would echo her as if it were happy that another being had joined Igadzor. Almost all of Igadzor’s women were there. One was baking the bread, the other was taking care of the child, while Ohan’s eldest daughter, Heghine, was washing her newborn sister’s clothes.
Exhausted Zmo was still lying down. After a short conversation Zmo asked my mother if either Ara or I would become the newborn’s godfather. My mother chose her eldest son, Ara. The children were happy knowing that the “idiot” would become a godfather. From that day on my mother was called mother of the godfather, Zmo – mother of the godchild, and the “idiot” – godfather.
What should we name the child?
My mother suggested naming the newborn Aytsemnik, linking her to the historic past of the city. Initially, Zmo objected, but then my mother told her about our heroine Aytsemnik’s exploits on the day Ani was surrounded by enemies, the war trumpets resonating and the formidable savage tribes attacking under the beats of the drums and savage screams. The battering rams and catapults went into action feverishly: the invincible residents of Ani bravely pushed the merciless attacks of the enemy back. The enemy managed to find the point at which the city was least protected, and they attacked in large numbers, screaming savagely. They were climbing the walls using ladders… At that moment Ani’s devoted heroine Aytsemnik came forward. She was fighting like a wild tigress, encouraging and inspiring the soldiers, with her long bow in her hand; she spread death amongst the enemy with sharp strokes. The people of Ani, inspired by this, quickly threw back the savage attack of the enemy.
The war was becoming more and more intense.
An experienced enemy archer noticed the brave Armenian woman. He drew back his bow and relentlessly struck the heroine’s flank with an arrow. Aytesmnik did not lose her composure. She bravely pulled out the arrow from her chest and without losing her footing, she drew her long bow and send the same arrow back to the disrespectful enemy… The arrow cut through the air with a lethal whistle and hit the archer’s throat. The arrowhead picking up speed, exited the opponent’s nape, knocked him down and nailed him to the ground.
The brave girl was bleeding to death. The blow was fatal.
The soldiers, swords in their hands and filled with revenge, threw themselves out of the city’s walls like swift eagles and entered the dense masses of the enemy. They were mercilessly destroying the enemy… In that section the panic stricken, terrified enemy fled.
Aytsemnik, injured, fought to the last drop of her blood… She fell on the rampart, stealing the hero’s crown of laurels from the pages of history.
Everyone in the spacious cavern was listening with interest and admiration to Nune, the godfather’s mother, relating the story of Ani city’s patriot, Aytsemnik which has reached us through the centuries, from generation to generation as a precious lore to connect our future generations with the sacred image of the patriotic Armenian girl.
Zmo gave her consent.
And so, one day, accompanied by Vahrij, we went to Igadzor to baptize Aytsemnik. Nune, the godfather’s mother, had bought various items from Ani’s village shop and had had a small gold cross brought from Alexandropole for the soon to be baptised child.
The godfather held a large rooster in his hand. Vahrij and I were constantly laughing and having fun at the “idiot” godfather’s jokes all the way from Father Mikayel’s apartments to Igadzor. He did not let the poor rooster rest for a minute and forced it to make various sounds which he accompanied. My mother would get both angry and unwillingly laugh.
We reached Igadzor with laughter.
The residents of Igadzor had gathered in Ohan’s cave. Ago, the patriarch of Igadzor was there. He was giving orders with his cane in his hand. Other than Ago, the rest of the men were absent; they were busy at work in Ani.
The Araz village priest had come to conduct the baptism. He knew that one of Aram Vruyr’s sons was supposed to stand as godfather and when he had to start the ceremony he looked at me and asked Zmo, “Is he the godfather?” Right then Ohan’s eldest daughter, Heghine, interrupted the priest with the naievity and innocence of a child and said loudly, “No, no, not him… The godfather is the “idiot”, the “idiot”…
Three roosters were killed by Ago, Ohan and the “idiot” godfather, on the occasion of the baptism.
There was a celebration in Igadzor.
Aytsemnik was baptized.
