Dreams of Bread and Fire

Home > Other > Dreams of Bread and Fire > Page 22
Dreams of Bread and Fire Page 22

by Nancy Kricorian


  What could Mrs. Kantrowitz do for Ani? She could throw her arms around her and welcome her home like the lost sheep in the parable or like the prodigal son.

  For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.

  But that was the New Testament. This was an Old Testament world with a fierce and wrathful God.

  What would her father’s family do? Once you had been cast out, would they ever take you back? Would they tell you the stories that made up their family mythology? Would they initiate you into the rituals of their particular cult?

  Ani made her claim modest. “We have only a few pictures of my dad when he was a kid. I was wondering if you could show me an old photo album.”

  “This I can do. Wait here,” Mrs. K. instructed.

  The woman went to the living room and came back a few minutes later with a large leather-bound book. The pages were of thick black paper on which the black-and-white photos were held in place with little gummed corners. Someone had taken great care in mounting the photos and in typing captions on slips of paper that were glued below each picture.

  Mrs. Kantrowitz sat in the chair beside Ani, pointing out faces. “Those are my parents. They both died a few years ago, within months of each other. There’s me, and my brother Sol. The baby there is David.”

  The baby’s fair face was round and his hair dark. Ani also saw that her dad’s countenance was a hybrid of his parents’ features: eyes from his mother, nose and cheeks from his father. On the next page there was a photo of the extended family sitting around a table. Ani’s father was perched in a high chair and there was a new baby in his mother’s arms.

  “That was our apartment in Washington Heights. Those are the Orlovskys, my mother’s side. And the Silvers, my father’s family,” Mrs. K. explained.

  By the last pages David Silver had grown to his full height and began to look like the photo Ani knew from his high school days. At his college graduation he wore a cap and gown, and about twenty family members were grouped around him.

  Mrs. K. pushed out a heavy sigh. “After that we have no pictures of David. You must understand, for our family being Jewish isn’t like a nationality. It’s a religion and a way of life. When David married outside he turned his back on us and everything we believe in. He knew that, but he had to have this girl.

  “My father was a hard man and a proud man. My mother might have been softer on David, but my father’s wishes she respected. He was lost to us, and then—again he died. You see he was my little brother and on him I couldn’t turn my back. I kept in touch. But the girl I couldn’t forgive. Now I know it wasn’t her. David wanted a different life.” She was silent for a moment, staring into the distance.

  Suddenly Mrs. K. slammed the photo album shut. “It is time for you to go.”

  The finality of the woman’s tone hit Ani like a brick.

  Ani’s face contracted with stubbornness. This one visit wasn’t enough. She needed more. She wouldn’t let herself be put out on the sidewalk with nothing.

  Ani asked, “May I please have another glass of water?”

  Mrs. Kantrowitz said coldly, “All right.”

  While her aunt was in the kitchen Ani placed her palm on the embossed black leather cover of the album. She didn’t want to think—she was tired of thinking. It was time to act. She gathered up the album, her coat and bag, and moved swiftly toward the door.

  When Mrs. Kantrowitz returned with the glass of seltzer Ani was several flights away, dashing down the back stairs.

  On the final landing, Ani stopped to catch her breath. It would look suspicious to the doorman if she were panting as she went by.

  She imagined Mrs. Kantrowitz emerging from the apartment screaming, “Thief! Stop, thief!” She would stump down the stairs behind Ani brandishing a long kitchen knife.

  Ani tucked the album against her body, arranging her coat over her arm in such a way that the book was camouflaged.

  In the lobby Ani glided past the doorman, briefly making eye contact with him as he held the door. “Thanks. Have a good evening,” she said.

  “You should put on your coat, young lady. It’s getting chilly,” he called after her.

  The avenue was darkening as she hurried away. Near the river the purple-blue sky was scarred with sooty branches. She didn’t want the lonely river. She wanted a blur of faces hurtling past like ­comets. She turned to Broadway, with its brightly lit storefronts and ­Korean markets where sidewalk stands were piled high with fruit, vege­tables, and flowers. The 99-Cent Store was garishly decked out with Christmas lights. Cars, trucks, and buses surged up and down.

  A man marched by with an armload of dry cleaning in a plastic bag. A toddler wrapped to the chin in a crocheted blanket was wheeled by in a stroller. Ani passed a bar window lit with beer logos. Inside a row of men sat at the counter with glass mugs and cigarettes watching football scenes on the television behind the bar. An old woman wearing a hat with floppy cloth flowers on the brim peered with concern into Ani’s face.

  Why you steal that poor woman’s pictures, Ani? Grandma queried.

  I don’t want to answer that question, Grandma.

  You gonna give them back?

  I don’t want to answer that question either.

  Leave the girl alone, Mariam, Baba admonished. Can’t you see she’s upset?

  She’s upset? Violet asked. I told her not to call that woman. I told her the Silvers didn’t want anything to do with her. Why doesn’t she listen to me?

  Listen to you? All I ever do is listen to you. All of you take up too much space in my head. Next thing you know Van’s going to chime in, and Elena, and Asa. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear from Dana Grimaldi.

  And how does that make you feel? Levin asked.

  Not you. I forgot about you.

  Why do you think you forgot about me?

  I’m not going to answer that question.

  Do you want to see me make this quarter disappear? It was a man’s voice.

  Daddy?

  Watch this, he said. He snapped his fingers and the quarter disappeared. Where do you think the quarter went?

  Behind my ear, Ani replied.

  Let’s see, he said, reaching behind her ear. He pulled out the shiny quarter and placed it in the middle of her open palm. That’s for you, Penny Bright.

  That’s what he called me, Ani thought.

  That was the sound of his voice.

  Ani glanced at the street sign and noted that she had put ten blocks between herself and her deed. She paused to pull on her coat and button it against the wind. With the back of her hand she wiped cold tears from her face. Then Ani Silver clasped the black book and strode forward with it into the rest of her life.

  glossary of foreign terms and phrases

  aghchig — girl

  aghchigess — my girl

  ahnbeedahn — useless, worthless

  ahrr — take

  amot kezi — shame on you

  anamot — shameless

  anham eh — savorless

  anoushig — sweetie

  assez bien — pretty well

  badveli — pastor, minister

  banir — cheese

  baron — mister

  bidi mernim — I’m going to die

  bonsoir — good evening

  boum — party

  carte de séjour — residence permit

  chambre de bonne — maid’s room

  char dghah — bad boy

  char shoon — bad dog

  chem keedehr — I don’t know

  chezokh — neutral, nonpartisan

  comment ça va ce matin — how’s it going this morning?

  dahngahlakh — blockhead

  Dashnak �
� member of Armenian Revolutionary Federation

  devs — devils, evil spirits

  digin — Mrs.

  éblouissant — dazzling

  eshek — donkey, ass

  fromager — cheese seller

  inchbes es? — how are you?

  gamatz, gamatz — slowly, slowly; little by little

  herya — Jew

  hos yegoor — come here

  Hunchak — member of Hunchakian Revolutionary Party

  jagadakir — destiny

  je t’ai demandée une question — I asked you a question

  je suis fou — I am crazy

  je suis au plus profond de l’abîme, et je ne sais plus prier — I am at the bottom of the pit and I don’t know how to pray anymore

  je veux follement te faire l’amour — I want to make love to you

  je vous souhaite bienvenue — I welcome you

  keghetsig — pretty

  khelatsi — intelligent

  khent — crazy

  khadayif — pastry of shredded wheat, nuts and syrup

  kesh chem — I’m not bad

  kezi geh sirem — I love you

  kisher pari — good night

  lahmejun — meat pizza

  lav em — I am well

  madzoon — yogurt

  manti — small meat dumplings

  medz mairig — Grandma

  meghah — exclamation of surprise

  mutilés de guerre — disabled veterans

  odar — hearth

  pakhlava — pastry of filo, nuts & syrup

  pamplemousse — grapefruit

  poghokagan — Protestant

  pomme de terre — potato

  pompier — firefighter

  préfecture — police headquarters

  primeur — greengrocer

  quatre bises — four kisses

  qu’est-ce que tu as dit? — what did you say?

  Ramgavar — member of Armenian Social Democratic Party

  tavloo — backgammon

  toneer — fireplace

  toun inchbes es? — how are you?

  tourshi — pickles

  vardik — underpants

  vhy babum — alas my father (idiom)

  vorik — bottom, rear end

  yalanchi — stuffed grape leaves

  yaprak — grape leaves

  yavrum — darling, dear

  acknowledgments

  Thanks to Anne Carey, Dahlia Elsayed, Daniel Goldin, Tanja Graf, Katie Hite, Arsen Kashkashian, Susan Kricorian, and Markar Melkonian for reading early drafts of the manuscript.

  For research assistance I would like to thank Peter Bilizekian, Bethel Charkoudian, Ani Garmiryan, Jean-Claude Kébabdjian at the Centre de Recherches sur la Diaspora Arménienne, Lena Takvorian, and especially Markar Melkonian.

  Gratitude to my top-notch editorial team: Maria Massie, Elisabeth Schmitz, Lauren Wein, and Kim Witherspoon. James Schamus was once again my most faithful and trusted reader.

 

 

 


‹ Prev