Forty Days of Musa Dagh

by Franz Werfel

  And the pastor, who so far had at least kept an appearance of calm, sprang forward passionately and shouted: "Ter Haigasun, I'm making a very serious suggestion. That all the still available animals be slaughtered, cooked, and divided up. That we strike camp tomorrow night, or at the very latest the night after. Re-encampment in one of the bays, where fishing is easy!"

  The quick, gruff method of this suggestion confused these peasants' heavy minds. The mukhtars shifted uneasily on their benches, rocking from side to side, like praying Moslems. Old Tomasian, Aram's father, blinked in alarm.

  But Kebussyan wiped his perspiring baldness and uttered a piteous complaint; "Oh, if only we'd gone on the convoy! . . . Alive or dead. . . we'd have done far better!"

  Here Ter Haigasun drew a crumpled filthy slip out of his cassock sleeve. This was his chance, not only to stffle Kebussyan's sigh, but to defend the Damlayik against Aram. He read out his fateful slip in a fairly low voice, almost tonelessly:

  "'Harutiun Nokhudian, Pastor of Bitias, to the Chief Priest of the coastal district round Suedia, Ter Haigasun of Yoghonoluk.

  "'First, peace and long life to you, beloved brother in Christ, Ter Haigasun, and to all my beloved countrymen along with you, up on Musa Dagh, or wherever else this letter may find you, and, let me hope, still on the mountain. If God wills, this letter will reach you. I shall have given it to a well-disposed Turkish officer to deliver. Our trust in God has been put to a terrible test, and He, I am sure, would forgive us, had we lost it. I write you this beside the unburied earthly remains of my dear, saintly, angelically kind wife. She, as no doubt you will remember, always was concerned for my health and well-being, and would never permit me to exert myself, go out bareheaded, or take stimulants, to which my weak, sinful nature was over inclined. But now everything is reversed. Her eager prayer has been heard. It is she who has gone on and left me alone, having died of hunger. Her last act was to force me, in the morning cold of these steppes, to take her neck-scarf and wrap it round me. God punishes me, like Job. I, the weak, the ailing, have a strength in me which refuses to be extinguished, and which I have cursed a thousand times, But she, who protected me on earth, has died, and I have to outlive her. All the young men of my parish were separated off from us in Antakiya, and we know nothing of what has happened to them. All the rest, except twenty-seven, of us are dead, and I fear I shall be the last, I who am not strong or worthy enough to die! Now we get a small daily ration of bread and bulgur, because commissions have been in the camp, but only enough to prolong our suffering. Perhaps today they will send us inshaat taburi to bury all the many, many corpses. When they come, they will take my dear one away from me, and yet I must be thankful that they do it. I have covered this sheet. God keep you, Ter Haigasun, when shall we ever meet again . . .'"

  The priest had read even these last lines in a toneless, matter-of-fact voice. Yet every syllable hung like a counterweight on the bearded faces of the men, weighing them down.

  Bedros Altouni raised his voice, as rusty and sharp as an old knife blade: "Well, I think that now Thomas Kebussyan will have ceased to long for the blessings of deportation. We've been living our own life here thirty-eight days now. It's not been easy, but it's been quite decent, in my opinion. Pity that later we shan't any of us get the chance to be proud of it. I suggest that Ter Haigasun should publicly read Nokhudian's letter from the altar square."

  This was most heartily agreed upon. For in the Town Enclosure Kebussyan's sigh, "Oh! if we'd gone on the convoy!" had long begun to go the rounds. But Gabriel had paid no heed to all this, having sat there lost in his own reflections. He had already heard the little pastor's letter. Now he was thinking of Aram's emotional display of hostility. He knew at once that Iskuhi was the cause. All the less, therefore, would he allow himself to be touched by Aram's insulting tone. He had a very great proposal. He strove, therefore, to make his words as conciliatory as possible:

  "It's never occurred to me to gibe at Pastor Aram Tomasian's plans. From the very beginning I've considered his suggestion for the fishery a good one. If it's failed, that isn't the fault of the idea, but of bad tools. As to his suggestion of a new camp, I was forced in duty to show that it's not only unpractical, but that it would hasten the end and make it crueller than ever. On the other hand, Pastor Aram was perfectly right to ask me what I propose to do about famine. Now listen, please, all of you! I'm going to answer all these questions at once. . . ."

  In a sense Gabriel also was improvising, much as the pastor had. He, too, had turned the proposal, which now he developed in all its details, over in his mind in the night, as one among several possibilities, without taking it really seriously. But so it is. Once an idea, a project, is put into words, it is already in the first stage of reality, and has gained a solidity of its own. He turned to Nurhan the Lion, to Shatakhian, to those who, he hoped, would support him.

  "There's an old method which the besieged have used from time immemorial. . . . The Turks have shifted their camp on Musa Dagh. Even if they have six or eight companies and Lord knows how many saptiehs, they'll need most of these troops to enclose the mountain. We need only reckon how big the distance is from Kebussiye to, say, Arsus. It's evident they want to starve us and that therefore they'll wait a few days longer before beginning their big attack. That's proved by this departure of their general who's going to lead it. You see how important they feel us! . . . I'm supposing that this general, with his officers, the Kaimakam, and perhaps even other highly placed personages will come back very soon and quarter themselves in my house. . . . So, therefore, I want to attempt a sortie, you understand, Ter Haigasun? As follows: We'll form an attacking party of picked decads. I don't know yet whether it'll be four or five hundred men. By tonight I shall have thought out the whole scheme in detail. There are plenty of ways, between gaps in the fire, of getting down into the valley. They'll have to be exactly reconnoitered. But I know for a fact that, down there, their command has only posted patrols, who skim the valley during the night. We should merely have to find out when they relieve each other, and get past when their backs are turned; it wouldn't be hard. And at, say, two or three in the morning we could attack. . . . What? . . . No, not Yoghonoluk, we certainly shouldn't get as far as that. . . . We could attack my house, with a fully superior strength. Naturally we should have found out the number of men they have on guard there. Apart from officers orderlies, I reckon at most on a company of infantry or saptiehs. We'll kill off the sentries and take quick possession of the garden and stables. All the rest is really not for discussion here. It's my business and Chaush Nurhan's. With God's help we shall take prisoner the general, the Kaimakam, the müdir, the yüs-bashi, and the other officers. If the whole attack is successful, we can have those highly placed gentlemen back in the Town Enclosure within two hours, and perhaps even flour and provisions."

  "Gabriel Bagradian's dreaming, now," crowed the choir-singer, Oskanian's little deputy.

  But the gentle Shatalthian sprang up enthusiastically. "In my opinion Bagradian's again made the only really bold suggestion. It's even more magnificent than the others were. If we really succeed in getting hold of the villa, and taking prisoner a general, a kaimakam, a yüs-bashi, there's no saying what mightn't come of it. . . ."

  "It's perfectly obvious what would come of it," Aram Tomasian cut into this disdainfully. "If we capture one of their generals and a high official, the Turks will cease to consider us a joke. They'll send out regiments and brigades against us, And if Gabriel Bagradian imagines the army will negotiate for its martinets and make concessions, he's much mistaken. The death of a general or a kaimakam at the hands of Armenian rebels is just what they want. It puts them completely in the right in every foreign country; it's the fullest justification of their Armenian policy. They welcome anything of that kind. What do you people in Yoghonoluk know about it? I was in Zeitun -- "

  Shatakhian boiled with rage: "It's not Gabriel Bagradian who's 'much mistaken,' it's you, Pastor, in spite of all your
Zeitun. I know Ittihad, I know the Young Turks, even if I've only lived in Yoghonoluk. They stick together. They never sacrifice one of their own. In no circumstances. Point d'honneur! And the shameful death of a general or a kaimakam would damage their whole prestige in the eyes of the people. They couldn't stand up to it! On the contrary they'd do all they possibly could to buy off their big bugs, with flour, and fat, and meat -- with freedom even."

  The teacher's too exuberant optimism moved all the doubters to scorn. Again there arose the empty, malicious strife of the last sitting, in which no opinion could fully assert itself. All that it lacked was the threatening crowd round the hut. Ter Haigasun, who, as usual, bore with the din for a certain time, tried to get peace by saying dryly that the usefulness of captured generals and kaimakams had better not be discussed until they'd been caught.

  Meanwhile the suffering demon in Tomasian had taken full possession of the pastor. He was wild and senseless enough to attack, for no reason, the Orthodox priest: "Ter Haigasun! Aren't you the supreme, responsible head! I accuse you, here, of indecision. You let everything slide. You don't want anyone interfering with you. It's a sheer miracle that with your -- what shall I call it? -- your unconcern, we should still be alive today. . . ."

  This scabrous attack on the highest authority -- unique, unheard of as it was -- so much annoyed Altouni, the agnostic, that he stridently defended the Orthodox Gregorian vicar against the Protestant's attack: "What have you to complain of here, young man? Nice state of things! You know nothing at all of us or of our life, since your father packed you off, as a boy, to Marash. Don't you get too big for your boots!"

  Called to order like an impudent schoolboy, and already hot with shame at his own tactlessness, Aram's voice became shriller than ever: "I may be too much of a stranger to understand you, though the real strangers among you seem to understand you well enough. But I still keep to my first suggestion. More -- I've decided to do what I think fit on behalf of myself and my family. When was it ever written that we must all keep together to the end? It'd be far wiser to break up the whole camp. Let each family save itself -- as best it can. It's much easier to catch a whole shoal of us in one place. But, if we disperse all over the coast, then perhaps some at least of us will be left alive, in one way or another. I mean to pack up and get out with my whole family and find a way for myself. I said my whole family, Gabriel Bagradian."

  Ter Haigasun had not once lost his temper through the whole of this very stormy session. When, exactly six days previously, he had kicked Oskanian out of the hut, it had been done regally, with just the necessary emphasis. Even now he showed no signs of excitement as he stood up, pale, almost ceremonious. "That's enough. Our sessions have no further object. The people elected us to lead them. I herewith, on the thirty-eighth day, declare this warrant to be cancelled, since this Council of Leaders has no longer the necessary strength and unity to make decisions. If it's possible for a man like Aram Tomasian, responsible for the civil law and order of this camp, to suggest its being broken up, it's obvious that we have no right to exact obedience and subordination from anyone else. So that, here and now, things become as they were again, before the Council was chosen by the villagers. The mukhtars take over the sole charge of their communes, and I, as chief priest of the district, the guidance of the community as a whole. And in that capacity I request Gabriel Bagradian that he should continue to lead our defense. His command is independent. It rests with him whether he decides on a surprise attack or on any other method of armed resistance. Further, in my capacity as priest, I decree a solemn Mass of petition, the time for which shall be given out later. I have no right to reject any possible chance of a rescue. Consequently, Pastor Aram Tomasian, after this Mass, will get his opportunity of repeating his present suggestion to the whole people and giving his reasons. Then the majority can decide whether it would rather leave the mountain or continue to trust to the valor of our fighters and the plans of our military leader. But, once this decision has been taken, we must also pass a resolution that anyone who, by deed or word of mouth, sets himself up against the general will is to be shot instantly. Well, now! Any further suggestions?"

  In peaceful times it is very pleasant to be a leader, but when one is two paces away from destruction it seems more inviting to lose oneself in the anonymous herd. The mukhtars had become simple village mayors again, and nothing more. The Council of Leaders, chosen by the Great Assembly in the garden of Villa Bagradian, dispersed quietly, without protest. Ter Haigasun had made a wise move and at the same time a tremendous sacrifice. The leadership had been purged of all its cantankerous, undependable elements. But now he alone, in this hour of finality, would have to guide his people through death, to God. They left the government hut in silence.

  But Aram hated Ter Haigasun; he hated Gabriel Bagradian, and himself even more than either. He took curt leave of his father, without answering his many despairing questians. The days of the Zeitun convoy came back to chide him. Had he not even then disgraced the Gospel and left his sheep, his children, on the third day? Bitterly the pastor admitted that it is always the same sin by which men are trapped. And how much more basely, shamefully, crazily, had he failed to withstand today's temptation. Aram at first wandered about the Damlayik; then he clambered down the path to the beach, for another effort to solve the insoluble problems of his fishery.

  It would be better, he felt, not to wait for the people's decision and set out at once with Hovsannah and the child. Kevork would be all the help they needed. He would of course have to leave his father, who would certainly refuse to fly. The swimmers had easily reached Alexandretta, via Arsus. Why should not he and his small family, in three night marches along the coast, be able to get as far as they? Herr Hoffmann, who had given them hospitality, was a Protestant, and would not shut his doors against a Protestant pastor. Naturally his priesthood was at an end, after today's disgraceful lapse into sin. Tomasian felt in his pocketbook. He had fifty pounds, a lot of money. Then, with a grimace of moral repugnance, he stared down at the surf around his feet. And Iskuhi?

  It was written, however, that neither Aram's plan nor Gabriel's should reach fulfillment, and that no plebiscite should be held. It is always the same: the dam has broken before the waves come surging over it, and usually in the least expected place.

  In the area of the South Bastion there was a wide plateau, facing seaward, overgrown with short, dry crop-grass. There Sarkis Kilikian and the circumspect commissar of the section, Hrand Oskanian, had set up their camp. Two deserters a few yards off played a game of shells with the long-haired thief of goat's flesh. These "deserters" might have been anything. The various fortunes of the game were being acclaimed with cries in every language spoken in Syria. The teacher was doing his best to impress the Russian with his grandiloquence. He talked so loud and so emphatically that even the tattered gamesters stopped to listen from time to time to his bold opinions. But Sarkis, stretched out full length, and with Krikor's cold chibuk between his teeth, was stubbornly silent under all the excited efforts of the dwarf.

  "You're an educated man, a man who has studied, Kilikian," the fuzzy-haired teacher was insisting, "so you'll understand me. I've never said much, you know. I've valued my thoughts too much. I never even said it to the apothecary, who cribbed a lot of my opinions. You know what life is, Kilikian -- it's knocked you about more than any of us. And me, too, if you'll believe me. I, Hrand Oskanian, have never been anything all my life but a measly teacher in a dirty village. What can you know about me? But all the same, I have my idea. Would you care to hear it? -- 'Finish the whole thing' is what I say. Since what's the good of anything else?"

  Sarkis leaned up on his elbow to crumble a piece of the tobacco Krikor had given him. All the others mixed this pure, blond leaf with dried herbs. Sarkis smoked his unmixed, not seeming to worry about the fact that his ration was thus finished twice as quickly. The once silent Oskanian had found a master of silence in the Russian. Kilikian's silence would have withered
the leaves off a tree. In the teacher's case it served to unloose a flood of boastful words, on the surface of which, undigested, dishonored, swam stray shreds of Krikor's conversation.