A Place Far Away

by Vahan Zanoyan

  “We have a lot to plan,” says Sumaya. “If we’re smart about this, all will fall into place. Farah, you understand what you need to think about, right? And the absolute need for secrecy.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Now I need to think. I’ll contact you later. Do not show any concern. Do not speak about this in your own houses. There are ears everywhere. We talk about this only here and always in person. No phones. Off you go.”

  IX

  Laurian was not prepared for what he saw when they entered the house. Silva Galian, Lara’s mother, was lying in bed, covered toes to chin by a blanket. Her face was so pale and shriveled that for a moment Laurian thought he was staring death in the face. The oldest daughter, Martha, who had recently married, was named after her paternal grandmother. She had the manure-burning stove lit under a pot of water and was waiting for it to boil. The late afternoon sun poured into the otherwise dark room from a small high window; the glass was dirty and cluttered with cobwebs, but the beam of light was strong. It rushed into the room and hit the grey wall, highlighting the framed photograph of the late Samvel Galian that hung from a rusty nail right over his bed. One of Martha’s sisters was also in the room, but the rest of the children were not in sight.

  Laurian and Saro had knocked the door, but not having heard any response, had gently pushed it. The door opened and they walked in. Martha was startled at first, but when Saro explained that they were old acquaintances of her father, she greeted them and invited them to sit on the small dining chairs. Martha introduced her sister, Alisia. Saro explained that they had just met with an old friend of their father named Gagik, in Ashtarak. Martha recognized the name.

  The water started to boil, and Martha put a teaspoon of tea leaves from a cubic tea-tin in a brown mug and poured the hot water over it. Then she approached her mother, sat at the edge of the bed, holding the mug with her left hand and gently rubbing her mother’s covered shoulder with her right hand.

  “Mama,” she whispered, moving her hand from her mother’s shoulders to her graying hair, “get up and have some tea. We have visitors.”

  Silva Galian slowly opened her eyes. She stared at her daughter for a long moment, as if searching in her memory for her resemblance. Then she started moving, and eventually sat up in bed. Martha wrapped the blanket over her shoulders and handed her the mug of tea, which she held in her lap with both hands. She finally looked up toward the two men seated awkwardly at the other end of the room.

  Saro stood up and introduced himself, but was careful not to offer to shake her hand, given that both of her hands were needed to steady the mug, and then he introduced Laurian. He nodded and smiled; he didn’t know what to say. He hoped that Saro would at least start a conversation, any conversation, to give him more time to recover and to think. Martha asked if they would like some tea, but they kindly declined. Alisia was seated on a low stool behind the stove where she was peeling potatoes. Behind her, against the wall, there were a couple of wooden shelves resting on cinderblocks, lined up with glass jars full of various pickles and other preserves. A few burlap sacks stood in the corner, and Laurian guessed from the round shape of the contents protruding from the burlap that they were filled with either onions or potatoes.

  “We were in Ashtarak, visiting an old friend of Samvel’s,” repeated Saro, “and decided to drive up here to pay you a visit. I really hope that we are not inconveniencing you, tikin—Mrs.—Galian.”

  Silva Galian looked at them again and nodded, but she had nothing to say.

  “I hope that everything is fine here with you,” continued Saro. “Tikin Galian, you do not look well. Gagik in Ashtarak mentioned that you had been ill, and that you had been to the hospital there. I hope that the doctors are taking care of whatever is bothering you.”

  “The doctors know nothing,” mumbled Silva Galian and fell silent again.

  “Did they at least tell you what they think is wrong with you?” persisted Saro.

  “First they suspected cancer, then they thought I had a liver problem. They took a lot of blood, but they know nothing.”

  “Would you like us to take you to a hospital in Yerevan?” asked Laurian, encouraged by the fact that she was at least talking. “They have better equipment and maybe even better doctors there.”

  “What’s the point? They won’t be able to cure me. I will not leave Saralandj again.” Then she seemed to withdraw into herself again.

  “Martha jan,” said Laurian, turning to the daughter, “how long has your mother been ill like this?”

  “Ever since Papa died.”

  “And there has been no change in her condition that whole time?”

  “First we thought it was the mourning. She took it very hard. She would not eat, rarely slept, got tired quickly and would lie in bed for hours on end. But after two months we realized it could not be the mourning alone. Something else had to be wrong.”

  “Is that when you took her to the doctors in Ashtarak?”

  “Yes. First my aunt convinced her to go. They just gave her some medicine, but I am not sure what. She took it, but things did not get any better. Then she stopped taking the medicine. Two weeks ago my husband Ruben convinced her to go again; he borrowed a car from a friend in Aparan and we took her ourselves. Exactly the same thing. Now she does not want to leave the house at all.”

  “Did you talk to the doctors?” asked Laurian. “Did they tell you or anyone else what she has?”

  “They think she has cancer—of the female sort. They did not say much else, except for they did not sound hopeful that it could be cured.”

  Alisia finished peeling the potatoes and placed them in a pot of water over the stove. She then started washing and peeling cucumbers and tomatoes. She apparently was trying to set the table, and Laurian was not sure how they should respond if invited to supper.

  “Where is the rest of the family?” he asked Martha. Supper preparations were a good indication that the rest of the family would appear at some point.

  “The youngest two boys returned from school and are with my in-laws doing their homework,” she said. Then, noticing Laurian’s approving glance at the mention of schoolwork, added, “My father was adamant about the importance of education. He kept saying that we should all study, and, if we could, go beyond our local school here. His big ambition was to have at least a few of his children graduate from the University in Yerevan.”

  “What about the others?” asked Laurian.

  “I got married and will not continue school. The eldest of the boys, Avo, is needed to tend to the sheep and cows, and cannot focus on school. My younger sisters are needed at home and in the garden, but they will try to finish the local school.”

  “I meant where are the others now?” asked Laurian again.

  “Oh, sorry, my sisters are also at my house with my in-laws, helping them finish the preserves for winter.”

  “How old is Avo?” asked Laurian.

  “He has turned sixteen already.” Then, as if sensing either disbelief or disapproval in Laurian’s glance, she added, “He is the oldest boy. Age doesn’t matter. The oldest boy has his responsibilities regardless of age. That is how it is here.”

  The last phrase, ‘that is how it is here,’ was a clear indication that Martha had already placed Laurian out of what ‘here’ implied. He was not from these parts and needed the system explained to him.

  “Of course, of course,” Laurian assured her. This is the second time that Martha had read him correctly. Maybe I’m too transparent, he thought. I wonder if I am. He made a mental note to be careful about not showing his emotions so readily.

  Silva Galian had taken several sips of her tea, placed the brown mug on the floor, and lay down again in bed. She pulled the blanket under her chin and shut her eyes. Alisia placed small dishes of cucumbers, tomatoes, cheese, pickles and sausages on the table. The beam of light coming through the window had faded, and the room was noticeably darker than when they first came in. Martha tu
rned on the switch and a solitary light bulb hanging from the ceiling was illuminated. Silva stirred in bed and gave a short moan. The light was another legacy of the former Soviet Union: Every village in the realm had to be electrified. So even the most remote and backward villages, which did not have indoor plumbing, gas, running water or any of the most basic necessities, had electricity.

  Saro signaled to Laurian that they should leave, but Laurian seemed intrigued with this family and ignored him. Besides, they had not even talked about the famous seventeen-year-old daughter.

  Then Avo, the teenage man of the house, walked in. He was surprised to see the visitors, but was quickly briefed by Martha. He went to sit by his mother at the edge of the bed. He was much taller than Laurian had expected. He was about Saro’s height—handsome, with thick curly black hair, arched Armenian nose, sun-burnt bony face, and radiant eyes. He was dirty from working outside and looked tired. Silva Galian opened her eyes briefly and smiled at the sight of her son.

  “Vonts es, Mom jan,” asked Avo.

  “Lav, balés, du vonts es?”

  “Lav, mom, esor inch es kerel? Fine, mom, what have you eaten today?”

  “I’ve eaten, don’t worry. Are the animals all settled?”

  “Almost. A few more weeks and we’ll be settled before winter descends.”

  Then Silva Galian shut her eyes again, with the vague hint of the smile still lingering on her otherwise lifeless face. Avo joined the visitors on one of the chairs by the dining table. Alisia offered him a cup of tea, which he accepted with a nod.

  “I’ll be happy to arrange to take her to Yerevan to see a specialist doctor,” said Laurian to Avo. “It cannot hurt, and it may help.”

  “She will not go,” said Avo with finality. “She will not leave the house again. I don’t think she will survive the winter.”

  Laurian was amazed at Avo’s apparent lack of emotion, but he also could sense that it was the sixteen-going-on-forty man of the house that was talking. There was something about the boy that he found intriguing. The cool, gathered composure clearly belied his age. But there was something deeper, which he could not pin down, that disturbed Laurian, but this was not the time to dwell on that.

  The door opened and the other two daughters and two brothers walked in. They were introduced and quietly sat at their chairs around the table. Laurian and Saro exchanged a few more pleasantries with the group, and then Laurian decided it was time to leave. But he had to ask the burning question before leaving.

  “We’ll have to leave now,” he said to the group at large. “But we are curious about your youngest sister. Have you heard from her lately?”

  “All we know is that she is a model in Greece,” said Martha, clearly indicating that she did not want to have a long conversation about Lara.

  “But have you heard from her directly?” persisted Laurian. “I mean, has she called or written?”

  “No,” said Avo, taking over the conversation. “She called only once, the day she left, and talked to mother, but we have not heard from her since.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Laurian, very careful not to sound offensive, “I do not mean to intrude, but don’t you think that is a bit unusual? I mean, if Lara has the time to wire money, why can’t she find the time to call? Or send a note?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Avo, showing his discomfort with discussing the subject. “But you have to understand that we no longer have a phone here. So she could not have called even if she tried. And I am not sure about writing. Mailing a letter all the way from Greece seems too much trouble, to be honest.”

  “But she can still wire the money?”

  “Well, the post office says that all the cash transfers are made from Moscow. So we believe that she has asked her agents to wire the money on her behalf. They probably just deduct it from her salary. Everyone says it would be easier and simpler that way.”

  “That makes sense,” conceded Laurian, wanting to put the young man at ease. “She must have a very good agent. Do you know who her agent is?”

  “I have not met him yet, but mother has. It is Viktor Ayvazian, or maybe his uncle Sergey. They found Lara her job, organized her papers, and now help her wire the money. I’m sure one day Lara will write or maybe even visit. Everyone says it is almost impossible to take time off and travel home during the first two years. It is too early to expect direct contact with her.”

  Laurian wanted to ask about his reference to “everyone” who was telling him these things, but thought better of it. This was not the time.

  “Why don’t you stay and have a bite with us?” invited Avo, pointing at the table. They were all gathered and ready to start.

  “We are very grateful, Avo,” said Laurian. “But we still have a few hours’ journey to get back home. It is very late, and we ate in Ashtarak before coming here. Some other time. I am sure we’ll meet again.” Laurian stood up. “Is there anything we can do for you?” he asked, taking Avo’s hand and looking him straight in the eye.

  Avo smiled and shook his head politely.

  “Anything at all,” insisted Laurian. “For example, would you like to have a cell phone? I think it might come in handy. If nothing else, I would like to call you once in a while and check to see how your mom is doing, or if you need anything else.”

  “Oh, I had a cell phone but it fell in the watering pond in the garden and was ruined. I just haven’t had the time to get a new one. This is a very busy season for us,” he added, with a helpful tone so Laurian could understand. “We need to get ready for winter, which means the next three to four weeks we’ll have to work from sunrise until late at night. But I’ll get a phone soon.”

  Laurian and Saro bid farewell to every member of the family, but Silva Galian seemed to have fallen asleep, so they did not bother her again. They asked if Martha needed a ride to her home, but she said that her husband would arrive soon to accompany her. With that, they left.

  Laurian called Gagik again and asked if he knew the doctor that Silva Galian had been seeing in Ashtarak. The answer was yes. “I’d like to see him briefly,” said Laurian.

  Gagik called back in a few minutes.

  “He’ll be off in half an hour and can meet us for coffee. When can you be here?”

  “Half an hour is perfect. We’ll see you at the same place we had lunch.”

  Saro had long stopped rushing. He was as involved in this now as Laurian. The intensity of Laurian’s interest and attachment to the Galians, which had worried him at first, had proven to be contagious. Now he too was taken by the Galian family. The unanswered questions about the father’s death, the mother’s illness and Lara’s whereabouts, which haunted Laurian, were haunting him as well.

  They drove in silence for a while. It was early evening and the country road from Saralandj to Aparan’s town center was dark and deserted. Black-billed magpies had descended on a dead rodent in the middle of the road and were having a frantic feast. They waited until the very last second to hop off the road as Saro’s car approached. A light-brown dog with a puffy curled up tail was limping down the edge of the road, giving the car curious sideways looks as it hopped away, as if checking to see if it could hitch a ride. Laurian was deep in thought as Saro drove his Chevy Niva, carefully avoiding the huge potholes as they entered Aparan from the east and turned left headed toward Ashtarak. As they drove past the city limits, the condition of the road improved considerably, and Saro’s car gained speed.

  Dr. Hakobian was a small, thin man in his mid-fifties, with a balding head and thick-rimmed eyeglasses. Laurian thought he would make a great character in one of John Le Carré’s early books as a Soviet spy. The man was very polite and composed, but answered questions sparingly. Laurian had had a long day, and wanted to come straight to the point. This suited Dr. Hakobian fine. He too came to the point after some reluctance, largely because of Gagik’s nods of encouragement for him to speak up.

  “Silva Galian has advanced stages of ovarian cancer,” he sa
id. “I have to admit, it took a while to diagnose, because she does not fit the risk profile. Even I did not suspect it for a long time.”

  “But now you are sure?” asked Laurian.

  “Yes, I’m sure…” Laurian noticed that the doctor hesitated to say more, but after catching an encouraging eye from Gagik, he continued. “It is more common in women who have not had children. Silva has had eight. So we did not look for it at first. But the symptoms kept suggesting it, so we checked, just to be on the safe side.”

  “What type of symptoms?” asked Laurian.

  Dr. Hakobian did not answer for a few minutes. He looked at Gagik, and then Laurian, and finally said, “Mr. Laurian, because of your friendship with Gago here, and my respect for him, I have already told you what I normally consider more than appropriate; considering that you are not related to her, I do not wish to get into any further details.”

  “Fair enough,” said Laurian apologetically, impressed by the doctor’s comments. Patient confidentiality had not meant much in any former Soviet republic. “Please forgive me. You’re right; I am not related to them. Rest assured though that I am only trying to be helpful. I have no other interest in this matter. Is there anything that can be done?”

  “I doubt it,” said Hakobian, scratching his chin with his skinny fingers. “I told the family that this is very difficult to cure, given its advanced stage. Any treatment at this stage is likely to be intrusive, painful, and ultimately fruitless.”

  As usual, Laurian had a lot of questions, but he had to suppress them. After his early encouragement, Gagik was being uncharacteristically quiet, which did not help Dr. Hakobian open up further. Laurian had a sense that even Gagik was not comfortable discussing the medical case of a friend’s widow in Saralandj. There was no point, especially if the doctor was basically saying that it was hopeless. For once, Laurian agreed with what Saro would have said. Nightfall was upon them already, and they had to head back. Laurian knew that he’d have to make this trip again soon, and perhaps find various ways to bond with Avo. And, as he had guessed, it was too late now to make it all the way back to Vardahovit.