All the Light There Was (26 page)

“So, I saw that Shirvanian was here today,” he said.

“Yes. I saw him too.” I blushed. So he had noticed, which meant others likely had as well. In this village, our lives were like laundry flapping on an outdoor line.

Father Avedis smiled. “It’s a pretty afternoon. Have a good day, my child.”

“Thank you, Der Hayr
.
” I bobbed my head.

When Father Avedis turned to a family standing on the other side, I walked out of the courtyard, headed up the block, and then broke into a trot. I was out of breath when I reached the café where Andon waited.

As I approached the table, he stood and reached to shake my hand.

“Oh, Andon, please don’t be so formal.” I quickly leaned to offer one cheek and then the other.

“I presumed to order you tea with lemon. I hope that is what you wanted.”

“It’s nice you remembered.”

“Two years is not so long that I should forget.”

“Has it already been two years?”

“Not quite two years. Not until June.”

“What have you been doing all this time?” I asked.

“There is not so very much to report. I live in the same place. I do the same work. I have learned English.”

“Your cousin told me. That’s wonderful.”

“And you?”

“Well, you knew that I got married. Then I quit the university. I had a baby. After Barkev died, I moved back with my parents and took up my old work.”

“Please accept my condolences. To have survived the war only to die in an accident that way is a tragedy . . .”

“So you heard.”

“Yes,” he said. “And how is the baby?”

“He’s well—happy, healthy, and about to have his first birthday.”

“Bedros Pierre is a fine name,” he said.

“Did Father Avedis tell you?”

“The church bulletin mentioned the baptism.”

“I wonder if they might put ‘Maral Pegorian Kacherian has a run in her stocking’ in the church bulletin.”

“You seem different,” he said.

“In a good way or a bad?”

“I’m not sure. I think I am a little afraid of you.”

I laughed. “That’s good.”

“You were so cautious before,” he said. “Now I will get to know you better.”

When it was time for me to go, we walked toward the Métro together. I slipped my arm through his almost casually. We kept our eyes straight ahead, but I felt the blood churning inside me.

“When can we meet again?” he asked.

“Next Sunday,” I answered.

“At the cathedral?”

I said, “The weather is getting so nice, it seems a waste to spend the whole morning inside. How about we meet at the café?”

After dinner that evening, my mother and I discussed arrangements for Pierre’s birthday party, which was to be held at Missak and Jacqueline’s in two weeks. The Kacherians and the Sahadians would be there. My mother was making a new outfit for the baby—a white jacket with white shorts, which seemed impractical, but she insisted. Jacqueline had offered to bake the cake. Vahan Kacherian had taken the measure of Pierre’s feet for the baby’s first pair of shoes.

While we talked, Pierre, who was fresh from his bath and dressed in pajamas, tried to go from taking one step to taking two. He worked on this project assiduously, crawling back to the couch after each time he landed heavily on his seat. The cat, from a safe perch on the back of the couch, at first followed the baby’s movements and then dozed. Finally, after a series of attempts, Pierre gave up and sat, rubbing his eyes with small fists.

Pierre was quickly asleep in his crib. I put on my nightgown and got into bed with the Brontë novel. That night, however, instead of reading, I clasped the book to my chest and stared up at the ceiling. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday . . . It was a long time until I would see Andon again.

The following Sunday, the weather was warm and sunny. I couldn’t bring myself to wear full mourning on such a day. I dutifully stepped into a black cotton skirt, then put on a white blouse and finished with an emerald-green scarf.

My father eyed me over his newspaper. He grunted. “About time you stopped with all that black.”

My mother nodded. “You look nice.”

“Please don’t tell my mother-in-law,” I told them.

“What should she have to say about it?” my father asked.

My mother, who was holding Pierre in her lap, replied, “The poor thing still can’t bear anyone else’s happiness.”

“I might be a little late today,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I thought I’d go for a walk.”

“That’s fine,” my mother said. “I’m taking Pierre over to see Shushan and Virginie this morning. Don’t worry—I won’t mention a thing. After lunch the little one will take a nap.”

I paused on the landing to pull out a compact mirror and apply some lipstick. Then I ran down the stairs, through the courtyard, and onto the bright street. I enjoyed the swish of my full skirt and the sound of my heels clicking on the pavement.

As I approached the café, I saw Andon sitting at the same table as the week before, anxiously scanning the street. He hadn’t seen me yet. When his eye caught mine, he waved and smiled.

“Am I late?” I glanced up at the clock on the wall as I slid into my chair. “Only three minutes. That’s not late, is it?”

He shook his head. “I’ll order. Tea for you?”

I nodded and he gestured to the waiter.

“How was your week?” I asked.

“Long. And how was yours?”

“Very long,” I answered. “You seem irritated.”

“Not irritated. I arrived too early and then I sat here worrying that you might not come.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I wanted to see you so very much.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Maral, I want you to know that my intentions are honorable,” said Andon.

“I never thought they were dishonorable.”

“I’m quite serious. I should like to speak to your father,” he answered.

“Oh, Andon, I’m quite serious myself, but not enough time has passed.”

“When I heard about your husband, I waited for you to contact me. If you think of how long we have known each other, I have been waiting a very long time.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Are you sure it is a question of timing? Perhaps it is something else.”

“Such as?”

“The circumstances of my departure from Poland, and the uniform I was wearing when we met. I am not ashamed but neither am I proud of what I did. It is perhaps best a story left untold for many years. General Dro was lately expelled from his party. The men I was with did not go back to Yerevan; they went straight to camps in Siberia.”

“Oh, Andon, I’m so sorry to hear about your friends. But that’s not it. I just need a little more time.”

“As you may have surmised by now, I am a patient man.”

Under clear blue skies, we went for a walk along the river, strolling across one bridge to the Left Bank and then crossing at the Île Saint-Louis and going back to the Right. We ended up at the place des Vosges, just a few blocks from my old lycée. Too soon it was midafternoon and time for me to head back to Belleville. As we started toward the Métro station, I wanted more than anything for Andon to kiss me, but I knew he was too polite to do such a thing.

“There’s something I want to show you before we say goodbye,” I said.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Follow me.” I led him to a small passageway—a little alley where some of the older Victor Hugo girls had gone with their boyfriends.

“This is it?” he asked, looking around.

“Not quite all of it,” I said.

When I kissed him it was like a glass of raki that filled me up and set the world on fire.

When I put my cheek against his, he whispered, “You light up dark walls.”

We walked hand in hand to the Métro entrance, where he asked, “Next Sunday?”

I groaned. “Next Sunday we’re going to Alfortville for Pierre’s birthday.”

“Two weeks?”

“Such a long time. Let’s meet at the Buttes Chaumont. Maybe I’ll bring Pierre.”

When I arrived home, Missak, Jacqueline, and Alex were at our apartment. I had missed Sunday dinner, but my mother had covered a plate for me and left it on the counter. My father and brother played backgammon in the front room, and my mother put the babies down for a nap in the bedroom. I stood in the kitchen with my food as Jacqueline washed the dishes.

“You look happy,” she said. “Was there good gossip after the service?”

“I’m the news. Don’t say anything. I went for a walk with Andon.”

“Shouldn’t he be in Leninakan?”

“He didn’t go back. He’s working at a rug shop on the Left Bank.”

“Paul will be disappointed. But he never had much of a chance.”

“He should try to pry Virginie loose from my mother-in-law. She’s more his age.”

That night Zaven appeared in my dreams. We were in our building’s stairwell. It was a cold, dark night, and I heard the drone of planes in the distance. Zaven put his arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

He whispered, “I should never have left you.”

Then he was suddenly gone, and I was alone in the courtyard.

I heard footsteps approaching, and out of the shadows came Henri and Denise, and the Lipskis, and behind them Auntie Shakeh, wearing a black dress that hung on her skinny frame like a sack. A throng of people moved forward to join them, and I recognized, among the many faces, the Latin and Greek teacher Mademoiselle Lévy, two Jewish girls from my class at the lycée, and Missak Manouchian. All of them stood silently in the courtyard with somber faces. Finally Barkev emerged, walking with a limp and weaving through the crowd toward me. I put my hand to a dark bruise on his cheek. He said, “It’s lonely without you, Maro Jan.”

M
Y MOTHER WAVED TO
me from the shade, where she was sitting in a row of lawn chairs with my mother-in-law and Jacqueline’s mother. “Maral, that baby is going to ruin his suit. Look—he already has grass stains on his shorts.”

“So, I’ll use bleach,” I answered, watching as Pierre tottered across the lawn toward my father-in-law, who was waiting open-armed near the men gathered around the grill. “It’s his birthday.”

Jacqueline walked past with a steaming casserole. “The shish is off the fire, so come to the table before the pilaf gets cold.”

When the meal was over Hagop Meguerditchian played his oud, while his wife, Alice, sang along. Missak circled the table pouring raki into the men’s glasses.

My father-in-law raised his glass. “Here’s to the health of my grandson Bedros.”

“Genatz!”
my father added.

“To my godson, Bedros Pierre!” said Missak, and then he downed the raki.

I picked Pierre up and kissed him on the neck. “The birthday boy!”

My mother-in-law gave a strangled moan. Shushan Kacherian’s lips were trembling, and tears started rolling down her face.

My mother took her hand and said, “Don’t cry, honey. He’s watching from heaven.”

Shushan groaned through her tears. “That baby will never know his father.”

Virginie flew to her mother’s side. “It’s okay. Let’s go in.”

Shushan sobbed as Virginie led her away. “Why, O Lord? What did I do to deserve this kind of suffering?”

As the back door closed behind them, Jacqueline murmured into my ear, “She knows how to ruin a party.”

I answered, “Maybe it’s better than if no one had said anything.”

“She’s not the only one who lost them. She never thinks of you, and Missak isn’t over it . . .”

“I wonder if it’s something you get over, or if you just wear it like a scar.”

She said, “Don’t talk like that. You’ll be happy again. I know you will.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” I said. “I want to tell you something without the whole world hearing.”

We put Pierre and Alex into the perambulator, and before we had rounded the first corner, both of them were asleep. Before we rounded the second corner, I told Jacqueline that Andon had asked me to marry him.

“But how can you marry him after what he did?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean. You saw the uniform he was wearing.”

“But Jacqueline, at the time you didn’t mind the uniform. In fact, you defended him. Remember?”

“It’s different now. The war is over. And I’m married to Missak.”

“What does he have to say about it?”

“When I told him about you and Andon, he didn’t like the idea at all. Missak risked his life in the Resistance. And after what happened to Zaven and Barkev, it just doesn’t seem right.”

“Missak has never met Andon, and Andon wasn’t a Nazi. He was an Armenian prisoner of war who had a choice between dying and putting on a German uniform. He built a useless wall along the coast.”

She shrugged. “Don’t argue with me. He’s your brother. You talk to him.”

But I didn’t want to talk to him. I could imagine the way the conversation would go, my arguments only pushing him to cling more tightly to his mule-headed judgments.

Back in our Belleville apartment that night, I lay in my narrow bed thinking about Andon and my brother. If I married Andon over my brother’s objections, would the family be riven for years? I wasn’t concerned about my mother, but I would have to talk to my father before Missak did.

Here I was, having lost two husbands, making plans for taking a third. Was it my fault that I had lost them? If I had thrown my arms around Zaven’s neck and insisted that he shouldn’t leave, would he have stayed? If I had loved the first one less and the second one more, would it have made a difference? Was there something I could have said that last morning that would have lessened Barkev’s suffering?

My sense of obligation suddenly felt like an intolerable burden. For a moment I imagined myself packing a suitcase and running away with Andon, maybe as far away as America. But I knew it was impossible. The one duty I could never shirk was my responsibility to my son, and it was that small life that tethered me in a thousand ways.

Finally I fell asleep, but I woke and twisted in my sheets, repeatedly switching on the light to check the slow-moving hands of the clock.