8

After our attack on Zeytun, the siege began and we resisted as much as we could. We choked in a small cave, but we were disciplined: the women of each freedom fighter had their own place. The soldiers had a smaller place, everyone had a specific task, the cook, the barber, the priest and the warriors. The food was equal for all. However, we were crowded in a narrow space. As time passed, our patience was running out and the soldiers were starting to get nervous. At first, we waited for support forces from the eastern Anatolian side, we could break the siege with their help, we hoped that the Dashnak gangs there would not leave us alone, we were wearing out and waiting at night. We were starting to get cold. It was difficult to get out of the cave at night. We were starting to crawl more and more into the fire. The Sultan's army hoped that our supplies would run out and we would surrender of our own accord. Last night, the sleet was turning into snow with the wind. A well-formed path was so narrow and winding that it could easily guard the road. The enemy could not climb this hill. They were pushed back one by one before any force could form a group to attack.

We took possession of the mountain and at first we did not take the siege seriously. There were those who carried the news by wandering the mountain and crossing the enemy lines. Sometimes I dressed like an old shepherd and passed through the enemy soldiers. I was trying to get eggs, vegetables, bread from the town. It took a lot of time and expense to feed four hundred people. I was the enemy. I was one of the few messengers who made eye contact with his soldiers, albeit from a distance. At night, we all as a group helped carry the filled baskets up the steep face of the mountain. We did so in excited silence, afraid we would be seen. Our morale was still high.

While the Turks were waiting, they set traps for rabbits and sometimes deer.

Similarly, we were shooting wild boar, thank God the enemy did not eat pigs!

There was now a shortage of food and we were eating roots and seeds as if we were being purged. Boredom was terrible. Being shut down caused fights among ourselves: during dice or chess it could turn into shouts or fistfights, even going as far as drawing guns or knives. Then the others were separating those who were fighting because We couldn't bear to fight among ourselves. After a while, we started to fight because the support did not arrive. All our calls were inconclusive.

One day I saw a group carrying supplies up the mountain. As usual, the crowd had gathered at the entrance, some of them halfway down to greet the visitors. Life was so boring!

I came out of the cave to welcome the visitors and watched as they struggled along the path. One of the visitors looked familiar to me. My heart stumbled. I recognized him immediately. His head was bowed and his body was covered with a heavy woolen coat necessary for the winter. He was carrying a package on his back. .He was advancing slowly upwards. Perhaps he was looking upward as he paused to breathe and measure the distance to climb. Perhaps he was raising his hand to his head to protect his eyes or to straighten his scarf. It was as if everyone was sending a sign or hugging me in a color that was obvious to me. I recognized him right away with a simple glance through the pine trees.

I looked back through the heads of the others in the crowd. I greeted him with a kiss and ran down the mountain to get his package. I walked towards the back of the crowd.

-"How are you Satin, how are you not seeing each other?"

-"I'm fine"

We looked like thin-legged, cautious, thin-tailed dogs that sniffed the air, combed hair, didn't growl, and made buffoons before petting.

"I came to see you again," said Satin.

"I tried to pretend I didn't see you when I walked by but realized I missed you"

He paused for a moment, turning his gaze in front of him.

"I realized that I love you, and I'm also curious about you."

I watched his hands tremble in his lap. His eyes were watching the heavy stormy clouds and gliding towards the sprawling greenery below, bowing to the ground with horses roaming the green and white and brown tents, and enemy soldiers who looked like little ants.

"I risked my life for you, but I'm with you, freedom is worth fighting for, I came to show my support, because in the end I had to take responsibility and fight too. I'm talking about fighting for Armenia, for our way, for our way of life. If I'm not a coward, I don't own it either. There's a lawsuit needed"

The next night, we woke up with the warning sound of the guards, we all came out of the cave in astonishment, in the dark, under the guidance of a treacherous Armenian with the moonlight, the Turks had achieved the unexpected, they started to cross those steep and steep rocks, they were trying to crawl on their hands. Who would have thought that they could do this and get out of this terrible abyss?

They wouldn't have the guts to do that during the day, and the night had been of use to them because they couldn't see the dreadful chasm below, if only a few of our vanguard were still alive!

The path leading to our cave ran through the cliff, at one point the road was too narrow for two men to walk side by side. This meant that one of the Turkish soldiers could have blocked the road. One of our men could not hold on to the edge of the cliff and fell. At that moment, I was thinking whether it was because of the bone fragments that shattered his heart. Fear enveloped us all like a dark smoke, I had even forgotten satin. We were waiting desperately in the cave. The sound of battle and the sound of rifles in the lower parts of the cliff seemed to remind us of the last moments of our life. And then there was the sound of gunfire again. We prayed for our soldiers waiting at the far ends. They were injured or tumbled down a cliff - who knows? Others, fearing for their lives, had reached the cave quickly and informed us of the situation. What if God wanted us to be defeated? put it on We were literally trapped in the cave. The times when we could roam the top of the mountain were past. Now we were imprisoned inside, and this situation was very dangerous. Previously, to get information from the enemy camps, we went down the steep slope under the moonlight - the secret path that belongs only to us - or the cave below. We were able to send messages to our men in the extreme regions by passing through the tunnel opened. The Turks had set up catapults below, we could not breathe anymore.

"I heard it was a treasure" Satin's voice was lost in the darkness of the cave. The kerosene lamp emits a thumb-sized light, the extinguishing fire a reddish glow.

was giving light.

"Yeah, that's right," I said.

We were too scared to flirt or even care about who loved whom.

"The legend told me years ago that you and I found it in a cave in this region," said Satin.

"This area is full of caves, but rest assured the treasure is the safest. Tonight, Legend and I will take the treasure out, we'll have three rangers with us."

Satin was trying to digest the news she had received.

-"Is there no support force? Will you be able to do this without the support of the Dashnaks?

"It's not too far from our current position," I said, in an attempt to convince him.

"Who knows about it?"

-"The cave? Just me and the legend."

"What's in the treasure?"

said Satin. The fever was so low that I could no longer see his face.

"The treasure was in sacks. Besides the manuscripts of the scriptures, gold and silver ingots, money bags, some antiques, deeds, and the HOLY GRAIL, a priceless relic"

-"what's that ?

"The bowl in which Jesus drank wine at the last supper."

Satin took a deep breath, then whistled.

-"Did you see him?"

"Yes, only once so far it was a heavy tall silver bowl. The fancy handles curved like ears on either side. It had scenes from the Bible on its base. One scene had Adam's creation, the other his expulsion from the garden. The scene that caught my attention the most was the crucifixion of our great lord. there were three women who suffered while stretching. I think contrary to what the Purified say, this cup must have come from modern times, I think Jesus was not a silver chalice covered with biblical scenes including his own crucifixion, but a captain made of earth like ordinary people, or of oxhorn or pewter. He must have drank from a cup. It was wrapped in purple silk.

"Go on," said Satin.

It was obvious that he was curious.

-"What happened then?"

He came a little closer and revived the fire. A single tongue came out, blue and yellow, then another spark; the fire was tasting the wood, licking and eating the dry and dead food.

The moment I had been waiting for a long time had come. There were five of us. Legend, me and three rangers gathered at the west exit. A nice sleet was falling. We had to be careful not to wake the Turks before we left the cave. Satin kissed me on the cheek. One of the rangers, nicknamed the priest, blessed us. Our friends were praying, light I shuddered then put on my wool cloak. The priest said to each of us, God be with you. He touched my ankle the way a man gives peace to a woman, and we turned and we set off, walking in single file. I took them to my cave, where we buried the treasure.

It took longer than I thought to carry the heavy sacks into the cave. The next day we had to hide. The next night we came through enemy lines, avoiding the tents and horses as much as possible in the dark. We were moving carefully in the neutral zone between the enemy lines and the groves at the foot of the mountain. The shadow of the moonlight was fading over the shadows. We went up the steep mountain. We were exhausted when we arrived.

After that I was tired and dejected. It had been a difficult journey and I had a hard time coming back. The gunfire was torturing me. I didn't want to talk to anyone for days.

It's human nature, if you think you can't make it to the next day, something happens that causes you to lose what you have, and then you look back at events that seemed unbearable to you before, and in the light of your fate, which is now getting worse, you will see that those moments that you thought were bad times in the past were heaven. We waited. We waited. We were walking, lost in melancholy. We were paralyzed with fear and anguish.

We helped each other, spruce up each other, and sometimes we told stories to keep our spirits high. The legend told us about the reinforcements that would come very soon. It told us that the holy spirit would also come to help us. But the stories of the legend did not change our lives. One of the rangers fell ill. His tongue had turned into a huge lump in his throat. The next days, the rangers heading west returned. As we were climbing the dangerous slope behind the cave, we heard a noise and ran to meet him. Two guards were climbing the mountain after him. We were staring at them in amazement. The Turks were gone!

After leaving the treasure in the Taurus Mountains, we set out on the way back. The Legend and other groups would continue to stay in the cave. We started the journey together with the Armenians of Eastern Anatolia. When I returned to the village, I wanted to get married. I realized that I could not stay apart with Satin any longer. It is difficult and creepy for me to build a home. I don't feel safe in this land, it's mandatory from July It is said that we will be taken to death, if we are lucky, we can be train passengers, crossing Syria on foot means that the old people are left to die this season, however, the only way to stay at home is to accept Islam, in medieval Spain Jews and Muslims were exiled to Africa, the only way out of exile was to become a Christian .Starting a new life in a new country will perhaps be the best for both of us. It has become clearer day by day that we cannot shelter in the Ottoman state. I miss the fig and pistachio trees, I miss the great plane tree in front of the village coffee house where I sit in the cool shade and sip my coffee, some nights I think of Abdullah, I miss being with him too.

Although my desire to be with him increases, marrying Satin excites me.

Cibin-1914

Satin-

I always wanted to have a son named "Andre", God fulfilled my wish, this is the first time I have experienced this feeling, neither the feeling I felt for Alpinarian nor the love of parents, child love, when I held him for the first time, he looked at me with such innocent and defenseless eyes. !

I spend my days thinking, for the first time I feel that I am very close to happiness, but also very far away. We have a month to prepare before we set off, the eastern Anatolian convoys have already set off, the state will also provide armed soldiers with us, two or three poor soldiers will ensure our safety throughout the journey. ,I am not afraid to walk all the way to Lebanon, but I am afraid of losing my son, Alpinarian talks about leaving him to Abdullah and Meryem, their daughters grow up with Meryem and marry when the time comes! Now I understand the meaning of this word I heard better. I don't want to leave Andre to another woman, but I want him to live. If we choose Islam, we will be able to stay in the village, I had a nightmare last night. Because I am Islam, Jesus said, "The place of unbelievers is hell! forgive me even thinking about it bores my soul, although they seem to be purified Even though many people believe that the supreme Jesus is not a spiritual being, Mohammed married with little girls, and with his sword in his hand and his long beard, it causes me to live fearful nights. This journey, this separation, maybe five or ten years later, this tension between the peoples will come to an end. If the war is over I can go back and get my son, Mary is his foster mother, even if they raise him in Islam, at least I will believe he is safe. In this house I lived the first days of my marriage, the best days of my life, it was a changeable house, ours was safe as a church at times, sometimes it seemed to shake and crack in two. The house was held by a sloping stone roof. The windows of the house were closed with white shutters. enclosing it was leather, a wall that a soldier could tear apart with only his hands. A small armchair with buttons covered with worn pink brocade fabric always waited for Alpinarian to sit in the corner. Two porcelain bowls around the writing table, chubby dragons. A mirror with a broken ornate frame, faded in places, thin long carpet.

This morning Alpinaryan started to pile the household items in front of the door one by one. He had come to visit Baiona, wondering how long he should wait before asking Satin what to do. He had promised himself to be cautious and prudent.

The writing desk stood in the middle of the corridor at the back of the house, facing the wall and leaning against the wall. Alpinarian would sit here and write to his cave friends in the days of the old siege. His feather pen, blue paint and leather-covered blotter were always in the same place. He would sit on a satin round-backed chair and knit.

He paced the corridor up and down. He liked the sound of footsteps that measured the long silence of the corridor. The corridor itself was not a room, but united rooms, as he liked that it had two doors at either end, symbolizing pause and progress.

When you turn the curve of the oval staircase, you will come to a hall with gray covering and half-hidden doors. When you open the furthest door, you will go to the bedroom. Satin would not forget this house in her new life in Lebanon, she would remember which door would lead to where. When she returned to this house years later, a surprised stranger Satin would return to this house as a birthright and a place she had lived in all her childhood. While wandering around the house with these thoughts, she found herself in the middle of the kitchen. On the wall next to the stove hung a shelf with knives. The symmetry of thick black handles with razor-thin blades. Satin remembered the day when the Alpinarian explained that the word "evil" meant "sharp". It was that moment when they hugged by the fire in the pale light of the cave and were together for the first time.

between the knives There was a place. Satin looked at his hands in surprise. He realized that he was digging the tip of the blunt vegetable knife into his thumb. He lifted it up, cut the air in half with the knife. Suicide?

Would death be a better solution than letting Andre go?

Baiona had come in the brown dress she had worn for ten years, she didn't want to be recognized. Her knees were coming out from the skirt that slipped up when she sat down. It was a sense of sloppy veiling, mixed with a sense of being too visible. At the other end of the road was the village church, behind it the cemetery and the mill. How many times had they heard the softly ringing church bells?

Baiona said she was calm, that she was on the right track, that she was ready for the journey to Lebanon, that her feet knew every crevice and ledge on the road. She inhaled the grass of the wet earth and the smell of manure. They said goodbye to the tall poplar trees that swayed like feathers as the wind shook. A coolness rose up to her legs. Her cold nostrils made her neck and wrists tremble suddenly, she tucked her hands into the sleeves of her cardigan. Baiona looked around, trembling. She vaguely inhaled the scent of the homeland, sacks of wheat, oats and barley loaded into the wagons multiplied. It was lined up like this thanks to skillful hands.

She suddenly thought of Satin, fair skin, beautiful legs, why were these so important?

It had always been important to men, neat clothes, decent speech, the way to attract people, to be nice to them. She didn't have these, you know what's deep inside a person, that is, what I don't know, what I don't know. Was it female? A real woman like the others. can't be?

Satin felt her sister's eyes hovering over her, the beat of the clock was the loudest heartbeat in the house, it was slow, like metal arms falling, it was as if it showed the time of Satin's childhood, they felt their last heartbeat, their last hour as a guest. The bed stood in the far corner opposite the door; the mattress was The head and feet were set in a curved mahogany frame with raised tips.

On the nightstand next to her stood a gas stove made of glass with white roses. The satin feather dropped into the depths. The mattress was as soft as a duvet covered with red silk, and the pillow was big and square. Satin stood by the kitchen, facing her room, she wanted to eat before the trip, breakfast? It could be a sedative for him. He wanted fresh bread, salted under a crunchy crust, with a piece of butter and apricot jam with white almonds on it. He wanted a cup of Turkish coffee, most of all he wanted the best cigarette of the day: his first cigarette.

He was a coward who wanted to run away, the words he was afraid to say were locked in this room, he thought he was going to lose them, the dead in the cemetery had come back, mouths opened at the same time and he was screaming words Satin tried to believe he would never say what he tried not to hear. It must have been the text against the undead and unburied things that came out of the grave of the war that was going on and came to capture them all to lay claim to them.

The murdered Armenians had spent their last night in the rotten cafe with the villager, prayers were said, they said their names and the names of the Islams who betrayed them. Satin had recorded everything in this room, believing that one day she would come back and own this house.

Sometimes she thought that she was punished by God, she was cursed the day she caught her husband in that condition with an Islam man in the barn, Alp and Abdullah had begged him not to tell Meryem what they had been through, now he could put forward a condition, if Abdullah fathered Andre, this secret would go to the grave with him. Now she understood why her husband did not do his duty as a man enough, this "game" they had been playing since childhood was forgotten for a while when they both got married, but aalpinaryan's endless desire for "womanhood" prevailed, they started to be together again as in the old days, Satin is now She understood why her husband did not touch her for months, she understood why there was blood on her underwear while washing her clothes, and why Alpinarian made the offer for a second man to join her when they were together. Abdullah had both husband and wife in turn. she had both her mother and herself, but the happiness was short lived, Mary felt deceived, women's intuition is strong, she couldn't think that she would take revenge by using Andre, but there was a rule of life she should not forget, the price of every sin has.

Beirut-LEBANON,1915

-Alpinarian Kirkirian-

Narrow streets in a street with adobe houses in a community where women in chador gossip in a corner, he had no money. He was begging. It was in front of the mosque. It was a big mosque. Minarets, domes, arches and barred windows and so on were all complete. Especially the courtyard: the most important place for beggars. He was standing on one side. He also failed in begging because he showed no dexterity, or because he had no painful awkwardness, or because he couldn't think enough to separate himself from the environment and regret his failure. Since he did not sell corn in small containers, he could not sing and do good deeds on behalf of others with children and birds. He did not take any interesting action other than leaning against the wall of the mosque. She hadn't even made an attempt to open her palm yet. However, a dry woman in a headscarf and chador, who thought she was crippled when the pigeons and corn pots and religious books lined up on a sloping wall ledge of the mosque and those warning the public against some social evils—and doing good deeds in return for receipts—intensified, turned the hand of this reluctant beggar and gave it a little bit of inside. put money. Maybe because she was blinking at the sun, which was so high at the time, she didn't look at the money; maybe she forgot to close her palm because she was obsessed with the children playing in the inner courtyard of the mosque. All of this happened after the first benefactor of the day had walked away. As she stared into his face, knowingly or unknowingly, she never moved her eyes. That's why his first client thought he was blind. He seemed to come to his senses with the sound of another coin falling into his palm: When he lifted his head, he saw a man with a torn suit and a long beard. Then, looking for the coin purse, the young girl appeared before him, frantically rummaging through her purse made of an old carpet; a big coin weighed down his hand, he covered all the other coins. A dark woman crouched next to him with the swaddling child in her arms. For a while they stood against the wall, like two spots. Then, the clear blob walked into the middle of the courtyard. From the black-robed old man's hut a walking stick reached for his legs; would almost fall. "Take me to the fountain," said the old man in a gruff voice. "Not there," he stomped when his hut was pushed in the direction of the wheels, and went out; They turned the wheels in the direction they wanted.

The old man greedily covered the open side of his hut; opened a small window in another wall. From there he looked furiously into the courtyard. He overshadowed the old man; He went and leaned against the wall and watched his money. "You're a solid man; aren't you ashamed to beg?" A fat man stood beside him: "If you were given a job, you wouldn't work." He looked at the fat man's suitcase on the floor, grabbed it with both hands and tried to lift it; failed. Then he saw a porter in the distance, resourceful. He did as he did: crouching with his back to the suitcase, grasping the handle; It did not happen. Finally loaded with the help of the fat man. On the way, "I won't pay more than two and a half pounds," said the fat man in his thin voice. They walked side by side. As he approached the pier, he sank to the ground with the load on his back. The suitcase owner stopped and hesitated for a while; Then he handed over the money. Maybe it hurt him a little. He could also enter the ferry for a separate fee; However, the wall of the porters' organization did not fail. Then he begged a little on the wall of the ferry port. It was pushed aside when the possibility of reloading appeared. He was a little battered, swaying slightly in place. There were those who accused him of being drunk at this time of day; it did a pretty good job though. Then again the suitcase, the chest and so on (to the pier). He went between those who thought he was healthy and those who thought he was disabled. Maybe it would work better. But just as a well-dressed gentleman was putting his hand in his pocket to give him money, when the child in the arms of a woman passing by began to cry, looking at this shabby man, he walked without waiting for the money; He immediately crossed the street.

When he came to the courtyard of the mosque, he went under an arch and counted his money at the foot of the dim and cool wall; Then he had it integrated into the bagel shop on the opposite wall, and some coins remained. He walked, out into a crowded street; mingled with the people again. He watched himself in a large engraved, gilded mirror standing between two tired and sweaty porters: he had no jacket, his shirt was in pieces. He reluctantly put the pieces of his shirt, which had been torn at a time when he was involved in the fight of two vagrants and mediated them, looking into the mirror; He untied the cord holding his trousers and tied a tighter knot. Then they took the mirror away; He couldn't watch his torn trousers and the rubbers on his socksless feet. He walked slowly; passed from narrow and crowded streets to narrow and crowded streets. The noise of the people walking was joined by the voices of the street vendors. Then the vendors began to take certain and fixed places on the sidewalks: First, short-legged stalls appeared; The benches were raised, armed with poles and awnings. The sun disappeared; The heat has subsided and there is no place to walk on the streets.

NS. Stuck between clothes and fabrics, where they were hung; had to stop. A white mantle swung over his face, swayed by the wind or by passers-by. A long and bright mantle. A ghost in a flared skirt with a big button; wide collar, cool. There was a slight breeze; burly, dark-haired, and his appearance wavered vaguely the countryman's clothes. Only the white coat did not move; It must have been made of a heavy cloth. Watching him, the salesman finally broke the silence: "What is it? Are you going to buy it?" He didn't respond. Smiling, the seller spat on the ground; He had a half cunning, half disinterested expression on his face.

There was a clear sun. Even as he slowed his steps, sweat dripping from his forehead wet his beard. He leaned against the railings on a large bridge and took refuge in the shadow of a comb salesman. With his cloak, his beard, and his gaze passing over the passers-by, he touched the seller; some of the unemployed and unemployed stopped to watch him; those carrying heavy loads found it appropriate to rest right there. A few combs were sold by the way. They couldn't get close to him at first, as he just stood there motionless, expressionless. There were those who tried a few words they knew from the most spoken foreign language on it. "This man is not a tourist," someone said. "He's trying to fool himself." Another slapped him with a foreign language curse. No response was received. "No, this guy is British, maybe a spy," said a bingo man with American cigarettes in his pocket. Then they touched him, they tugged; It turned out to be alive. He walked away from there. The bridge was long; for a while it stood next to other vendors. One of them, a young man in a cap selling filter cigarettes, left it in his place to pee. In that short time, five packs of cigarettes and three matches were sold. When the seller returned, they lit a filter cigarette from their own counter; They leaned against the railing and watched the fishermen, without speaking, he unbuttoned the top two buttons, still unable to cool off. He wiped it from his forehead. He turned his eyes to the end of the bridge; There were dark streets there; he made a vague gesture with his hand to the seller and left.

He stopped in front of a shop window in a narrow street. He watched himself. It was in a street where fabrics, dresses, and vendors overflowed from the shops. Customers were cut off. After a while, he sensed that he was being watched from behind the window. The fat shopkeeper was eyeing him with thoughtful little eyes. Then a broad smile covered his round face; eyes narrowed, disappeared. "Look here," he called, holding the door with his fat body. "Where did you find it?" He looked; did not respond. Another person approached him at that moment, grabbed his arm. "Hey mister!" said. He spoke in a language he did not understand. It did not happen. He supported his words with his hands; he also tried to explain with his arms what he wanted. It did not happen. He opened his suitcase lying on the floor, took out shirts wrapped in transparent papers, and handed them to him. "You're a tourist," he said, pressing his finger against one of the large buttons of the coat.

He just left it in front of the window and went to the corner of the street. The fat man was waiting for the result at the door of his shop. A little later, a young man stood in front of him with the hair of his chest sprouting like a black bush from among the flowers of his shirt; He looked at the shirts: "How much?" said. Just staring at the young man's face. The real seller on the corner of the street stamped his feet in greed. "He's a junkie," he grumbled. "He's deaf," said the young man in the red pants, approaching him so as not to miss the hairy young customer. The real seller glared at the man in the mantle; He hesitated for a moment, then my ear pressed against his mouth.

"I understand your language."

"Come in a little bit." He stopped, thought: "Well, he wouldn't understand." He tried the way of the Seller with a Suitcase: "You come, the shop is here," he said, and without waiting any longer took him by the arm and pulled him inside. He and the clerk wandered around for a while, wondering what they could do with him. "The guy looks like a mannequin, too. I can't just sell a ball of fabric in his hand!" He turned around for a while. "Model," said the fat shopkeeper again, unable to find any other words. "Mannequin, mannequin," they were chanted for a while with the shop assistant, and much later they thought of using her as a mannequin. For a while, "Live model!" they shouted happily. Then they pushed him towards the window so that he would stand there (he could not be made to be heard otherwise). Just as he was about to take a step towards the ledge of the window, the clerk warned his boss, "His feet are very dirty, and so are his trousers." They stopped him. Some white cloth was wrapped around the top of his shoes and the bottom of his pants. it was like a mummy in a museum with the parts it couldn't cover. They grabbed it by the arms and put it on display. "Don't make it look like an idol," said the shop assistant. "Let's give him a nice pose." They thought about it. "Let's open your arms," ​​said the boss. "Let him fill the window." "He gets tired, he keeps moving his arms." Finally, they decided to hang it from the ceiling with nylon strings. They stretched out an arm, tied it up, and fastened the string to a nail on the display case. His other arm is on the wall They placed it on a shelf that they had unloaded. A few people began to watch their work. Then, the number of people accumulating in front of the showcase increased. There were those who said, "This is lifeless, puppet." The clerk was shouting in front of the door: "Come to the live mannequin store! See our range of refreshing fabrics. Here, the Mannequin, which we had brought with great sacrifices, bears this heat only by wearing our light fabrics. Here, even the big coat does not make him sweat. We fly in the air like a bird with our fabrics and tell you the most lively mannequin." and makes the most real advertisement.'Saran Fabrics' is only available in our store.

Good job done until lunch break that day. "He should give her something too," the boss said as they sat down to eat at the counter and opened their lunch boxes. "Then it will stack up." He went to the showcase, untied it, released it. They pulled a stool under it in front of the counter. They put some hummus on the lid of their gravy; He ate his meal using two small pieces of bread like a fork. He drank some water from the sink at the back of the shop, reaching for the tap. He sat down on the floor; he leaned his back on the counter; they gave him a cigarette. It must have aroused some respect because the boss lit his cigarette. Then he patted him on the shoulder and turned to the clerk, "It worked for us, didn't it?" he laughed. "Are you tired?" said the clerk, looking at the boss. It was difficult to talk to him as he didn't respond. He finished his cigarette and sat for a while. Then he slowly got up and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" shouted the boss. "Too bad, you're just making money." It didn't stop. They ran after him, stuffing some money in his pocket. He walked away, dragging his white cloth-wrapped shoes, with pins that the boss had forgotten on his coat and strings dangling from his arms. A small piece of cloth that remained on his shoulder fell to the ground as he turned the corner of the street.

He stopped when he came to the top of a steep slope. He sat on the edge of the curb. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked around: got up, took a step or two, stopped again. The cloths that the clerk had wrapped around his feet were starting to unravel. He took the rope off his waist and placed it on the ground. With a stone standing on the side of the pavement, he crushed the rope in the middle, cut it in half, tied it on the bandages, and pulled his trousers over him as he walked. A yoghurt seller passed by; It hit him as he entered the door of an old house behind the stop. the man staggered, looked at the door; The yogurt seller disappeared in a dark courtyard. Then a dark head, with dark glasses and slicked black hair sticking together with oil, began to emerge from the pavement, and he saw an empty space that was descended a few steps. The spectacled head grew, rose; became a man. An old man with a bunch of belts on his arm. The beggar stretched out his hand on a dark belt, unbuttoned it; but he couldn't find a place to put the belt on the waist of his trousers. He wanted to pull his trousers up a little; The wraps on the bottom, the ropes did not allow. He looked despairingly at the beltmaker; Then they looked at the belt together. Kemerci headed for the hole he came out of and disappeared for a while. He emerged holding a chain made of huge safety pins. These pins were attached to the inside of the waist of his trousers. "Put your belt on now," he said, laughing, and handing over one of the banknotes he had taken out of his pocket. The belt man looked at the money, then took it and entered the grocery store next door. The money came out with a bottle of cheap wine, and after a few sips, she handed the bottle to the man. Seeing that he didn't take it, he disappeared under the ground again. He came back with an empty tin can with trimmed edges so he wouldn't cut you off while you were drinking. The tin was filled with wine for the man. They sat on the wall of the staircase leading down to the hole, their feet dangling down, they drank together, somewhat relieved. He looked at the smiling man with sweet eyes. He finally realized that she was smiling without looking at him.

It was Alpinarian's first day in Beirut. The wounds on his feet were the price of his journey to Halfeti-Beirut. He started walking out of the city with weary steps, his compatriots were in the church.

Along the way, he thought of Abdullah, the one who caused the greatest pain in his life.

-END-