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Chapter 3: Death in the FamilyIt was a routine day, on Thursday, 15th of August in 1935 when my mother came to the store so my father can go to the bank. I was at the store too, I was sitting out in the front of the store, just watching the passers-by, while my mother was inside, taking care of customers. It was before noon, about 10 o'clock when someone came running to tell my mother to hurry up and come to the bank because there must be something wrong with her husband [she was told that] he is sitting motionless on the fence footing in front of the bank entrance. I don't know the sequence of events following that moment, but somehow, I was sent home, and my mother went to see about my father. To the best of my recollection, when my mother arrived at the bank he was still alive, but in a paralyzed state. He could not speak or move, just sitting motionless and gazing straight ahead. He was taken to the doctor immediately. All of doctors' efforts were in vain. My father passed away within the hour. He may have been saved perhaps, had he been brought to the doctor sooner. Cause of death was diagnosed to be a stroke caused by brain hemorrhage. As to what may have caused this situation, for him to be so traumatized, to have a serious bleeding in the brain, is anybody's guess. The family was of a mind that, the unfortunate encounter with his partner to be, and the ensuing litigation may have had a great deal to do with it and perhaps weighed heavily on his mind, far more than it was visually perceptible. Needless to say, the devastating effect of this tragic event was too heavy on my mother and grandmother. As for myself and Garo, we were too young to realize the full implication of its seriousness, though we knew that something unpleasant and terrible had happened to us. My brother and I were sheltered by family friends from the sad and dreadful events of the burial, and all the other gruesome details of such a tragedy, until after some time, the full impact of the morbid truth had sunk in, on us as well as the grown-ups. To the extent that I could understand, I could not quite grasp why I had to give up my violin lessons, but I went along with it anyway. Years later, it was explained to me, and I accepted and agreed with the concept. Concept being that, according to old Armenian custom a family in mourning cannot have music or any other kind of frivolities in the house for at least one year, and accordingly the widow of the deceased will wear black, and no make-up for that entire period. Two years prior, when I was 7 years old, my parents bought me a 3/4 size violin and started me on a once-a-week lesson. I'm told the first few months were the most horrible for my family,who had to listen to the most ungodly screeching noises coming out of that violin as I was trying to learn to align my bow on the strings. Needless to say, I was nobly spared of the knowledge of this discomfiture until some years later, when I was told this story. The story was that, while I was practicing in one room my parents were in the other room, adoringly but painfully listening to me sawing away on that poor instrument, when all of a sudden there was a blessed silence. When this silence lasted more than a few minutes, they decided to peek thru the door curtain to find out what had caused this blissful quiet, and behold, they saw me, violin under my left arm, running around in the room chasing a fly with the bow in my right arm. Needless to say that made their day. (I hope the reader will forgive me this paranthetical anectode, it just seemed to fit in the chronological time). Getting back to where I got off, once again our dear old grandmother Surpouhi, despite the grief of having lost a son, despite the totally mournful atmosphere prevailing in the household, was able to console my mother, with pragmatic approach and wise sensibility, and help her understand that now she (my mother) was to become the head of the household and carry the yoke of the bread-winner of the family, as well as being the mother and the father of her two sons. So it was, that after a few days, she took the reins of the store with all of its incumbent problems and necessities. It was not an easy task to have inherited such a burdensome work for a woman, but she arose to the occasion. Widowed at the young age of 29, with two young boys and a mother in law dependent on her, having to put up with the whims and desires of the customers all day long, having to put up with the chores of roasting the coffee even though we had a helper, then the grinding of the coffee, then the sifting of the coffee to produce a fine, flour-like Turkish coffee. (We also carried coarser ground French coffee similar to our drip grind.) The sifting was usually done after closing hours around 9 or 9:30pm, and it would sometimes last until 1 in the morning [requiring the sifter to remain] in a standing position. Not a very comfortable task at all. It eventually culminated in her [Paylik] developing varicose veins in her legs and arthritis in her hands. This was the year 1935, and that coincides with another major change in our life, the closing of all Armenian schools, in Tehran and actually in all of Iran. This came about as a result of a trip that the then king of Iran, Reza Shah Pahlavi (the father of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi), took to Turkey. This was basically a state visit between two neighboring countries, by invitation of Kemal Pasha Ataturk (the President of Turkey), and in political circles, was rumored to be in order to solve some border disputes, involving several border cities. Anyhow, the prevailing notion was, that during this amicable and congenial atmosphere of friendly talks the subject of Armenians and their schools was discussed and Ataturk magnanimously suggested not to treat the Armenians so kindly and venerably. Therefore, as a friendly gesture to Ataturk, reluctantly as it may have been, upon his return from Turkey, the Shah ordered the Armenian schools closed. It was politically expedient to do so. I say reluctantly because it was common knowledge that he was very kindly disposed towards Armenians, as well as other minorities, but particularly Armenians. Armenians were largely involved during the Constitutional Revolution wars in Iran, when he was a mere Private, but was heavily involved in the movement. Armenians did help, with a division, under General Yeprem Khan (an Armenian). Eventually, in the early 1920s, as Reza Khan rose in power and subsequently declared himself King, he never forgot who his real friends were but the politics of the time did require this action. So, as noted earlier, having all Armenian schools closed, we were all forced to go to Persian schools, which was ok, [I] had no problem adjusting and going along with the flow. The only difference being that we did not get everything that was typically Armenian in the curriculum, such as the Armenian Language, the Armenian History, Religion and anything else that might have been purely Armenian oriented. The absence of the Armenian language and culture became gradually felt and more and more noticeable as time went on, and by the year 1939 (when I was 13 years old) [this] gave rise to many Armenian youth groups formation, to fill the vacuum of our ethnic and cultural atmosphere. The main driving force, of course being the language and the history of Armenia to be kept alive among our young people. With that goal in mind, many small groups, in various neighborhoods were formed, independently from each other yet they all had similar agendas. Each month, they met at one member's house, where they did engage in discussions, recited poetry, read some passages from famous Armenian writers' books, [and] some who were more talented, even sang or played on a musical instrument. Our group had our own monthly publication, which included items such as the minutes of the previous meeting, current agenda, future plans, etc. Also famous quotations, some poetry, crossword puzzles, rebuses. Our group was particularly lucky to have a publication, because one of our members worked in a print shop on weekends and evenings. Since I mentioned poetry, I must add at this point that even I tried my hand at composing a poem, it had a staunch patriotic tone (about Armenia). Sadly, I'm ashamed to admit, that I cannot remember but the first two lines of it, which says: YES IM ANOUSH HAYASTANI AREVAHAM Translated: I recall the name of only one other group besides ours. Our group was called Louys Ou Midk meaning Light and Thought and the other was called Shavigh meaning Ray of Light. |
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