anoush pan-my grandmother's story

 

shtapir hima
hurry now
anoush pan
we need to leave

right now
we must go
mayrik said to me
aghavnie, her name
meaning dove
fitting for such a peaceful, 
brilliant mom

she tried not to sound afraid
but she feared for her family
more than for herself
they needed to leave
to escape
anmijapes
immediately

shtapir hima
hurry now
anoush pan
we need to leave

they are coming
it is not safe
our home is not ours anymore
not anymore

life was good 
before everything changed
I loved our house in van
it had a beautiful garden
we had many friends
important people 
would visit our house

I was 2, maybe 3, at most
geghets'ik tun
my beautiful home

hayrik was a professor
euphrates college
music and math
a leader in the community

he was asked
to organize a band
teach heartening songs
lift the spirits of the hunted, the haunted

there was no real way
of defending themselves
they encouraged each other 
through song

as a little girl, I'd stand at the window
pretending to be the conductor
while the band practiced
in the garden

my brother, hagop
just a baby
my partner in crime
my best friend

papa
provided such inspiration 
to the community
his beloved community

so much so
he went on the list
to be taken away
tortured and killed

like so many others
including his brother
they took his brother's fingernails
they crushed his skull

under the pretext
of finding hidden guns
guns of course
that didn't exist

they wanted
papa's hands 
cut off
removed

they were his only weapon you see
a musician and teacher
we had to leave
anmijapes

shtapir hima
hurry now
anoush pan
we need to leave

we took what we could carry
and nothing more
we had no cart
just ourselves

mama locked the door
threw the key in the garden 
and we left
we simply left

everything behind
our whole lives
geghets'ik tun
our beautiful home

but we were together 
our family, yntanik'
mama, papa
hagop and me

mama carried hagopig
papa put me on his shoulders
and we escaped
we escaped
in order to survive

the caucasus mountains
we had to cross
like many before
and many after
to find freedom

we traveled north 
hundreds of miles
over the course of two weeks
hearing cannons behind us
forcing us to keep moving

on foot
a journey
a procession
thousands of us 
leaving that world behind
escaping to an unknown
with the sole desire
to simply live

families separated
children left on the roadside
crying for their families
hungry
cold
alone

mama found a pouch
a pouch of jewelry
she knew it would be useful 
and it was
it gave us food

one cold morning
someone picked me up
on his horse 
a cossack
he wanted to help our family
but he couldn't trot slowly 

mama called ahead 
to the cossack
frantic
exhausted
she ran and retrieved me
our family stayed together
I'd like to think
he picked up a lost child 
instead

our journey
it was long
not only in miles or time
we aged that trip
every single one of us
well beyond our years 

shtapir hima
hurry now
anoush pan
we need to leave
they are coming
they are coming

every day it was the same
hearing cannons
walking, walking
all of us
marching towards safety

at night
families lit fires for warmth
it was cold in the mountains
the fires also kept the wolves at bay
you could hear them in the distance

there was very little food
we learned to survive
bread, cheese
a little madzoon

stories were shared
atrocities witnessed
history that changed us forever
history that connected us forever

the story of our people
later used as justification 
for future horrors 
for different cultures, people

history would repeat itself
and still repeats itself
to this day
lessons never learned

the new york times
covered the starving armenians
it was a story of the time
soon forgotten
by the world
not by us

1.5 million armenians gone
that weight carried
on the shoulders
of future generations
the shadow that never quite disappears
no matter the angle of the sun

after two weeks
we finally reached tiflis, tbilisi now
the country of Georgia
we were so weak
we were so exhausted
but we were no longer hunted
still haunted 

hagopig though
my hagopig
my anoush pan
my baby brother was sick
so very sick

cholera had broken out
we didn't know what was wrong
we found a hospital
in this new country
we wanted to make him better
we were survivors after all

the hospital was crowded
multiple patients to a room
it was loud
chaotic
something was very wrong
with my brother

hagop
poor hagopig
in the end
he did not survive the journey
it was too much for his little body
he tried
but he just couldn't make it

I remember walking
I was so very young
but this single memory
though dim, is also
vivid 
at the same time

 -photo by Jamie Taylor

in my hand
a single red rose
searching for hagop's grave
site by site
we wanted him to know we were there
that he wasn't alone
or forgotten
poor hagopig
we never found him

we fled armenia
we left georgia
we left hagop behind
we boarded
the last passenger ship
august 1915 
archangel
heading to america
a life already lived
a lifetime to go
I was three years old

shtapir hima
hurry now
anoush pan
you need to leave
mayrik said to me

bayts' yes uzum yem mavrik khaghal
but I want to play, mommy
khndrum yem
please?
can I please?

it was time for school
I was excited and a bit nervous
I didn't know english
I pretended to though
araxie and I would play store
by the rock
the rock was the counter, you see

we lived on the 3rd floor
araxie lived below me
it was her family's house
in west hoboken now it's called union city
we moved there from new york city
families all lived together back then

memories of that time are fleeting
some stick
some float 
feathers in the wind
they are in my mind somewhere
whether or not I can reach them

I walked to school by myself
past many houses with tiny gardens
on hudson boulevard
I liked to pick pretty flowers
and I pretended that they were my gardens
someday I will have my own, I will

the owners didn't really appreciate
my picking their blooms though
and it did make me late
to school often
I really was 
the epitome of picking daisies

I remember one day though
one day
there was a fire 
in our house
I went to the window
tried to breathe fresh air

eventually I was rescued 
as were all of us
and the fire was put out
my teacher didn't believe my story
when I was late to school
so I was sent to the principal

my school kept me in kindergarten
for a year instead of six months
so I could learn english properly
I didn't mind though
I made up the time later
I was smart

we were always surrounded by friends
our community 
mama taught armenian school
papa kept the books
united cleaning and dyeing factory
he also led the choir
taught piano lessons on the side

music was always a vital part of our life
art, really
even though mama almost became a doctor 
which was unusual for the time
she married papa for love instead
such a close relationship
between art and science

rita was born when I was six
arpi was her armenian name
I remember waking up 
there was a beautiful baby next to mama
I was so proud when we would walk
to columbia park 
rita in her carriage
mama made us all matching outfits, even for our dolls

it became clear early on that rita was gifted
she was 4 years old and came home
from sunday school
she sat at the piano
played happy birthday to you
in four part harmony with both hands
we listened, mouths agape, especially papa's
she sang too

oh what fun we had
she played everything by ear
we put on operas for mama and papa
making up situations which matched
the dramatic music rita created was brilliant
while we never forgot hagop
rita was a bright spot for all of us

we moved where the work was
sometimes they were good choices
sometimes they weren't
somerville
providence
new york was our home though
and we returned there after a few years

I think about the future
I jump ahead in time
again my mind is like a scrapbook
a photo album
remembering

rita attended julliard
the piano program wanted her
the singing program wanted her too
like I said
rita was pretty amazing

I applied to college for art
cooper union 
like rita, I earned a scholarship
and only needed to pay
for transportation to school
I took the ferry
then the trolley
every single day
I loved it

my class at cooper union
started with 112 girls
I studied
fashion design
fashion illustration
life painting perspectives 
museum studies at the met
only 12 of us
graduated with a degree

I sat on stage
with my peers
the dozen that remained
earned all a's
took for granted that gift college was for me
mr. j.p. morgan next to me
as I received my diploma

after a summer of fun
I took my portfolio
went back to the city
it was fall
I went to department store after department store
and I got myself a job
commercial artist
it was 1934

poor rita
never saw the future
she deserved
she earned a post graduate course
at juilliard
but died of tb
after working at macy's selling china
during the christmas season

I would have loved to have seen
what rita would've accomplished
she was a beautiful soul
so talented 
so gifted
a flame extinguished far too soon
I like to think she and hagop are together

 

life
it is filled with many moments
tragedy
happiness
each one beautiful in its own right
they all build up to a story
we each have our own 
this is mine