{"id":973,"date":"2022-11-13T21:17:32","date_gmt":"2022-11-13T17:17:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/susannaharutyunyan.am\/?p=973"},"modified":"2022-11-13T21:24:38","modified_gmt":"2022-11-13T17:24:38","slug":"the-mighty-end","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/susannaharutyunyan.am\/en\/the-mighty-end\/","title":{"rendered":"The Mighty End<\/a>"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The humid, weepy summer was unbearably hot\u2014airless and stifling., The sky was choked up with tears from day to day, to crying its heart out. Drizzle and drizzle–all of the time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe roots are rotting in the soil from this heat and humidity,\u201d remarked mother, observing the yellowing grass. \u201cSoon the sky will spill its pain over the earth. Why\u2019s the sky so overcome that it can\u2019t stop weeping? Next thing you know the potatoes will start rotting, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment we went in it started pouring again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t ask me, it\u2019s your sky, you should know what\u2019s wrong with it,\u201d I said taking a swig of water from the paunchy carafe on the table. \u201cI\u2019m tired. That\u2019s it, I\u2019m going to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shelter, dug into the ground, was dark, and the air inside was warm and a little musty. It left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth and constricted your chest. But the shelter was the only safe place in the entire village, and I happily stretched out on the cot, which smelled of dampness. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mother\u2019s coarse, uneven breathing woke me up at night. When I called out to her, she groaned, \u201cI\u2019m dying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWishful thinking,\u201d I said in the sternest tone I could muster. \u201cDying\u2019s easy, living is the tough part\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That morning, we bid farewell to the last group of the wounded. My mother\u2019s own wound was very small, so insignificant, in fact, that it appeared to have been a mere scratch, and mother wouldn\u2019t allow me bandage it. \u201cWhy waste the bandages,\u201d she said then, \u201csave them, we may need them later.\u201d And here she was now, moaning, \u201cI\u2019m dying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t believe her, so I turned over and wrapped myself tightly in the blanket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe shouldn\u2019t have stayed,\u201d mother said with self-deprecation. \u201cThat good-hearted driver insisted a thousand times, \u2018Get in the truck, come with us, there\u2019s nothing here worth staying for.\u2019 I\u2019m like a predator. I get so attached to one place that I can\u2019t part from it. And how are you going to fend for yourself without me?\u201d she asked, as if chiding herself for maternal neglect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCut it out,\u201d I muttered, annoyed. \u201cAs if this darkness isn\u2019t bad enough–and now you with all this silly talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease be sure to cry over my body,\u201d suddenly asked my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhatever\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat, you can\u2019t spare some salty water for your own mother?\u201d she flared up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I can\u2019t. If I cry, the water will eventually dry up but the salt will crystallize and cover my soul like frost. I will dry up and crack, just like a salt-marsh.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis isn\u2019t the time for idle talk,\u201d she said didactically. \u201cYou are my sole heir. It\u2019s your duty to mourn my death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHonestly, I have other things to worry about at the moment. Why don\u2019t you let me get some sleep. There\u2019s so much to do in the morning. We\u2019ve got to go door-to-door, check every house. What if some frightened child has been left behind in one of the houses or people have abandoned dead bodies and such?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut I\u2019ll be more than just some dead body to you. I\u2019ve lived a decent live and fully deserve to have my passing mourned by my heir,\u201d she kept insisting in a calm tone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annoyed, I finally sat up, pulling the thin, moldy blanket around me, \u201cI\u2019m so hungry right now that if you give me something to eat I promise I won\u2019t just cry over you, I\u2019ll tear my hair out in grief.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, there\u2019re beets under the cupboards, and \u2026.\u201d But I didn\u2019t let her finish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you think you\u2019re feeding the pigs? Beets!\u201d I screamed, livid. \u201cHow about something sweet that you\u2019ve stashed up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs if I don\u2019t know you! I am sure you\u2019ve put something away. Think carefully!\u201d I wouldn\u2019t let it go. \u201cFrom what you used to give to the wounded? I want something sweet!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow about something stronger?\u201d Though her voice was weakened, she tried to chide me. \u201cI\u2019m dying here, and you\u2019re pestering me for something sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan\u2019t you get it into your head that I\u2019m dying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you want me to do about it?\u201d I started toying with her. \u201cIt so happens that I\u2019m not a priest, so I\u2019m afraid you\u2019re going to have to wait.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne has to live a godly life to die with a priest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what, pray tell, was so ungodly about your life?\u201d I thought to reassure her. \u201cYou never stole, never whored around. What sins have you committed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are my sin,\u201d she said dejectedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We both fell silent for a while. I thought she\u2019d fallen asleep\u2014her breathing had grown more even. It was dark. I had no idea what time it was. I curled up next to my mother, pressed my feet against hers, and felt how cold they were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m dying,\u201d she whispered again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe, you\u2019re right,\u201d I said., \u201cYour feel are ice-cold, like a dead person\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I can\u2019t breathe,\u201d she added with a choking sound, like letting out a sob after crying for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you sure this is how one dies?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow should I know? This is the first time I\u2019m dying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve seen many things but never seen a corpse crack jokes,\u201d I chuckled. \u201cNothing\u2019s going to happen to you<\/em>— but you\u2019re going to drive me<\/em> nuts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn any case, please make sure you cry over me,\u201d my mother started again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh! I can only imagine what an unbearable child you were,\u201d I sighed in mock-desperation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was a wonderful child,\u201d my mother said with emotion. \u201cBut promise me you\u2019ll cry over me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019m getting sick and tired of this.\u201d I was almost yelling at this point. \u201cI\u2019ll cry, I promise. And you think that tears are an expression of grief? People cry for many reasons \u2013 pain, joy, love, hate, helplessness, happiness, unhappiness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd you, what do you cry over?\u201d she exploded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d I cut in, cold and dry, \u201cmy soul has gone numb. Once you\u2019ve seen war, nothing can make you cry. Have you seen how they drive needles under the nails of crazy people to awaken a feeling of pain in them? Right now, I doubt I\u2019d cry if I was being crucified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, dear Lord,\u201d my mother started wailing. \u201cWhat is this generation you\u2019ve raised? I became very soft-hearted the day my mother died. My soul softened, and I cried. And there were so many funereal wreaths there\u2026.We couldn\u2019t make room for all of them in the house, and I started placing them by wall outside. I sobbed the whole time. And people just kept coming and coming\u2026.My mother died and suddenly everyone noticed her existence\u2026. I am an Armenian, I can\u2019t hide my emotions, least of all my grief. I wept loudly, and other women joined in. We cried in a chorus, and my grief was transformed into a song of lamentation\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know where you\u2019re going with your story, but don\u2019t count on my following your example. I can\u2019t even carry a tune.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to be a nightingale to express your grief. A human voice will do just fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t try to change my mind. I freeze over when I\u2019m grieving–I lose my ability to talk, let alone sing\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo you won\u2019t put your grief for me into a song?\u201d my mother asked, palpably disappointed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot a chance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s my life worth then?\u201d she sobbed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom, I think you\u2019re messing with my head,\u201d I yawned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you\u2019ll only have to tolerate me for a little bit longer,\u201d she said, clearly offended. \u201cYou\u2019ll see, Archangel Gabriel will come for me soon.\u201d She cleared her throat, barely holding back tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom, has he promised you that he\u2019s definitely coming?\u201d I interrupted her, laughing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she stopped. My question had startled her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf he hasn\u2019t promised, why are you setting your sights on strange men?\u201d I joked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShame on you!\u201d she burst out laughing. \u201cWhy are you in such a playful mood all of a sudden?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat else is there for me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, what else? Your mother\u2019s dying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not dead yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can mock the Archangel and me all you want. When your time comes, you\u2019ll follow him, meek as a puppy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, there must be something special about him if everyone follows him so complacently.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow can I abandon her alone with this half-baked brain of hers?\u201d my mother worried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow about we make it through the night and then we worry about it, ok?\u201d I implored her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not in my hands, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that night, mother became delirious. She would periodically regain consciousness and start instructing me on how I should bury her\u2014with everything properly done, in an expensive coffin with silk and velvet, with weeping relatives and unshaven men, with tables packed with abundant food but no sweets, with tears and wails, with an exaggerated account of her sufferings on earth, befitting the mournful occasion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mother died that night. I buried her by myself, first wrapping her in a rug eaten through with dampness. I loaded her body on a cracked, weathered cart, dragging it myself, since we\u2019d eaten what was left of the cattle over the winter. The cart squeaked the entire way, and the shovel made hollow pangs as it knocked against the sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Luckily, the day was sunny and warm. I was sweating from dragging the heavy cart, my neck hurt from the tremendous effort, and my muscles tightened and felt sore\u2026. A cliff had disintegrated into blasted rubble, blanketing the floor of the gorge with detritus. The unevenness chafed my feet. My heart ached but there were no tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I got to the cemetery, the sun had begun to set. It was still light out, and yet I had no tears. Leaning against the side of the cart, I pondered where to dig mother\u2019s grave \u2013 next to my father, my grandmother, or in a new spot, so that I could secure some space for myself next to it. I felt sorry for my mother. The beautiful death she had envisioned didn\u2019t materialize\u2026.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Translated by<\/strong> <\/strong>Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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