ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ (մաս երկրորդ)/THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (Part Two)

ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ (մաս երկրորդ)

The Other Side of the World (Part Two)

2.Hello, Georgia

In Tbilisi, my companion would be Zurab. To tell you the truth, based on Armenian prejudices, I wasn’t expecting much from my acquaintance with this young Georgian man; but moving forward, let me say that he became a true friend to me, my sweet brother.

My conclusion about my friendship with Zurab is that, alas, despite our geographic proximity, we don’t really know the Georgians, their culture, their feelings and their soul. The same, by the way, is true for them. And, despite the adage that “the next-door neighbor is better than the distant relative”, which Armenians and Georgians consider one another, neither we nor they apply it sufficiently. On the contrary, in many cases, we act exactly the opposite.

The closeness between Zurab and I is probably predicated on the fact that in many ways we are alike. Like me, he too had graduated from school outside the capital, and later came to the capital to attend college, and lived in his aunt’s house. Along the way, he had met with complications and conquered them, and in his life too, his grandmother played a major role.

In the practical sense, he had significant connections to be able to “handle” the circumstances that had brought me to Georgia, especially among the border guards. We didn’t know if the arrest warrant issued for me had been circulated internationally, but we had no doubt that it had reached Georgia. We were therefore sure that if I fell into the hands of the Georgian law enforcers, they would certainly hand me over to the Armenian authorities, to avoid further problems in the Armenian-Georgian relationship or to avoid the creation of tensions. This is the reason Zurab got involved in getting me out of Georgia, which was intertwined with a thousand and one issues. And while Zurab’s friends among the border guards were busy arranging for our needs, we left Tbilisi, especially since in one way or another, we would nevertheless have to reach Batumi. Zurab’s childhood friend Avo, an ethnic Kurd and a taxi driver in Tbilisi, accepted the responsibility to lead us. He agreed to put his car at our disposal for a few days, especially since he very much wanted his friend to receive his guest and then send him on his way appropriately.

But we had time, so Zurab arranged an interesting pastime for me. We went to Dzvari, the 6th century architectural complex which is a source of pride for the Georgians. We went to Zurab’s ancestral village, which is in a splendid mountain area. Here, I met everyday Georgians, I broke bread with them, the Chadi, heard their amazing, amazing stories, which were so funny you could cry and so sad, you could cry. I liked the Georgians, because they’re very similar to us, Armenians, be it in their shortcomings, or their strengths. Nothing extraordinary happened in Georgia, if we don’t consider it extraordinary that I received some powerful impressions, about which I hope I have the chance to speak in detail.

Finally, we reached Batumi, where it became evident that Zurab’s border guard friends had found a suitable alternative; they were getting ready to send me to Greece. If truth be told, I was very happy that my next stop would be Greece, because I didn’t want to pass through Turkey.

I was to leave for Greece on a boat, where Old Man Ugly, a member of the crew and janitor on the boat, would help me settle in. This was a young man with an incredibly ugly exterior, who was conspicuous not only because of his ugly exterior, but for his amazing intelligence and wit. But this already belongs to the Greek part of our story. In completing the Georgian part, let me say that it ended in tragedy. On the very first day, a young school boy who had come aboard the boat with us, drowned at sea. He had fallen from the boat in the open sea, although some people said he had jumped. The family of the boy, who was born and raised in Georgia but was of Greek heritage, was leaving for Greece to make their home there, and now, this tragedy had befallen them.

We parted ways with Zurab with the firm conviction to meet again. He will continue to tell me many stories from his life—till we meet again, padono (sir, in Georgian).

3. Forgive Me, My Son

The sea was grim, but peaceful. It seemed to me that it was an external and in a way, artificial peace. But what transpires in the deep? What does the Sea think? What does it want? What does it dream of? But I know the reveries of the Sea, don’t I? Don’t I know everything about it? Almost everything? Do I not strive for the realization of that reverie?

But what if that reverie is impracticable, what if that reverie is frivolous? It matters not. I will serve that reverie; I will serve wholeheartedly because I have promised my son…I remember that day. I returned home late as usual. My brand new official car drove me to the entrance gate. It had picked me up at the entrance of my newly renovated and comfortable work place. I also have a home, and in my newly renovated home live my loved ones, my family. I, who has left his provincial birthplace, a weighing burden on my hard-working family, now can carry on my shoulders more than the responsibility of my own family. I got lucky and I had the opportunity; but does that mean anything? Don’t I, as an honest, outgoing person who is not bribed, have anything to say to those people who have not been lucky, who will not be fortunate, because we have all denied them their chances for the sake of our own personal fortunes? Should we not struggle so that they may also be given a chance? Isn’t life short, so short, that it’s possible not to live? And they won’t live. Are we going to allow them to live without a life…?

I crossed over the threshold and entered the house. My son was sleeping peacefully. I was happy, but not because of the peace that engulfed my home, but rather, because my son was asleep. I didn’t want our eyes to meet, I didn’t want to have my son look into my eyes because it seemed to me that he would understand everything and would not hesitate to ask me, “Father, are you afraid?”

“But son, I am afraid of losing you…”

“That’s a lie. You are afraid of losing your official car, you are afraid of losing your office, your artificial conceit, your artificial influence. Haven’t you understood anything, Father? Haven’t you understood anything from reading the Holy Bible next to your bed? Abraham placed his son Isaac on the sacrificial altar, and in that way, only in that way he saved him.

“To place you on the sacrificial altar? But don’t I do it all for the sake of a
better official car, for the sake of a better office, for the sake of a better
and more artificial authority, better but more artificial prestige?

“Father, are you a scoundrel?”

“I promise, I promise not to be a scoundrel, my son. I promise not to be afraid, my son, I promise to place you on the sacrificial altar. Forgive me, my son.”

The sea was grim, but peaceful. Here and there passing war ships seemed to watch over the peacefulness of the sea, as if they felt they would not allow the Sea to swell. They did not understand that if the Sea wished to, it could swallow them in an instant. But the sea was sad; it was sad for the boy who had jumped or fallen from the boat. The Sea loved its children, the Sea did not wish to devour its children; and the Sea was patient.

And I, am I doing the right thing? Don’t I belong with my friends who are struggling for their lives in dungeons? Am I not leaving them alone in this hour of temptation? But to go there willingly means to surrender, and surrender is impossible. It is essential to fight; it is essential to win. I will journey around the world, and that will become a new victory. I will not hide; I will proclaim my path - catch me if you can.