I:
The bucket was not where the family of deer, father, mother and calf, had dozed off. The bucket wasn't there. You can't say farach, because farach is a very, dirty sheep and tasteless joke. A place the size of a carpet, where a family of deer slept until the boy came, cannot be called a deer stand, nor can it be called a deer seat, a seat, a deer stand, because they will come armed with guns. You have to swallow the saliva and keep this place, where the father-mother-calf family of deer fell asleep just like this, without a name - a place as smooth as a carpet, three red deer, a yellow-green mulberry bush in the light and a silent forest. Under the mulberry bush, in mulberry, the boy is picking mulberries in silence. Blackberries are easy to pick because the boy has found the right day to pick the blackberry, and no blackberries fall to the ground because all the bushes of that blackberry are the boy's. The deer are only the boy's. the meadow is only the boy's, there is the boy's full bucket. one, two, three seats of the deer and a little distance from the fallen bushes of the mother is the boy's bucket. The bucket is already full, but you can't tell this forgetful place, because they will come in groups. They will come, they will cut, they will be full or not, they will be full, they will roll over, they will say stupid things about the teacher's dress and they will go down to the village beating the dhol on the buckets. And since they will not forget, they will bring good news about the deer. Adults will make fun of them - straight up, straight up? The adults will not listen to them, but one more susupus, as if they turn to urinate on the road, will enter the forest. There will be no shot, no smoke, they will not say anything to each other, they will only look and quietly blink the eyes of the farmer, but the deer will not be anymore.
Holding a burdock root full of berries on his stomach, the boy did not see the bucket near the deer's throne, where he had placed it, and felt in his mind that he was picking his berries in his own forest, near his deer. The boy also did not find the yellow-green mulberry bush and thought he had made a mistake. There was a single mulberry bush, but it wasn't yellow-green. A lone nettle was yellow-green in the distance. So the ray had slipped from the mulberry bush, fell on the nettle and turned it yellow-green. The boy was not wrong. the place was where he had put the bucket.
The boy found himself suffocating and suffocating and loathing him who had been here and had changed the place of the bucket. The boy could hear her secret croaking inside him, saw his face as a close conspirator, felt the thief awakening in him, who could suddenly turn a close joke into a serious one. the boy hated his joke, hated his closeness, hated him for coming and planting himself on the head of this forget-me-not. The boy's nape felt his gaze, the boy hated his gaze, the boy's back felt his breath, he held his breath, the boy hated his breath, the boy turned to see him behind him, saw him, but then he was gone, and the boy's stomach was wet. The mare was shriveled in the rat's hole, juice was oozing between her fingers, and the shirt on her stomach had turned inky.
The bucket was next to the yellow-green nettle. So that the man's own herd and the smell of his mother's bucket and the smell of their whole house would not fall and remain on the throne of the deer and the father-mother-calf deer would always be there in the boy's mind and the boy would have his mother near them while harvesting, the boy had put the bucket near the deer far from the bed, but still the boy hated the one who was here a little while ago, because of whom he almost crumpled. forget-me-not in burdock root on boy's belly. The bucket was a little, a finger short, as if they had sat next to the bucket and eaten a piece of the face piece by piece. One could bend one's hands over the scent, watch, be silent, and watch the scent fade away in time and the sorghum drop and the bucket sag and become as if they had sat there, pulled the bucket between their legs and eaten a sliver of their face... The boy hated someone who could take the sorghum he picked between his legs like that and eat a little. jokingly, a little disdainfully, and generally indifferent, like an ox treading on your foot.
The boy put the burdock root, the shriveled burdock root in it, on the bucket, opened the burdock root, spread it on one side and spread the shriveled one on the incomplete side so that those who met him would eat a couple of grains from the shriveled one. They ate from the crumpled and praised the shill Yeghish's minnow and as if they were caressing, they wiped their fingers with the hair on his head. Beneath the crumpled layer of mulberry, the incomplete green edges of the burdock were visible, it appeared that the minnow was carrying very good mulberry for a large rabbit and sardines, but the boy left the green edges exposed.
Then the boy sat by the bucket, stayed and rocked. He didn't want to go home, he didn't want to stay in the forest. If he wanted, he could hear the sounds of the village, if he wanted, the village was not there, only the silence of the forest. If there were no people, the world would be sad. There would be a lot of grass, the river would flow through the grass, the white butterfly would definitely fly over the grass... it would be sad and beautiful. Now it is neither sad, nor beautiful, nor do you know what to do. Why does the hawk circle? Why are trees standing? They are standing and only standing. He spun and spun and, let's say, fell and hit a quail, then? Then it spins again. When it spins, it is beautiful and sad, you don't know what the meaning is, but there is a beautiful and sad meaning. How was the earth formed, where do the rivers go, what does a horse think when it does not graze and does not move, but stands for hours and thinks, from which sea and over which forests do the clouds come? where does the world end, why does it bounce, what does our heart want? Then you look at that hawk up close, and your hands go into your wings - the beak, the talons, the eyes claw.
In the skies of distant seas, the clouds spread their wings and make their way to rain on our forest in our valley. The rain rustles peacefully in the leaves. And thus live a beech tree, a couple of deer, a couple of oaks, several springs and a stream. Why can't the envious steppes drag and rob us, bring down from the sky, squeeze and rob our clouds? o'er the hot deserts our clouds pass from many heavens, the breath of the deserts does not reach the clouds. No, heavy clouds cannot pass over deserts from much of the sky, heavy clouds move by licking the earth. Clouds have their own special way to enter our valley. they come out of the sea and come up the river, up the river through the valleys. they also take water from the river, and they don't take too much so that the place doesn't explode, they don't take too little so that they are heavy and the wind doesn't take it out of the valley; they cross the mountain at night, you can hear them rustling in the sheep's wool, and small streams enter our gorge. the shepherd looks from the top of the mountain and sees that the yellow desert has remained a yellow desert, and the cloud has moistened the sheep's wool a little and is moving down the canyon. The shepherd spits and curses behind the cloud. What is swearing? I don't know Turkish. The cloud crossed the desert. our cloud comes to our forest, and the shepherd left thirsty on the top of the mountain. His sheep lick the wet wool off each other. The sheep eat the wool and the shepherd is mad because the whole flock will be slaughtered. The shepherd wants to scare the herd, to disperse it, the shepherd makes a special squeal in Turkish, the herd disperses, then they stand, howl and come close to each other. The shepherd's fur is wet, the shepherd shouts, but the sheep do not run away, they gather and gnaw the shepherd's fur, hands, and lick his eyes. What should I do, said the boy, you move to the city.
The boy drew his hands into his arms, and the shepherd was not himself, but such a thing happened anywhere at that moment. The boy moaned and heard his moan. And his father's moaning. And the moaning of his tribe. And the whole school's laughter at his moaning. And the elders' fleeting silent glance at his father, "The lizard thinks," and their gaze is full of biting irony. In their view, nothing is written about only eating deer, not even the opposite is written, it is only written that Shil Yeghish has twelve shldos and twelve shldos sit under twelve trees and think about the Turk of the desert and plant.
The boy got up, stood and saw the village through the trees. The boy took the bucket, the bucket was heavy, and faced the whole village with his load in his hand.
II:
- Urur-urur-urur, huy! Hoo-hoo! - Grandmother was doing business - every minute she was informing the neighborhood chickens about the urur and thought she was doing business.
The hatchet or the ax clattered, clattered, clattered, clattered and rang sharply on the wood. so it was the axe, the iron wedge came out. The uncle was making a cart, now he was plowing, the iron wedge bent and flew out. The uncle did not curse. Uncle is not cursing. He silently looks behind the wedge, then swings away, stops for a minute near the wedge, and as soon as it breaks, he suddenly bends down, picks it up and comes. It does not swing from side to side, but back and forth, like the head of a galloping horse. The ax and the wedge or the crowbar and the wedge clattered, clattered and made a loud noise all at once. They cried again. Again. The last one was short and dull. The wedge was stuck all the way into the wood there, and the boy waited in the woods with his teeth clenched to hear the cracks of the splintering wood. The wood was silent and deaf, the wedge was drowning in the wood, and the boy was drowning with the wedge. And the uncle did not help the wedge. The uncle was standing with his ax in his hand and waiting for the wood to split, and he was looking for another wedge, but he was even more waiting for the wood to split.
- Dear Araik, Araik... Araik, Ara!...
The boy grimaced and dismissed the call from his ears and realized that his uncle had taken the wedge from under the wall and was swinging. Now he has arrived, now he is standing near the wood and listens to the muffled moaning of the wood, now he suddenly bent down as soon as it broke, he put the end of the wedge in the place of the wood where the crack has already passed, but it is not visible. Uncle has raised the ax now, he will set the wedge in place.
The ax wouldn't go down. It was silent. The only wedge was getting stuck in the wood and the uncle wasn't helping. Or did the wood already open its white core in the sun and was already decaying in the sun, and the uncle blinked his eyes and wanted to think of any meaning on the white core and could not? The boy realized that he was going to be there at his uncle's door, he was going to find him on the cracked oak tree in the burdock root, his hand was going to be outstretched to him for a moment, and it was going to be in the fresh aroma of the wood. And so the white core - the uncle - will look at each other silently. And the sunflower.
You can't ask your uncle stupid questions. Does the horse think or not? when the fog creeps up the valleys and you sit and watch, why is it kind of terrible, why does your back ache? Why are the Mongol's eyes narrow, let them be narrow, they see enough, but you will not understand what the Mongol's purpose behind those narrow eyes is about you, is he thinking to kill or greet you? Are Turks Mongols? Are Turks crying? Are the Turks laughing? Is their laughter similar to ours or is it a different type, you don't know if it is laughter or an evil thought? does a sheep really go mad from thirst, and could it happen that a mad sheep was painted on the flag of the ancient Turks and our Armenians ran away from fear? You can sit at the uncle's door, moan and not remember your old questions, because there is the uncle, the beehive and the pear tree. And the sunflower. The boy planted sunflowers at their door. it was that early, when the boy was small, the boy sat at his uncle's door for a few days, but the uncle did not understand to give his son to the boy. And as soon as the boy's sunflower wanted to be bright, the shldos did not kick. And it was good that the uncle did not understand that when the boy was sitting near the pear tree in the fragrance of the wood, he wanted his uncle's son in his mind. it is impossible to have anything among so many shldos. What belongs to the boy and the children cannot take away and devour is to sit at the uncle's door. During the day and summer, the boy is in a hundred places, but then he only remembers that he was sitting at his uncle's door in the aroma of wood.
It was necessary to go down to the village, to go home, but the boy did not want to go. The boy felt that he didn't want to go and thought that he didn't want to go because his bucket at least, before falling under the pile of shldos, would stay with him for a little while, under the beech tree, in silence. Then the boy saw that he and his uncle's name have been standing next to each other in silence for a long time.
ANDRANIK QUARTER
1916
I kept a pig
it was a cloudy day
From his time, the boy subtracted his uncle's time, and it was so little, it was forty-one years, but the boy was afraid to go down into his uncle's time. And the boy did not understand that the time passed, when the Turks killed the father of Grandfather Mesrop Ghazaryan and secretly killed two others, and the beech tree was standing like that, the letter was engraved on the silent bark and the core was like that inside, inside, silent, dark... is it so much time or not so much time, or is it not time? Maybe it's the time of the beech tree, it's the time of the horse, when the horse stands and thinks, your lessons are over, they sent you to the shop and you went and came, now it's dusk, you've crossed the stream, the stream sparkles and gurgles, you go to get the foal, your time and sounds pass over the horse's ears, and the horse is kind of standing inside himself, his time is inside him, and he's thinking.
The boy sat down by the trunk under the tree, rubbed his hand and held the trunk and looked up the height of the tree. The trunk was going and going, the boy's breath was taken, and the trunk was still going, until it split into two, became two trunks. throwing his head back, moaning painfully, the boy took a breath, waited a while, and climbed up to the top, and the top was no longer the white sky, there was no place to catch. The Qataris were swinging. They came and went. The Cathars went, they went slowly and persistently, they could go and go, but at one point they stopped moving, the tree was planting, the boy was planting with the tree, the Cathars started coming. They came involuntarily and as soon as they stood directly on top of the trunk, the tree shook itself and went up, a little higher. The tree was up swinging, swaying like that. Holding the handle of the knife tightly, his head thrown back until his neck hurt, the boy started to descend down the pair of nests, went down and stuck between the pair of nests. The rest, down to the ground, was completely smooth and thick. The boy realized that the pair of nests do not swing together, but approach, squeeze and move away, and the tree shakes when they move away and shakes when they squeeze. The pair of nests come together with a lifeless force and the gap is pressed, but the trunk was smooth and thick, you could stick like a cat and stick to the nest, but it was impossible to go down that trunk, and the boy got out of the gap and, not as quickly as he thought and not as slowly as he really was, climbed to the bottom, afraid to look into the narrow gap below. Apart from the clouds, the sky was dizzy, there was nothing to hold on to, the branches were thin, the eagle soared freely under the thick cloud. "It's none of my business, you've climbed up, come down too," said the boy, and he saw that his hand was on the trunk of the tree, the trunk of the tree and his hand were together, his hand was temporary on the trunk of the tree, it could be separated from the trunk at any moment, and the tree lived in itself and planted itself inside itself, and the uncle's name lived with the tree. The tree had taken the letters into itself and expanded with it, stretched with it, the letters were scattered in the bark.
QAR means Karyan. ANDRANIK KARYAN - ARAIK KARYAN. It was strange that the uncle was there at the same time, "keeping a pig", and here, making a cart. It was kind of horse time. Where his uncle was sitting, the boy sat exactly like his uncle, legs crossed, his groin aching, just like his uncle's groin ached, but he didn't change his position, because that was the best position to write anything on that tree. The uncle was Karyan - and he was also Karyan, his uncle's groin hurt - and his groin hurt, and he was in the old servant time with his uncle, "keeping pigs". the boy got up, his groin was hurting, he stood with his legs apart and looked.
ANDRANIK QUARTER
In 1916
I kept a pig
it was a cloudy day
ARMY QUARTER
- Arayik, Arayik... As much as you have reaped, you have reaped, come, come!...
The boy realized that he has been in the forest for a long time, his mother's voice has constantly passed over his ears, that his grandmother also called like that, and in his ears he heard the grandmother's call to his uncle in the distant past: Andranik, Andranik! Let the pigs come! Let the pigs come!
He stood up, put his hands in his pockets, looked away and became a naive passer-by from the village. Coming and going, thinking... that they are going to bring their ul and not looking for the names of Klyas Andranik and Klyas Arayik in the beech tree. Thinking about Uli, the boy left, thinking about Uli, he looked at the thief by the side, he wanted not to see, in his opinion, he was able not to see, but he saw, and it was unpleasant. In the old slave times, pigs were kept on the tree, Andranik, "it was a cloudy day"...
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