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Silences: My Mother's Will to Survive by Alice Tashjian Table of Contents Acknowledgments Foreword Preface Introduction Appendix Frances' Story-Ch. 1 Four Sons-Ch. 2 ThreeDaughters-Ch. 3 Missionaries-Ch. 4 Deportation-Ch. 5 To America-Ch. 6 Leon's Story-Ch. 7 
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Chapter 3 And Three Daughters Tootoosh, as I told you, the oldest daughter, had the responsibility of all the housekeeping and sewing. Efficient in her work, with my mother she cooked and helped care for us younger ones. She was loving and especially kind to me. She would advise, "Iskouhi, go now, and study your lessons. Work on a new needlework design." She and Mother were so proud that I found so much success and joy in my schooling. I was the sixth child. I went to school and enjoyed all my studies, especially arithmetic. I spent much of my free time studying in preparation for admittance to one of the Normal Schools. I did little, if any, housework as a girl, and found doing housework later in my marriage a never-ending chore. Whatever skills I learned about housekeeping and cooking, I learned after I was married from Godmother, Ovsanna and Medz Mairig Mania, who had come to the United States before the 1915 massacre. The seventh child in our family, Poorastan, was considered the prettiest of the three girls by all the neighbors. How difficult it was to be Poorastan's sister. Although very young, Poorastan was engaged to be married. Miserably unhappy when her fiance did not come, she often vented her anger at Karekin, and me. Plans had been made for Poorastan to be married to Hagop, a young man who had been living in a nearby orphanage. His parents had been killed in the last slaughter. Educated in the orphanage, he was encouraged to develop his voice. He would sing at various functions in the town. The family enjoyed his mellow voice. But first, he was conscripted to learn warfare and serve in the Turkish Army. During the three years he served, Poorastan waited and waited and waited. She helped mother with the cooking, but more often she worked with remarkable skill at all sorts of needlework, finishing many lovely undergarments and dresses for her forthcoming marriage. Her dreams were only of the day she and Hagop would share a happy life together. She knotted laces and worked beautiful embroideries for her new home. In our country it was the custom at that time for every woman to prepare her own dowry. Poorastan enjoyed her preparations and spent the light of many days sewing her wedding dress. A bride was expected to make her own wedding veil. She also embroidered numerous wedding towels with colored silk on handspun, handwoven fine linen and silk. Poorastan had attended school; my parents had insisted. Finding learning difficult, she eventually dropped out. She wanted only to wait for Hagop. The longer she waited, the more anxious she became . . . the more difficult her behavior became around the household. When Hagop did return, he needed money. He returned to the craft of making intricate patterns for oriental rugs. An artisan who had learned much about rug design in the orphanage, he worked many hours and in time earned enough for a simple, gold ring. When he presented it to her, she vowed, "I will never remove this ring from my hand." With great excitement, the entire family gathered and made preparations. By tradition, the Armenian marriage involved days of ceremonies. Both young and old joined in the festivities and, for at least a week, they danced and sang special songs to the new bride and groom. All this would be for Poorastan and Hagop in fifteen days. Unfortunately, at that very time, the war started. Hagop was among the first conscripted in the Turkish Army. Orphaned as a child, he had no money to buy his freedom. He had no money to buy time. The Turkish patrol arrested him and took him to the riverbank where they had assembled all the early conscripts. Poorastan hurried to see him. She arrived in time to watch the Turkish soldiers kill him. They threw him against a large stone. Poorastan knelt and remained near him until she eventually died from lack of food and water. I heard the story from others. I did not see it. Later, some girls who were there related that the Turks saw the gold ring she was wearing and demanded the symbol her lover had given her. She had waited so long; she refused to part with the token that meant so much to her. The people who watched said that she was beaten many times; she suffered all sorts of abuse; yet, she never gave up the ring. It was a true love story. No one ever knew what became of the ring. When I tell this story, I remember happy days; tears fall and then, I am silent. I can remember no more. There were many such stories of separated lovers. On quiet evenings, we young girls, in exile, who had spent the day roaming from place to place sat around makeshift fires. We forgot, for the moment, our tired bodies, our hunger and our thirst as we shared stories of unrequited love and ambition. When the fires burned low, we crawled into a safe doorway. Pulling around us whatever rags we could find to protect our naked bodies from the cold, we listened to the silent noises of the night, wondering, before we fell asleep, what chance of romance and love would ever come to us. We had been a happy, large family, seven children . . . three girls and four boys. We were typical of the families in our neighborhood. We went to school during the day. After school, my brothers worked with our father helping with inventory and stacking merchandise in the store. The women helped with the housework and cooking. Such was the life of every family in the community. |
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