Ghosts of Anoatolia by Steven E. Wilson

Author:Steven E. Wilson [Wilson, Steven E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780972948036
Publisher: H-G Books
Published: 2010-09-01T00:00:00+00:00

Major al-Kawukji guided the group south along the main road to Mardin. Half a kilometer from Diyarbekir the road skirted the Tigris, where the lazy river cut a swath of green through the otherwise barren wasteland. They passed irrigated islands of cultivation where peasant farmers grew crops of wheat and rice. They were dutifully tending their fields and paddies beneath the unforgiving sun.

Sirak and Mikael lapsed into forlorn silence when they rode past the spot on the riverbank where they’d watched their father and brother float down the river with scores of other Armenian men and boys. Now strangely serene, the bank was dotted with the makeshift tents of a band of nomadic tribesmen who were gathered around a smoky pit a few meters up from the water.

Sirak caught the icy stare of a leather-faced old man who turned to scrutinize the odd procession. Dressed in traditional garments, he was watching over a mixed herd of sheep and goats that were foraging in the tall grass along the riverbank.

Glancing ahead to the wagon, Sirak caught a glimpse of his mother and Nurse Barton peering out at the incongruous scene. He muttered pensively beneath his breath.

“What did you say?” the sergeant asked.

“Jerusalem,” Sirak repeated sadly.

Isa smiled. “What about it?”

“That’s where my papa is now.”

“Your papa’s in the Holy City?”

“Yes, he and my brother, Stepannos, are both there. Have you been there?”

“No,” Isa replied thoughtfully, his forehead glistening with sweat. “Al Kuds is very far from here, but I hope someday to lay my eyes on the great mosque erected on the spot where the Prophet ascended into Heaven.”

“We’re headed there to meet my papa. How far is it?”

“It’s a journey of many days—thirty or forty, depending on the weather.”

“What if we travel by train?”

“Maybe twenty-five days by train, but you still must travel by horse or on foot beyond Aleppo. It is a difficult journey.”

Sirak sighed sadly. Twenty-five days, he thought to himself. How will I ever find my way back to Tiran?

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