Creations in English

Grandmother why we have come stranger

Armenian version is here

  Grandmother why we have come stranger’s home? – was asking my grandson who was close to three, on the other line of the phone, hardly trying to form her words and thoughts. Question that had always been tearing my torturing heart of miss up and had accumulated emotions, emotions… 

Question – that seemed to be directed not to the grandmother but to the Time, Century and left unanswered hanging in an air. Hanging like a Damocles sword which strikes not to the forehead but just to the soul and imagination, essence which is captured by the spiritual nightmare, you are powerless but nevertheless you are groping along trying to gather your survivors in the dark in hope that you are still alive, you are still birthing… 

How many grandsons direct so many questions to their mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers and who can give the direct answers of their dreary hearts? “We have home, why landlord demands money from us, I don’t like him, let’s go our home?”, – says another grandson. I am sure if we gather and note the entire questions of the whole world’s granddaughters or grandsons, which is about their native home, their own corner of this big world, it’ll turn into a big Book which will become the Table Book of the human beings directed just to them thus humanity.
One nation who has built so many houses in the world and now they are living not in their own houses. Why? It’s difficult to answer to the children’s questions…How I can explain this little creature with wide open eyes that for many people unfortunately it is impossible to live in Armenian. That they need several salaries to pay the taxes and fees but there is no salary, moreover – no talk about the payments…Because of that we have come to the stranger’s home…Little Hayk is schoolboy but he doesn’t forget that here in the Armenia he has his native house. When in the winter of 1998 I had to live my own home and went to their place (Nidzni Novgorod) for passing the winter, my little Hayk pressed on my neck with his small paws trying to find out the undiscovered answer of his question with his dark, big spying eyes.

          Why we have come to the stranger’s home, let’s go to our Armenia, to my Abovyan. Don’t cry there is a boat on the river, let take it and go to Armenia.

          My darling, Hayk our home is too cold…

          But why it is cold, I’ll warm it?

How I can explain who has dared to take his part of sun-rye? Ah, my little Hayk how I can forget you-you that have become a vessel of needy. Your needy, your small heart’s big needy that even leads a boat to his native city- Abovyan by the mountains and the gorges.

However, every morning the same unanswered question decorated his childish lips and kindled flameless grief of miss towards my fatherland in my soul which burnt me with terrible gravitation…I found the same question in the dark wonderful eyes of the children who studied in the Sunday’s school. It’s impossible to explain what kind of needy beam, shine from their songs and recitations.

Return…In the airport of Nidzni Novgorod the registration of the passengers had already begun. The gratifying point was that among the passengers there were families as well, the children were jumping with joy and miss. The agents of the airport were weighting the luggage zealously. That ceremony was very festive and solemn…Immediately I remembered the great poet Sevak: “We count, count…weight and weight…

Why are you weighting? This paved probably for thousand times, for five thousand times, for eternal times are covered by the tears of the Armenians who are to part? Grandmothers and grandsons have to be parted and mother – child as well. Seldom happened the meeting’s joy of tears, but these are not less hard than the suffering tears birthed of departing which are the heaviest luggages that can’t be settled in the plane…the heaviest…

Particularly the children who still remember their home and have to live in foreign country, ask like one vocal cord: “Why we have come stranger’s home?”

Aslik Hakobyan (the elder scientific worker, the head of the department exhibition organization, in the Museum of  friendship).

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