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13
Finding My Father
Story of an Armenian Girl (Part ten)
by Serpouhi Tavoukdjian
One day an Armenian woman, who before the deportation had
lived near my home, but now, with her three girls, was living
here in Aleppo, came to see me at the hotel. I told her my
anxiety, and how I did not like to stay there longer, under such
circumstances. She invited me to come into her home until we
were ready to undertake our journey. Onnig consented to this,
and he was so good, and came to see me so often, and brought me
so many things! I began to be really happy, and accepted him to
take the place of the dear older brother I had lost. If I had
been older and more experienced, I would have suspected his
intentions and refused his gifts and care. But I was young, and
very innocent of the ways of the world.
Then came the rude awakening. One of the little girls of my
hostess laughingly confided to me a secret. She had been
listening while Onnig talked confidentially with her mother. He
said he meant to marry me. He hoped I would consent to become
his wife, for he knew I was very fond of him, though he was
aware that no thought of marriage had entered my mind
I was horrified. Marry Onnig Chamechickian! Marry anybody!
No, indeed! I was going to just one thing-find my father! From
that moment I refused to see him. All the old pleasant
relationship was gone. He still came often, but he was always
obliged to visit with the lady o the house, because I was
"out."
Then one evening while I was frolicking with the children
just at bedtime, the same little eavesdropper who had spoken
before, told me, right in the midst of a pillow fight, that
Onnig was coming that very evening to put his question to me. If
I would not consent willingly, then he would force me to consent
because of the many things he had done for me. I was almost
petrified with fright. One thing I knew, I was not going to be
married-not to anybody-until I had found my father. But I also
knew that I must think fast and act without delay, for it was
almost time for him to appear.
"Do not tell anybody," I whispered to the little
girl, "but I am going to run away."
Twilight was even then falling. I went downstairs and said to
my hostess that I would take a little walk. As I often did this
in the evening, she said nothing, but suggested that I should
not go far and come home soon.
Once outside, I asked myself, "Where shall I go?" I
remembered hearing of an orphanage somewhere in the city where
Armenian girls were taken for protection until their own
relatives could be located. I decided, yes, I would go there. By
this time it was getting very dark, and I walked as fast as I
dared. I did not run, because I did not wish people to know that
I was running away.
I think I asked every one I met, "Where is the French
orphanage?" They would say, "This way," or,
"That way," and then I would hurry in the direction
they gave. Finally I saw a large building ahead, surrounded by a
wall. I found the gate and knocked. By that time it was very
late, and the streets were dark, there being only a very few
lights. The night watchman came with his flashlight. I told him
I was an Armenian girl from Arabia, and asked for shelter and
protection. He looked at me closely, and seeing the tattoo marks
on my face, swung the big gates open and took me inside. How
glad I was! I was given a bed, and slept soundly until morning.
Somehow, for the first time in weeks I felt at peace and really
safe.
When morning came, I went straight to the superintendent of
the orphanage, and told him my story from the beginning
truthfully. I hid nothing. He was a kind man, and told me I
might remain with them, and he hoped I would be happy there.
Onnig learned of my whereabouts, and that very day came to
claim me as his sweetheart. But I refused to se him, and the
officials of the orphanage respected my desires. He came day
after day, but every time it was the same.
It was while in this place that I learned for a certain truth
that my father was alive and again living in Ovajik. With this
definite news, my longing to see him became so strong that I
felt I must be on my way home. I suggested that I go to see the
Red Cross. He said he would gladly sign my release from the
orphanage if they would be responsible for my journey.
So, following his directions, I found the Red Cross office
and made my plea. I asked them if they would help me to go to my
father. They consented to do this, and the next morning came to
the orphanage for me. The papers were signed and I was free to
go. Then the kind officials in charge introduced me to another
Armenian girl who was to travel with me. They provided us with
blankets and warm, comfortable clothes, and gave us a small
amount of money. Next they took us to the railroad station and
put us on the train for Constantinople, in care of the railroad
officials. They could not have been more kind and thoughtful.
When I finally settled down in my seat, and looked out of the
window of the train, who should appear on the platform but Onnig
Chamechickian and the widow with whom I had stayed before I ran
away. I was very much frightened. Somehow they had learned that
I was leaving. But the must not see me! I slid down in my seat
and turned from the window and hid my face. How thankful I was
when the train started and I passed out of the city of Aleppo. I
felt that once more God had been my deliverer.
Now it seemed to me that the train fairly crawled. Why did it
not go faster? I was so anxious to see my dear father. My mind
was full of dreams of the home we would re-establish together,
where I would make happy his declining years. For were we not
the only two of the family now living? Sometimes strange fears
beset me. Would father know me? Would he accept me as his child?
Four years had made many changes in his little girl of ten. And
then there were the tattoo marks on my face!
The journey lengthened to five weary days. At every stop the
Red Cross workers came aboard the train to see us and help us.
They brought us the little money we needed, and also some food.
When the train arrived in Yenibasar, and I knew that in a few
hours I would be in Ismid, I could hardly contain myself for
impatience. How excited I was as we neared that city of such
bitter-sweet memories. My heart pounded as I looked anxiously
out the window as we pulled into the station. I was hoping to
catch a glimpse of just one familiar face.
When the train stopped, I did not think even to say good-by
to my traveling companion, who was going on to Constantinople. I
rushed out to the platform. There were hundreds of people there,
each looking for relatives among the returning exiles. I began
to shout as loudly as I could, "Does any one know my
father? Does any one know Aaron Tavoukdjian?" Finally a boy
said, "Yes, I know him. He is in Ovajik. I will take you
there."
Hurriedly I gathered my baggage and followed him. We came to
the shore of the bay which lies between Ismid and Ovajik. There
he had a rowboat tied, and we rode across the water.
Now once more I was walking familiar streets, and I went at
once toward our dear old home. I was shocked at its appearance.
Such a wreck! The windows were broken, the doors hung by on
hinge, the yard was overgrown with weeds and filled with
rubbish. IT did not look like my home. But there was a small
store where once my father had presided over his large and
beautiful salesroom. The boy, who was still with me, said that
this was my father's new place of business. He suggested that
perhaps he had better go ahead and tell my father that his
daughter had come. He did so. But my father did not believe it.
He insisted that not daughter of his could be alive. He was sure
we were all dead, for he had heard nothing about us for more
than four long years. Then I rushed in and threw my arms about
his neck, and I cried for joy.
"Which daughter is it?" he asked, as he held me off
and looked closely at me. "And what have you done to your
face?"
This reunion seemed like a dream to both of us. I had prayed
so long that the good lord would help me find my father, and he
had prayed so earnestly that if any of his dear ones by any
chance were still alive, they might come home. He longed to know
of a certainty just what had happened to his beloved wife and
children on that cruel, terrible death march.
We were very happy to be reunited, and had much to say to
each other. He had been a captain in the Turkish army until the
World War was over. Then he had been allowed to come home, and
about six months before I arrived, had married a widow with one
son about my own age. So I found a stepmother presiding over the
old family home rooms on the second floor. This apartment was
badly wrecked, but the good woman had done her best with the
little she had at hand to make the living quarters comfortable.
As I have said, my father had started a little store where
his larger one had been. Of course he was obliged to start again
with nothing. But he felt now the Turkish outrages were a thing
of the past, and he had every hope for a prosperous, peaceful
future. I helped in both the home and the store.
One day my father went to Ismid to purchase some stock for
his store. In the afternoon I sat out in front with my sewing,
keeping watch for customers and waiting for his return. Suddenly
I looked up and saw a man coming toward me. He looked very
queer. He was dressed only in his underwear. His head and feet
were bare, and his hands were folded across his breast, while
his hair hung down over his eyes. He seemed so dazed and acted
so strangely that I thought it must be an insane man, and
hurried to close the door. But he came right up and knocked on
the door, and spoke my name. When I heard his voice, I knew it
was my father, and when I drew him inside, I cried in alarm,
"O father, what is the matter? What has happened to
you?"
He only replied, "Thank God, my life is spared."
When we had ministered to him, and he was somewhat recovered
and rested, he told us that as five of his merchant friends and
himself were returning from Ismid with their good, masked
robbers-Turks-had waylaid them. They had taken all the money he
had, which was about $35, his clothes, and the things he had
purchases. Then they had beaten him cruelly. His body was
literally black and blue.
When he had finished telling this experience, we did not say
a word, but all of us fell on our knees and united in thanking
the heavenly Father that he was alive and not seriously injured
Of course, there were still some goods in the store, but this
robbery had so crippled his business that father decided to move
immediately to Ismid. He felt there would be better business
opportunities three, and also that we would be safer in a larger
city. He did not now have so much confidence in the goodness of
the Turks as heretofore.
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