It was a sultry, oppressive, boring August day. Out of the heat and dryness, a scorching wind drove a cloud of dust to meet us, gluing our eyes together, parching our mouths. You didn’t want to look around or speak or think, and when the drowsy driver, the Ukrainian Karpo, waving at the horse, lashed my peaked cap with his whip, I did not protest or let out a sound, but only roused up from a half-sleep and despondently and meekly looked in the distance to see if I could glimpse the village through the dust. We stopped to feed the horses in the big Armenian village of Bakhchi-Salakh, at a rich Armenian’s my grandfather knew.
Never in my life have I seen such a caricature of an Armenian. Picture a small, close-cut head with bushy, low-hanging brows, a hawk-nose with a long, gray moustache and a wide mouth, from which jutted out the long cherrywood mouthpiece of a Turkish pipe. This little head was awkwardly stuck atop a lean, humpbacked body, dressed in a fantastic costume: a short, red jacket and wide, bright-blue, loose trousers. This figure walked legs spread apart and shuffling in his slippers; and he spoke without taking the pipe out of his mouth, holding himself apart with pure Armenian dignity: not smiling, his eyes bulging, and trying to give his guests as little attention as possible.
In the Armenian’s rooms there was neither a breeze nor dust, but it was for all that as unpleasant, stuffy and dreary as on the steppes or along the road. I remember, dusty and worn out by the heat, I sat in the corner on a green chest. The unpainted wooden walls, furniture, and ochre-stained floors gave off the smells of dry, sunbaked wood. No matter where you looked, there were flies, flies, flies.
Bu hikaye Russian Life dergisinin March/April 2020 sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye Russian Life dergisinin March/April 2020 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
Sidewalk Art
The lamentable state of Russia’s roads and sidewalks has long been fertile ground for memes and jokes. Irkutsk artist Ivan Kravchenko decided to turn the problem into an art project. For over two years he has been patching ruts in city sidewalks with colorful ceramic tiles.
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The Russian vaccine seems top-notch, but low public trust and a botched rollout remain formidable barriers to returning to normalcy.
the Valley of the Dead
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Food & Drink
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POLAR YOUTH
Misha Smirnov has the day off. There are the traditional eggs for breakfast and the usual darkness out the window.
Russian Chronicles
Russian Chronicles
A People on the Brink
Over the past century, the ancient people known as the Votes has been exiled twice, has seen its language banned, and has faced the threat of having its villages razed. Today, although teetering on the verge of extinction, it holds fast to one of the last rights it enjoys – the right to bear and to say its own name.
Tenders of the Vine
Visiting Russia’s Nascent Wine Region
Restoring the Future
A Small Town Gets a Makeover
Ascending Anik
Here I stand, on the summit of Anik Mountain, drenched to the bone amid zero visibility, driving rain, and a fierce wind.