The Ghosts of Anatolia Read Free Page B

gifts. Thank you for guiding Bedros safely home. We pray you will watch over Garo, Aren and Alek while they serve in the army, and that there will be peace in the Empire. Forgive us for our sins. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages, Amen.”
    Flora served pilaf chicken from a large dish. Mourad broke off a crust of bread from the loaf and passed it to Bedros. Flora smiled at Sirak as she filled his bowl. Putting down the pot, she ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek. “There’s plenty more if you finish that,” she whispered to her brother.
    Mourad took a bite of bread. He chewed contentedly and swallowed. “Well, Bedros, what news have you from Istanbul?”
    “Nothing good. The capital is in complete turmoil. There is the ongoing mobilization of the army throughout the Empire. The enlistment is a disorganized mess, with mass desertions in the southern and eastern provinces. Everyone is preoccupied with finding enough money to pay the
bedel
to keep husbands and sons at home. As far as the fighting between Russia and Germany—there is little information, but I heard from a friend that Ottoman troops have been skirmishing with British infantry near Damascus.”
    A look of concern gripped Mourad’s face. “What’s your best guess? Will the Ottoman Empire join the war?”
    “Who knows? There are rumors. German military officials, including General Otto Liman Von Sanders, have been spotted in Istanbul, and talk is that the Triumvirate is solidly behind the Germans. We’re all hoping cooler heads prevail.”
    “The Triumvirate,” Mourad hissed. “I don’t trust them one bit—especially Enver, he’s too ambitious.”
    “If you ask me, anything’s better than the Bloody Sultan. Have you forgotten what happened in Diyarbekir only two decades ago?”
    “How is it better? For weeks we’ve been hearing reports about widespread looting in Diyarbekir...of stealing being carried out under the pretext of war collections. Hundreds of Armenian shops and warehouses were looted and burned only a week before Alek was conscripted. How is this better? Tell me.”
    “Old habits die hard. At least the Young Turks are trying. I understand Jemal Pasha provided great service to our people after the massacres in Adana Province in 1909. I also heard him speak in August, and I must say I was impressed with his grasp of the problems facing the Empire.”
    “I guess we’ll see how things go,” Mourad replied. His mouth was overflowing with chickpeas. “I still have grave concerns. How much was your
bedel
?”
    “Three thousand one hundred
lire
. How much was yours?”
    “Three thousand nine hundred. It was no easy task coming up with it, either. I used the rest of the money Papa left me, and still had to sell one of the workhorses and my two-year-old colt. Then I felt guilty about paying
bedel
to spare myself, rather than reporting for army duty with Alek.”
    “That’s nonsense. Someone must care for the family and manage the farm. How’s the harvest?”
    “Ah, our best crop in years. Old man Tarik bin Sufyan died in June, but his son Kemal helped me with the first picking. We couldn’t have done it without Kemal.”
    “Özker and I helped, too, Papa,” Sirak called out from the smaller table.
    Mourad gave him a devoted smile. “Yes, you did. You’ve both become excellent cotton pickers.”
    “So, old man Tarik finally died,” Bedros said. “Somehow I thought the old ox might live forever. Did you know he taught me to harness a wagon when I was a boy?”
    Mourad took a bite of stew. “He taught me, too. Papa must’ve told me fifty times how he would’ve lost this farm without Tarik’s help. Tarik worked in the fields to the very end. Then the typhus swatted him down like a fly. One day he worked with me and the next he was flat on his back.”
    “It seems like only yesterday when he helped Father clear the corral. Kemal and I carted off all the