Читать книгу Messiah is late - L. Khachatrian - Страница 7

Usually the things you avoid are the things you get confronted with. Yeghishe knew this absurd formula well. In his entire conscious life he had strived for an honest, you can say spotless patriotism. He was always against various movements, groups and especially political parties splitting the nation. Yeghishe’s father was not Christian, but had fought against the extremist groups of One God for the sake of Church. His father liked repeating that when patriotism was mixed with politics everything started to smell like gangrene. That smell had also flushed into Yeghishe’s childhood.

Before dying Yeghishe’s father lost his two legs; one then the other. He left only his opinion about the national values and pure patriotism to his sons. As a result, Yeghise was now sitting in one of the city pubs with his two friends of the same political party.

“Have you read the book,” Andok asked excitedly. He was about twenty years old, with sun-parched skin, freckled, skinny boy.

“Sorry?” Yeghishe woke back to life.

“Where have you been, brother,” smiled the dark-skinned, short-heighted Khoren. “How many times should we repeat the question?”

“I was thinking,” answered Yeghishe indifferently. “So, what book?”

“The one written by that idiot, Abel Gichunts,” said Khoren.

“He has definitely made up his name… coward,” Andok interrupted.

“Right,” agreed Khoren. “But the fact is that his books deprave the society.”

“What does he write?” Yeghishe emptied his beer and with a gesture asked the waiter to repeat.

“Well, first he talks too much about Christianity, as if it is the foundation of our identity…”

“In some sense it is true,” smiled Yeghishe looking at the empty bottom of his beer glass. “Like paganism, Christianity was a part of our history, thus also of our identity…”

“Yes, but it was,” protested Andok. When he was angry, his skin became more flushed. “The times have changed now. Besides, the Christianity has been distorted in his books as well. That idiot quotes from some false gospels…”

“The priest used to say ‘a-po-cry-phal’, ” interrupted Khoren with a serious look.

“Yes… right,” continued Andok. “Moreover, the priest also joins our strife. He says that because of the writers like Gichunts, the world has wrong impression about Christianity.

Sneer appeared on Khoren’s face.

“I would argue about it with the priest. After all, Chritianity was barbarism. Good that it no longer exists…”

“My grandmother was Christian but not barbarian,” suddenly roared Yeghishe with his gruff voice.

“Well, of course,” sobered up Khoren. “I am not talking about individuals. We all know that because of that ancient inhuman religions millions of people have been killed. And this would continue till today if there was no true prophecy.”

“And the government,” winked Andok.

“Glory to One God,” agreed Khoren.

Yeghishe emptied another glass of beer.

“Guys, we have got off the subject. Let’s discuss grandparents’ faith later. We have another problem; Gichunts depraves national and social values with his texts…”

“Which you have definitely read from the beginning to the end,” with indifferent gesture Yeghishe ordered another glass of beer. Andok and Khoren looked at each other.

“I have lightly looked through it,” stammered Andok. “Nonsense.”

“The cover of the book is enough for you to understand that it is not worth reading,” continued Khoren.

“Narek has read it,” suddenly remembered Andok.

“Right,” rejoiced his friend.

“I know,” Khoren admitted grimly.

He really did know and understood far more than those two scatterbrained. Narek was the one to start the youth party movement against Abel Gichunts. He was the one that did not like the ideas of the town’s famous ostentatious writer. In fact, Yeghishe thought, that though there was nothing to like in his texts, only stupidity of the literature would not force Narek to shake off the city. He had other far-reaching objectives. Gichunts was scandalous and famous writer. The protest movement started against him would keep the lost town’s youth wing of the National Party, especially Narek, in the center of attention of press. He would declare that he was fighting against scabrous people like Gichunts, but in fact he would be in the center of media. Everyone would get to recognize him. Then, he would be noticed by the head office of the National Party, especially by the party leaders, who were also members of the big Parliament.

“They have mentioned several times that they want to renew the party, give it a new breath.” Narek had told Yeghishe a few days before. “They are looking for new faces, new names. If they notice us, they will definitely ask us to go to the capital; me, with my small team, where you also will certainly be included, brother.”

“I don’t think that the noise raised against a writer will be enough for it,” Yeghishe had objected.

“Those are details. Do you remember one of the leaders of the party, Mr Isaiah, who visited our town last summer?”

“The one that promised to rebuilt the Christian church?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t…”

“Not Yet. He will definitely. He liked me very much. He said, that the Big Parliament needed true patriots like us. Isaiah is considered to be the second person in the party. He promised when the time comes he himself will introduce our names to the leader. We just need to make some ‘noise’ here. You know, he needs a reason to talk about us…”

Yeghishe did not say anything that day. He was silent this evening as well.

While half-drunk Andok and Khoren were disputing about who would be the first to break Abel Gichunts’s fingers, Yeghishe emptied another glass of beer. The broad-shouldered, big-eyed boy with a heavy sight did not look his age, but older. Feeling light dizziness, he stood up, without looking the check he threw money on the table and went out of the pub.

In the evening the town air had become sort of sweet. The light wind brought pieces of an old liberal song sung by a beggar in the far. The inflections of his odd voice were increasing Yeghishe’s dizziness.

“Damn,” he muttered. “The beer was disgusting.”

Yeghishe staggered home. The beggar’s voice was slowly receding; from the veer of the wind the voice was abrading, becoming subtle and turning into a soft voice coming from the lattice of cradle. In his head, Yeghishe could hear his grandmother’s sole song sung in an early sunny day.