What could Mrs. Kantrowitz do for Ani? She could throw her arms around her and welcome her home like the lost sheep in the parable or like the prodigal son.
For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.
But that was the New Testament. This was an Old Testament world with a fierce and wrathful God.
What would her father’s family do? Once you had been cast out, would they ever take you back? Would they tell you the stories that made up their family mythology? Would they initiate you into the rituals of their particular cult?
Ani made her claim modest. “We have only a few pictures of my dad when he was a kid. I was wondering if you could show me an old photo album.”
“This I can do. Wait here,” Mrs. K. instructed.
The woman went to the living room and came back a few minutes later with a large leather-bound book. The pages were of thick black paper on which the black-and-white photos were held in place with little gummed corners. Someone had taken great care in mounting the photos and in typing captions on slips of paper that were glued below each picture.
Mrs. Kantrowitz sat in the chair beside Ani, pointing out faces. “Those are my parents. They both died a few years ago, within months of each other. There’s me, and my brother Sol. The baby there is David.”
The baby’s fair face was round and his hair dark. Ani also saw that her dad’s countenance was a hybrid of his parents’ features: eyes from his mother, nose and cheeks from his father. On the next page there was a photo of the extended family sitting around a table. Ani’s father was perched in a high chair and there was a new baby in his mother’s arms.
“That was our apartment in Washington Heights. Those are the Orlovskys, my mother’s side. And the Silvers, my father’s family,” Mrs. K. explained.
By the last pages David Silver had grown to his full height and began to look like the photo Ani knew from his high school days. At his college graduation he wore a cap and gown, and about twenty family members were grouped around him.
Mrs. K. pushed out a heavy sigh. “After that we have no pictures of David. You must understand, for our family being Jewish isn’t like a nationality. It’s a religion and a way of life. When David married outside he turned his back on us and everything we believe in. He knew that, but he had to have this girl.
“My father was a hard man and a proud man. My mother might have been softer on David, but my father’s wishes she respected. He was lost to us, and then—again he died. You see he was my little brother and on him I couldn’t turn my back. I kept in touch. But the girl I couldn’t forgive. Now I know it wasn’t her. David wanted a different life.” She was silent for a moment, staring into the distance.
Suddenly Mrs. K. slammed the photo album shut. “It is time for you to go.”
The finality of the woman’s tone hit Ani like a brick.
Ani’s face contracted with stubbornness. This one visit wasn’t enough. She needed more. She wouldn’t let herself be put out on the sidewalk with nothing.
Ani asked, “May I please have another glass of water?”
Mrs. Kantrowitz said coldly, “All right.”
While her aunt was in the kitchen Ani placed her palm on the embossed black leather cover of the album. She didn’t want to think—she was tired of thinking. It was time to act. She gathered up the album, her coat and bag, and moved swiftly toward the door.
When Mrs. Kantrowitz returned with the glass of seltzer Ani was several flights away, dashing down the back stairs.
On the final landing, Ani stopped to catch her breath. It would look suspicious to the doorman if she were panting as she went by.
She imagined Mrs. Kantrowitz emerging from the apartment screaming, “Thief! Stop, thief!” She would stump down the stairs behind Ani brandishing a long kitchen knife.
Ani tucked the album against her body, arranging her coat over her arm in such a way that the book was camouflaged.
In the lobby Ani glided past the doorman, briefly making eye contact with him as he held the door. “Thanks. Have a good evening,” she said.
“You should put on your coat, young lady. It’s getting chilly,” he called after her.
The avenue was darkening as she hurried away. Near the river the purple-blue sky was scarred with sooty branches. She didn’t want the lonely river. She wanted a blur of faces hurtling past like comets. She turned to Broadway, with its brightly lit storefronts and Korean markets where sidewalk stands were piled high with fruit, vegetables, and flowers. The 99-Cent Store was garishly decked out with Christmas lights. Cars, trucks, and buses surged up and down.
A man marched by with an armload of dry cleaning in a plastic bag. A toddler wrapped to the chin in a crocheted blanket was wheeled by in a stroller. Ani passed a bar window lit with beer logos. Inside a row of men sat at the counter with glass mugs and cigarettes watching football scenes on the television behind the bar. An old woman wearing a hat with floppy cloth flowers on the brim peered with concern into Ani’s face.
Why you steal that poor woman’s pictures, Ani? Grandma queried.
I don’t want to answer that question, Grandma.
You gonna give them back?
I don’t want to answer that question either.
Leave the girl alone, Mariam, Baba admonished. Can’t you see she’s upset?
She’s upset? Violet asked. I told her not to call that woman. I told her the Silvers didn’t want anything to do with her. Why doesn’t she listen to me?
And how does that make you feel? Levin asked.
Not you. I forgot about you.
Why do you think you forgot about me?
I’m not going to answer that question.
Do you want to see me make this quarter disappear? It was a man’s voice.
Daddy?
Watch this, he said. He snapped his fingers and the quarter disappeared. Where do you think the quarter went?
Behind my ear, Ani replied.
Let’s see, he said, reaching behind her ear. He pulled out the shiny quarter and placed it in the middle of her open palm. That’s for you, Penny Bright.
That’s what he called me, Ani thought.
That was the sound of his voice.
Ani glanced at the street sign and noted that she had put ten blocks between herself and her deed. She paused to pull on her coat and button it against the wind. With the back of her hand she wiped cold tears from her face. Then Ani Silver clasped the black book and strode forward with it into the rest of her life.
glossary of foreign terms and phrases
aghchig — girl
aghchigess — my girl
ahnbeedahn — useless, worthless
ahrr — take
amot kezi — shame on you
anamot — shameless
anham eh — savorless
anoushig — sweetie
assez bien — pretty well
badveli — pastor, minister
banir — cheese
baron — mister
bidi mernim — I’m going to die
bonsoir — good evening
boum — party
carte de séjour — residence permit
chambre de bonne — maid’s room
char dghah — bad boy
char shoon — bad dog
chezokh — neutral, nonpartisan
comment ça va ce matin — how’s it going this morning?
dahngahlakh — blockhead
Dashnak �
� member of Armenian Revolutionary Federation
devs — devils, evil spirits
digin — Mrs.
éblouissant — dazzling
eshek — donkey, ass
fromager — cheese seller
inchbes es? — how are you?
gamatz, gamatz — slowly, slowly; little by little
herya — Jew
hos yegoor — come here
Hunchak — member of Hunchakian Revolutionary Party
jagadakir — destiny
je t’ai demandée une question — I asked you a question
je suis fou — I am crazy
je suis au plus profond de l’abîme, et je ne sais plus prier — I am at the bottom of the pit and I don’t know how to pray anymore
je veux follement te faire l’amour — I want to make love to you
je vous souhaite bienvenue — I welcome you
keghetsig — pretty
khelatsi — intelligent
khent — crazy
khadayif — pastry of shredded wheat, nuts and syrup
kesh chem — I’m not bad
kezi geh sirem — I love you
kisher pari — good night
lahmejun — meat pizza
lav em — I am well
madzoon — yogurt
manti — small meat dumplings
medz mairig — Grandma
meghah — exclamation of surprise
mutilés de guerre — disabled veterans
odar — hearth
pakhlava — pastry of filo, nuts & syrup
pamplemousse — grapefruit
poghokagan — Protestant
pomme de terre — potato
pompier — firefighter
préfecture — police headquarters
primeur — greengrocer
quatre bises — four kisses
qu’est-ce que tu as dit? — what did you say?
Ramgavar — member of Armenian Social Democratic Party
tavloo — backgammon
toneer — fireplace
toun inchbes es? — how are you?
tourshi — pickles
vardik — underpants
vhy babum — alas my father (idiom)
vorik — bottom, rear end
yalanchi — stuffed grape leaves
yaprak — grape leaves
yavrum — darling, dear
acknowledgments
Thanks to Anne Carey, Dahlia Elsayed, Daniel Goldin, Tanja Graf, Katie Hite, Arsen Kashkashian, Susan Kricorian, and Markar Melkonian for reading early drafts of the manuscript.
For research assistance I would like to thank Peter Bilizekian, Bethel Charkoudian, Ani Garmiryan, Jean-Claude Kébabdjian at the Centre de Recherches sur la Diaspora Arménienne, Lena Takvorian, and especially Markar Melkonian.
Gratitude to my top-notch editorial team: Maria Massie, Elisabeth Schmitz, Lauren Wein, and Kim Witherspoon. James Schamus was once again my most faithful and trusted reader.