THE BOX
The edges of the ivory box have melted because of the body heat. Komitas’ face has been etched by a small needle on its yellowish cover, with the words “A memento from Alek to Manush, 1938” wiggling beneath it. It’s a small box, almost Grandma’s size…
I had seen the box two times – my Grandma would always keep it near her. She would put it under her pillow when she slept, she would stuff it between her breasts when she baked lavash, she would place it in her flowery underwear, my father would tell me. A funny thing had happened once. My petite Grandma had fallen awkwardly into the toilet bowl, somehow managed to climb out, and then noticed that the box was missing. She had caused havoc in the village. Finally, a group of burly men, drenched in sweat, ended up taking the toilet ap
