Mgrdich Yotneghparian
The Pink House, Assyrian Quarter, Ourfa, October 23rd 1915
Khatoun
The skies were in labour
The earth was in labour,
And so was the crimson sea.
And in the sea a small red reed
Was also in labour.
And out of the reed came smoke
And out of the smoke came flames,
And from the flames dashed forth
A blond youth
With fiery hair,
And a flaming beard,
And his eyes were two blazing suns![1]
“Don’t open it!” Ferida screams. “Don’t you dare open it or we’ll all be killed!” She’s clutching her favourite pilaff pot over her head, ready to hurl it as frantic banging threatens to separate the back door from its hinges.
“Don’t you even go near that door,” she hisses, raising the pot even higher. Who she intends to hit is uncertain, but the tone of her voice is enough
