ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ
52. ծովից ծով
Ամերիկացի Ֆրեդն ու ամերիկացի Վիկտորը ընդհանուր ծանոթ չգտան: Սերբ Բոյանն ու արգենտինացի Գաբրիելը, սակայն, ավելի հաջողակ էին այս հարցում, եւ նրանք գտան մի ընդհանուր ծանոթ, որ ազգությամբ հայ էր եւ ապրում էր Բուենոս Այրեսում:
The other side of the world - Pashinyan
52. From Sea to Sea
The Americana Fred and Victor hadn’t able to find mutual friends. But the Serbian Boyan and the Argentinean Gabriel had more success in that area. They found a mutual acquaintance that was Armenian by nationality and lived in Buenos Aires.
I took a look at the ocean; there was ocean on all sides, only the ocean. There was no trace of land, not even a hint. I remembered where ‘Ousda Norig’ had served, and then I remembered ‘Akhberam.’ It’s interesting that this is happening on an Argentinean ship. Akhberam lives in the capital of Argentina. I had known that, and during one of the breaks while watching football in the sports bar I asked the people there if anyone knew an Armenian barber who lived in Argentina by the name of Aram. For a long time no one answered. Then, someone said:
“Is he bald?”
“That’s him.”
“Yes, he works on our street but we don’t know each other well. I’ve had my hair cut in his shop a few times,” said Gabriel.
“Is he a good barber?” I asked.
“Yes, he is. Anyway, he has customers,” said Gabriel who had a big store for sports apparel on the same street. “And how do you know him?” he asked.
“Before ending up in Buenos Aires he had first come to Serbia, Belgrade, from his country. But things didn’t work out for him there and he decided to go to Argentina,” I said.
Of course, that wasn’t the case. Aram had left for Argentina not from Serbia, but from Armenia and must have taken the barber’s scissors in his hands for the first time in Buenos Aires. He and I had worked together on the editorial board of “Molorak.” I was a reporter and Aram dealt with finances. Our director was Haygazn Ghahriyan. I hope the other guys won’t be offended if I don’t mention them. If I hadn’t been on the Pacific Ocean, I wouldn’t have remembered this story which, true enough related to everyone although the authors are Aram and Ousda Norig.
But first, about Aram. We used to call him Akhberam because that’s what he called everyone.
In Armenia, people use the term “akhper” a lot; Aram, on the other hand, used to say “Akhberam.” Part of his image was his baldness. Usually, bald people try to hide that fact. But not Aram; he used to emphasize his baldness as a special privilege. And frankly, it became him. The next important attribute of his image was the cane-umbrella he often carried. He wanted to draw the attention of people who didn’t know him; he had a mystifying appearance. In the beginning, I used to be very careful with him, but later we became close. He used to like to be unique, had a fine sense of humor, was a great narrator and had many stories to tell, to which we listened with great satisfaction. Aram didn’t like to be like others; he tried to underscore his personality, and was able to. When the newspaper “Molorak” was shut down, he tried some undertakings, but nothing worked. And then one day, I heard that he had decided to emigrate. This wasn’t anything original at all but Aram couldn’t help underline his uniqueness even in this situation. So he had decided to immigrate not to Russia, to the United States or to Europe, as most people do, but to Argentina. You have to agree this was an novel decision. The last news I had heard about him was that he had become a barber and had won a prize in a contest for barbers. Of course some people would consider this a success, but those who know Aram realize that this is not a success but a successful trick.
Let me now say a few things about Ousda Norig, may he rest in peace. At that time the newspaper “Molorak” was renting space at the “Armenian gymnasium” in the editorial office of the then “Athletic Armenia” which was located on Arshagounyats street, near “Tosaaf.” Ousda Norig was a long time security guard of that editorial office.
Haygazn Ghahriyan was a new kind of director, a new kind of chief editor and the first man I ever knew whom his subordinates addressed by his first name. Being a beginning journalist, for a long time I couldn’t bring myself to call him by his first name. But over time everything worked out. I emphasize this because it was due mostly to Haygazn’s behavior that Ousda Norig became one of the collective. Our relationship was informal; they later developed into very close friendship. So in a short time we all became friends with Ousda Norig.
Ousda Norig loved to entertain, to feed, and to honor people, as much as his means allowed him. Haygazn used to encourage his habit. Sometimes, with his decision, Ousda Norig would prepare pickles in a large container, he would prepare ‘Khash”, etc., and in fact at least some of the staff had become his family. I, myself, basically lived at the editorial office.
Ousda Norig had his philosophy which was summarized in a few sayings: “A real man should not be a kyata” he used to say. To those who wanted to cheat him or bother him, he would say: “Norig is not an ass, Norig is a Kesh.” He had a favorite swear: “Chatlakh.” But he could also say it in jest.
When people put him down for drinking, he used to join his thumb, index finger and middle finger and kiss the tips of his fingers as a sign of peace. He expressed his opinion about family life with this saying: “There are women who make ‘pashas’ of their husbands; there are women who turn their husbands into ‘poshas’. He would call his wife or the wives of others superiors. So, if he wanted to say ‘My wife will come,’ he would sway “my superior will come.” If he needed to give a message to someone that his wife had called, he would say “Your superior called.”
Ousda Norig liked telling different stories about his life. He used to remember with great admiration a chief editor, long deceased, of the newspaper” Armenian Athlete”, but whose last name I’m sorry to say I have forgotten. He was proud of the fact that he had shook hands with Marshall Baghramyan.
Ousda Norig loved pulling practical jokes, especially with Aram, whom he called Bald Dog. And Aram, despite a huge age difference, called him Noro and would pull his own jokes. Well, I told you this whole story because while I was looking at the ocean, I remembered a joke authored by Ousda Norig and Aram.
Ousda Norig used to say that he had served on the Maersk Flot in the Far East, in a submarine. That day, he was telling a story about those years. It was the end of the day, and as usual, by that time we had finished the issue of the newspaper and were looking for photographs in the archives of the editorial office, as well as in different foreign magazines, to insert in the particular issue of our newspaper.
So Aram had placed a few issues of the Spiegel before him and was looking for some pictures. The guys formatting the pages were involved in their work and Haygazn was supervising. And Ousda Norig was telling his story.
He went on and on and at one point he had to describe one of their officers. As he began the description, he turned to Aram: “The officer was like you, Aram, but he was literate, intelligent and graceful.” Haigazn immediately snorted and we all started laughing. Ousda Norig laughed with us a little, then, like a conqueror, he left the room. Aram continued to turn the pages, while the others were still commenting on Ousda Norig’s joke.
Aram was turning the pages of the magazine, and then all of a sudden he brightened up:
“Noro, Noro,” he yelled.
“What is it, Bald Dog?”
“Noro, come, I found a picture of the place where you served.”
Ousda Norig wasn’t expecting so much attention, and was visibly moved:
“Are you telling me the truth, Aram?” he said, and came closer. We all started moving toward Aram.
He had spread a page of the Spiegel before him and looked smug. There was a photograph on the page, the photograph showed something like an area of water, which could have been the sea, the ocean or a lake. The frame showed only water and nothing else could be seen, absolutely nothing.
“Chatlakh,” said Ousda Norig.
We burst out laughing.
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