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branch of the tree. Again there is a big fuss at home. It is
the first time I shout at my mother: “If you love me, let me
go and climb the tree and bring my hat down. How can I
continue my life this way?” She begins to wail, my aunts
join in, and my grandma sobs without tears. I get up and
leave. The women, sobbing their hearts out, follow me. My
mother faints, but I do not approach her. I stand far away
from her and watch the women trying to bring her to
consciousness. Then we continue on our way together,
keeping a distance of about a few steps between us. The
whole village is stealthily looking at us but no one comes
out. I reach Thickwood. We look at each other. I clench my
teeth. I am shivering. There is my hat, hurled to the very
top. I feel embarrassed because I have to climb the tree in
front of my relatives in broad daylight. In my ears I can hear
my grandma’s voice: “Kikos, dear, you shouldn’t climb a
tree. If you climb you may fall down and everybody will die
from grief.” Then my grandpa comes, waving an axe, yelling
and threatening. We could’ve managed without you, old
fella! My grandma runs after him like lightning. At last my
grandpa reaches me. Breathless, he stands between me and
Thickwood, keeping the axe poised above his head like
Hrachia Nersisyan,
*
performing rage. Suddenly his eyes fill
with tears – it is the first time I see my grandpa’s eyes wet –
he digs the axe into the ground, shakes his head and goes
away in silence. Then my mother and aunts come, but they
*
Hrachia Nersisyan, a famous Armenian actor