Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

“I’m really sorry”, said my father, and he meant it. He knew what abandonment felt like. This was an issue as serious and painful as the question of the meaning of life, about which he was not willing to talk, not yet. But he understood, and Fergus nodded gratefully. We all pondered the matter for a while. Paul straightened me in the sling; Max wiped his hands on the tea towel he’d thrown over his shoulder; Irene moistened her cigarette paper with the tip of the tongue. Fergus kept sucking on the half-eaten wine- gum dwarf.

“Yes”, he finally summed up, because silence, too, has a beginning, a middle and an end.

“Yes”, said Paul.

“Wow”, Irene chimed in.

Fergus sighed. “You wouldn’t have a place for me to kip down?” he asked at precisely the same time as Paul asked, “Why don’t you stay a while with us?” They laughed. It was nice that Paul had the same idea. Maybe it was just a hunch, but at least it also showed presence of mind and it was a happy chance for him to express his gratitude to Fergus at last. There was no question about helping him. It was a fact. I mean it was like when I was at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s and I didn’t have to ask for a woodruff-flavoured popsicle but was simply

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