The Doves of Ohanavank by Vahan Zanoyan

the city, meaning Yerevan; and
khaghakits durs
, which means outside the city. That is all. You cannot be anywhere other these four places in Armenia!” Armen looks like he has just solved the mysteries of the Universe. “So,” he adds, “the closest local restaurants are in the Dzor. Fifteen minutes from here. I know a good one by the bank of the river. You’ll love the food and I guarantee that it will not kill you.”
    “Let’s go!”
    Armen reminds him of the smart, enterprising but underprivileged youngsters in Mumbai, whose only asset is their wit, and who manage to scrounge a living in the streets, appearing always happy and full of energy, but in reality they live much darker lives when they end their public day and return to the privacy of their living quarters, which, for the lucky ones could be a room in a deserted building, and for most others a street corner partially protected from the elements.

    Lara Galian freezes at the top of the stairs as she leaves the University building, no longer aware of the fresh breeze after the stuffy lecture hall. She stares down at the woman waving to her. This is the last place on earth she would have expected to see Anastasia, her coach when she was first thrown into prostitution in Moscow. Anastasia is more conservatively dressed than she used to be in the hotel bars in Moscow,but still stands out. Her posture and overall attitude are not those of a student.
    Lara continues down the steps and walks up to her. Anastasia smiles enthusiastically. She looks genuinely happy to see Lara.
    “Lara,
aziz jan, vonts es
?” That’s exactly how she used to talk to her two years ago. Lara, dear, how are you?
    Lara does not want to be rude, so she returns the smile, but she does not want to engage Anastasia as if everything is the same.
    “How did you find me?” she asks, guiding her out of the University grounds and starting down the street.
    “I’m good, am I not?” grins Anastasia. But Lara senses that she is nervous, and is trying hard not to show it. She does not respond, waiting for an answer to her original question. Anastasia remains silent, but picks up the pace a bit.
    “How?” repeats Lara, looking at her as they walk.
    “I’ll explain everything,” says Anastasia with another wide smile, and this time there is no doubt in Lara’s mind that the smile is fake. Anastasia isn’t just nervous; she is afraid. “Right now, act like you’re happy to see me.”
    Lara had almost forgotten the feeling—the feeling of being constantly watched, followed, the sense of permanent fear of more beatings and rapes. She feels her head spin and a cold sweat dampen the hair on the back of her neck. She does not want this. She will not have this again, no matter what. A wave of blinding anger begins to well in her chest.
    “Happy to see you?” she says with such sarcasm that Anastasia looks away. “What are you doing here? I do not want to be dragged into any of it again. What do you want?”
    “Let’s get in a taxi,” says Anastasia nervously. “We’re being watched. I’ll explain everything when it is safe.”
    Before Lara can say anything, Anastasia stops a taxi and opens the door. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are pleading with Lara to get in. “Please,
aziz
jan,” she repeats. “I’ll explain everything.”
    Lara gets in and scoots over; Anastasia follows. “Just drive,” she tells the driver. “Towards the Monument.” The ‘Monument’ in popular parlance refers to the statue of ‘Mother Armenia,’ on a hill overlooking Yerevan, which, in 1962, replaced a statue of Joseph Stalin, built as a memorial ofvictory in World War II. Anastasia takes her cell phone from her pocket, turns it off and sits on it. Then she leans close to Lara and whispers.
    “I’m sorry you’re upset, but at least hear me out. Someone I used to know a long time ago in Moscow, who worked for the Ayvazians, says the Ayvazian family is back in full control. He says all old