[RNajarian]

Part 3

5 October 1991 Saturday
Sunrise was 7:00 am. Most of our group was already awake eager to begin our day. Dad was looking at his legal pad. He had removed a few items from some of the boxes and was updating his manifest.

The goal today was to see at least two more field hospitals and at least one orphanage and if possible one elementary school. Breakfast was coffee, tomatoes, radishes, some type of green leaves and leftover ghorovadz from the night before. As we were finishing our breakfast Professor Melikian broke out into a traditional Armenian song. His loud voice carried from outside where he was standing to inside where my dad was reviewing his legal pad. In no time, my dad and Zori Balayan had joined Professor Melikian outside singing the traditional songs.
Five minutes later our group enter their cars with these three men still singing.

We were able to visit two field hospitals and an orphanage. Since it was Saturday, the elementary schools were closed. Nevertheless, Zori was able to arrange a visit to a small village where we delivered some of the relief supplies to the residents.

The entire day was exhausting. Any item from the boxes that had been distributed was crossed off Dad’s legal pad. He was pleased our group was able to deliver much needed medical supplies to the front line where they were needed the most.

As we pulled up to the small house near the monastery, I noticed our group of 15 had now grown to 25. I wasn’t exactly sure where the extra ten people came from but aside from the cigarette fog, they had created they were welcome.

Dinner was ghorovadz again with coffee, tomatoes, radishes, and greens. We mostly ate in silence. The only noise was from a Soviet era 15 inch color television set to a local news station. The broadcast was in Russian so the only the locals, Zori and Professor Melikian could understand the broadcast.

Sometime during the broadcast, we all heard the word “Amerika.” The group quieted down and began to pay attention to the television. Our group listened intently and suddenly became stone faced when the newscaster said the word “Najarian” and “ruble.” The group looked at each other then turned to look at my parents.

“Zori?? What?? What did he say?” dad asked.

Zori looked at Professor Melikian, the language expert who translated, “The Azeri’s have reported that a doctor Najarian from America and his wife have come to Karabagh to provide arms and weapons to the Armenians fighting the Azeris. There is a 100,000-ruble price for the assassination of the doctor and a 75,000-ruble price for the murder of his wife.”

The group was stone faced. I’m not sure whether it was worry or fear on my father’s face, but it was a look I had never seen. The room was silent except for the television.
My mother broke the silence. She stood up and declared, “These Turks are STUPID!! Everyone knows that I do more work on these trips than Vartkes. I should have the 100,000-ruble price on my head and Vartkes should have the 75,000-ruble price!”

The room broke out in raucous laughter. Professor Melikian, raised a vodka glass and shouted, “Mary is right, she’s worth at LEAST 1 million rubles!”

Dad forced a smile but that worried look never left his face.

Despite the addition of 10 additional armed men guarding our house we didn’t sleep as well that second night.

6 October 1991 Sunday
In the morning dad was consulting his legal pad. He was inspecting the remaining boxes and verifying the accuracy of the manifest. Zori thought since it was Sunday perhaps, we could go to a few churches to distribute a few of the non-medical supplies to the children. He left before dawn to coordinate the meetings. Our group of 25 had now grown to somewhere around 35, with several more armed men walking about.

Zori arrived a little after 10:00 am and had the same worried look as he did when he heard last night’s news report.

“Vartkes, he wants to meet you.”

“He? He who?” dad asked.

“The Colonel.” Zori replied.

“What Colonel? Who?” Dad was confused.

“The Russians have deployed a company of soldiers in Karabagh to make sure the war doesn’t get out of control. The Colonel heard you and Mary have brought weapons and he wants to meet you.”

Dad got that worried look again, he looked at mom, then me and asked Zori “What do we do?”
“We meet him,” Zori said.

So, we did.

End of Part 3