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Where Have The Angels Gone
by 
William A. Redding

Prologue   

	Across the valley, a tiny dust cloud titillated his curiosity.
	From the side of the high hill, Sarkis gazed down upon the quiet
village nestled in the green and golden valley. He let his dogs keep
the sheep from wandering, so he could rest against the base of the only
tree on the hi
ll.
	Sarkis absorbed the colors generated by the valley and the sun.
The silver dome of the Armenian church stood in  the center of the
village, like a hub surrounded by a great circle of brown houses and
shops. The village b
ordered by a patchwork of green and golden gardens and fields beyond
speckled with yellow flowers. On the hillside, the whiteness of the few
hundred sheep spotted the dark green pastures. The green hills matured
into gray
 and bronze mountains surrounding the valley. All subservient to the
tallest one -- Taltan Dagh, whose white majestic peak fades into pale
blue vapor -- the only cloud in the clear, bright blue sky. Except for
the little 
dust cloud far across the valley.
	�Such a wonderful day. Right boy.� Sarkis threw a stick to his
dog.
	He watched his brothers and sisters romp and play as they climbed
the hillside with his lunch as they did every day.
	Such a happy family, he thought. Papa toiled in his garden daily.
Mama kept the house ever fragrant with her baking. His brothers, and
sisters lived at home, except one, Kirk the oldest.
	The plump sheep on the hillside lazily parted as his brothers and
sisters continued up the hillside. Jarmilla at eighteen was a year
older than he, and pregnant with her first child. His twin sister
Sevanna led the group
 Her pure white teeth glistened within her ever present smile. 
	The noon sun sparkled off the shiny long black hair of the girls.
The smaller children, Tonya age eleven, Christina age nine, Mark age
seven, and Gregory age four followed Sevanna up the high hill.
	Mark, who carried the basket lunch of  freshly, baked bread,
cheese and a piece of pastry, lagged behind with Mark and Jarmilla who
was slower with her extra weight. 
	Jarmilla looked more beautiful with child. She had been the most
beautiful and popular in her class.
	�Those sisters of mine are all so pretty.� Sarkis scratched the
neck of the dog sitting next to him. �I don�t know why Peter had to
join the army.� The dog wagged his tail as the children came closer.
	
	�Why would a man go to fight somebody else�s war?� Sarkis spoke
softly to the dog. �Who is the Kaiser anyway? And why does stupid
Turkey help Germany?�
	The children�s voices grew louder. The dog stood. Sarkis watched
the girls with their long dresses and pure white aprons. He stared at
his twin Sevanna. �There could be no more a beautiful girl in the
world.� He always h
ad to guard against displaying  any favoritism toward his twin.
	Gregory, Christina and Tonya  ran ahead toward him.
	�Sarkis! Sarkis! Mama got another letter from Kirk.� Mark
tripped, dropping the basket.
	�Mark, be careful, you could get hurt.� Jarmilla helped him to
his feet.
	Mark ran into Sarkis� arms, both tumbling onto the grass, then
Tonya, Christina and Gregory jumped onto the pile. 
	�You girls are dirtying your clothes,� Jarmilla said.
	They all straightened up as Jarmilla and Sevanna sat next to
Sarkis.
	�Why doesn�t papa let us read Kirk�s letter?� Tonya asked. �I can
tell he skips parts when he reads to us.�
	�Maybe papa�s protecting you from things,� Sarkis said. �Bad
things.�
	�What bad things?� Christina asked.
	�The war,� Jarmilla struggled for a more comfortable position.
	�Is Kirk in the war?� Christina asked.
	�Oh, no, no,� Sarkis said. �He�s an interpreter for the American
Ambassador. No harm will come to him. And he�ll be coming soon to visit
us.� 
	�That�ll be wonderful,� Sevanna smiled at her twin.
	�What about Peter?� Tonya asked.
	�He didn�t send a letter�  Christina said.
	�He sent two,� Jarmilla said.
	Sarkis noticed the dust cloud across the valley getting larger. A
horse drawn carriage, he thought. He loved horses.  
	�Will the angels be watching over Kirk and Peter?� Christina
asked.
	�Yes they will,� Mark slumped onto Sarkis� lap.
	Sarkis placed his arms around Mark. �The angels will always watch
over them and all of you also. Papa, Kirk and I will help the angels
watch over all of you.� Sarkis turned to Jarmilla, who had just sighed.
 �Are you all
 right?� 	 		�Oh Sarkis, feel, the baby just kicked me.�
	Everybody scooted around Jarmilla placing their hands on her
large abdomen.
	�You know what I�ve decided.� Jarmilla turned her large, dark,
flashing eyes toward Sarkis. �If it�s a boy, I�m naming it Sarkis after
you.� Her smile widened.
	The group sighed.
	�Thank you, Jarmilla.� Sarkis leaned forward and placed his hand
on hers. �I�ll be the best uncle a child could have. Boy or girl.�
	�If it�s a girl will you name it after me.� Tonya scooted on her
knees closer to Jarmilla.
	�Tonya.� Sevanna interrupted �Your dress.�	
	�No, name her after me,� Christina said.
	�I haven�t decided yet.� Jarmilla turned to Mark before she
stood. �Give Sarkis his lunch. Mama�s expecting us back now.�
  	They all gave Sarkis a kiss and hug. Then down the hillside they
ran except Jarmilla and Sevanna. They walked holding hands. Savanna
turned back toward her twin, smiled and waved.	
	The dog ran back to Sarkis� side.
	�What a fool that Peter is going into the army.� Sarkis reached
down and scratched the dog's neck. �Why would a man leave his wife and
those he loved to be with people he doesn�t love. It doesn�t make sense
to me.�	Halfw
ay down the hill Sevanna turned again and waved. Sarkis stood and waved
back.
	�I can�t understand it. What is greater than being with those you
love?�
	He watched as his family disappeared into the village.
	Then the dust cloud appeared as it approached the other side of
the village. �Must be a carriage.�
	A few minutes later he noticed that it appeared to be a formation
of horses -- men on horseback entering the valley.
	�C�mon boy the sheep will keep awhile, lets go see the horses.�

Chapter 1	

Telegram No. 634...Aug. 15, 1914
To the governors of all the provinces
in Turkey....Make haste in the confis-
action of all weapons in the possess-
ion of non-Moslems...it is suspected
that all non-Moslems will cooperate
with the enemies of Turkey and 
Germany...from Talaat Pasha...Minster
of the interior.
	
	On the dusty, dirt packed, main intersection of the village of
Tomarza, Turkey, several horses pranced in a wide circle. The forty
laughing horsemen wore the red fez of the Turkish gendarmes.
	In front of the domed church located on a corner, men and women
in drab clothing huddled together. They watched a mounted Turkish
officer, wearing a white uniform, in the center of the circle crack a
long whip.
	As the tip of the whip cracked in the air, it created a circle of
dust. Dust that was as common as the sun in this village on the brim of
the great Anatolian plateau in central Turkey
	The officer moved his horse through the circle of moving horses
and stopped in front of the church where most of the townsfolk had
gathered. "I'll ask you one more time!" the officer shouted. "Where are
the guns hidden?"

	The frightened crowd of Armenians stared up at the tall, lean,
muscular officer. Under his curly black hair, dark eyes set atop high
cheek bones.  The dark skin of his face sported a neatly trimmed
goatee.
	As gendarmes rode around the village ordering residents to gather
in front of the church, the crowd grew larger. The sun-baked, stone
church was the largest building in the village of one and two story
buildings with fla
t roofs.
	When the Turkish officer raised his left arm, the gendarmes
stopped. The Turkish officer snapped his fingers and pointed to a man
with a peppered gray mustache standing on the top step to the entrance
of the domed church
 
	Two gendarmes ran up the steps, seized the man, and dragged him
down the church steps. His shoes plowed a double line in the dirt
street as they pulled him to a post holding up the porch roof of a
market across from the 
church. They tied the man with his arms behind him and around the post.
	"What is your name, old man?" the Turkish officer demanded.
	"Monkarian. Hagop Monkarian," the old man replied.
	Suddenly,  a young man burst through the crowd and struggled with
the gendarmes. "That�s my father!� Two more gendarmes jumped from their
horses and helped wrestle the young man to the ground. 
	"... and that is my son, Sarkis," Hagop Monkarian said.
	"Dashnaks? Any Dashnaks? Where are the Dashnaks hiding in this
village?� the officer shouted at Hagop Monkarian.
	"No! None! There�re no politicians here" Hagop Monkarian
responded. "We do not bother ourselves with politics. We�re simple
farmers and tradesmen."
	The Turkish officer rode his horse from the inside of the circle
to the outside and stopped in front of  Hagop Monkarian. Reaching down
from the back of his horse, the officer slapped Hagop across his face
with the flat 
side of a scimitar. "I am Zeki Bey. You address me as Zeki Bey, the
distinguished Bey."
	"Of course." As he pushed back against the post, sweat poured
down Hagop's face. "Of course. Zeki Bey, distinguished Bey."
 	"Tell me old man," the officer said. "Where have you people hid
your guns? Turkey is at war with the British and French and we need all
the guns."
	"We have no guns left," Hagop answered. "We gave them all to your
men when they were here last month and the month before. Zeki Bey,
distinguished Bey."
	The officer snapped his fingers and pointed at Sarkis, then at
the pole holding up the other end of the porch roof. The gendarmes
dragged the struggling Sarkis to the porch and tied him to the post.
	The officer dismounted and strutted over to Sarkis, drew his
scimitar again and held it tightly to the young man's throat where it
drew droplets of blood. The obstinate boy stared through narrow eyes
into the deep set, b
rown eyes of Zeki.
	Zeki backed away from Sarkis, turned and walked over to Hagop.
"If you have no guns, then kiss my feet."
	Three women ran from the crowd toward the man tied to the post:
an older woman, two younger women, one of whom was pregnant. The
gendarmes seized the women and awaited further orders.
	�Your family?� Zeki smiled.
	Hagop Monkarian looked at his wife and daughters, then over at
Sarkis. Hagop bent his knees, his arms sliding down the pole behind
him. He tipped his head forward and kissed the dusty boots of Zeki Bey.
	"Ahhh. You Christians all lie. I know you have guns hidden." Zeki
stepped back from the kneeling Hagop. 
	"No, it is the truth." Hagop struggled back to his feet. "Bey.
Zeki Bey, distinguished Bey."
	Zeki walked over to Sarkis and looked at the boy again. They were
the same size about six feet. Zeki stared straight into the eyes of the
boy. "Your name!" Zeki demanded.
	There was no movement in Sarkis' eyes. Zeki slapped Sarkis across
the face with the scimitar. The flat side of the scimitar drew no
blood, but Sarkis� muscular, sinewy body tightened beneath the cotton
shirt and baggy pa
nts.
	"His name is Sarkis Monkarian." Hagop shouted from the other
post.
	"You�ll kiss my feet like your father did," Zeki shouted into the
face of Sarkis. 
 	As he grit his teeth, the muscles in front of Sarkis� ear lobes
tightened
	"My feet!" Zeki hollered. "You Christian pig."
	Sarkis stood straight.
	"You will beg to kiss my feet." The officer smiled.
	As he leaped onto his horse, Zeki waved the scimitar over his
head in a circular motion. The horsemen still on their horses began
trotting them in a large circle around the three women. Zeki rode to
the inside the circle
, then jumped from his horse and ripped the clothes from the youngest
daughter, Sevanna, whom he then shoved to the hardened street. 
	As Zeki began unbuttoning his pants, Mother Monkarian broke away
from one of the gendarmes and ran to her Sevanna, dropped to her knees
and hugged the frightened girl.
					<>

	From outside the circle of horses, it was difficult to see what
was happening. The trotting horses created a thick dust curtain that
blurred the activity inside the circle. Sarkis, hearing his mother
scream, slid to his 
knees and leaned forward trying to see under the horses' bellies.
	He saw Zeki walk to the gendarme holding his holster and belt,
and removed an automatic pistol from the holster. He watched Zeki walk
over to Mother Monkarian, raise the pistol and shoot her through the
head. Sarkis saw 
his mother bolt backwards onto the ground.
	"Nooooo!" Sarkis screamed and with all his strength pulled on the
ropes. He dropped to his knees, and through a clear spot in the dust
curtain he saw the shadowed image of Zeki raping his twin sister
Sevanna. "I will kis
s you feet!" He screamed. "I will kiss your feet. Please! Please!"
  	Zeki held the handle of the scimitar with one hand and the other
hand held the blade tip with the center of the blade across Sevanna�s.
	Sarkis screams were drowned by the cheers of the gendarmes and
cries of the people. Zeki�s hands stiffened downward, partially
severing the head of Sarkis Monkarian's twin sister Sevanna.
	Sarkis screamed in a maddened rage, sweat poured from his
straining body, he pulled against the rope, the hemp rubbed his skin
raw.
	Through another clear spot in the dust cloud, he saw Zeki jump to
his feet, pull his pants up with his left hand, and hold the blood
dripping scimitar with his right hand. 	Sarkis screamed, �Please!
Don�t!� 
	He watched Zeki burst through the circle of horses and dash to
Hagop Monkarian and decapitate him. 
	As Hagop�s toppled head collected a coating of dust, Sarkis�s
screams muffled the crowds crying and praying..
	Sarkis screamed at Zeki. "No! No! I�ll kiss your feet! Please! No
more! God help us!"
	The crowd screamed. Turkish gendarmes shouted, and the horses
balked.
					<>

	While captured in a sadistic sexual frenzy, Zeki screamed a
scream of triumphant Mongol machismo, he ran to the pregnant girlj,
Jarmilla,  who was on the ground hugging the body of her mother. With
his left hand he turne
d Jarmilla over, and sliced open the stomach of the screaming pregnant
girl with his scimitar.  From the bloodied womb, he yanked out the
fetus, and with his scimitar cut the umbilical cord, then threw the
fetus toward th
e screaming Sarkis. 
				
					<>

	The fetus landed on the ground and rolled, blood coagulating with
dust as the gray ball cane to rest a few feet in front of Sarkis. 
	Sarkis, on his knees, strained and screamed a scream that far
surpassed the entire  orchestration.
	From under the planks of a storefront porch, a four-year old,
dark-skinned boy ran toward the circle of hoofs crying "Mama! Mama!"
	Zeki raced his horse to the boy reached down and gathered the boy
by an arm. Then he rode over to Sarkis. "Your little brother,
Monkarian?"
	"Yes! Yes!" Sarkis cried. "Don't hurt, my brother, Gregory. Don't
hurt anyone else, I'll take you to the guns. I'll kiss your feet?"
	After dismounting, Zeki handed the boy to a gendarme. "Get up you
miserable Christian. You�ll be my ultimate example, Monkarian. You�ll
take me to the guns. Then tomorrow before I hang you, you�ll kiss my
feet in front o
f the people of this village."

					<>

	With his hands tied in front, and his feet tied with a 
rope that went under the donkey, Sarkis lead Zeki Bey and 
the gendarmes along winding trails up into the mountains where he and
some other young men had hidden 
guns a month ago. They rode between large boulders with rocks and slate
underfoot past small canyons and along trails with sheer drops. There
were few trees but some underbrush.
	Zeki whipped the donkey�s rump to get it to hurry. At times the
whip would slide up over the rump and strike Gregory, who was riding
behind Sarkis.
	Sarkis� mother bolting back from the gunshot, his sister being
raped, his other sister's stomach being split open, the fetus flying
through the air and his father's head in the dust kept flashing through
his mind. The im
ages raced, then slowed down, he�d blink his eyes but they wouldn�t go
away. 
	He should have kissed Zeki's feet. Why didn't he kiss the pig's
feet? Why had he been so proud? He�d let his pride cost him his family.
The anguish felt like claws ripping at his heart. There was no end to
the pain.
	The donkey jumped as the whip cracked again, hitting and wrapping
around Sarkis and Gregory. Sarkis couldn�t hear Gregory's cry, but he
felt it Gregory�s muffled.
	"Move! You pig on an ass!"
	Sarkis shook his head and tried to erase the pictures  of his
mother, father and sisters dying. The screaming of his sisters
continually pierced his mind.
	Sarkis felt his little brother hold on tightly, except when he
fell asleep, then Sarkis would jostle the boy to wake him. It was
during those fleeting moments while caring for Gregory, that those
horrible pictures escape
d his mind.
	During the twisting ride around low mountains bordering the
Taurus mountain range they passed four caves. The caves looked natural,
but they were all man made, some a thousand years old, some only a few
hundred years old
 Armenians hiding from persecution throughout the centuries had dug
the caves. Sarkis' brother KIrk and he had explored many of them. Many
had been homes with kitchens, pantries and bedrooms. In one cave they
never found
 the end, because they were too afraid to go further.
	Sarkis imagined he saw the shadow of a man in the last cave.
Maybe it was a Kurdish bandit in hiding. Maybe it was the legendary
Chelloe -- the Armenian Robin Hood. If it was Chelloe and his outlaw
band, they�d come and 
free Gregory and him from these Turks. If Chelloe freed his hands,
Sarkis would kill the Turk leader, the one known as Zeki Bey.
	Crack! Zeki's whip tore across Sarkis' chest, abruptly waking him
from his trance. Adrenaline crashed through his body for the hundredth
time this day, followed by the surge of hared for the man who struck
him. 
	"Which direction now, you infidel bastard?"
	They'd descended to a small rocky canyon. "That big rock there."
Sarkis pointed to a large rock about three feet across resting in front
of a cave. "Just walk behind the rock."
	Zeki barked commands, and six of the two dozen gendarmes jumped
from their houses. Hunching over, they  entered the cave behind the
rock. In less then a minute they exited, one with three muzzle loading
rifles. a J. Rigb
y .45 caliber, originally from Ireland,  a Billinghurst .45 caliber,
and an N. Lewis .45 caliber, the latter two from America. Two other
gendarmes exited the cave with a .45 caliber bullet mold and two empty
powder flasks
 There were three percussion pistols: a Belgium Pirloy ET Fresart, a
Lang, and a Beaumont Adams.
	�No lead nor powder,� one of the gendarmes said.
	Upon seeing the old weapons, the gendarmes laughed. Sarkis stared
at them with hate that burned his soul.

					<>

	Zeki lead them on a different route back to Tomarza by way of
Taltan a small Kurdish village located in a valley between a triangle
of three foothills at the base of mountain Taltan Dagh. The village
comprised about seve
nty-five, one-story, sun-baked brick house, and about fifty tents. Most
of these Kurds spent the winter in a warm valley near the Lebanon
mountains.
	Zeki, and his brother Zade, rode at the front of his double
column of gendarmes.
	�These Kurds don�t like us.�  The powerfully built Zade rode
somewhat ahead of his brother as a gesture of protection.
	�I see the hate in their eyes my brother.� Zeki scanned the
compound they were entering. �We better be cautious.� 
	An older man walked from a hut and blocked their path. Agha
Yossouf, the leader of this Kurdish tribe, stood motionless and unmoved
by the presence of Zeki Bey. He stared at Zeki from a rough furrowed
face with a saber s
car across his chin. Blond ringlets hung from under his woolen turban. 
�I am Agha Yossouf,� he said in Turkish.
	�We aren�t here to collect taxes.� Zeki knew that would ease
their minds. �We need food for our mid-day meal.�
	�Zeki,� Zade whispered as they were dismounting. �I see many
guns.�
	�Never fear, brother, we�re all Moslems.� Zeki pointed to a tree
at the edge of the compound. �Hang the Christian pig by his feet from
that tree, and let his head rest against the ground, so the ants can
have a meal also
�
	�The little one?� Zade asked.
	�Have a guard hold him with a rope.�
	An hour later, as Zeki and the gendarmes were preparing to leave,
Agha Yossouf pointed to Gregory and said to Zeki, �The little one.�
	 "Your hospitality is good, Agha Yossouf. May I pay you with this
young boy," Zeki said. 
	A guard handed the tearful Gregory to Agha Yossouf,  who handed
the child to a young woman behind him.
	The Agha then pointed to Sarkis. 
	"We are taking him back to his village, where he�ll hang in the
morning. We�ll teach the Christians never again to lie to their Moslem
superiors."
	Sarkis walked back to Tomarza, tied behind the donkey that now
carried the ancient weapons.

					<>

	While bound to the pole where his father died, Sarkis leaned
forward and watched his tears drop into his father�s dried blood. He
raised his eyes and stared at the center of  the horse trodden circle
where his mother and
 sisters died. He turned his head to stare at the spot where the fetus
of his first niece or nephew rolled in the dust.
	�Momma, Papa, Momma, Papa what have I done to you?� The tears
burned his cheeks. 
	The scream of a girl in the distant darkness woke him to the
world.  
	After they had arrived back in Tomarza with the weapons, Sarkis
heard Zeki demand dinner at the home of Dr. Gasparian, owner of the
largest house in the village. 
	Sarkis knew the doctor would serve the best food  and plenty of
wine hoping the Turks would sleep then be on their way in the morning.
	Late into the night, he heard the laughing and screaming. Sarkis
saw the gendarmes chasing young girls. His struggles against the bonds
made his wrists and arms sore and chaffed. Incessant visions of horror
penetrated hi
s head. 
	Suddenly, he felt the cold blade of a knife against his forearm
just before the blade cut the rope that bound his wrists. The blade
then cut the bonds securing his ankles together. "Quickly, come with
me,� said Tari Kash
ian, a neighbor girl, as she helped him to his feet. He noticed her 
mussed hair, bruised face and torn clothes. 
	�They hurt you too?� Sarkis said.
	�But I got away.�
	As he stomped the cramps from his legs, Sarkis followed Tari
behind a couple of houses to a horse tethered to a well post. The half
moon spiked some light over the edge of a cloud. Tari pointed to the
horse and handed hi
m the knife. Then she ran off into the darkness.
	On his sore, bare feet, Sarkis limped in the shadows past a high,
stone fence when he heard a soft cry. He hesitated, and heard the cry
again on the other side of the stone fence. After climbing a pile of
wood, he looked
 over the fence into a small courtyard behind Barsamian's Cobbler Shop.
	A snoring, bearded gendarme, with no pants on, was lying on the
hard packed earth. His hand gripped the ankle of the teenage daughter
of Mr. Barsamian.
	After Sarkis climbed over the fence, the girl hid her sobbing
face in her hands as if trying to conceal her nudity. Sarkis recognized
the burly gendarme as the one who held his mother while Zeki killed
her. 
	In a rage, he leaped upon the sleeping gendarme, swung the knife,
and sliced the gendarme�s throat. The gendarme violently shook for a
few seconds, and the young girl screamed from the spasmodic grip on her
ankle. 
	With both hands, Sarkis plunged the knife into the gendarme�s
heart and held it there until he became motionless. Sarkis freed the
sobbing girl's ankle and pointed for her to run.
	As Sarkis rose to leave, he looked at both his hands and saw the
blood, then the bloody images of his father�s head and the rolling
fetus enraged him. 
	In a frenzy, Sarkis turned back to the dead gendarme and began
cutting and hacking at the gendarme�s neck. Skin, blood and sinew flew
into the dust. �I hate you! I hate you!� Sarkis kept hacking. �Suffer!
Suffer! Suffer!
 I hate you! I hate you!�  He couldn't sever the neck bone, so he
dropped the knife, grabbed the gendarme�s hair, and tried yanking the
head from its shoulders. He picked up the knife again, but still he
couldn�t sever th
e head from the body and in his rage, chopped, sliced, stabbed and
pulled at the bloody head. Blood splattered over Sarkis' face, chest
and torn clothing. He cried. He screamed. He wanted to throw the head
into the street
 where is father, mother and sisters had died, but he couldn't force
the head loose.
	In desperation, he kicked the head, but he only pained his foot
as the head whipped from side to side. Then he heard another gendarme
calling a name from the front of the house. 
	�Zade! Zade! It�s Namik. Where are you?�
	Sarkis pulled a boot off the dead man, after learning that it
fit, he took the other one. He seized the pistol, belt and bandoleer
that hung from the stub of a tree limb. He started to leave, stopped,
then limped back to
 the dead man and with his booted foot kicked with all his might --
still the head didn�t come loose. He heard the front gate rattle.
	�Zade, Zade, where are you?�
	Sarkis quickly crawled over the stone fence, ran to the well and
untied the horse. Sarkis lead the gray Shagya Arabian through
backyards, between houses, until he reached the nearby outskirts of
Tomarza.
	He slapped the gunbelt around his hips, and looked at the pistol,
a Browning FN model 1903, 9mm. He then slipped the two bandoleers of
7.92mm Mauzer rifle bullets over his shoulders. A German Mauzer rifle
rested in the s
addle scabbard.
	He mounted the Shagya and rode up a small hill and looked back
down at the village. Tears flowed down his face. He pulled the Mauzer
from its scabbard, checked the breech, then fired three shots into the
quiet moonlit ni
ght.



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