This morning I was in Armenian class, reading a part of Hrant Matevosyan’s Kanach Dashte (The Green Field), one of his shorter short stories about a mare and her foal in, well, a green field. As often happens in Armenian stories, bad things have started to happen and there will be an unhappy ending. My conversational Armenian is still rather weak after neglecting it all summer (which is true of too many of the languages I have studied and supposedly “know” how to speak), though my reading seems to have come back quite quickly.
We finished Raffi’s Anbakht Hripsime (Unfortunate Hripsime) last week, which had a very unhappy ending, as the title would suggest, and which reminds us to regard all melikner and malikah with suspicion and distrust (this is especially true when the name is Maliki!). Mi yusak ishkhannerin, mardi vortiin, vori mot prkut’yun ch’ka! (Ps. 146:3)