Lesser Symptoms of a Greater Corruption (On Subjegation)
The city of Aleverdi is in the northern part of Armenia, situated between two cliffs. The area is rocky and colored a dull green due to the rich copper deposits throughout the mountains. When Armenia was part of the Russian Empire a large number of Greeks were brought in to work the copper upon its removal, doing so for nearly a century; leaving Armenia permanently after the Soviet Union had collapsed, leaving behind empty houses in the mountain overlooking the city.
In modern times, the city is something of an oddity, a mix of beautiful and awful, with a factory smelting copper situated in the center of the town, its large smoke stacks giving off plumes of toxic smoke that hangs over the city and can be seen, thick and unmoving, from above.
I had been to Alaverdi a number of times for various reasons. The most memorable was the trip through the city and into the mountain village behind it to pick up Lavrent, a former soldier and my friend's father in law. Some years back he and his wife had taken up residence in one of those abandoned homes, living in semi-solitude, tending a grove of fruit trees hidden on the backside of the mountain, away from Alaverdi's poisonous air.
Lavrent was originally from a village further north, and we had picked him up so as to be introduced to his brother, who in turn had taken up the "hobby" of vodka manufacturing by distilling fruits, a process common throughout Armenia, particularly with mulberries, though any fruit could be used.
This batch was made from pears and kept in yet another village further along the Debed river. My companions abandoned me and Lavrent at his childhood home as they went to buy the vodka. Unfamiliar, yet friendly, faces surrounded me, asking me questions, offering me food, showing me the small but cozy village.
Lavrent, who had been mostly quiet, asked me to follow him. We walked a short while, arriving to the river's edge, across from which were tiered fields, barren and dead.
"They won't give us the water," he said. "They won't help us, they won't allow us to grow."
The administrative body responsible for water usage refused to offer water without payment, despite the pleas of locals to do so on debt that, one they would repay once the harvest was sold. This longstanding dispute had yet to be resolved and Lavrent was angry.
He had been angry a long time.
To him these were just lesser symptoms
of a greater corruption. He was quickly reaching his limit and he wanted his voice to be heard and mine was the nearest ear. He spoke to me at length about his dissatisfaction. About problems that he perceived, and how little anyone truly cared..
"I didn't go to war... Risk my life... Just so these assholes could come into power..." Lavrent said slowly. "My daughters are married and gone, my wife is understanding. These politicians won't ever suspect. One day I'll grab my gun, go to Yerevan and kill as many of them as I can... and I'll do it with my conscience clear."
Eventually the others returned, a large jar of vodka stored in the backseat. We returned Lavrent to his home, watching him walk into the distance, a slight nod goodbye before disappearing.
I sat in the car and pondered his words, wondering if he would ever actually do it.
In modern times, the city is something of an oddity, a mix of beautiful and awful, with a factory smelting copper situated in the center of the town, its large smoke stacks giving off plumes of toxic smoke that hangs over the city and can be seen, thick and unmoving, from above.
I had been to Alaverdi a number of times for various reasons. The most memorable was the trip through the city and into the mountain village behind it to pick up Lavrent, a former soldier and my friend's father in law. Some years back he and his wife had taken up residence in one of those abandoned homes, living in semi-solitude, tending a grove of fruit trees hidden on the backside of the mountain, away from Alaverdi's poisonous air.
Lavrent was originally from a village further north, and we had picked him up so as to be introduced to his brother, who in turn had taken up the "hobby" of vodka manufacturing by distilling fruits, a process common throughout Armenia, particularly with mulberries, though any fruit could be used.
This batch was made from pears and kept in yet another village further along the Debed river. My companions abandoned me and Lavrent at his childhood home as they went to buy the vodka. Unfamiliar, yet friendly, faces surrounded me, asking me questions, offering me food, showing me the small but cozy village.
Lavrent, who had been mostly quiet, asked me to follow him. We walked a short while, arriving to the river's edge, across from which were tiered fields, barren and dead.
"They won't give us the water," he said. "They won't help us, they won't allow us to grow."The administrative body responsible for water usage refused to offer water without payment, despite the pleas of locals to do so on debt that, one they would repay once the harvest was sold. This longstanding dispute had yet to be resolved and Lavrent was angry.
He had been angry a long time.
To him these were just lesser symptoms
of a greater corruption. He was quickly reaching his limit and he wanted his voice to be heard and mine was the nearest ear. He spoke to me at length about his dissatisfaction. About problems that he perceived, and how little anyone truly cared..
"I didn't go to war... Risk my life... Just so these assholes could come into power..." Lavrent said slowly. "My daughters are married and gone, my wife is understanding. These politicians won't ever suspect. One day I'll grab my gun, go to Yerevan and kill as many of them as I can... and I'll do it with my conscience clear."
Eventually the others returned, a large jar of vodka stored in the backseat. We returned Lavrent to his home, watching him walk into the distance, a slight nod goodbye before disappearing.
I sat in the car and pondered his words, wondering if he would ever actually do it.
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