I Know Secret Things (On Delusion)

The name Georgi Kevorkov is not as immediately recognizable as that father and brother.

His father, Stepan Kevorkov, was involved in the production of a number of films and given the title of "People's Aretist" by the Soviet Union.

His older bnrother, Ruben Gevorkyants, is widely known in Armenia and abroad to numerous awards and festival recognition of his films. Georkyants wrote screenplays for Fellini, was president of the Filmmaker's Union, and head of the film department at Yerevan State University.

Georgi Kevorkov's achievements in the field of film are often considered limited. That is not to say he did not accomplish anything; but rather he failed to achieve the success established by his father and brother as a standard for their family.

This was a point of contention between brothers, and possibly the source of other troubles that had plagued the man over the years.

During my time in Armenia I got to know Georgi Gevorkov fairly well. I entered film school my second year, and was assigned to his group for cinematography and film making. He was a nice man for the most part. He worked hard and wanted to impart knowledge.

He would often sit with students and discuss their projects at length. But overtime, and based on the majority of products produced, it was clear that there was a lack of respect for this man.

How he survived those four years with that group is beyond me. But by the end his continued career at the Yerevan State Institute of Theater and Film was in question, and the man who had already had troubles with alcohol had gone full force alcoholic.

The summer after graduation the kids from that group had gathered money to fund a small trip to Lake Sevan.

They invited Georgi Kevorkov as a courtesy and he agreed to join immediately.

As we waited for the bus at Massiv 3, a housing project in northeast Yerevan, he entered the market at 7:30 AM and exited with a liter bottle of beer. Lacking a bottle opener he began to ask every passerby if they happened to have one before giving up, claiming he knew someone nearby, and disappearing for forty minutes.

When he returned, his eyes were red and there was a smile on his face.

Once lakeside he began to drink non stop. He sat on a bench under a tree and for six hour kept himself soaked in beer.

Near the end of the day he invited me to sit across from him.

He told me he could see that I was sad. That I had yet to find what it was my heart desired.

"I'm a magician," he said calmly, "."

I laughed, thinking he was joking; but he stopped me, gave me a serious stare and told me to listen.

He claimed to have a deep knowledge of the mystical, and that hew wanted to help me. He gave me instructions to boil water in the morning and leave it to cool, drinking the tepid water in small sips when the sun sets over the course of a few days. By the end of the week my hearts desire would be revealed and I would have what I want.

I considered the man before me and decided not to try.