SATIRE BY ARSHAG HINTIRIAN
Arshag Hintiryan is a contemporary Armenian satirist, who lives in Los Angeles, California and continues to write in Armenian. His writings have appeared in many Armenian papers in the Diaspora. He has a sharp Baronian-style sense of humor which he uses well to express his sarcasm about the Armenian establishment, the mentality/values of the Armenians in the colonies, and the clash of the Armenian and American cultures. His funny and delightful writings have the freshness of his daily experiences with the Armenians in the American Diaspora. He is the author of several satire books, THORNFLOWER (1981), WORKSTYLE, WHAT DID YOU THINK OF OUR AMERICA?, UPROAR IN THE PARADISE OF FOOLS (1988), TOVMAS EFFENDI'S LAST ADVENTURE (1989), and THE BOOK OF JOY (1996). Arshak Hintiryan is also a musician awarded by the Southern California Film Society and has produced a collection of 4 cassettes called "Armenian Provincial Dances" (Haygagan Kavaragan Barer).
By Arshag Hintiryan
* Translated from Armenian by Shant Norashkharian from UPROAR IN THE PARADISE OF FOOLS.*
Jimmy who was unemployed sat down to fill up a job application. But first let me introduce you to him.
I came to know Jimmy in 1979, in Hollywood, when there were American hostages held in Iran. Thinking that I am Iranian, he had come to fight with me. I explained to him, that every dark man is not Iranian, as every man with a moustache is not his father, and did not blame him, because, like his compatriots, having been born and lived in a large and mighty country, secure and sheltered from the evils of the world by two immense oceans, for years their only worry had been where the hamburger was 2 cents cheaper..., and when in some distant country American interests were suddenly endangered, eighty percent of the people became very upset, but without clearly knowing really with whom they were furious. Who is the Palestinian? Where is Jordan? Is the Iranian not Arab? Then who is the Iraqi? The Pakistani is not an Indian...? Then what is this Armenian...? A knowledge, which is given to the people of the countries which are arranged next to each other on the earth, where people already guess from the color of the bread what is coming to happen in a month.
The only close family member he had, and was afraid that in these financially tight days he may not be able to feed, was his dog, for whose sake every morning at five he came out of his warm bed, fed it, cleaned it, then took it out to the street, so that the animal may take care of its natural need, and by carrying a pile of papers and going after it, he collected the dung.
By my judgment, Jimmy was a creature with a pitiful soul, and happy, just with that pitifulness. Yet come and see where people search for happiness...! It seems to me, that the Armenian has always followed up with the diplomatic events of the world, and was interested in them, because he has been patriotic, because he has hoped to see a helpful event, a point, with which perhaps it would have been possible to secure a small benefit for the Cause of our abandoned people; yet Jimmy was never interested in what happened in the world, nor in international diplomatic phenomena; the reason? Because there is no "American Cause"...but there are "American Interests", and into the bottom of whose pockets were those "Interests" to dive? Let them think about that...
How difficult it was to explain to Jimmy, that in the multinational mixing pot of America, the Armenian was from those rare nations, that by a big difference compared to others, had not come to America with the appetite of piling money, but simply with the hope of finding physical security and again, in contrast to others, with each assimilating Armenian the hope of the return of each foot of land was lost, while the homelands of other peoples melting in the American cup were still firm in their places, with their own governments, flags, armies...Jimmy was smiling under his nose, every time the problem of Armenian lands came up.
I was not so gullible as to hope that Jimmy, the defender of freedom on occupied Mexican land, would be enthusiastic about returning lands; however, I always avoided getting into the details; yes, even though the right of absolute freedom of speech in America is clear to all, but the clarity of the "Freedom" to know what opinions are held by someone who speaks freely is still blurry...for me...And Jimmy always reminded me, how Armenian "terrorists" arrested in various countries were hanged or sentenced to life in prison, but without knowing, that the "Armed Children" of the Armenian nation, in their mission to pour the rage of Vahakn over the head of the world, were not of the root of those who left their work unfinished and ran away from the fear of being thrown behind a rope or iron bars. And truly, how ought one to talk with the deaf humanity of this world, which cannot hear a mild voice behind the thunder of bombs? When you are forced to speak by shouting in the ear of a deaf person, should you be called impolite...? Whose is the guilt? The Spanish writer does not write about the Armenian Cause until he loses one of his feet from a bomb explosion....Who has not heard of General De Gaulle? International eminent face, and on that face such an eminent nose, that during his entire life, bringing it safely to the tomb without hitting the person speaking in front of him or hitting it right and left, required great concentration and skill...if he had been interested in our Cause with one thousandth of that nose, already our children would have been born on our land; but until the bombs and the machine guns were used in France, there was no mention of the Armenian Cause by the government of that country. How soon did this world get civilized?
continue doing all those anti-Christian acts, which constitute your country's television's news and headlines, and there, my people's multi-centuries old history will record another disappeared empire along the row of other "mighty" ones which it has seen and experienced.
* Translated from Armenian by Shant Norashkharian from THE BOOK OF JOY. *
My dear Madli Baji,
A thousand respects and kisses from California of fairy tales, where on summer nights, sitting in front of as they say the "Box of Stupidity" television, we are watching like Nero the fires of California, and on cozy winter nights, sitting in front of as they say the "Box of Stupidity" television, we are watching the sinking of California under the waters. In the meantime, we are shaking with the latest California earthquakes. We do not watch Armenian programs, not to renounce our Armenianness...but I will no longer write to you about that, because in the beginning "Armenian" art was in the hands of weak and incompetent people, and there was hope that by writing, showing, it will slowly get better, but now it is left to nobodies, and it is not worth losing the remainder of the time which we do not have for writing and thinking about unimportant things.
You had asked me why I was late in my letters; let me explain: do you remember that 15 years ago I was running to the airport every Saturday to welcome our relatives...? Now, those same people, already well fed up (or satisfied) with America, have undertaken to die, therefore, once or twice a week now I run to the "Forest Lawn" Cemetery to bury them safely...Therefore, give more consideration to your intention of coming here...
Last week I quit my job; the general manager of our company died; one of my colleagues asked me if I knew the reason of the "boss' " death; and I said "No". He said he was gay (ourakh=happy ), that is how he died; And I asked "Does someone die from happiness?" "Of course, he gets sick and dies", he said. It turns out that homosexuals are called "gay" in English...As soon as he said "Already the majority of the men in our office die from 'happiness' ", I grabbed my coat and threw myself out to the street. Now I understand why the people here, after having everything, are still sad...it's because the "happy" ones are dying...
You had written to me about the crisis in Armenia; first let me say, that I do not understand too much about politics; the "kebabji" in our church hall understands that specialization well...and always argues with everyone; that is why he has not learned how to cook kebab yet...he always burns it...brother, if some people in Armenia do not understand each other, why am I obliged to eat burned meat...? My only idea is that people will always make mistakes, because I say again, according to my opinion, there are three kinds of people who never make mistakes:
1. Those who do not do anything, 2. Those in a coma, 3. The dead...Therefore, only by forgiving each other and encouraging each other there is "Salvation For Armenians", and the happiness of eating kebab as it is supposed to be.
I am happy that by following my advice in my last letter, you have started training your voice, so that when you come to Los Angeles to get married, you could make a living by singing until you found a husband; at least we also could hear a song with a different style; our ears will calm down from this "Rubbish" (many call it Rabiz...). It's good that this nation gave birth to a Crying Minas...whoever gets up from his bed in the morning wants to be like that tasteless man, to make money quickly, so that now the market is full of little Crying Minasigs, who cry (sing...) with one tone and whine like breast-sucking babies asking for milk; it's good that today in the whole world "Mother's Day" is celebrated...they know how to make them shut up...I hope they will shut them up in such a way that their voices will not come out anymore, so that they would not corrupt the nation's music for earning money. You see, Madli Baji, I was going to talk about your marriage, and I had decided not to mention this nation any more, but it's not possible; we are born Armenian once, and we cannot be indifferent.
You had written that you had left the question of your marriage up to God. Give that job either to Him or to me; I don't know how a husband found by two people turns out, because it is written that "Adam gave names to all the animals and the birds of heaven and the beasts but a proper assistant for Adam was not found" (Gen. 2:20). Therefore God created Eve...As to why first an assistant was searched among the beasts and only then Eve was created, I don't know...It is probably because today the little Adams prefer to become divorced, rather than having assistants like Eve...Then, those who said and wrote those things, were much more intelligent people than you; they were neither married, nor did they have to put up with the worry of a wife or a husband...by giving sermons until the evening they were giving free ideas and advice to the people...In any case, I don't want you to be the "discovery" of someone after beast searching...or to get married to take away someone's boredom...Will you make a family, or open a circus or a zoo...?
Before I forget, remind me when you come here, we could also consider for you this singer Ghougas Chorouni (chori=mule ); the other day on the first page of the paper there was a writing about him; it said that Chorouni sleeps alone...I am not joking; this is the level of our "Papers" today, where Dhajouni, "Ltzag", "Motzag", "Gaytzag", "Tztzag", "Bitzag", and you don't know the "tzag" of what else (tzag=hole)...holding a pen, bring up and down whoever they want, in their little swamp worlds...And when you write, they shout "Don't speak!" They have lived in America for so long, yet they have not learned that here one does not say "You don't have a right to speak"; that is said in Russia or Turkey; in America they say you have "A right to be silent"...(witness the arresting officers...). But whom can you tell...? Finally why should I give you a headache?
With this I end my letter, waiting for your arrival; therefore we will meet at the Los Angeles airport, next Thursday, when I come to welcome you. We have not seen each other but I know you; I know you don't have my picture, therefore let me describe my face, so that you could pick me from the crowd. If you see an eagle nose, with multiple beaks, always far from the crowd, standing alone, that is me. If there are others standing alone, then go to the one who has the look of not being understood...that one is me...
A DREAM INTERPRETED WITHOUT A DREAM INTERPRETER
From his book, WHAT DID YOU THINK OF OUR AMERICA?
* Translated from Armenian by Shant Norashkharian *
In my dream it was Baronian again, with a bundle of books in his hand.
“These are my newly published books”, he said, “ ‘The Profits Of Impoliteness’...please help me sell them.”
“They will sell like water”, I said, “since they have been mourning your loss since you left...”
By talking like this, we arrived at the corner of Normandy Avenue, and we approached a man who was waiting for the bus.
“Sir, would you like to buy one of these books?” I appealed to the man.
“What books are they?”
“Satirical”. (In Armenian, the word for “satirical” starts with the word ‘song’).
“I don’t sing...” he said abruptly, and turned his face.
“These people have become even more stupid”, grumbled Baronian.
“Let’s try this one”, I said, appealing to a woman who was approaching us from the end of the block.
“Madam, wouldn’t you like to have one of Baronian’s satirical books?”
“Don’t you have a dream interpreting book?”
“What...?”
“I want a dream interpreting book, which would also have a section for teaching the reading of a coffee cup, for guessing one’s luck by palm reading, etc... Whatever price you want, I am ready to give you...”
“But this...”
“Brother, you are wasting my time...do you have a dream interpreting book or not?”
“Goodbye, madam.”
“What were you whining about?” A forty-ish man approached us.
“We wanted to sell the lady a book.”
“Can I see that book?”
“Here it is.”
The man took the book, sat on the bench of the bus stop, read and laughed, laughed and read, while we were waiting for him to make a decision, or to give the book back, or the money; but his laughter had no end; nor did his reading, until the bus he was waiting for arrived, then he stood up, and giving the book back to Baronian,
“So you are the one writing these things that are making people angry, right...?” he said, giving both of us a threatening look...and I was looking for you...do you know who I am...? I have been a soldier for De Gaulle, did you understand? I shall never see you ridiculing a man like that one more time...I’ll punch you right on the chin, until you are no longer aware of where to go and come...get out from here quickly...!”
There is barely something more difficult than standing on the sidewalk of foreign country, being ignored by Armenians and carrying a load of Armenian books, for those who felt it.
“What nice things do you have?”A stranger approached me with the looks of an acquaintance.
“My friend’s books...”
“Are they new?”
“Yes.
“Well, then, I came at the right time; congratulations; of course, I would deserve a small gift also...”
“But...”
“Brother, it’s good I didn’t ask for something big...if you want, I’ll read it and bring it back...!”
“You are embarrassing us...here is one...”
“Thank you; goodbye”.
“Let’s go to an editor’s office, let them help us”, I said, and simply to raise the morale of my visitor, I decided to go to the editor’s office of the paper ‘New Existence’, whose editor’s writings, before reading them, I thought boredom had a limit...”
“Put here how many books you want. If they sell, you get your money. In one year, in five years, I don’t know. There is no cash money. And...in case of arson, theft, flood, or if any harm for any reason comes to the books, we are not responsible.” The editor said.
“Let’s give him five copies”, I said.
“Let’s give all of them”, said the author.
“Why should we give all?”
“At least I’ll be free of carrying the weight...it seems, that our times were better...at least once in a while an Apisoghom came to our city...True, I did not get any benefit out of it, but there were at least some who did...”
By leaving the bundle of books at the editor’s office, we came out, and as soon as Baronian was getting ready to bid farewell, an acquaintance passed by me and said:
“What are you doing here?”
“I was helping my friend to sell his books.”
“Did you sell them...?”
“Yes...!”
“Oh...boy...I’m late...if you had one left, I would have taken it, read it... and if I liked, I would have sent you a check by mail...”
* Translation Copyright By Shant Norashkharian *
When The American Jimmy of my age, the French Renee, the Canadian Ralph were passing their childhood with colorful toys, or were riding beautiful bikes, in my childhood, no matter what family or social gathering I attended, the only thing I saw, were men with angry eyes gathered on one side, lost in the suffocating clouds of cigarette smoke, analyzing the past and future diplomatic events of the world, and announcing judgments; and while Jimmy was riding his pretty bike, I, on the other hand, having stored great "Facts" about De Gaulle, Eisenhower, Ataturk, Stalin and others, used to come home, and at night after pulling the comforter over my head, with my imagination, led the German armies to our neighborhood, so that I might have "Buffalo Sarkis" who had beaten me up the week before, caught, sentenced to his worthy punishment...
