306            His men at the camp were overwhelmed with distress up on Genar's return, wounded and alone. His comrades, who had been with him for years, cried silently for a long time.  For days on they stayed by their physically and spiritually wounded  leader without knowing what to do.

            Then, with heightened rancor and vengeance, they took oath to be prepared for worst attacks to come,   gathered their belongings, and withdrew towards the New Bjedug region.

            Genar stayed at a poor Bjedug house for months.  The old lady of the house cleaned and dressed his septic wounds with mixtures of healing herb.

            The woman had lived once in the north of Kuban.  As  the danger came nearer, she had dismantled her household, and as everyone else did she migrated to the south.  She started a new life there. In the last fighting she lost two sons.  New grief was added to the old ones.

            For days she nursed Genar,  sang old songs and narrated stories for him, and shared his distress.

            Genar was able to stand on his feet early in the rainy season.  He had lost much weight and was too weak.  His hair and beard had grown. Though less than forty, he appeared old.

            Besides the physical destruction, he frustrated and discouraged. The loss of  his friends,  especially Jıbğe, had its toll on him.  Jıbğe had been his greatest support, the only keepsake from his family and his Valley.  He was terribly lonely without him.

            At times, he utterly depressed!  He was home-sick; he longed for his kins.  Eventually he started having sleeping difficulty.

            During the sleepless nights,  his past and his family crowded his mind.  His grandfather Basti Dadu, his mother Libe, his father Bram, his grand uncles, the Basti ladies and  the Basti daughters, Ahmet Sena... the  Nathos: Şate, Gubate...  the campaigns, and his comrades-in-arms...  all would line up one after the other in his mind.  He mentally lived through everything all over again.

            Then, his mind invariably diverted to  the  scene of the last battle.  Jıbğe, the huge bronze man, with all his attributes, would appear in his mind, silent and respectful, as if he would never age or die.  He would still be fighting with the enemy, undaunted.  He would be taking down anyone he would strike at.

            With the fall of the first snow that winter, a fear overwhelmed Genar's heart.  He was cold.  He lacked stamina.  The   specter of disappearing in solitude far away from his family, haunted him

            However, he was could not gather enough strength to return home.

            He remembered he had told Jıbğe: "I will never return to Psifabe valley."  So if he did return, he would be breaking his promise.  For that he was remorseful.  His pride would not permit to return home without Jıbğe.

            This  dilemma of him lasted for days.  Finally he couldn’t resist any longer, he accepted the disgrace, the defeat.  Biding farewell to his comrades, he got on the road to Psifabe valley.  He didn't disclose his identity in the villages he had to stop overnight.  He traveled like a Derveesh; a lonely, poor passer-by.

            He was grew increasingly excited as he  approached the Psifabe valley.  It invigorated him.  It gave him the stamina to go ahead.

            At the same time his mind was engaged in  all sorts of associations.  He remembered his own youth.  All his paraded in front of his eyes like mixed up images.

            He had been away from home for twelve years now.  During this time he had met only a few people from Psifabe valley.  They had told him that his grand uncle Ale had died.  In the recent years he met with no one from the Valley.

307            There was no law and order left on the Black Sea coast and at the Kerç Strait.  The peace had been disturbed. The commercial life of the coast, once highly  dynamic,  had come to a stand still.  Consequently, the number of people coming from the inland to the ports had sharply declined.

            Genar was worried about the Basti family. Yes, his grand uncle Ale had died!  But, what about the others?  The  grand-uncle Psıçe, old Zako?  His own parents;  were they alive?; he said by himself.  In distress, he would smile, and conclude, "I suppose the young Basti men and women are married and have kids by now."

            When he thought about Çemko and the people there, inevitably he remembered his uncle Takir and  comrade Jıbğe.

            Jıbğe had lost his parents when he was a little boy. Jıbğe’s two aunts lived in Çemko.  He would tell them "Jıbğe died while  was fighting heroically"  But what would he tell them next?  What could he tell them if they asked "Were you not there at that battle?"

            While bedridden, he had thought about the way he survived the debacle..  Had done wrong by leaving  the battle field after he got wounded?  He questioned  his behavior constantly.  He no satisfactory answer to offer.

            The way the events had unfolded was not predictable.  He could not even imagine it would end up so tragically. He had certainly hoped that at least Jıbğe and most of his friends would escape unharmed.

            Twelve years ago, he had taken the same road to the west along with Jıbğe.  Now he was treading it alone.

            He could not help feeling guilty.  Several times he pulled his horse's reins, under the impulse of changing his mind not to return home. But where would he go?  He was sick and tired.  He had lost his stamina to fight. He thought it was the end of his life;  so he should go and see the ones dear to him one last time.  With such thoughts he would impulsively spur the horse

            He examined his past again and again along the way.  The events passed by his eyes over and over again.  He mentally spoke with every single person one by one.  Tears rolled down his eyes at times, and some other times he smiled sadly.

            The Fij village, the Nemerukos' wedding!  How happy he was then?  He was so hopeful of the future.  Kartenko Duğuj and his sister Agunde were such distinguished people.  And his first meeting with Gubate!  It was such an enchanting occasion.  What a wonderful girl Gubate was!

            In his imagination the pictures and persons were paraded one after the other.  Natho Şate and Çermitiko Aje were riding their horses in the midst of white clouds.  Then, he saw their tragic end.  Şate had died in the icy Russian steppes, Aje fell in the Anapa battle.

            When the beautiful Natho daughter Kodan appeared before his eyes, he smiled.  But it didn't last long.  That reminded him of Gubate, his heart then would squeeze with pain.

            The peaceful happy days were followed by wretched ones.  The sorrow knew no end.  Woe and grief followed him where ever he went, like a shadow.

            Who had shaped this lamentable destiny for him? He reasoned who and why did it.. The war repeatedly visited his mind.  He wondered which secret hand had been directing that senseless affair.

            Everywhere was covered with snow.  His horse was advancing with much difficulty.  It was tired like he himself was.  For the last five years they had lived through battles and ambushes together.  It was an  animal of good-breed, it could sniff danger. Jıbğe had bought it for him from a certain Hatukoy.

            Along the way the tired  horse would stop time and again, gaze around. And went on, whining through its nose.

308            The Psifabe valley came within sight one late afternoon.  He could see most of the valley as he stood at the top of hill skirted with a thick forest.

            It was a cold sunny day.  In the far distance he could see objects shining.  The beeches, oaks at the skirts of the hill and the plane-trees along the creeks had long ago shed their leaves.  Higher up, the branches of pine and fir trees were bent under the load of snow. All shades of green  from light to  dark were intermingled..  Over the heights, the icy rocks of the Elburuz  and everything else had turned into  silvery white.

            Wild geese were flew over the area where the Psifabe stream slowed down and formed  a series of small lakes.  They circled in the air, then landed at the next turn of the stream.

            Genar watched the valley passionately.  He tried to locate the villages.

            He remembered the war as he was watching his birth place, his home.  He thought about the Cossacks, miserable Russian peasants, like herds of wolves, invading and trying to take root in the Kuban basin.

            He knew that this shameless flow would not stop.

            "One day they will spread beyond the Kuban and will reach here.  The hell will break then.  There will be horrible blood shed.  These beautiful land will turn into a battle ground, green valleys will be destroyed.  Misery will prevail happiness. Worst of all:  it will be the dooms-day for our people!"

            His heart was filled with sorrow and pain as he thought about what  was to come.
            He walked for a while, his horse following him.  He wanted to get  home, see his beloved ones at once.  He mounted his horse again.  He was exhausted.  He felt light hearted as he  thought of Psikuy village being on his path.  He could spend the night there.  But, when he remembered the unfortunate events that took Gubate to her death, he changed his mind.

            To avoid meeting someone he knew, he led his horse to south-east.  He passed between the villages of Psikuy and Kutez. He stopped at the wooden bridge, watched for some time the Psifabe stream flowing.

            His horse, unfamiliar with the surrounding, was looking into distance, sniffing the air.  It was waiting from his rider for an indication which way to head.

            The virtuous animal started treading with the pressure it received from Genar's weak knees.

            By the time he was nearing Çığızaç sun had already set down. The whiteness all around permitted him enough light to gauge to a reasonable distance before him.  He circled around the village, went up to the trail leading  to Çemko.  Turning north, he followed the foot-prints descending from the farm.

            He had treaded the same trail the last time on his way to the west.

            He halted when he came by the hedges bordering the Basti quarters.  His heart was beating fast.  He watched his homestead for a while, trying to  a voice or a sound from within.

            He was too weak to dismount his horse and walk.  He had to skip the tradition; he entered the courtyard on his horse.

            Due to cold weather everyone was inside, nobody was to be seen around.  He was surrounded by barking dogs all at once.  They were jumping  and growling at him.

            His horse stopped, lifted its head and erected its ears.  Tucking its tail it stumped its feet forcefully.

            Genar was at the courtyard of his father's quarters.  Slave Hafus was the first one to out from the low buildings on the right.  He was now a middle-aged, married man.

            Hafus looked at the horseman, perplexed.  Then he shouted at the dogs.  Three of the dogs pulled back quietly.  But it was impossible to calm down the other two.  They were taking distance from Hafus and attacking from the other side again.

            Hafus found a long stick, with it he chased them away.  Angrily he threw large pebbles at the dogs.

309            At that moment, Libe came out from the main house.  She had been watching her son’s way back home for many years.  Now, she came out with a mystic sensation.  She was excited at the sight of the stranger on horseback.

            With heart-ache, she shouted.

            -Hafus, who is it?

            Hafus went round the horse, approached Libe.

            -I don't know.  I think it is a stranger.

            Libe was not satisfied with the answer.  She came closer.  She had aged, but still she had a good sight.  She looked carefully at Genar sitting on his horse quietly.  She was not, however, able to recognize her tired son.

            Her curiosity grew.  In a loud voice she scolded the stranger.

            -Tham fesigekako:  Vo vuhet?  (For God's sake: who are you?)

            Genar felt a knot at his throat hearing his mother's voice.  With difficulty, he said:

            -Na!  Seri Genar! (Mother, it is me, Genar!)

            Libe let out a sharp shriek.

            -Genar! Genar, vore?  (Genar! Genar, is it you?)

            Hafus was bewildered for not recognizing Genar.  He touched his forehead saying "God!  How come!"  Then he came forward, grabbed Genar, brought him off his horse.

            Libe hugged her son; tears running down her cheeks.
            At once, the entire  Basti quarters was up in excitement.

                                                            O0O

            A lot had changed with the Basti family during the twelve years Genar had been away.  From among the male, Basti Ale and slave Zako; and from among the female, Thaçes had passed away.  Young Basti daughters had married, newly borne babies had joined the family.

            From among the older generation, only Psıçe survived; but he had grown pretty  old .  The women were more enduring it seemed.  All the three elder women were alive.  Ale's aged wife Gigi was in good health, keeping erect.  She was still advising the Basti clan.

            The Bastis had grown in number.  It was difficult to oversee such a large family by single-handed.  Bram, with the concent of his uncle Psıçe, had divided the family into five groups.  He had divided the property, separated the courtyards accordingly.

            Ahmet Sena had been in Bram's thoughts while he did the distribution..  Sena,  had made such a suggestion on the occasion of the death  of Basti Dadu and Sutar. He had told him: "You cannot deal with it:  separate house holds!"

            Bram had preserved Çemko as before.  The farm didn't lend itself for division.  It had to be kept as a unifying factor.  The idea was shared by everyone else.

            The management of Çemko was given to Lasmar.

            Genar couldn't lift his head up for a month, he remained bedridden.  For he had consumed all his stamina, his strength  to reach his beloved ones, to his home.  His collarbone, that had been hit by a bullet, was bothered him.  He coughed as if his lungs would rip open.

            In due course  Genar recuperated enough to sit up in bed.  But he was still too weak;  didn't have the stamina to get up and walk.

310            In the meantime he had visitors from all over the valley. The Basti courtyards overflowed with visitors..

            Genar talked very little.  He didn't want to infect his people with his own pessimism by talking about his distress and the impending peril.

            He did tell them, however, about the last tragic battle.  He was still under its impact..  Tears came to his eyes each time when he mentioned Jıbğe.

            Bram and Libe were extremely happy to have Genar back home.  But his inertia worried them.  None of the nutritional food or medicine provided remedy.

            Bram accepted eventually the bitter reality.  He understood his son's life was fading away.  He didn't say anything to his wife or anyone else.  He suffered in silence.

            Bram was particular about one thing.  He didn't want a mystery to get buried till eternity along with his son.  So at a quiet moment he sat by the side of his son, pushing the traditions aside, he talked with him candidly.

            -The year you left us, Zibeko Hazeş and his two friends were shot at the Bear-house across the creek.  Did you know about it?

            Genar was sitting in his bed with his head bend down.  In the west he had met with people the  Psifabe valley, who had told him similar stories.

            He gazed at his father inquiringly.  With a weak hoarse voice he said

            -I don't know who shot them.

            Bram was sorry to have broached the subject. He shifted his gaze to the entrance.

            -It is not known.  You were suspected.  That's why I asked.

            Genar dropped his head down, smiled sadly

            -If  I had done it, I wouldn’t have kept it secret.

            Genar lived three more days after this conversation with his father.  Like his grandfather Basti Dadu, he breathed his last breath one early morning just before  sunrise.

            There were big logs of fire-wood crackling in the hearth.  An oil lamp was on to illuminate the room.

            Libe sat by her son knitting socks for him.  He would get well, become the joyful Genar again soon.  She was going to marry him away with the girl she had already picked the bride-to-be before Genar's arrival; so Libe was thinking at that moment.

            That morning Libe assumed her son was asleep.  She was extra careful lest his sleep be disturbed. Her movements were very quiet.  She paused every once in a while.

            Genar didn't show any overt physical signs of his approaching  end.  The air in his lungs emptied so softly that not even the most careful eyes and ears would detect.  His heart followed the silence in the room;  it stopped after a few hesitant beats.

            He was laying on the back,  his arms resting at his sides, as it always used to be in the presence of his elders.  His lips were closed.  There was not a slightest indication of tension on his face.  His eye-lids were slightly ajar.  The pupils were shifted to the right a little.  He appeared to be looking at some place.  He seemed like winking to the world filled with worries, to his kins and to his people; bidding "Farewell!"

            Indeed there was a deep bullet wound on his back;  his lungs were ill; he was having difficulty in breathing.  But, non of these could have killed him.

            It was rather the despair in the face of the menace and the miseries, which had enveloped his land and his people that had drained his vitality. The incurable sadness settled in him slowed down the pace of his heart beat a little more each day.

            Finally, his sensitive heart couldn't carry on any longer; It stopped!

OO00OO
The End