Hayes du?

(Here I go with my silly stories! My poor audience you guys are!)

The South Carolina summer was as unmerciful as ever with its intense humidity that you could drink. We approached the the Cherokee Reservation right near the Tennessee Border. This group of Cherokees escaped the Trail of Tears Marches and remained in their native land. There were numerous trinket shops and shows with dances that were questionable in their authenticity. The Manoogian family nevertheless were unaware of this, and were taken in by what was to them the exotic and unknown culture of the "garmramort." Artsakh, the youngest son immediately wanted to buy an Indian costume, to which mom replied "Voch, hima che, pogh chunenk!" Artsakh began to throw his usual tantrum "uzumem, uzumem, uzumem" The owner of the store, a very stereotyped Native American women, with high cheek bones, black hair in a braid came out and in a loud voice bellowed out "Hayes du?"

Story to be continued.... by You! Why does this Cherokee know Armenian?

Please, carry on!,
Can I join in? We can make double stories!

she knows the Armenian phrase "Hayes du?"
because her disturbing Armenian neighbours like to listen to Aram Asatryans 'Hay em yes hay es du.." on the highest volume level..
and finally she got an answer to her question:"what the heck does that mean???"

Cut to a flashback from 15-20 years ago.

He was a wanderer in a foreign land. He had rugged good looks, a charming smile, and deep, expressive eyes, the reflection of centuries of his people's toil and suffering. He was in search of something he didn't quite know himself how to define. So he went from city to city, from town to town, doing odd jobs, making an honest living, but never settling in one place. No one knew where he came from, no one knew where he would go. He had no family, no friends. He was a man who loved life, loved wine, and loved women.

One day when the sun's scorching rays teased him with a mocking smile, when the flavorful aroma of a summer day never left his senses, when the gentle breeze caressed his body, run its fingers through his hair, whispered in his ear and playfully ran away, when the air had a richness, ripeness, a sumptuous sensuality to it...one day, this man wandered into a deserted tavern in a deserted town on a deserted road. A young woman approached with a questioning look on her face. She, too, had the centuries of her people's fate embedded in her eyes. He was captivated by the bronze in her high cheekbones, the fullness of her lips, the darkness of her hair, the softness of her shapely hips. Words were useless, he didn't know her language, nor she his. He approached her with a slow, deliberate step, looked into her searching eyes, and having found what he had been looking for in the depth of her gaze, merged with her in a lifelong kiss. She would be his forever; she would learn Armenian.

Or, maaaybee the Cherokee woman is thinking, how do these Mediterranean types know Cherokee?. Do "uzumem, uzumem, uzumem" and "Hayes du?" mean something in the Cherokee language???

MAN, Queenie! You sure could do a study of personality types just based on how Kazza, Nvard, yourself and I answered this thing!!

Wow Gayane, pretty steamy stuff!

Oh my God, I just reread my story right now and I realized I switched the voice from 1st person to third person! Whoops, it was late and I was tired.

Little Artsakh was so frightened of the sudden stern expression and the bellowing voice that he buried his face in his mothers skirts! The ladies began chuckling.
"Aww! Sweet little boy"
The older lady's voice softened and she began to laugh.
The sweet mother could not help being curious and asked,
"You must be interested and knowledgable in Armenians - is that how you know the language?
The lady chuckled again in a soft warm manner and threw up her hands.
"KNOW Armenian? it's impossible not to! I am a descendant of the whole revolution of Nebraska - in fact this whole tribe are. This whole event is what we are celebrating today!
The mother still looked puzzled.
"Listen to the story" said the matron.

"WOW" Said the boy and the mother at the end.
"That was the story of Armen and Running Bull Sarkissian. They were an important activist couple in the movement after the revolution. That article was written by their great great grandaughter, Gayanne
"What's an acturary couple?" asked Artkhar.
"Shush! and listen to the story shw will tell..." Said the mother.

It was 1889 and the hot, hot, sun continued to beat down over the plains, leading to Nebraska. It beat over the figure on the horse. Black hair came down from the hat which accentuated the bone structure over the face which was glowing. And eyes, which glowed and flashed lighter and brighter in the sun,confident, as this person thought about a mission.
The massacre of Dakota, the neighbouring state happenned just a few years ago, claiming the lives of hundreds of mexicans, irish, American indians, the medditereanean peoples - and Armenian. They claimed the lives of Snake's family - and the remaining members of the community placed all their hope for Snake to save them. This, Snake beleived, was something that was a mission.
The same flash was in the eyes - but this time it was anger.
Rumour was a danger of the same thing happenning in Nebraska, and rumour also had it, especially amongst the American Indian community that there was to be a "Chosen One" who would save them all.

As snake approached the wind howled a cold morbid song. Fear began, but this didn't stop the figure stepping of the horse, and stepping down the road.

Click, click, click, went the heels. The sound rang out through the coldness of the town, though the heat of the sun scorched. It was the coldness of pain. Some thing in the way Snake moved with purpose, The hat tilted and half covered the eyes staring ahead. Always the same look.

Click, click, click, went the boots.

The usual cowed looks of the towns people changed to stares, mostly of astonishment, some of fear which was recognised. Usual proud strut, heels clicking and cowboy hat half covering the eyes, the belt slung round hips, the suit hugged a handsome figure. This was only a small figure of a person but to the onlookers had a certain confidence, and pride, seemed large as a mountain.
Snake burst into the Saloon, to which this action the women stared, and the whole place became deadly quiet. "Inch Norutsyan ga, Jan? Anuna Incha a?" The bar man was chatting to another", then turned round.
"Snake. Uzumem mek beer" rang out the clear voice.
By now everyone was staring. No-one in the bar had ever seen a girl walk into a saloon and order a beer before.
"what are you talking about? " the bartender said realizing everyone was looking. "I don't know that language"
"If that is what you say then you are no friend or brother of mine, but a coward."
"Aaaaah, little armenian girl, hey?" another big, tall man, loud and bravado approached.
"WHAT did you say?"
"UZUMEM MEK BEER."
"Why don't you run along home now?"
"I have no father or famly thanks to the scumbags who destroyed our communities. I am looking for the person who destroyed them"
"Is that a faaact," looking her up and down. I heard somewhere that they died of malnutrition. That's what I assumed"
"well you assumed wrong"
His flickering gaze worried Snake, as they were very sublty but still occasionally darting ground the bar and behind her, as if to another person.
"I am here to gain the justice that we rightfully deserve and I have plenty of people behind me"
Mehmet's ****y expression was beginning to drop a little. Was he scared? Snake thought he was! The crowd didn't sence this but they y did know something was wrong.
"Well we are glad you had your little adventure... but it's finished now...." The final darting glance was quick but not too quick for Snake. She spun around to catch the hands of the person behind her approaching, and wiftly slung them behind him and down on the floor. The second came at her and she lifted him onto the bar and he fell across it. Then she caught, Mehmet drew his gun ready to shoot at her but panicking as she realised she just noticed this, she drew them just a quater of a seocnd quicker and shot at a glass above him, gunshots sounds ringing through the air broken glass spraying behind the bar. A few plinters caught his arm, but ran out before he was hurt.
"Now" said Snake. "I would like that beer when you are ready please"
It was not refused. She was cool on the outside but shaken on the inside. Everyone else was shaken because they had never seen anyne fight or even say a cross word to Mehmet in the whole time they had known him.
Snake drank it up then left. When she did, the people exclaimed. "She must be The One!" as Snake left the bar.

She had noticed a crowd, and there was a young man standing at the front, on a crudley made wooden platform.
"All this lawless shooting, killing, looting must stop of innocent people. And we must stop sitting on our pride and closing our eyes to the fact that this has been happenning for years. Others don't see? Think of people like the barman in the saloon: everyone knoes he is Armenian but he will never admit what has happenned was anythink other than a mistake. So why should we ignore this also?
We should confront the sheriff with the truth."
There were a row of young mexicans in the front row, clapping. There were town elders also, who were shaking their heads.
"That will not work. The system just wouldn't allow for this type of thing."
"Why not?"
"It is not the usual , traditional way of doing things"
"Well I don't care what people like that think! We will see what they say when our way works than they'll see how it's done!"
They shook their heads even more.
"I can see you erm, mean well but you have to think of this in a sensible way. Thank of what is realistic to happen"
"That never work!" Said one mexican. "This person - people - don't understand a peaceful language"
"Now not like that. Listen, there is no be no voilence, this is a peaceful demonstration"
The man was named Buffalo Soldier - he was part of the Cherokee tribe. His brown skin and high cheekbones were apparent, and the long black hair down to his waist, with a kick of wave in it. He already had many feathers in his headdress. He was known thoughout the town. His tribe, others, and the mexicans beleived he was the Chosen One, and picked him to become the cheif of his tribe.
The eyes which looked out kindly over the crowd had flecks of green-blue. They told them that he would lead them. He was known over Nebraska for his wisdom. Stubborn as a mule, went against the town and tribe elders, but this way had helped many of the townspeople regain their own pride and pull together, who had every last shred of confidence and hope knocked out of them.
Snake was busy. But sat in the back without even realising she was doing it, listened to what he was saying. She noticed as he was saying his words, there was a poise and strength there, but elegance and style.



[This message has been edited by Kazza (edited November 29, 2000).]

Kazza, lets work on the Hollywood script now! Dammit, I think me, you and Gayane can write pretty decent prose!

For those interested in the Cherokee culture, check out www.Cherokee.org, the official website of the Cherokee Nation. Interesting articles on the history of this advanced First Nation.

actually it is www.cherokee.org, don't capitalize.

Farsi your link didn't work. BTW an Uzbek guy at their board said you are lying being Indian, I will post this link there too.

Oh well Iranyar, what can I say, I bet there are people on this forum who think I am lying about being Armenian! I can't please everyone. Go ahead and just key in the website, for some reason the link won't work. Also, I am only 1/16 Native American, so this wouldn't even qualify me for receiving federal money!