Ler Kamsar

Armenia and the allies

When the First World War ended, and the great allies emerged victorious, early in the
morning, the "little ally"—Armenia—got out of bed, got dressed, strapped on its weapons,
took its wife and daughter-in-law by the hand, and set out for Paris.

As they approached Tiflis, Armenia turned to its wife:

"Listen, woman, and you too, daughter-in-law. If, by any chance, Georgia asks us in Tiflis
where we’re going, don’t say we’re going to demand independence. Say we’re going to Paris
for business. Or you—" turning to his wife, "—say I’m taking my daughter-in-law to the
doctor. If they find out we’re going for independence, they’ll shamelessly follow us. I despise
them! I don't even want to see their face. Serpent-born! Just let me get to Paris first...

Once I get there, I’ll tell the Allies everything—how Georgia cozied up to the Turks, how
they later turned to the Germans. I’ll say it plainly: ‘Allies, Georgia doesn’t love you. It is a
selfish country, always chasing its own interests. It loves whoever benefits it. It never stops to
think whether that’s a German, a Turk, or an Ally.’"

"Come, woman," said Armenia. Entering Tiflis without looking left or right, he grabbed a
piece of bread and reached Batumi.

When they boarded the ship, Armenia tilted his cap to the side and began singing "When the
Storm Rages on the Sea." Finishing the song, he slapped his wife's knees:

"You know, woman, even this sea will be ours!"

"Ugh! This filthy sea? This salty, useless water? My dear, don’t take it. Tell them to give it to
someone else. I’ll pass."

"Fool! You simpleton! Can you have independence without water? Russia groaned for years
just for a handful of water, and now they’re giving it to us, and you want to refuse? You... you
blockhead..."

"Alright, alright, my dear. I just said something. Why get so angry? I didn’t know
independence couldn’t exist without water."

"It can’t! It can’t! And don’t you dare say such foolish things again. And if you happen to
speak with the Allies' wives, don’t say we don’t want it!"

Armenia tilted his cap to the other side and started another song. Finishing it, he slapped his
wife's knees again:

"You know, woman, I’m imagining what a glorious welcome we’ll receive when we arrive in
Paris! Surely, the Allies have dropped everything and are waiting for us on the shore.
Naturally! What else? The little ally is always sweet.
Do you remember how Jacob loved Joseph the most among his twelve sons? And then
Benjamin? Because they were the youngest.

Ah, God, what a touching scene it will be! One will say, ‘Let’s go to my house,’ the other will
say, ‘No, mine,’ and the third will be offended, the fourth will sulk… You won’t even know
what to do! They’re all dear allies, they all suffered equally for us, they all gave countless
sacrifices for our sake.

Just look at this world war. Why did they take up arms? Clearly, they fought so that little
allies like us could rise and be free…

Ah, Allies, I would die for you!

Woman, ever since I was born, my eyes have been set on England and France. And believe
me, even if Germany offered me a kingdom, I still wouldn’t love them. Germany is not
lovable, woman. It is not!"

When the ship reached the port of France and dropped anchor, Armenia turned to his wife:

"Listen, woman. If, on our way back, the Allied ladies want to host you for a few months,
don’t stay. We came together, we leave together.

Also, be a bit freer in your movements. Leave shyness aside. As soon as they set the dinner
table, sit down—there’s no habit of formal invitations here. And after eating, don’t wipe your
mouth with your skirt…

When walking in the street, always take my arm."

He gave these instructions in such a rush, as if he were on the run and someone was chasing
him. But after finishing, he waited an hour, two… Then he repeated them, expanded on his
thoughts, added some new ones… Yet no one appeared at the shore.

That night, they slept on the ship.

The next morning, waking up, Armenia said:

"They don’t know, they don’t know… Come, woman, let’s surprise them! Let’s make them
happy!"

And so, Armenia entered Paris. He asked for directions to Versailles, where the peace
conference was being held, and set off—without telling anyone that he was the "little ally."

Upon reaching Versailles, he saw a massive doorman standing at the gate, sword in hand,
letting no one in. Around the palace walls, like flies, swarmed delegations from all over the
world—Serbia, Bulgaria, Karabakh, Poland, Syria, Arabia, Belgium, Finland, Azerbaijan,
Georgia, the Republic of Araks, Dagestan, Turkestan, Lazistan, Ajaria… an endless list.

Beyond these, there were even smaller nations—so tiny that, if you didn’t unbutton their
trousers, they couldn’t even go to the toilet.
To an outsider, this scene would have looked like a kindergarten recess, with all the little ones
running around.

But when Armenia saw them, he understood that they were all here for independence. He was
only surprised that, instead of lining up, they had formed a chaotic, disorganized crowd.

Not wanting to mix with them (because he had made greater sacrifices), and without even
acknowledging them, he straightened himself, tightened his frayed shoelaces, and marched
boldly to the door.

"Ssss! Entry is prohibited for unauthorized persons!" said the doorman, lowering his sword.

"I’m not unauthorized, my friend. You don’t know me, but inside, they do."

Straightening himself, he proudly added:

"Inform them upstairs that their little ally has arrived!"

"I have received no such orders."

"Come on, just say ‘little ally,’ that’s enough."

"I am not authorized."

"Then call one of the Allies to speak with me outside."

"I cannot."

"At least take them a note. Is Wilson here?"

"He is."

"Call him out for a moment. Tell him the Armenian, who has suffered under the Turkish yoke
for centuries, wants to see him at the door—the one who has more right to exist as a nation
than barbaric Turkey!"

"I have no right to call anyone. Do you understand?"

"Dear God… So you mean to say that I, who fought for four years, sacrificed 800,000 lives,
and loved the Allies so much, now have to stand here next to Georgia and Azerbaijan?! What
a world!"

Still, he refused to stand next to Georgia. Instead, he stood beside Arabia, with his wife and
daughter-in-law, under the palace window.

"Husband, we’re hungry," said the wife.

"You’re hungry? What can I do? What a ridiculous woman!" he snapped.

"Fine, then introduce us to one of the Allies, and do whatever you need to do."

"Ugh, be quiet, woman!"

Just then, a hand appeared from the palace window, poured out a glass of water, and dumped
it directly onto Armenia’s head.

"What a disgrace…" murmured Armenia, stepping aside.

"Even Germany wouldn’t have done this."

"Come, wife, daughter-in-law, let’s go to Poghos Nubar’s house and figure out what to do."

And so, Armenia entered the telegraph office and sent the following message:

"Arrived in Paris on the 18th. Met with Clemenceau twice. The matter of a united and
independent Armenia is settled—positively. Heading to Poghos’ house now."

Ler Kamsar

THE WORLD DOCTOR

Here is a hospital called Europe.

The states are scattered on the ground in a disorderly manner, each suffering from a
stomachache—groaning and writhing in pain. During these desperate convulsions, they often
end up bloodying each other’s noses or gouging out an eye, which, in diplomatic language, is
called a “conflict.”

Woe if one of these unfortunate patients dies—immediately, like hungry wolves, the others
pounce on it, stuffing whatever they can grab into their mouths.

The only compassionate doctor overseeing this hospital is America. Although its home is far
away, unlike doctors in Yerevan, it does not demand a carriage fare from you—it simply
boards its ship and arrives. As a consultation fee, it asks for gold, but even more than that, it
takes oil. It almost always roams around with an oil barrel hanging behind its back, and as
soon as it helps someone, it immediately says, “Please, fill my barrel.”

At this very moment, since it has sent two ships to the Bosphorus, it has planted a giant oil
barrel in the middle of the Lausanne Conference with the inscription:
"Whoever takes Mosul’s oil shall fill this barrel."
And the states, bewildered, look first at the giant barrel, then at Mosul’s oil, and none dare to
claim the fields.

All the world's "conflicts" are resolved with America's pill, and this pill consists of two doses
of British opinion, one and a half doses of French opinion, and one Italian dose—dissolved in
three glasses of American opinion.

But America, this world doctor, is not free of illness itself. It has its own disease, called the
Monroe Doctrine, which often throws it into bed. It has been observed that this illness strikes
America precisely at the moments when it is called to aid a poor, oil-less patient.

Thus, four years ago, when, in the middle of the night, Armenia suddenly suffered a severe
attack and demanded independence, it sent for America 14 times—but America did not come,
objecting that the Monroe Doctrine ordered it to stay at home.

But today, when England calls it to share Mosul’s oil, America, sweating profusely, barefoot,
with the buttons of its pants undone, comes running—trampling the Monroe Doctrine
underfoot along the way…

1922

Say what you will, but I am absolutely convinced that Spain is engaged in some secret
trade.

If not, how else could it be living so gloriously?

I tell you, either it is secretly trading or surviving through prostitution.

Portugal has seen with its own eyes that American and British ships approach Spain’s shores
at night. America has a military alliance with Spain but does not publicly announce it. In
general, it treats Spain as an illicit mistress.

…We live in difficult times—so much so that even states have begun to live indecent lives.

America is feverishly building military bases on foreign soil.

At this rate, there will soon be no space left for any state to even have a toilet, and they will
have no choice but to turn to America and request a place to relieve themselves.

According to one newspaper, America is preparing to build a global toilet in the Sahara.

Not a bad idea, of course, but I can’t imagine how Norway, from such a distance, will be able
to benefit from America’s so-called generosity.