Home Is Beyond the Mountains Read Online Free

if you fall. Don’t look down.”
    â€œIf I fall, you’ll fall,
too,” thought Samira, but she didn’t say it out loud. She could feel her
brother behind her as she clung to the ropes at the sides of the bridge and
stepped from one stick to the next.
    When they both stood on the
hard earth at the other side of the river, she knew that they had crossed
safely because they were together
    Mama and Papa caught up with
them, and Samira forgot her relief. Papa was carrying Maryam. When he laid
her gently on the ground she didn’t try to get up. Samira could see that her
sister’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright with fever.
    Papa put his hand on her
forehead.
    â€œShe’s very hot,” he said,
and his voice was deep with sadness. Mama knelt and took Maryam in her arms
and looked helplessly around her.
    Back in their village there
were wise people who knew of herbs that might help a little girl with a
fever. Or a doctor might come from the city to see her. Here there was
nothing.
    They stayed by the river all
day and bathed Maryam with cool water. Benyamin made a little tent with the
quilt to shelter her from the glaring sun. People coming by offered them
water and a little food, but no one could give real help.
    When night came Samira fell
asleep, exhausted by sorrow.
    She woke in the early dawn
and turned to look at her small sister, but Maryam lay perfectly still, and
Mama’s shawl covered her face.
    At home when someone died,
there was weeping and wailing. The priest came and mourned with the family.
There was a funeral in the church.
    Here none of this could
happen, except the weeping. Even that was hard. It was so strange to be here
on this wild mountainside by a dusty road when something so terrible had
happened. Samira couldn’t feel what was the right thing to do.
    But Papa said, “We will bury
her properly. We will dig a grave for Maryam.”
    In his pack he had a knife
with a strong blade. Now he used it to chip a hole in the hard earth.
Benyamin scooped the dirt away with his hands. They labored together until
the grave was dug. Then they laid small Maryam, wrapped in her mother’s
shawl, carefully in the ground.
    Mama had hardly said
anything this whole time, but now she said a prayer.
    â€œLord, we give our daughter
and our sister, Maryam, into your hands. Take care of her and love her.
Amen.”
    All the time they were
burying Maryam, people were passing by on the road. Some bowed their heads
but no one stopped. So many had died that everyone who passed was carrying
sadness and must still go on. Samira and her family stood around the grave
for only a few minutes. Then they, too, had to walk on.
    After a few more days the
straggling line of refugees came out into a wide valley. The walking was
easier and for a short time the people felt relief, but then word began to
spread that Turkish soldiers were coming.
    â€œThey’re looking for men who
were part of the Assyrian and Armenian forces that protected us as we set
out,” one old man told Papa. “But the war has taken their senses and they
see us all as the enemy.”
    There was no place to hide
in that open land and so people just kept going. They could see that there
was a narrow pass leading into the next mountains. If they could reach that
place they might be able to find shelter.
    Then a horseman came
galloping. He called out, “Soldiers are coming. They’re shooting at the men
and the boys. You must hurry.”
    Samira’s mother looked at
her son and her husband. “You can go faster without Samira and me. Go ahead.
Hide in the mountains. We will find you when we reach the
mountains.”
    There was no time to talk.
Papa touched Mama and Samira on the shoulder.
    â€œWe’ll wait for you at the
next river,” he said. Then he and Benyamin began to run.
    The soldiers came. They came
on horseback, galloping and firing their rifles into the