chapter 6

My uncle Khosrove became very irritated and shouted, It's no harm. What is the loss of a horse? Haven't we all lost the homeland? What is this crying over a horse?

That may be all right for you, a city dweller, to say, John Byro said, but what of my surrey? What good is a surrey without a horse?

Pay no attention to it, my uncle Khosrove roared. I walked ten miles to get here, John Byro said. You have legs, my uncle Khosrove shouted.

My left leg pains me, the farmer said. Pay no attention to it, my uncle Khosrove roared. That horse cost me sixty dollars, the farmer said. I spit on money, my uncle Khosrove sald.

He got up and stalked out of the house, slamming the screen door.

My mother explained.

He has a gentle heart, she said. It is simply that he is homesick and such a large man.

The farmer went away and I ran over to my cousin Mourad's house.

He was sitting under a peach tree, trying to repair the hurt wing of a young robin which could not fly. He was tallking to the bird.

What is it? he said.

The farmer, John Byro, I said. He visited our house. He wants his horse. You've had it a month. I want you to promise not to take it back until I learn to ride. It willl take you a year to learn to ride, my cousin Mourad sald.

We could keep the horse a year, I said.

My cousin Mourad leaped to his feet. What? he roared. Are you inviting a member of the

Garoghlanian family to steal? The horse must go back to its true owner.

When? I said. In six months at the latest, he said.

He threw the bird into in air. The bird tried hard, almost fell twice, but at last flew high and straight. Early every morning for 2 weeks my cousin Mourad and I took the horse out of the barn of the deserted vineyard where we were hiding it and rode It, and every morning the horse, when it was my turn to ride a one, leaped over grape vines and small trees and threw me and ran away.

Nevertheless, I hoped in time to learn to ride the way my cousin Mourad rode. One morning on the way to Fetvajlar a deserted vineyard we ran into the farmer John Byro who was on his way to town. Let me do the talking. my cousin mourad said. I have a way with farmers.

Good morning, John Byro, my cousin Mourad said to farmer.