In September 1947, another caravan of repatriates left Beirut. Our family consisting of seven people was provided with one room in the quarter of Yerevan called the Third Area (Yerrord Mas).
I started attending school. On the occasion of the November holidays, the school organized a matinee. During the matinee, the school director suddenly turned to me and said: “Can you sing or recite anything?”
My consent and entry to the stage happened very quickly. It was Charents who inspired me with the breath and soul of the fatherland. And from my mouth sounded Charents. Soon, I noticed that people were leaving the hall. “Am I really bad at reciting?” I thought.
By the end of my performance, half the hall was empty. I did not have time to worship the applause and go backstage as the director and the head teacher caught me and started beating me.
Grabbing my hair, they hit my head against the wall and hit me in the stomach. Gasping, I fell to the floor. “Boy, we will be sent to Siberia because of you!”
Vaghinak Byurat: “From the memories of my life”
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