Achook

    
 
Only he who lays down his life
on the altar of LOVE, and who has not betrayed
HER, is worthy to lie at the feet
            of the CREATOR
 
 
               
                ACHOOK
 There are memories in almost everyone’s life that are especially precious to them. They are precious because they are rooted deeply in our souls and carry a unique kind of charge, capable of bringing back the exact feelings and emotions we have experienced at that particular moment in time, no matter how close or distant.
They float up unexpectedly in our mind, immediately gaining color, smell, feelings and emotions. Slowly, that concoction slides down to our soul and…erupts, creating a state of joy or happiness, tender sadness or catharsis. 
 The soul seems to soar, captivated by this state, and as it slowly descends, it leaves the imprint of a gentle smile and a trace on our face – the kind that only appear when we encounter something pure, clean and sacred. I call it The Memory of The Soul.
 And this unbelievable story, recounted to me on a distant childhood day by my grandmother in every minute detail, witnessed by her first hand, has left its bright mark on my soul for the rest of my life. A story too hard to believe – how can it be possible without a MIRACLE?
 Our world is glorious in its diversity. Each place on this wonderful planet is matched not only by the people living in that region, but also by the environment surrounding them.
Therefore I want to tell you a little about the region where this amazing story took place.
  Syunik (former Zangezur) is an unbelievably picturesque, mountainous region of Armenia. It is known for its rich vegetation, diverse wildlife and a large number of natural springs and waterfalls. In the springtime, poppies are in full bloom, coloring meadows and hillsides in red, orange, yellow and white. And since each meadow and hill is limited to one color, from afar it seems as if individual parts of this landscape are painted in various colors by a giant brush. The Great Martiros Sarian recreated this vision of nature’s colors and hues in his paintings.
 Syunik is rich with ancient Christian temples and Khachkars (Cross Stone), which are ubiquitous throughout this region.
  The most unique monument of Syunik is the Tatev Monastery complex, built in the 9th century. In the 14th-15th century, Tatev was not only a religious institution, but also an important center for science and education, housing up to a thousand people to study for 7-8 years at the largest university in the Southern Caucasus. Looking at the complex, you can’t stop wondering: How could our masons build this unique structure? It sits on a high mountainous plateau (as if most of the peak was “cut off”), right at the edge off a steep cliff. “Tatev” means “Give Wings” in Armenian. Legend has it that upon completing his work, the master-builder went up to the edge of the cliff, crossed himself, and said: “Holy Spirit! Giveth me wings!”, and stepped off into the abyss. Wings did grow and the master wasn’t smashed to pieces. The monastery was named Tatev.
   The megalithic complex “Zorats Karer” (Vigorous Stones), also known as Karahunj, is certainly worth mentioning. Located 1,700 meters above sea level, it is perhaps the oldest among the ancient observatories in the world. According to the latest scientific findings, Karahunj is 7,500 years old, and the monument is on seven hectares (17 acres) of ground. This miracle is located near the town of Sisian, in Syunik.
 I can go on describing Syunik at great lengths and with pride, but my goal is to portray a place brimming with wonders and inspired with the magical energy of ancient culture, a home to courageous and hardworking people for centuries – the people of Syunik.
 
 
Each summer my brother and I would travel to visit our grandmother in the cozy little town of Sisian that I mentioned above. My grandma Yeranuhi was still a “tough cookie.” It seemed she could do everything: bake lavash, cook great food, shoot like a pro, ride a horse. Most importantly she lacked a sense of fear: She wasn’t afraid of heights, darkness or high speed, and would never get tired. I failed to understand how all of that could fit in a tiny, thin, seemingly frail woman. She raised five kids through the hard years of war, while my grandfather Bagrat, a Red Army Colonel, was fighting Nazis to bring about the day of Great Victory.
 I was ten years old, and we were once again visiting grandma. She was baking lavash in the tandoor with her neighbors, stacking the fresh, crunchy loaves of flatbread on the white tablecloth. The aroma was unbelievable, making it impossible to resist the temptation to try it right then and there. The kids, salivating, rushed towards the bread. Grandma stopped us and said to me:       - My dear! Go down to the cellar. I have put together some goodies – homemade cheese, fresh herbs and vegetables. If we’re going to have a feast, let’s do it right!
 It was twilight. And frankly, like any other city kid, I was afraid of dark. Something made me feel uneasy. The evening in rural areas is full of strange sounds, quite different from the ones in the city: mysterious rustles and creaks, sudden gusts of wind rocking the branches on the trees. All of these sounds coalesce into a singular symphony of nature, which becomes incomprehensible and overwhelming to a 10-year-old who’s imagination conjures up scary images.
 I was about to take my first step down toward the cellar, when I heard a snap and something wiggling in the dark fell at my feet. Screaming “Grandma,” I darted towards her, crying and shaking in fear. Knowing that Syunik had a wide variety of snakes of all sizes, I was certain it was a snake.
Grandma ran to me, hugged me and picked a dry twisted twig off of the step...
 Later in the evening, sitting by my bedside, she smiled and said:
“Remember this, my dear! Fear not animals, nor beasts, but beware of humans.
She then wished me good night and caressed my head with her warm and slightly rough hand. I calmed down, knowing that the bravest grandma in the world is by my side, and fell asleep, having forgotten all my fears.
 The next day, she took my hand, and, saying, “Come along, my dear,” led me to the nearby hill where the old church still stood. She lay down a small rug, sat me down next to her and started her story...
    
 
     <<I was born in the village of Khndzoresk. I was twelve then. We had neighbors there, who were childless for many years. Then finally, God blessed these people and gave them a little baby girl. I remember seeing her little face for the first time: She was a little fair bundle with tiny blond curls.
Six months later, Maneh (that’s what they called her) turned into a living angel: large emerald-green eyes, porcelain face with delicate features, framed by lush, chocolate-brown curls with a slight shade of burgundy. One of the village elders, Wise Old Avo, used to say, “This child is extraordinary, single in Zangezur, marked by the “kiss of the Angel on her brow.”
 How had this child with colors so unusual for nature been born to common villagers? No one knew. Some folks insisted that the dormant gene of the ancient Armens from archaic Urartian times had awoken.
The baby grew into a wondrous little girl. And that lay not only in her magical beauty: She was like a transient being from fairy tales who had landed among people. Everything her beautiful hands touched was accompanied by special caressing movements. She caressed everything around her. There was so much love, tenderness and caressing. No one ever saw Maneh crying, whining or fussing. She always had a smile on her face and shining dark green eyes teeming with delight at the world around her.
All the children adored Maneh, subconsciously understanding that she is unique and exceptional: She talked to the trees and the flowers, spoke to the animals in her childish tongue, as if telling them something. She was generous at heart and shared everything with everybody.
 One day Maneh came out to play, holding something in her hand and muttering softly. Children encircled her in hopes of getting a piece of sweet gahta, which she always gladly shared. Everyone got scared, when they saw her cuddling a young black viper. She shielded it, holding it tightly and muttering, “chook…chook…hurt.”
Everyone around was frozen with fear, but Maneh kept on hugging the snake like a doll. The snake’s head stuck out from under her jacket. The snake had a “golden” ring outlined around its left eye. Like it was wearing a monocle.
As her panicking parents ran to her, she just gave them a small nod and a smile, as if letting them know that they have nothing to worry about, and went back to whispering, “chook…chook…”. Somehow, everyone realized that the snake would never hurt Maneh.
From her early childhood, Maneh’s parents had a special kind of respect and reverence for her, not only as a long-awaited child, but as a gift from the Heavens that they should love, protect and treat accordingly. Most importantly, they understood Maneh. 
The girl fed and nursed the baby snake and then one day … she released it into the wild.
Years went by. Maneh kept on growing, became even more beautiful and closer to nature. No one doubted her ability to understand the language of the animals and birds or to know healing plants and herbs. It was a pleasure to observe her: In a mere half an hour, she could gather a rabble of butterflies on her head. They, in a wreath, would settle on her lush hair. Maneh ran barefoot in the meadows, and the butterflies sat like “living garlands” and would not fly away.
 Once I was amazed by what l saw: Maneh had gathered a handful of ladybugs in the palm of her hand and seemed to be admiring them. I asked
“What are you doing, Maneh?”   
“Watch!”
I was left in awe by what followed. She placed a ladybug on each of her fingertips, spread her fingers, whispered something to the bugs and … they all flew off at once, as if touched by a magic wand, scattering across the grass like glass beads. I thought I was in a dream or a fairy tale.
Then came the day that changed the course of Maneh’s life, and that of the rest of the villagers as well. 
It was Maneh’s birthday. 10 years had passed since her birth. Her mother’s shriek broke the early morning silence. Neighbors rushed to their home and found Maneh’s mom on her knees by the front door, screaming and helplessly wringing her arms. Old and young alike, everybody stood frozen by the open doors and windows. Maneh was lying in bed, and a huge snake was curled up in a huge coil and resting on her chest. Its head, the size of a blacksmith’s fist, was on Maneh’s neck, right under her chin. My heart sank as I stood there, wondering whether the monster was going to bite the girl.
Awakened by her mother’s cries, Maneh slowly opened her extraordinary eyes, lifted her head and said with a smile:
“Mommy, please, calm down! Can’t you see it’s Achook!!! (Achuk in Armenian means “small eye”)”
The snake languidly lifted its head following Maneh, and everybody saw the flash of the “golden monocle” around its left eye. It was the same baby snake that Maneh had healed as a toddler.
 No one moved. Everyone was scared that the snake would bite the girl. Running out of options, they decided to call for Wise Old Avo, the Elder of the village.
 Old Avo took a look, sighed deeply and intermittently, shook his gray head
and said: “Well...what...? That’s a male Armenian Levant viper. My great grandfather used to tell me that once every 150 years or so they fall in love with a human, guarding and protecting the object of their love to the end of their life. This snake is extremely venomous and can jump a distance equal to its length. So, people, please! Do not move and take the children away slowly, without any sudden movements.”
 He then turned to Maneh’s parents:
“Put a bowl of milk by the door, as a sign of respect for him. If he drinks, it means the danger is over.
 The snake, it seemed, understood the conversation and was observing the developments with its head slightly raised.
 A bowl with milk appeared by the doorway. Achook looked into Maneh’s eyes, and she smiled at him. As he had gotten her approval, he started to slowly slither down from the bed... Everyone around seemed mesmerized as a 2-meter long viper slid down from the bed of a ten-year-old girl. The snake was black, looking like a thick, polished branch of an African ebony tree, with a few coffee-brown speckles. His left eye, encircled in the “golden monocle,” seemed to penetrate the eyes of everyone present simultaneously. Achook sipped a bit of the milk with its split tongue.
“That’s it,” said Wise Old Avo. Then he turned to the girl’s parents. “You don’t have to worry about Maneh any more. No one will ever dare to hurt her. Remember! This is not a pet, but a family member! People! Fear not!
Old Avo was about to leave, when he turned around and snickered:
“What do you think... Achook (small eye)!!!” And Maneh named him that after all, even if she didn’t say it out loud.
After a couple of months none of the village folk were surprised by the following picture: Wherever Maneh went, Achook always slithered behind, raising his head, looking around all the time, surveying through his “monocle,” concerned with the safety of the object of his adoration. 
He was next to her, when she would go to the well for water, when she played with her friends, when she went to collect flowers and herbs.
 He would escort her to school: He would slid to the top of a boulder, where he could see her face in the classroom window, then escort her back home. He wouldn’t leave her side even when Maneh went to church for the Sunday service with her parents. Achook would roll up into a coil and wait outside for the bell at the end of the service, then slowly slither towards the massive khachkar (cross stone), made of pink tuff stone and wait for his Maneh.
 Oh Lord! They used to have so much fun playing together. Achook would hide in the large hay stack and Maneh would have to find him and fish him out by his tail-rattle. Maneh would laugh and giggle as she rummaged through a stack. Chunks of hay were tossed around, flying every which way, and for a second she would catch a glimpse of Achook’s ebony skin, quickly disappearing into the hay and then emerging from who knows where. Maneh would manage to catch him by his tail, only when the stack was almost gone. Then they would fall asleep on that same stack under the golden-orange glow of the sunset: Maneh with her scattered burgundy-tinted chocolate hair, and Achook invariably at her feet.
 
 
I saw Achook wind his way to the very top of a cherry tree, his head knocking on branches, in order to drop the larger cherries for Maneh, the ones that were closer to sun. She would gather them in her hem, put the double cherries on her ears like earrings, and she and Achook would gove feed them to the rest of the kids.
 Achook accepted food only from Maneh. He never stole anything from anyone anywhere. He really loved honey. Maneh could walk up to a bee hive, put her hand inside and get a piece of honeycomb for herself and Achook. Even bees never stung her.
It is said that snakes have an acute sense of smell. Everyone in the villages knew where strawberries and raspberries grew and roses bloomed – and you could always see a snake there. They don’t smell like human’s do. Instead, they “occupy” the entire area of the scent, staying still for hours, and leave only when they get enough. I think that the concept of “hearing the smell” came from snakes. He had a special fondness for our wild lilac: huge bushes, heavy clusters, teeming with flowers of every shade of purple. The smallest branch could fill a large room with its scent. 
 
Maneh and Achook would go to the lilac gardens. Achook would wrap his glistening body around the chosen lilac bush, stick his black head out with the “golden monocle” in his left eye and start … no, not hissing… He would whisper of love, of aroma, of beauty! Maneh would approach him, hug his head and say:
“Yes, my dear Achook! I like that bush too.
Maneh would gather a generous armful of lilac, lay down her apron, and pile up the mountain of flowers on it. Then she grabbed straps, just like on a sleigh, and took the flowers around the village, knocking on every door, giving them to everyone and bringing them joy. The neighbors thanked them both. It became a spring ritual.
In time, Achook became a member of of Maneh’s family and an integral part of village life. Even chickens and other livestock stopped being spooked by him. He hunted rodents, and got treats from nearly everyone in the village. Foxes and wolves that used to sneak into the village, especially in the wintertime, to steal chickens and sheep, stopped their “visits” after Achook appeared. In a short time, all the village residents grew fond of him. It was as if humans’ instinctive fear of snakes had disappeared.
 Years past by... Maneh grew up, turned into a gorgeous and slender young lady. There was something majestic in her beauty. Every part of her was perfect and the complete image left a feeling that nature had used all of its imagination and its skill for this final creation. For me personally, the magical part was found in her eyes and her hands. Her eyes were always smile, like two suns or two moons. Never have I seen eyelashes like hers: thick and plush, getting darker towards the base, as if she had put on eyeliner. Maneh didn’t blink like people usually do. Her eyelashes rose and fell languidly, like two feathers, exposing incredible emerald eyes, which you could gaze into for an eternity. Oh, and her hands ..! My dear, have you ever seen how silk flutters in the warm wind? That is what her hands felt like; gentle, caressing and giving.
I never told you this before, but my mother died when I was young. My father married again, but my stepmother didn’t treat me like a daughter at all. Life in the village is not especially easy as it is, but my stepmother made it intolerable. Cinderella’s trials seemed like a child’s play. I didn’t want to complain to my dad, as he had taken the loss of my mother very hard. He really loved her. I would just run to the forest, where I had a favorite tree – a huge pine. I would hug it, close my eyes, and imagine that I was hugging my mom and ... cried. I would complain to her and get things off my chest, returning home feeling a little relieved. 
 Once I was feeding the chicks, turned around and saw Maneh walking towards me. I was about to rush towards her, but I stopped: The expression in her eyes was different. She still had a smile on her face, but not as radiant as usual.
She took my hand very gently and said, “Let’s go.”
I followed her obediently. We walked to our door, and Maneh knocked lightly. My stepmother opened the door.
“God bless you, Aunt Siranush! I have come here to ‘thank’ you for your stepdaughter Yeranuhi. She is grateful for the care and love that you give her, the orphan girl. Believe me, God will not abandon you. He sees everything, doesn’t he? You will be gifted with a son!”
 Achook slithered up between me and Maneh and looked up at my stepmother through his “monocle,“ as if trying to say, “I dare you to hurt her again!”
 My stepmother lowered her eyes, sighing sadly as she approached me. She hugged me and whispered:
“Please, forgive me, daughter.”
Somehow Maneh had managed to expose something in my stepmother’s soul, which she also did not like.
 After that, I didn’t go to the forest to complain anymore. My pine heard only peaceful stories from then on: about my father smiling again, about the love and respect in our family, about how much I loved my new little brother.
I met Maneh by the water well once and asked:
“Maneh! How did you know I was hurting inside? I never told anyone about it.”
“Yes, my dear, you have,” she objected softly. “You told the pine.”
  All the boys in the village were in love with Maneh. but no one could even think of proposing to her. Fully realizing their incompatibility with this heavenly creature, they were content with just seeing her, talking to her and being in her presence. They felt their specialness by merely taking part in her existence, which they witnessed.
 But there was the most determined young man – Gor: a brave, strong, dark-browed handsome man. One day he approached Maneh and asked:
“Maneh! Um, can my parents and I pay you a visit and ask for your hand? You have finished school; you are 17 already. Will you marry me, lovely Maneh?
“If you want, come,” – Maneh smiled. “But I can’t give you an answer right now. I honestly don’t know.”
 On Saturday Gor and his parents made their way towards Maneh’s house, carrying silver platers full of gifts, along with a bull, decorated in colorful ribbons, with a pomegranate on each of the horns, accompanied by the loud sounds of zoorna and doodook, and the rhythmic beats of dholl (local percussion instrument).
There were three lambs in the rear of this procession, which were to be sacrificed at Maneh’s feet, if she would accept the proposal. 
 Children were screaming in excitement, while the adults were wondering whether she would accept or not.
The whole village had gathered by Maneh’s house. There had never been another event this full of questions, guesses and anticipations in the history of the village. 
 Maneh’s parents opened the doors and invited the suitor and his family inside. Kids and adults glued themselves to the windows. The door to Maneh’s room opened, and... suddenly... from above, in the doorway, clinging to the ledge of the door frame with his tail, swaying like a huge scaly pendulum
, hung down, swinging to the right and to the left – Achook. The silence was deathly.
Totally unexpectedly, there was that special, kind, pure, resonant laugh of Maneh’s that filled everyone with its purity. She approached Achook. He was still hanging upside down. The girl lifted his head, and he placed it on Maneh’s shoulder, lightly touching her ear and seemed to whisper something: 
“Dear guests!” said Maneh, “Welcome! Achook is telling me that it is too soon for me to get married!
The whole village burst into laughter. As parents exchanged embarrassed looks, cheerful music began to play again. No one was offended. Maneh’s rejection hadn’t offended anybody, there were no hard feelings.
The entire village partied that Saturday evening. The poor lambs met their fate anyway. Tables were set all along the mulberry trees, as people kept bringing up more and more delicious food. 
Everyone drank and ate, sang and danced till dawn. And only Achook, like the sole wise master, like a loyal friend and servant, lay with his eyes closed at the feet of lovely Maneh and ... slept.
 
One day, Russian geologists came to the village. Not suspecting anything, they ironically ended up knocking on Maneh’s door to ask for water and permission to rest in the shade of the orchard. Maneh opened the door. The geologist, who knocked on the door, was dumbfounded by the young girl’s far from rustic beauty. No sooner had he opened his mouth than Achook slowly crawled out of the darkness of the hallway, his “golden monocle” gleaming, and stopped at the threshold. He lifted almost half his body upright and stared at them. They were strangers – he didn’t know them !!! No ! He didn’t hiss, he didn’t approach, he didn’t threaten, but the geologists understood - “DON’T SHOW MERCY!”
Within a second they all appeared above ground – some on the trees, some on the barn roof. Shaking on the roof, the bravest one whispered:
“Jesus! That is a ‘casket viper’!? Young lady, please don’t move - it’s very poisonous!”
  Maneh’s rolling laughter and children’s giggling puzzled them completely.
“What do you mean ‘casket viper’? – Maneh said in surprise. “That is our Achook!”
Maneh’s simple explanations had no effect. The boldest one was perplexed:
“Wow - ‘Our Achuk’! It’s either ‘Serpent Gorynych’ or ‘Dragon’!
Achook stood like an ebonite statue and seemed proud, like a real Caucasian man who had defended a girl’s honor and dignity. Later, the villagers assured us that Achook was supposedly smiling.
Maneh and Achook returned to the house. The girl’s father, who saw the whole “spectacle,” went out to the “victims” and promised that the snake would not attack them and they could come down.
With grave doubts on their faces, the geologists descended, very slowly and looking around, to the ground. Later, when they had recovered and rested a little, Maneh’s father tried to explain everything to them.
With their mouths gaping and their eyes wide open, they listened to the not-so-short story of the girl’s father. By the end of the story, no one was eating a bit or saying a word. Captivated by this amazing story, they momentarily lost touch with reality, where the slightest gesture could bring them back to this mortal world. When the story was over,  Stepan (the guy who initially knocked on the door), muttered:
“What a story ..? I wouldn’t have believed it if I had witnessed it myself. This is a miracle! A mi-ra-cle!!!
 The whole village entertained the Russian guys. To help them recover from the shock of what they had seen and heard, the men of the village generously gave them a strong drink of Armenian mulberry vodka – Karahunj.
Maneh sat at the end of the table, not to intimidate the guests. Achook rested his black head in Maneh’s lap, occasionally opening his left monocled eye, as if trying to say, “I’m here. I’m aware of what’s going on!”
A little tipsy and loosened Stepan looked at Achook and sighed.
“No one is going to steal your princess, Gorynych the Snake!!!
 Turning to Maneh’s father, he asked:
“Who will dare to ask for your daughter’s hand? Huh ? He would have to come armed to teeth, ...no?
Maneh’s father smiled, as if he remembered something, and then sighed and said: 
“Well... That?.. That is a whole different story, my friend. I’ll be sure to tell you next time.
The offer to stay overnight was turned down categorically by the geologists, politely referring to some urgent matters at the regional center, so they got in their car and drove away. Only then did Achook let his guard down; the “threat” had passed. 
 
Along with many of her amazing abilities, Maneh had yet another unique gift. She knew how to find fresh water springs, which are abundant in Armenia. Walking along the mountains and rocky cliffs, she could accurately point at the spot where the spring could be found. According to her, she could hear the spring’s “cry for help,” trapped under ground or inside the rock. She knew exactly where to dig to have the water come bursting out, gurgling with its “crystal melody,” and couldn’t understand how others didn’t hear the spring’s “supplication for help.”
Once on the bright sunny day Maneh packed a small bag with dates, apples and grapes and left the house.
Achook, as always, was right next to her. 

“Mommy! A new spring is “calling” me.
“My dear daughter! Have you decided to find every single spring in Zangezur?”
 Maneh approached her mom, kissed her gently and said:
“Mommy! I wish you could hear how bad he is doing! He’s in an awful state, suffocating in dark! He won’t grow and will die young. Don’t you understand?
 In the almost 18 years of their life with a wonder-daughter, Maneh’s parents, simple and uneducated folks, had learned to understand her uniqueness and developed respect for the way she expressed herself. They genuinely tried to grasp the cosmic wisdom that was concealed in Maneh’s seemingly childish interpretation of the world.
It was getting dark, but there was still no sign of Maneh or Achook. Maneh’s parents were starting to get worried, knocking on the neighbor’s doors, trying to find out whether anyone had seen the girl or the snake. By nine o’clock in the evening, the men of the village, armed with hunting rifles and torches, went out in search of the missing. 
The village had never before been so troubled. The search lasted all night. Everyone who could walk joined the effort. They broke up into smaller groups, trying to cover all of the surrounding areas.
 At dawn, with first rays of the sun, they heard a man sobbing at the foot of a precipitous cliff. People rushed to the edge of the cliff: In a large meadow peppered with wildflowers of many colors, her magical hair fanning out, her beautiful hands on her chest, all covered in cuts and bruises... lay Maneh dead… and beside her was Gor, weeping... Achook was nowhere to be found...
 
 
 The entire village was grief-stricken. During the three-day vigil, church bells rang every six hours. Kids didn’t play any games and switched to whispering.
Folks from neighboring villages, everyone that knew her, had met her once, or somehow had witnessed the “Miracle,” came to pay their last respects to Maneh. Everyone, young and old, had tears in their eyes. Everyoneunderstood – the it was a great tragedy.
There were a lot of unanswered questions still: How did exactly Maneh fall of the cliff? Where is Achook? Why hasn’t he returned home? What has become of him? May be to a snake a dead Maneh is Maneh no more? 
A snake, not a human? Everyone was sure: Such an unusual creature, by its purpose – immortal. How? Can a Miracle be mortal?  Maneh was buried on the third day, in the same meadow where her body was found. A meadow that was as amazingly beautiful as Maneh herself. Enormous centuries-old trees were encircling this meadow teeming with flowers. The view from the top of the cliff was extraordinary – a huge eastern rug, weaved by the hands of the Creator, with a fuzzy green hem, that was the canopy of the trees.
That day, everyone was looking for Achook. It seemed to everyone that Achook had to be around somewhere.
When the casket was lowered into grave, silence reigned, heavy and strange: There were no bees or butterflies flying, no birds chirping, no branches swaying on the trees. It was as if nature had sighed deeply and held her breath. People stopped crying, heeding the deafening cosmic silence. It seems as if they too had become a part of their still environment. There was still no sign of Achook. 
The following day, everyone gathered on top of the cliff again. They were heading to Maneh’s grave to pray and to burn incense. Coming dawn the narrow path on the side of the cliff, they stopped in shock. What they saw was beyond their comprehension: The tidy mound of soil, neatly and carefully piled over the tomb, was all dug up, as if plowed back and forth. Someone had flung aside and trampled the grave flowers. This “someone” desecrated the grave. People stood around her final resting place, immobilized by the unknown…
A few young boys were sent back to the village to fetch some shovels to return the grave to its proper state. They began to carefully toss the earth from the grave to the side, trying to re-do the burial rite. 
The village received the answer in a few minutes: On the lid of Maneh’s coffin, all wounded and tormented, having turned himself into rags of flesh – lay ... the dead Achook... The extinguished “monocle” was empty – there was no eye >>
 
 
 
   My grandmother stopped her story. Moving her eyebrows, she squinted, trying not to cry, and continued her story again. 
 << He HAD to be next to his Maneh!!!
He dug to the grave, inflicting deadly wounds upon himself! He couldn’t forgive himself for her death! He had failed to protect his beloved Maneh! Achook didn’t just die of a broken heart and a sense of guilt. He destroyed his “I”, both his physical and individual one.
He had somehow managed to gouge out his one eye, the one that was his name, his mark, his essence! What kind of an Achook is he? How could he still be called Achook (eye) after this?
on her!  Achook even committed the act of his suicide not in public, not in front of everyone. He has deprived himself of the right to any absolution whatsoever...
 
 
 The people wept silently. Everyone was overwhelmed by the magnitude of LOVE, DEVOTION and SELFLESSNESS of a simple viper! They were once again in the world of fairy tales and Magic…
  When the villagers came to their senses a little, Maneh’s father went down into the grave pit. Gor took the dead Achuk in his arms. They opened the lid of the coffin and laid Achook’s sagging, breathless body on Maneh’s chest, having coiled him up beforehand. Gently placing the snake’s head under his daughter’s chin, Maneh’s father said:
“Achook!!! You deserve to stay by your Maneh forever!”
 
 
  After aq while, right at the foot of the cliff from which Maneh fell, a natural spring gurgled up. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to what it should be called; “Spring of Maneh and Achook.”
    For many years villagers observed flocks of birds and butterflies circling above Maneh’s tomb, wolves and foxes huddling on her grave, herds of Ibex (wild goats) walking in rows next to her grave, soaring eagles above her mound. But no one ever saw any snakes...
 
My grandma fell silent and a single tear ran down her wrinkled cheek, like a tiny brook through rough rock. The sun set molten-red: The last rays of the sun gently “caressed” the bell tower, reflecting playful flares, the smell off the grass and flowers, the evening cool, my grandma, her story and…me.
In everything I could see, hear, and feel, at the conclusion of my grandmother’s story, there was only peace and touching silence. It seems like mountains, fields and woods had been listening closely to my grandmother’s testimonial.
“You know,” my grandmother said as she rose from her small rug, “I’ve always wanted to tell this fantastic story to some famous writer. I’m pretty sure that she will be moved by it. People need to know that Miracles exist! They exist right around the corner! And, as long as we believe in them – that means we believe in God!>>
 
 
  I’m granting my grandmother’s wish – it’s a tribute to her memory. I really hope that someday,
someone will read my grandmother’s story and write a work worthy of the story of Love – Gyrza Achook to the Girl Maneh. The Gyrza, who by his devotion, sacrifice and voluntary execution over his own “I,” has risen above people, has risen above humans, who for centuries speak, write and confess the priceless qualities of the Soul – the greatest mystery in the Creator’s creation. But, no matter how much humanity talks about LOVE, only the chosen ones who live by these divine criteria, without denying them for anything, give up the role of mere beholder, have the POWER OF THE SOUL and ... become THE CREATORS OF MIRACLES!!!
 
 
                August, 2016.  Los Angeles