ii.

The cold bathwater he plunged into brought the memory of Armenia back. He had drawn a bath after a jog in the oppressive summer heat. His pulse beat with a thud. This memory rose with the water as he sank into their claw-foot tub.

One brought the other: he recalled negotiating in the Turkish-style bathhouse at Gyumri. He stood at the edge negotiating the plunge into the cold pool, while Magner was there urging him on, dripping wet and beating his overblown pink chest.

“I’m a man, I’m a man,” he repeated.

Then he jumped. And the cold water shocked him as he bobbed, eyes closed and gasping for air. There it was winter.

He opened his eyes again. Supine. He smiled in the tub and entertained this wool-gathering about that cold and foggy, dimly lit backwater of Armenia -- where the buildings crumpled and the wrought-iron balconies collapsed from the devastating earthquake of ’88 which left people homeless, bereft and weary with more woes.

He was glad to be home.