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Onnig. For himself, he used his mother’s half-made carpet wrapped in her veil.
    The night air was warm enough for sleeping outside, and for weeks, Kevork and his mother had carried Arsho’s cradle to the roof and they had all slept in coolness under the stars with the faint scent of mulberry blossoms in the air. Sleeping outside this night was out of the question, however. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather.
    They arranged their pillows in a circle around the cold tonir instead. As he fell asleep that night, he buried his face in the veil. It still held the scent of his mother, so he breathed it in deeply and tried to suppress his sobs.
    His eyes were still closed the next morning when he noticed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. For a moment he thought that it had all been a very bad dream, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Mariam sipping coffee at the fireplace, not his mother. A steaming demitasse sat in its saucer beside her on the hearth. She was going through the contents of her father’s rucksack, a frown on her face.
    She looked up. “We don’t have much food left,” she said.
    â€œWe have a sack of flour,” said Kevork. “Also, raisins, olives, nuts, and oil.”
    â€œAnna found a ripped sack with flour spilled all over behind the house,” said Mariam. “There is nothing else.”
    â€œThere are still figs on the tree in the courtyard,” said Kevork.
    â€œYes, there are,” replied Mariam. “But your chickens are gone, and your goat. We’re going to have to go to the market.”
    So once everyone was up and had eaten a light breakfast, they headed to the Armenian market.
    But of course it was gone. Who was left to run it, after all? The houses in the Armenian district that weren’t burnt down were either empty or barricaded tight.
    â€œWe still need food,” said Anna.
    Mariam had drawn out a few gold coins from the purse Abdul Hassan had given her, and these she held tightly in her hand. The purse itself was hidden under her belt. “Maybe we can go to the market in the Turkish district?”
    In all the years that Kevork had lived in the village, he had never once been to the Turkish market. The two districts were so separate that there could have been a wall between them.
    â€œI guess we have no choice,” said Anna. “But first we must go home to prepare ourselves.”
    Anna wrapped her hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, then found one of Anoush’s veils and secured it over her head, covering her hair entirely. Her eyes were really her most startling feature, and when she secured a yashmak over the bottom half of her face, her eyes were even more noticeable, but there was nothing she could do about that. She took Kevork by the hand and led the way.
    Mariam followed, carrying Onnig on her hip, and Marta was at her side, her doll clutched protectively.
    As they walked down the main street of the Turkish district, Kevork was painfully aware of thesensation they were causing. Children playing on the street were called in by their mothers, and doors were quickly closed. The men they passed were angry at the sight of Armenians in their district. Anna kept her eyes down, and so her unusual appearance was not immediately noticed.
    Beyond the mosque was a canopied bazaar between two narrow streets. Anna slowed down and slipped behind the children and kept her gaze to the ground, well aware of the disturbance her appearance would create at closer scrutiny.
    Mariam noticed that the vendor at one of the stalls seemed less hostile to their presence. While others looked the other way or pretended they were closed, this man regarded them with curiosity. The goods he sold were not as varied as some, but there were sacks of rice, onions, cucumbers, and raisins: items they sorely needed. She opened her palm and showed the man her coins. “Kind sir,” she said