The small boy climbed a poplar tree, his bare legs and arms wrapped around the white trunk. One hand over the other, he inched up, without looking down. Twenty feet up, crows circled the top of the tree, dived, and flapped black wings - 'Kra-a-k! Kro-o-k!.' The scarecrow boy had a mess of twigs on his head.

The row of poplars in bright sunlight, were laden with nests. He perched on a forked branch, which dipped under his weight. One wrong move, and he would fall. The nests looked like scribbles in the sky; they were full of eggs. He stretched to steal a few and slip them into his sweater. They dived for his face, but the crown of twigs protected him. He needed the eggs to paint for his mother.

Stork's nests were even higher up but he wouldn't touch those. He swung in the treetop, exhilarated by the motion. His house was down there among the patchwork of flat mud roofs of Khorkom. Mountains reared up their snowy peaks, Mount Sipan higher than the rest. The turquoise lake shone in the sun, and further out, the rocky island of Aghtamar hunched like a turtle, on the edge of Lake Van. The tip of the church pointed at the sky. He was alone on top of the world.

Chapter 1

The Angel of Birth

1902

In the early years of the century, Khorkom was a small village by Lake Van, in the province of Vaspurakan, Vari Hayotz Zor, Western Armenia. Armenians had lived continuously on the rugged, highland plateau since pre-Christian times. The plateau was edged with lava fields, cut through with rivers. One third of it was occupied by Lake Van, 5,500 feet above sea level. In the Lower Valley of the Armenians, Vari Hayotz Dzor, the lake had risen, flooding fields and squeezing out the people. Meanwhile, the Turks, under whose occupation the Armenians lived under the Ottoman Empire, also oppressed them.

The village still stands, under another name, although the original inhabitants have been wiped out. Arshile Gorky was born Manoug Adoian. His large, patriarchal family was one of the wealthiest in the poor village, which lived off the land and the lake. A high bluff, with a church standing on it, overlooked the lake, protecting the village, which nestled in a hollow behind. In fact, khor means 'deep,' and koum, 'stable', in Armenian.

The people of Khorkom were Christians but their ancient rituals and way of life originated from a time before the Bible. They believed that at the birth of a baby, angels and demons waged war over him. As the boy grew up to become a man, he would feel that demons and angels were never far away.

His mother, Shushanig, went into labour in a mud brick house, smelling of farm animals and manure. She was 24 and this was her fourth labour. Her long face had filled out in pregnancy. Her large, almond eyes were bright. She lay by a fire in the central room on bedding laid out on the floor. Her husband and all the men had left the house.

Babies were delivered by a midwife who had to perform ceremonies to protect the mother and child. First, she picked up a long metal skewer, and blackened its point in the fire. On each wall of the room, she drew the sign of the cross to keep the devil away. Then she gave the skewer to the mother with a prayer. Childbirth was dangerous. Many women died, and fewer than half the infants survived until the age of two. The elder sisters-in-law were on hand to guide her:

'When labour starts, the angel comes down and takes all your sins and puts them in a bag and hangs them over your head. When the baby is born, the angel will return and sprinkle all your sins back on to you.'

This was the signal for elderly aunts and young women to come forward,

'Please, now you are pure, bless us. Please, bless us!'

After three daughters, Shushan prayed for a son. A woman on either side of her, at her elbows and knees supported her back.

'A boy! God bless him. A boy!'

Long limbs and a mass of damp black hair. The baby's eyes were black1.