SAVING THE BOOK I only know his first name. His name is Harout. He is a master book binder. He learned the trade in the book binding division of the old Soviet state publishing house HAYPETHRAT. I made his acquaintance in Yerevans famous Vernissage where thousands of books change hands. Every time I get there I feel I am on a rescue mission. Thats how I own many copies of the luxury edition of Dantes superb Armenian translation or Homers Iliad or Shakespeares masterpieces, all in Armenian. I slowly distribute them to schools and libraries. Finding a safe home for books is an act of conscience. I just cannot pass by a Plutarch or a Khorenatzi or a Yeghishe or a Yeznig lying on the ground and absorbing dust. I also cannot tolerate the site of a deformed volume of Raffi or Varoujan or Siamanto. Thats what brought us together, Harout and me. Together we have been rescuing the books. I only have a mobile number for him. We meet on a sidewalk on the Republic Square. I hand over the books to him. He goes home and starts working on the these decomposed bodies and calls me back in two weeks. We meet again on the sidewalk and out come from the bag those beautiful volumes shining in their new protective clothing. To me, happiness is also an old book with a new lease of life! I pay him and we shake hands. Minchev hachort ankam would be his last words with a contented smile. Harout has just had a stroke and has lost some of his motor flexibilities. A man of precision, style, taste for good literature is suddenly incapacitated. Cant be! Get well soon, Harout! We still need to save the books.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 11:23:31 +0000
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