March 23, 2014
Sleeping on the sofa in a Yerevan flat.
It’s 3:00 a.m. I lay on the sofa in the living room, with the door to the balcony, the door to Yerevan’s night, ajar. The air is cool, but there’s no wind; there is equilibrium between my world and the one outside. My mom is asleep next to me; she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Eight floors below, the sound of an old-soviet car, (I can tell from the familiar effort its old engines make) leaving the club to ‘cruise’ in the city center, playing a Russian song that a girl’s thin voice resonates upwards towards the sleeping windows. The sounds travel up, loud and audible to all 3:00 a.m.-ers. Then there is silence.
A man’s voice is heard from outside the club, harsh yet clear, calling out to another in opposition; one calls the other vermin, and the other accuses him of his big mouth. The resolution I didn’t hear because after that, I smiled and dozed off.
Silence again. Then a dog barks, and soon many join in, barking loud and eager. Soon it seems as if all the dogs in Yerevan who were asleep a second ago are barking together in unison, then separately; conversation then argument and conversing again. They seemed to echo the men that earlier in the day in the city square, were barking at one another, attempting to even out political protests in vein, they wane..…
Then, mass barking. All the dogs in Yerevan are excited. Yet the noise is not disturbing, it’s fit for the night, it doesn’t bother…
As the dogs slowly and individually leave the barking choir, their barks diminish and end, and the voice of a small dog drops a last and distinct bark, apparently having the last word.
Somewhere further away, a screeching car accident almost occurs.
The almost collision is forgotten and a soft breeze from the balcony sways the transparent curtain into the living room.
All is silent again.