The popular TV Star of Armenia HAYK A. MARTIROSYAN is also a talented writer.

Read one of his short stories below.
 

FROM THE AUTHOR

 My first work published when I was 13. That night my Father told me, that he was at peace with himself and that he had hope, that I will become a "man". My first and most valued editor was my Father; Artashes MARTIROSYAN- a name that is great in itself. A name that is always with me. 

Even today, when He’s no longer with us, my every attempt to write is proceeded by a though: -“What would He say, would He praise or criticize my work? ”. 

And in a way I suffer this way.
 
 

I suffer, but I write.

Hayk A. MARTIROSYAN
Paris -Yerevan 
E-mail: haamarti@hotmail.com

A CONVERSATION AT STAR SQUARE
 

On December 22, 1928, Lloyd Hantsvill and Steff Stansfield were keeping guard at the Chicago Police Headquarters.

Steff was reading some book when the telephone rang. Lloyd answered the phone.

“Police Station. Hanstvill speaking,” he said and handed the phone to Steve.
“What? I am coming, now,” shouted he and rushed to the door.
“What’s up? Where are you going?” Asked surprised Lloyd.
“My son is born! Son!!!”. Lloyd could hear Steff’s vanishing voice from the corridor.   In 20 minutes Steve was at the hospital.

At 8 am Steff took a broom from the first time in his life. “When Barbara returns everything must be clean in here” he says to himself, and began doing the flat from the nursery.

Barbara Kaidly was a barkeep's daughter and was born in 1909. Steve was 7 years older than she. But this never prevented the young couple of quarreling on the name of their future child.

“If it is a girl, she’ll be Margaret. If it’s a boy, he’ll be John,” would demand Barbara. “My Grandma and Grandpa were Margaret and John.”
“If girl - Teresa and son - John. My Grandpa and her wife were called so”. Steff would object. “And my Grandpa was a gold-miner in Alaska, and his wife was a wife of a gold-miner”.

None of them would yield. And on December 30, when Steff took the phone at the Chicago Police Headquarters, it was still very vague what the child’s name would be. 

“I’m Father! I am F-a-t-h-e-r! John!” had exclaimed Steff, when he was shown his son, and Barbara had to give in. The infant spent the Christmas at home. Steff was proud that his son was born on New Year’s Eve. He would not allow anybody to enter the nursery, till the son was 40 days old. 

On February 5, 1929, while dressing the baby, Barbara suddenly noticed that John has made a fist. 

She could hardly open his fist and clean his hand from the remains of the wet material. Making a fist became a habit for John. 

“He’s going to make a boxer”, was joking Barbara. 

On February 5, 1938, in the evening, Steff and John Stansfields were walking along the Washington Street. Then they turned to the left, then they took the Star Street and stopped there, in front of the house # 31.

“This is Mr. Roquell’s house. He will teach you to box.”

Roquell was a man of 50, with strict but kind face and with already white hair. He was torturing John and he would not let him even to take a little breath, until he did the exercises correctly and perfectly. Then he would say: “It won’t do. You must do more. And now have rest”.

John would complain to himself: “he is torturing me, he sees the result is good but he’s always displeased. When will that gluttonous old thing be satisfied?”.

He attended the boxing classes thrice a week, throughout 12 years. He knew by heart all the Star Street posters, the drainage system ground cages, the pretty girls. During these 12 years 9 training bags, 5 pairs of gloves, and only God knows how many towels were worn out. 

The Gym was in the basement. When John first stepped the ring the hall seemed to him too big. And now, 12 years later, it seemed to get smaller.

John was practicing when Roquell stopped him.“It’s enough son. Everything is very good. For 12 years I have been torturing you and keeping silence. But now it is high time for me to speak out. I have taught you every single thing I knew. I am sorry. I never told you’re good but you justified my hopes. Now you are free”.

They embraced. John cried. In the eyes of Roquell tears appeared too. 

In a week John left for New York. That was a new city, new life. For the purpose of winning prestige, practicing his abilities and getting some money John participated in the street fights and was always the winner. During one of them he was noticed by Knout Clark. Clark was a business- agent and had a large circle of associates, according to which he rode his elects into the Great Ring.

John got his first baptism at the “Manhattan Ring”, where he won the Third Prize. Knout benefited from it greatly. After a while John being the third boxer of New York became the first. Clark recieved huge amounts of money. 

On  June 7, 1951, at the Paris competitions John won the Second Prize. Next morning all the Paris newspapers printed the photographs of the leading triple. And on 10 th of may 1952 at the World Championship in London John Stansfield became the World Champion; when walking along the Star Street he had not even dreamed about it before.

Dozens of journalists, not giving way to one another, were longing to approach to him, at least to catch a word. Hundreds of girls were crowded at the entrance of the hotel and were dubbing his name. The representatives of the famous companies visited John at night. And in a few days in the newspapers, on the statement columns and advertisement posters John’s photos were and under them were signed- “John Stansfield drinks only the Beer “Husk”- the best in the world” or “The Box World Champion John Stansfield wears the shirts “Follet”. Only and only “Follet” ”. Money itself found John and soon he bought a house in the Beverly Hills.

On April 4, 1955, in Stockholm John became a Double Champion. On this occasion the people of Chicago organized celebrations and a sculpturer named Schlip even made a statue of him. A meeting was summoned in the City Council, which decided to shift the statue to the Star Square.

John was recieved by the Governor himself, who showed him the statue.
Chicago had become the Athens.

On March 10, 1958, in Barcelona John Stansfield became a World Triple Champion. On March 12 John had invited the noblemen of Barcelona to banquet. He was called to the telephone. Stansfield returned sighing freely, excused himself to the guests and said that he was immediately returning to the Chicago. In a week his mother died too. On the burials of his parents John all in all spent $ 1.000.000. Such a burial of ordianary people Chicago had never witnessed. In two months John went to Las Vegas. At the cazino of “Ben Seagal Hotel” he sat at the gambling table.

“Your gambling money, sir!” the servant addressed him.
“Five million dollars!”

And Stansfield lost.

“More gambling money, gentlemen!”

The noise of cazino had numbed John. The presence of the Top society forced him to show his importance. The faith towards the invincible strength inspired him an utmost self- confidence, while the slavish smiles guiding everywhere had made the world for him as an unweighed mass.

“Ten million dollars!”.

When John Stansfield was leaving the cazino, he had wasted all his property.

The fight John Stansfield- Marc Carlow had been appointed on the March 30, 1958, in                                                    Denver. Marc was a young afro-american. His father was a very rich hotelier. 

The first two rounds John fought succesively, but at the second minute of the third round he oscillated from the blow of the Carlow and fell.

The boisterous multitude of the audience for a moment was petrified.
“One! Two! Three... !” the referee was counting.

Stansfield seized the lowest rope of the ring, than the second and stood. He adopted a blowing pose, but Marc forestalled him. John fell again.
“One! Two! Three... !”

John endeavoured to stand, but was not able to and Marc stupified and with smile on his face was standing movelessly. 

John, frowning, looked at Marc astonishingly.

And the multitude like a mad spurred on Marc. They took him on their hands. 

That evening at the entrance of the hotel, where Marc had lodged, hundreds of girls and journalists were crowded. They dusbed the name of Carlow.

At that time in his room John buried his head under the bed-pillows and didn’t let the doctor approach to him.
“I feel well, leave me aside!”.

On April 5 he recieved a telegram from Milan.
“Johnn sorry, I’m marrying. My partner is Steave Lexer. You know him. He’s the son of that millionaire from Arkansas.  Vanessa”.

John had got acquanted with Vanessa in Bruxelles. On the 5 th of January they decided to marry and appointed a day- 1 st of April.

On December 18, John sold his house at Beverley Hills to a costly car trader and removed to Harrisburg, where in one of the city outskirts he bought an austere style appartment.

Years were passing. John was aware of the successes of Marc Carlow. Each week the newspapers printed materials about him. In 1964 Carlow became a World Double Champion.

John had two daughters from a grocery saleswoman of a- Janette Hillson. John was working at the Post Office as a head of a department. In July 1969 John and Janette were divorced. Janette took with her the two girls and John stayed alone. In November he was discharged of his job. He had been seen drunk. In 1978 John Stansfield sold his little appartment in the outskirt of Harrisburg. In a year he was sleeping under bulky paper-covers or in semi-destroyed buildings.

On December 22, 1979, in the evening in Chicago a man through the walking multitude was advancing along the Washington Street. He was wearing dirty and torn clothes, expensive, but much worn shoes. His face was hidden under the beard.

He turned left, then, towards Star Street, stopped in front of the house # 31and started to observe it attentively. On the door the index of the host was fixed- “Mr. Jack Immensler”.

For 20 years he hadn’t been to Chicago.

A few minutes later he was in the Star Square. It was getting dark.

“Hi John!,- he addressed to the statue,- hi, John Stansfield! How are you? In 20 years you’ve not been changed at all. Do you remember, when you were walking along the Star Street, do you remember Steff and Barbara, do you remember Roquell, Paris, London, Stockholm, Barcelona ? Do you remember  the telegram of Vanessa? No, that you wouldn’t remember. John! It’s dark already, and I have no one in this city. Let me sleep under your feet”.

He crossed the fence- chains surrounding the statue and leaned towards the rostrum of the statue.

It was getting bright. At Star Square the policeman bet the old man gently.

“Get up!, found a room to sleep!”

The old man wasn’t moving.

The policeman shook him. 

“I am to you, get up!”

  The old man wasn’t moving…
 
 

  The End
 

Vrej Kassouny (cartoons)
Hakob Hairuni (bee-keeping)
Albert Bebelian (photodiary)
Mary Saroyan (and Co.)