Raffi, the real point of this poem is that
the girlfriend is crazy.
"No," the girlfriend said angrily.
"I want your mother's heart!"
So the boy went and killed his mother.
You know what they say,
there's always a woman at the heart of it.
As he ran through the streets
with her heart in his hands, he tripped and fell.
His mother's heart cried out,
"My poor boy!
Did you hurt yourself?"
Permission for what
That's a new twist to the story.
Why do you need to call it a story?
Don't you have anything better to do at your age
than fall in love?
My age?
You were married at my age!
Let me look at you, son.
You're missing a button.
It must have fallen off.
Hold your hand in front of it.
Like this? Yes.
Just look at them.
Nice and comfortable, sipping their coffee.
No idea what's about to hit them.
Let me take a shot.
You couldn't shoot a cow.
There's another 20, 25
creeping up on us.
And in the front,
one chicken.
Aim!
Fire!
We have to go.
God bless you.
Do you remember when we took this photo
to send to your father?
Yes.
If the Turks capture you,
you will never give up your faith.
You will never forget your mother tongue.
If you survive,
it will be to tell this story.
Of what has happened here. Of what will happen--
We will win, Mother.
Take this picture with you.
You will not forget me.
We will win.
Stop! Levon, stop! What are you doing, brother?
Levon, you'll be killed. Come back, Levon!
Go retrieve the rifle! Run! Run!
What's your fucking problem?
Like what?
Don't get involved in things that don't concern you.
Did you intend to destroy his life?
What are you talking about?
My father left my mother for you.
My father gave up everything for you.
Listen, your father was fully aware of what he was doing.
I have nothing to apologize for.
My father loved you. My father was suffering.
If he knew that you were having an affair,
I have no doubt that he would have killed himself.
Your father died accidentally.
He tripped and fell.
I don't have any other way of explaining it.
It's a question of time. There's no rush to separate.
Look, I didn't see him fall.
You didn't see him fall,
or you don't want to think you saw him fall?
I don't remember anything,
but the fact that he slipped and he fell.
I can't remember it the way you want me to.
And even if I could remember what you want me to remember,
I won't.
I don't need to.
Do you understand? Uh-huh.
It was Sunday morning.
The first useless Sunday dawning on the corpses.
I saw a dark crowd in the courtyard
lashing a group of young women.
An animal of a man shouted, "Dance."
"Dance with bare breasts, without shame."
Then...
...someone brought a jug of kerosene.
Raffi, do you want me to lie?
We have to go.
Tell me what to do.