It was my cousin Sally. She wanted to know if I had seen the wanted ad for actors in the newspaper. I had seen it. Never before in a newspaper there had been such a thing. The Levon Shant Theater Company in Bourj Hammoud needed actors. There was a man's name and a telephone number to call. I knew the name from having seen the man act on stage with the famous Kasbar Ipekian group. Varoujan Hadeshian.
"What do you say Arpie, do you want to go?" Sally asked hopefully.
"What? What? Wait a minute. How is that possible? First of all, our parents would never allow it. Yes, we are twenty years old, only a month apart in age, our fathers are brothers and there would have to be some negotiations to secure permission.
Becoming a girl scout? Yes.
Playing Basketball? Yes.
But theater? Doubtful!
"But it sounds so inviting, so wonderful, so life giving, so...yes, let's go."
Bourj Hammoud is a suburb of Beirut, heavily populated by Armenians. Within Bourj Hammoud there are areas which are named after cities, rivers and villages of Western Armenia, now Turkey, where the people that now lived in Bourj Hammoud came from. Like New Jersey or New York, they are named New Marash, New Adana. But instead of New, the English word, they are called Nor Marash and Nor Adana.
Surprisingly, I had never been to Bourj Hamoud but knew some people from there who were students at my high school.
Miraculously, we were allowed to go.
We called the number in the newspaper and were told to bring something in Armenian to read.
It was a hot June evening when the two of us, cousins, drove to Bourj Hammoud as if we were going to the gates of heaven.
During the day we both worked as secretaries and did not exactly have a life outside of that. Yes, there was the occasional movie theater, or play we went to see and that was it. We found the building and went up the stairs to the third floor. The door was wide open, so we entered. There was a large room lit with florescent lights and a bearded man sat behind a table with a woman by his side. He introduced himself as the director Varoujan Hadeshian, his wife Diana, sitting next to him, and we introduced ourselves.
We read a few lines each and were told that if we wanted we could go up to the roof for exercises that the group did. Did we want to? Of course we did. It was the first exercise in years. Since leaving school we had both acquired secretarial hips from the long hours in front of a typewriter.
This, baby, was exciting, invigorating and inspiring. Voice, body, extremities, breathing and emotions were exercised. There was stretching, whistling, hissing and improvisations.
Sally and I were chosen to play in different short plays of Anton Chekov and I was put on a diet to lose some weight.
Instead of public transportation, I started walking to and from work, a fifteen-minute walk each way, while holding my stomach in. It is amazing how a life with purpose can inspire. I loved the walking during which time I repeated my lines. When there was no work to be done in the office, and there were days like that, I would just close my eyes and rehearse with words and movement, over and over again, in my head.
My mom, Anahid, made my costume at home following Diana's drawing. It was a dark pink velvet dress with black trimmings.
The above sentence was written three weeks after the previous one during which I traveled to New Jersey to see mom who passed away a couple of hours later. I returned to Arizona a week later and it is only now that I finally get to write. And I start with mom? I think it is good timing. Rest in peace sweet mom.
Ridden with anxiety, I made my first steps on stage by running to my "husband" and exclaiming his name, followed by a darling, "Andryusha, sireliiiiiis" in Armenian. I was playing Tatiana in Chekhov's A Jubilee, which was quite a stretch for me. This woman was vivacious, talkative, elegant, rich and young, married to the bank manager, in love with life and oblivious to what went on around her.
It was so much fun to finally be able to personify that character even for a brief moment in my life. It was an auspicious beginning, and led to many more challenging parts. I had not allowed myself to decide anything about my future yet but no other path seemed remotely interesting.
