The Doll at the Top of the Stairs

Auntie Azadouhi lived on the top floor of a third floor walkup in West Newton.  The stairs were dark and creaky, and after we reached the top of the stairs, and opened the door, there were more stairs to climb, but little Marash Girl and her cousins and siblings finally made it.  Uncle Paul would drive us there every year on Christmas Eve so that the six children could greet the commemoration of Christ's birth with song, Christmas carols sung (sans accompaniment) with zest to our Uncle Arakel and his daughters!  At the top of those stairs lived Uncle Arakel, and his two daughters, Azadouhi and Zarouhi, and his remaining son Ashod.  [Ara had gone drowned with his ship (he was a member of the United States Navy) when his ship was torpedoed during World War Two.]

Whenever we visited, Auntie Azadouhi would take down the beautifully crafted, beautifully dressed little doll from the top shelf of the closet at the top of the stairs and allow us to play with her childhood keepsake.  When we asked to take the doll home with us, she simply stated, "If you take it home with you, it won't be here the next time you visit, and you'll have no doll to play with!"  We accepted her reasoning as sound.  But years passed, and people passed, and Marash Girl still misses that doll that lived at the top of the stairs.