Chapter One. Energy Crisis

Story by Artavazd Yeghiazaryan
Translated by Nazareth Seferian
Illustration by William Karapetyan
In cooperation with the European Union Delegation to Armenia

In the tango hall, concentrating on the dance was proving to be an impossible task. Lilith would usually forget about the outside world within three or four minutes of setting foot in the hall, and by the time the first dance for couples got underway, she wouldn’t even be able to remember her own name. This time, she had no such feelings. Not even when Vazgen, the best dancer among the boys (Lilith didn’t want to admit this to herself, but Vazgen was the reason she had first come here two years ago — “Why not? I’ll find time to take tango classes as well”), had invited her to the next dance and they had ended up in the “close embrace” position. Vazgen placed his right hand on Lilith’s waist precisely to the last millimeter, took her right palm in his left hand and, in the instructor’s words, their “solar plexuses came together”. Vazgen smiled, giving Lilith the feeling that, behind that smile, he thought of her as someone who was wasting her energy on a thousand different things, managing to only achieve mediocrity in a myriad activities. It came as no surprise that, just a few moves later, Lilith had irretrievably losther connection with Vazgen and ended up performing a completely different move instead of an ocho, because of which her dance partner hurt her defenseless pinky. Lilith was overcome with pain and Vazgen was left looking like an idiot, so he didn’t invite Lilith to another dance for the rest of the class, and the smile disappeared from his face.

In the changing room, Lilith recalled the conversation she had had with her father that morning. She never remembered seeing her father happy, but the previous evening, when yet another deadline to pay the gas and electricity bills had passed, his silent anger had been palpable in every move he made. And in the morning, that anger had become anything but silent. Shaking the warning notes left by the gas inspector and electric company employee, her father had directed his accumulated wrath at Lilith. Lilith, who had just returned from her morning run, had only managed to hang her head and mumble that she was late for the meeting with the NGO assisting Syrian Armenian refugees, and she had slipped out of the house.

Armen Asatryan crushed the terrible warning notes in his palm and came out into the courtyard of his house in Charbakh, where he sat down on his bench and started to think. He tried to understand how the cold and dark years could possibly have seemed a more hopeful time for him than today. Why this house — which his own hands had built with his father and brother, completing it a year before independence — had now suddenlycome across this seemingly insurmountable problem of affordable gas and electricity, that too in this damned third millennium, when tourists were already putting themselves on a waiting list to fly to space. Was he doing something wrong? Was he spending his own energy on useless solutions? Yes, at his age of 47 years, he could proudly say that he had never satisfied himself with simply getting by — he had worked like a dog and he had enjoyed it, never complaining. But it looked like that was no longer enough to solve the problem of paying energy bills in the winter of 2017. Should he sell the house? Move abroad? Perhaps taking some poison would be the quickest solution? If only his daughter would get her act together and not repeat the mistakes he made…

In her childhood, Lilith had been the kind of person who was described as “a very active child” by her parents, acquaintances, neighbors and even random passers-by. In third grade, the bespectacled A-student Vahag had promised Lilith, “I’ll become a scientist when I grow up and I’ll create a perpetual motion machine usingmaterial exracted from your cells.”

She couldn’t sit in one place, she was always running around, playing, singing, organising performances. When she’d grown up a little, she began to engage in all sorts of activities. By the time she got to the third year in university, she had already taken classes in swimming, fencing, batik art, guitar, photography, and tango; she would run every day, write poetry, participate in the university debate club, while also providing assistance through an NGO she had co-founded with her friends to Syrian Armenian refugees who were trying to settle down in Armenia. The money she made (from paid photography jobs, for example) would barely be enough to cover the costs of her ever-expanding portfolio of hobbies. While they had been a source of endless fascination when she was 16–17 years old, they didn’t seem to have the same charm now that she was 23. Lilith was finding herself unable to dedicate herself completely to any one of those activities. Her friends had already dropped hints about this to her, mainly trying to pass them off as jokes. But that morning, her father had said everything to her in the most straightforward terms possible.The most painful section of his four-minute bellowing monologue had sounded like this — “It’s high time you spent some of that energy of yours on something specific. You keep participating in all kinds of things without really doing anything.”

Following an unsuccessful NGO meeting, where everyone seemed to be mercilessly rejecting all the suggestions she was making, and a failed tango class, Lilith had a photography session next. A charity concert was being organised in one of the city’s parks and Lilith had been asked to take pictures for posterity. Any other day, Lilith would have done this with pleasure — the instructor of the photo club, Mr. Suren, and the other participants would often praise her and say that she looked very confident with a camera in her hands. But today, she saw all kinds of cynicism in the eyes of the other photographers — “Got a big camera so you think you’re a real photographer? Why don’t you go do something that suits you better?” Were those commentsin the minds of her fellow photographers, or did they echo in her own head? Lilith somehow held on till the end of the concert (early that morning, she had decided she would jump on the stage during the finale and play percussion for one piece with the band, but now she just wanted to get out of there and forget she had ever seen a drumset) and then refused an invitation to go to the afterparty, even when one of the organizers, Hakob, said that he wanted to talk to her about something. Lilith didn’t want to talk to anyone. She promised she would send the pictures the following day and left, walking around alone.

After wandering aimlessly for forty minutes, she sat on the first bench that she came across and continued to wallow in misery. She would probably have started crying (for the first time since she had felt unrequited love in the eighth grade) if her phone hadn’t rung — it was her friend Hasmik. Lilith’s barely audible “Hello” was followed by Nvard’s“Where are you?” “I don’t know, I’m drained of all energy,” Lilith replied. “Do you want to finally get a paid job?” Hasmik asked, telling her that she was getting ready to go to Europe to study through the Erasmus+ programme, meaning that the company where she’d been working as an office manager for two years would be looking for a replacement. She suggested that Lilith apply for the position. Lilith sighed inexplicably, and then said that she hated boring office work and everything else that existed in the world. Hasmik responded with a strong argument, “You need this now.” And then she added, “By the way, I’m having coffee at Nvard’s studio and she’s anxiously wondering why you haven’t joined us yet.”

Nvard was a designer and Lilith would spend time with her and watch her work, trying to learn and advance her long-term plans of starting a career in design. Today though, she was very uncertain about continuing down that path. But sitting next to a friend would nevertheless be more pleasant than staying out in the street in the cold, or going back home. Half an hour later, in Nvard’s studio, Lilith seemed to have come across an unexpected solution. For her father, at least. Nvard was close to completing a booklet for a programme that encouraged people to install energy efficient systems in their houses. “What’s this?” Lilith asked, walking up to the computer screen. “An iMac Pro,” Nvard replied and, seeing the angry look on the face of her friend who seemed to be in no mood for jokes, she added, “It’s a special loan you can take to renovate your house; you’ll end up spendingmuch less on energy bills.You invest a little up front to save money later. It’s a European Union programme, we’ve been contracted to prepare their communication material,” she summed up. Lilith looked at the screen, lost in thought. “Are you going to help me out today?” Nvard asked. “No, I’ve decided to use my energy with greater focus from now on. Sorry. Could you give me that booklet?”

Armen was chopping wood with an axe in the yard of his house in Charbakh. All of the lights inside the house were switched off, as was the gas. The only source of light in the area was a dusty bulb attached to a pillar in the yard. His anger and despair had gone, leaving only indifference. When his daughter appeared in his field of vision, he almost ignored her. But Lilith stood close by and stubbornly waited. Finally, a few axe chops later, Armen put down the instrument and turned to Lilith. “Dad, I’ve got the solution,” Lilith said. Armen just hung his head and shook it, indicating that it was no longer possible to find a solution. He picked up another log and put it on the stump. “Seriously, Dad. This morning, when you said…” Chop! “…that we need to spend energy wisely…” Thump! “…and that it we needed to be efficient with energy at home, and in life in general…” Armen stopped chopping wood. “I’m glad you got it, but I don’t know what to do with the house…” Lilith, visibly excited, interrupted her father, holding out the booklet that Nvard had printed — “I know, I know, there’s a way out. But let’s go in first, it’s getting cold out here.” Armen smiled. Lilith’s energy could bring a smile to his lips even in situations like this. “It’s not particularly warm inside either, but okay, let’s go in.”

During her run the following morning, Lilith was worried once again. A few hours ago, the solution seemed to have arrived. But then she realised that she needed to actually make it happen. She was distracted for a second by a man passing by, whose glance at her seemed to say, “Young lady, why are you out running in your underwear? Don’t you have anything better to do?” She was unusually unperturbed by the stares and comments of the residents of Charbakh, but she was very stressed that day. Deep breath — inhale, exhale… Lilith closed her eyes, and raised the volume of the song pulsing through her earphones (Arcade Fire, “Wake up” — yes, wake up, on your feet!), picking up the pace of her run as if each step she took brought their quarter-century old house closer and closer to energy efficiency. Those two words had taken over Lilith’s thoughts since the previous day. She had learned from the booklet she’d picked up from Nvard, as well as from a phone call she had made that people in Europe had been leading energy efficient lives for a long time now. They installed solar panels so that they could harness the sun’s precious rays, they covered the walls of their houses with high-quality material that kept it warm or cool inside… Lilith almost ended up being hit by a speeding car, she hadn’t noticed the traffic light change to red. She had twenty seconds to run in place and recall once again the results of her research from the previous evening. As the pleasant female voice at the other end of the phone had explained, there was a certain expense up front, after which one would no have a reason to curse the people working at gas and electric companies. Lilith ran across the street, noticing with a frown how a young man threw a cigarette butt into the bushes (and that young man noticed Lilith with a frown)… All this talk of energy efficiency was interesting and useful, there was no doubt about that. But how were they going to take that first step? How would they transform their home to an energy efficient one? “We have to apply for a loan,” she’d told her father, showing him the booklet about the special credit programme. Armen had not been very hopeful. “How are we going to convince the bank to give us a loan? My salary’s not officially registered, and you…” They could ask her uncle for help, but they weren’t sure how his work was going in Germany — he never told them muchabout it — but it seemed like things weren’t that good. In any case, “We need a stable income,” her father had concluded the previous day. And that meant that, before transforming their home, Lilith had to transform herself.

She walked up to the drinking fountain. Despite the wintry weather, she gulped the cold water with pleasure. She had to find a job today, come what may. “It’s tough now, but does that mean we should end up owing a bank money for a few years?” But Lilith had a plan — she would give up most of the activities that took up her time and energy, get the job that Hasmik was vacating, secure a stable income, and it didn’t matter that she would be doing this in a boring office — this was the priority at the moment. She continued to run. She’d complete her run now, go to the NGO meeting, get back, finish touching up the photographs and soon she would be able to submit the necessary documents to the bank… No, there was no time. It had to be now. She stopped. She took out her phone. She located Hasmik in her list of contacts. And then she hesitated for a minute. Was it worth giving up all the creative and pleasant activities she engaged in to join the rat race? Get in at nine, have lunch at one, escape at six, an unbearable dress code and the same faces everywhere… Then she recalled the gas and electricity bills and her father’s sense of despair. Yes, it was worth it. What else could she do? But suddenly, another name appeared on the screen of her phone — Hakob. This early in the day? She wavered for a minute, but then picked up, “Hakob jan, good morning. I’ll send you the photos later today…” But Hakob had called for another reason. “You didn’t come last night, but I need to see you now. We’re starting a great project and we need a photographer who’s creative and energetic. You’ll pick up all the experience you need while you work. If you’re interested, come to the Cascade in half an hour for a cup of coffee.” Taken by surprise, Lilith ended up saying the first thing that came to her mind, “But I’ve already decided to rot away in an office until the end of my life.” Hakob let out a desperate, “What?” “Nothing, nothing… but will I have an official salary?” “So official that you’ll want to sing the national anthem.” Lilith ran home — the NGO could wait. Her father had just spoken to her uncle, he would be sending money over the following day to pay their utility bills. “He said he wasn’t loaning the money to us, but I think we should return it to him at some point,” her father said. Lilith picked up the booklet from the table. “Dad, I’m going to get a job. Wait for my phone call, and we’ll go to the bank together.” She changed, picked up her camera, and ran out.

Spring arrived and the seemingly endless winter frost, surprisingly receded. During that time, Lilith has settled down into Hakob’s new media project and her uncle has provided money for the co-payment on the loan. It’s one o’clock, and Lilith has used her lunch break to come to the bank with her father. She picks up the pen and finds the corner where she needs to sign, next to her name… “Congratulations,” the loan officer says.