THE TAX COLLECTOR
The railroad came to Ak Hissar, bringing new prosperity and new
customs. The priest, fearing that the influence of the West might turn
the Faithful from the truth, spent much of his time with the mayor,
considering such weighty problems as how near the mosque might pass
the new telegraph wire, which every Moslem thought conveyed the voice
of Satan. Dicran was no longer consulted in these intricate questions,
for he was a Christian; and how could any Christian understand such
matters? Sometimes now the Moslem children called their Christian
playmates infidels or Christian dogs, evidently repeating the words
which the priest had taught them in the mosque. The governor was now
more frequently seen in the village, for his cupidity was aroused by
its unusual prosperity. The tax collector was ordered to double the
taxes of the Christians, but, being a man of honor, he hinted that an
increase of taxation would be an injustice; for his disobedience he was
dismissed, and his office was offered to the highest bidder.
The collector’s pockets are always capacious, and the taxes must yield
a sufficient amount to fill them. He is an industrious man and watches
carefully the fields of the peasants. As soon as the seed is sown he
may fix the value of the future crop to assess the tax. For him no
years are bad; no rain or hail or frost destroys. Many a peasant has
carefully tilled the soil, and brought his crop to maturity, only to
find that its value is less than the tax which he is ordered to pay; if
he refuses, his property is confiscated.
The new tax collector at Ak Hissar was known as Hassan, or Hassan
Effendi; but he was none other than Badiark, the Armenian money
changer, now become a Moslem, and to all appearances a Turk. He fully
justified the Oriental proverb that ten Christians are required to
outwit a Jew, and ten Jews to outwit an Armenian. Like every other
Christian of the village, Badiark had suffered from the Turkish
oppression, and he shrewdly exercised his active brain to devise a
means of escape. He cultivated the friendship of the priest and the
mayor; he displayed unusual interest in the teachings of the Koran; he
frequented the mosque at the hours when formerly he was seen in the
church; and finally forswore the religion of his people by publicly
declaring, “There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.”
He cringed with fear at the ceremonial which made him one of the
Faithful and allowed him to receive a Moslem name, yet he endured it
for the sake of future gain. His motives were so transparent that he
was openly jeered at by his cast-off Christian friends, whom he now
designated as dogs, and the Moslems themselves secretly despised him.
With apparent sincerity he performed punctiliously his prostrations in
public; and after the example of the fanatical priest, he mingled pious
ejaculations with his conversation. During the sacred month of Ramazan
he pretended to fast, and from daylight till sundown never permitted
himself the pleasure of a puff of the forbidden cigarette. In the garb
of a dervish he made the pilgrimage to Mecca, kissed the black stone
in the Kaaba, and drank of the water of the sacred pool of Zemzem; and
when he returned with a great green turban wound about his fez, he
was known as the hadji, or pilgrim. No longer doubting his piety, the
Moslems thought him one of the most faithful of the Faithful. Had he
not kissed the holy stone that fell from paradise? Had not his hand
touched the tomb of the Prophet? And all one afternoon he stood in the
mosque, holding out that hand for the less fortunate of the Faithful to
kiss. Thus Badiark the money changer became Hassan the hadji, and with
the funds which he had acquired as money changer, he bought the office
of tax collector.
His only thought now was to extort money by every method which he could
devise. As banker and private citizen, his ill-gotten gains were many;
but as a Moslem and an official, supported by the government, and with
soldiers to enforce his demands, his greed was boundless.
The tax collector in Turkey expects a welcome wherever he goes, for the
peasant who refuses him shelter is punished with increased taxation.
Hassan, fond of good food and a soft bed, frequently spent the night
with old Dicran, who welcomed the opportunity to influence him for the
better regulation of the taxes and to lighten somewhat the burdens of
the people. But it was not always the good food or the soft bed that
brought the collector. Hassan had never abandoned his purpose to marry
Armenouhi, and now, having become an influential official, with his
wealth rapidly increasing, he determined to win her. He would coax her
to him with sweet lokoum, or with the promise of a story, to which
she seldom listened. With his bulging eyes he followed her about her
household duties. When she returned from school he was there, and when
she went into the street, he followed her. When he asked her to go
with him to the spring on the hillside, and she refused, he growled
an unintelligible threat which caused her much alarm. Dicran’s eyes
were at last opened, and he decided that she must be taken immediately
beyond his reach to the mission school in Ada Bazaar. Even Hassan, an
artificial Turk, when his pride was wounded, was a sensitive being, and
believing that her sudden departure was in some way connected with him,
he was deeply incensed, and resolved to have revenge.
Two nights later he was lying on the floor of Dicran’s hall, gazing at
the rafters which were visible in the roof, as in most Armenian houses.
“Fine rafters you have up there, Dicran. Fourteen of them. Just the
number I want.”
“They are fine rafters,” replied the old man; “I cut them with my own
hand twenty years ago, and they have seasoned well. But I have others
just like them, out behind the stable. They are well seasoned, too, and
you may have them if you wish.”
“It is unusually difficult to collect the taxes this year,” complained
Hassan; “and while I need the rafters, I can’t afford to buy them.”
“Take as many of them as you will, and pay for them at your
convenience.”
“Yallah! but it is those in the roof I want.”
“You are a great jester,” laughed Dicran.
Next morning Hassan disappeared early, only to return in a few minutes
with soldiers from the guardhouse, armed with axes.
“Why these soldiers?” asked Dicran.
“We have come for the rafters,” said Hassan, and he pointed to the roof.
“I told you I had others to which you were welcome.”
“I want those up there,” growled Hassan, ordering a soldier to climb to
the roof.
In vain Dicran sought to reason with him; none but those particular
rafters would answer, and already the soldier was tearing up the tiles.
“I will give you their cost if you will but leave them,” cried the
alarmed Dicran, taking a gold lira from his pocket.
Though the gold piece was more than ample, Hassan looked at it with
apparent disgust.
“It is too little,” he sneered. “A lira for fourteen, good, straight,
seasoned rafters!” and he laughed loud at the absurdity. “One rafter,
one lira; fourteen rafters, fourteen liras, and cheap at that,” he
added.
In a moment Dicran was bargaining for his own property.
“I will give you five liras.”
“Fourteen,” shouted Hassan, unabashed by the injustice of his
exorbitant demand. “You can afford to send your girl to a foreign
mission school, and you shall pay for those rafters. Cut them out,
soldier,” he cried, turning to the man on the roof.
The soldier began to chop, and Dicran saw that his house would soon be
ruined.
“Here! here!” he cried, and began to count out the fourteen gold pieces.
Without rearranging the tiles which he had displaced, the soldier
climbed from the roof and joined his companions. Hassan, chuckling at
his success, ordered his men back to the barracks.
Thus the tax collector began a system of persecution worthy only of
himself. The prosperous days of the villagers were over. Taxes in
lump sums were demanded of them, and to enforce their payment, the
shady trees on the hillside were cut down, the spring was filled, the
sheep and cattle were driven away, the mulberry groves were burned,
ancient family jewels and rich old embroideries were confiscated, all
for taxes, all for the greed of one man who had purchased from the
government the right to practice open brigandage.
According to the official report, the people of Ak Hissar had
voluntarily paid their taxes in full. The valuable service which Hassan
was rendering his government was recognized by the Sultan, and he was
rewarded with a decoration. The tax collector was now no longer Hassan,
nor Hassan Effendi, but Hassan Bey.
Armenouhi could not yet understand why she had been sent away so
suddenly to the mission school. Just before the spring vacation she was
summoned by one of her teachers. When she entered the room, her bright
eyes were sparkling with the hope of going home.
“Your grandfather thinks you should remain here during this vacation,”
said the teacher, kindly.
“Why was I sent here? and why may I not go home? Does Dede not want to
see me?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“Hassan is still there,” explained the teacher, wiping the tears away.
Armenouhi was beginning to understand.