TUMO x h-pem | 'The Prime-­minister/դը փրայմ ﬕնիսթը' by Hayk Sarsgyan

Fiction 


The rectangular table full of tasty food was longer than the road that was planned to be built. The Prime Minister was looking at fish made with grenade sauce like it was the last fish in the whole galaxy. He was ready to devour everything that was in front of him. The Prime Minister imagined the sound of a gunshot that would mean the start of an eating competition. He thought that he is a real gentleman because he eats all the food, therefore, helps the women who clean after dinner. The more he eats, the less they clean. A few minutes later, the Prime Minister’s belly was full of խորոված (grilled meat). 

***

“Mr. Dmboyan, I finished writing your speech. I think it’s the best one of the year”, said the Prime Minister’s speechwriter.

“What the… I cannot read these Russian letters.”

“These are not Russian letters. It is English. The guests are from Europe. They cannot understand Armenian.”

“Find a translator,” Mr. Dmboyan rolled his eyes.

The writer did not want to lose her job so instead of saying that giving a speech with a translator, or with a piece of paper is shameful for the Prime Minister she said, “I have an Idea. I can write an English speech in Armenian letters. But you have to promise to memorize it.”

“No way! Who cares anyway? Just write something simple.”

***

A stadium full of people, the scariest image for the Prime Minister.

“Նա-­ա-­ա-­յս թու-­ու-­ու ﬕ-­ի-­թ իւ (Ni-­i-­i-­ce to-­o-­o mee-­eet you)”, said the Prime Minister like a drunk man who cannot control himself.

The Prime Minister was nervous to read his speech. He thought he made a huge mistake. He had eaten fish, then drank water. And he was feeling like the fish was swimming inside him. He tried to remember if he chewed the fish or not. He repeated the words written on a dirty napkin. Everyone laughed. The assistant panicked and she had no choice but to pretend that there was a problem with the microphone.

“There is no problem with the microphone. Let me finish my amazing speech”, said Mr. Dmboyan. Fortunately, the assistant turned off the microphone just in time and no one heard the last words of Mr. Dmboyan.

***

The smell of homemade dolma attacked the nose of the Prime Minister who was not a Prime Minister anymore. He was looking at his mother who was cooking a watermelon pie and smiling. He kept thinking and thinking, why am I not the Prime Minister anymore? At last Mr. Dmboyan got tired of thinking and started eating his dolma.