The most interesting and productive sessions we had were those where Sergio Y. spoke of his great-grandfather, Areg Yacoubian, who at sixteen boarded a ship for Brazil.
Sergio told me how his great-grandfather had settled in the city of Belém, where a countryman, Hagop Moskofian, had opened a wholesale distribution company four years earlier. His ship arrived in Pará in March of 1915 after making stops in Recife and Fortaleza.
Areg’s first job was as a warehouse man. He prided himself on being fast and keeping tight control over inventory. He helped Hagop as needed. For twenty minutes every night before bed, he would struggle to read the news in the Noticias do Pará in an attempt to teach himself Portuguese. He had a reputation for being frugal and good-natured and living for his work.
When Areg arrived in Belém, Hagop set him up in a small room above the store, which Areg slowly appropriated during his first year on the job. The space soon became his bedroom—“and his dream room,” as Sergio was keen to stress, quoting his great-grandfather.
In 1919, fellow countrymen arriving from Constantinople, fleeing the Turkish massacres, brought news that Areg’s family had been deported from Erzerum, where they lived, and had not been seen since. It was later learned that on the same day, in a single blow, Areg lost his entire family—his parents and eleven brothers, who had made the decision not to seek lives happier than those terminated at the hands of Ottoman troops.
According to what Sergio told me—so he had been told—after Areg, the last surviving Yacoubian, learned of his family’s death, he never again shed a tear for any reason, either happy or sad.
He knew how to prosper. He became Hagop’s partner in the company and, in 1924, at the age of twenty-five, he married Laila, the only daughter of Samir Simon, who owned a women’s clothing store in the Comércio district.
Over time, the two Armenians forged a brotherly friendship that lasted a lifetime. They became best friends. Areg continued to be Hagop’s partner, but he also opened other businesses by himself or with other partners. He sold everything from toys to industrial ovens. At twelve, his only child, Hagopinho, already worked with him at Laila Stores.
By the time he died at 103, he owned a commercial and real estate empire that practically stretched throughout Brazil.
Areg’s importance in forming Sergio Y.’s worldview was immense. This became clear again when, not very long ago, I played back the recording where he told me about his great-grandfather’s hundredth birthday party.
I have a recurring dream of my great-grandfather Areg. In the dream, he gives a speech, but I’m the only person in the audience. He begins, but he speaks softly, and I can barely hear him. I move closer, but I can only make out his last word: “happy.” I know why I have this dream. It’s because of my memories of Areg’s hundredth birthday party, in Pará. I went. My whole family traveled to Belém. My parents, my uncle Elias, my aunt Valéria, my cousin José. Everyone. We all stayed in my grandfather Hagopinho’s house.
The party was held at my grandparents’. They’d hired a caterer from São Paulo and set up tables on the porch and in the garden. They even set up a tent in case of rain. Between relatives and guests, there were about fifty people. After we all sang “Happy Birthday,” Areg called everybody’s attention by tapping his wineglass with a fork. When everyone was quiet, he stood. He took out a sheet of paper from his pocket. He held the paper with both hands and stared at it, and it seemed as if he would read from it, but instead he folded the paper and laid it on the table. He cleared his throat and began.
At one hundred, Areg was in good health. He was full of life. He walked slowly but firmly. He spoke softly, but his message always seemed positive. I think most of the guests that evening could not even hear him. But I was close to him, sitting at the family table, and I heard every word. I realized he was choking up and stuttering a bit. I was about eleven or twelve at the time. I remember it all in detail. I’ve never been able to forget what he said. I think I’m here today because of that day. It was because of his speech that I understood I needed to do something to be happy. I watched Areg’s birthday video so often I know the speech by heart. You want to see? I can even do his accent. [ . . . ]
Once the speech was over, and the guests began greeting him, I walked over and picked up the piece of paper he’d left on the table. I quickly shoved it in my pocket, without thinking, as if I were shoplifting. Later, locked in the bathroom, when I opened the piece of paper, I realized that the only thing Areg had written on it with his shaky handwriting was the words: “If happiness is not where we are, we must chase her. She sometimes lives far away. You must have the courage to be happy.”
I brought the sheet of paper with Areg’s message to São Paulo. I put it in my datebook in my desk drawer. I have it to this day. It’s like a talisman.