– Don't cry, my daughter. Let the Armenian babies cry.
– Where are the Armenian babies, mom?
– At the very bottom of the hell.
– But why let them cry? Don't you feel sorry for them?
- No, I don't. May the snake bite them if I am lying.
– The babiiiiiiies???
– No daughter, not the babies.
– But you have just said…
– I said because I was angry, I will not say so anymore
– I want to play with Armenian children, mom…
– Play with Zemka.
– Zemka has quarreled with me.
– Make peace.
– Oh no… I want to play with Armenian children.
– You can't, daughter. They are far from us.
– How far are they? In the hell?
– Yes, they are in the hell.
– Where is the hell, mom? Let's go there…
– We can't, daughter. The hell is a very bad place. Bad people live there.
– And babiiiies?
– No (in embarrassment).
– But you said it yourself.
– Fathers and mothers of babies are in the hell, but the babies are not there.
– So where are the children? May I play with them, mom?
– No, daughter. They are bad children. We can't go to them. They will take away your toys and break them.
– Don't they have toys of their own?
– They have. But they will want your toys. Therefore, they are bad.
– I will give, let them play, then they will give them back.
– They will not give back. They will not want. They do not give back what they take.
– I will not give, then.