‘God in heaven, I hope this traffic eases up once we are away from the city,’ he said.
He waved a hand dismissively at a couple standing in the road trying to hitch a lift. They had a small suitcase between them.
‘We could fit someone in the back, couldn’t we?’
‘I think we just want to concentrate on getting to Nicosia,’ said Savvas.
His response quietened Aphroditi. There was no point in arguing.
Another plane flew low overhead. It seemed to follow the line of the road that would be taking them out of Famagusta. There was something distinctly menacing about this, as if it was observing them. Fear began to crawl over Aphroditi.
For ten minutes they both sat in silence, united in the need to contain their anxiety. Eventually Aphroditi spoke.
‘How long is it going to take to get there?’ she asked timidly.
‘That’s a stupid question, Aphroditi. Your guess is as good as mine.’
She said nothing more. Her anxiety was for herself, but it was for Markos too. She wondered how long it would be before she saw him again.
The heat in the car was building up, even with the cold fan on full blast and the windows firmly shut to keep the even hotter afternoon air outside.
For a few minutes they were stationary outside one of the biggest jewellery shops in the city. They knew the owner well; they were his best customers. The aquamarines, among many other pieces, had been bought from him.
They could see Giannis Papadopoulos carefully removing each tray from the window. His wife was behind him, meticulously stacking them up, but they still had dozens to go.
‘They’re mad!’ exclaimed Aphroditi. ‘Why don’t they just put their shutters down and leave?’
‘That shop contains everything they own!’ retorted Savvas. ‘You think they’re going to risk losing it all?’
‘But they’re risking their lives, aren’t they?’
As she was speaking, another plane passed overhead.
Savvas attempted to tune the car radio, but there was too much interference, and the sound of a human voice was almost inaudible through the crackling and hissing.
‘Damn! I want to know what is happening!’ he said, slamming his hand against the dial.
The noise was immediately silenced, but Savvas’ anger had been fuelled all the more. He sighed and swore under his breath. Aphroditi noticed that his palms were dripping.
What they were seeing out of the car windows seemed unreal, as if they were watching images on a screen. For more than half an hour, their car moved at a slower pace than the pedestrians. People on foot were all making steady progress with their baggage, babies, even one or two with caged birds. It was like the relentless flow of a wide river. There was just one person whose stillness stood out against the backdrop of movement. A lone boy was poised on the pavement’s edge, watching the vehicles, mesmerised.
‘Savvas! Look! Look at that child!’
‘There are lots of children,’ snapped Savvas.
‘He looks as if he is on his own!’
Savvas did not take his eyes off the truck in front, keeping nose to tail even though the other vehicle was belching out filthy fumes. His only aim was to carry on moving, inch by inch, and to make sure that nobody else pushed out from a side road in front of him.
As they drew parallel, Aphroditi found herself looking straight out of the window and meeting the boy’s gaze. His small stature meant that they were eye to eye. She suddenly felt aware of how she must look to anyone who glanced inside their car. Chic, well made-up, still laden with heavy, expensive jewellery. The truth was that everyone was much too preoccupied with their own journey out of town. Except perhaps for this boy who looked her straight in the eye.
Aphroditi’s strong maternal instincts would not allow her to ignore this apparently abandoned child.
‘Can’t we stop? Ask him if he needs some help?’ she pleaded.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. There are plenty of people around.’
‘But nobody’s taking any notice of him!’
By now the car had moved forward and Aphroditi, craning to look out of the back window, watched the child until he disappeared from view.
Chapter Nineteen
MEHMET WAS STILL in the same spot a few moments later. Alone and gazing. He had already forgotten the lady with the light blue stones.
He had wandered out for a few moments when everyone else was distracted at home, to see what was happening, and had been mesmerised by the great tide of people and the flow of cars.
Hüseyin had been sent out to find Mehmet and spotted him as he turned into the main road. As he was sprinting towards him he heard the sound of an explosion.
‘Mehmet!’ he screamed. ‘Come here.’
He picked his little brother up and ran to the house.
As soon as they were back, Mehmet received a sharp smack on the leg from his father. It made his eyes smart.
‘Don’t wander out again like that,’ scolded Halit angrily. He and Emine had been frantic.
Emine hugged him, her own eyes wet from crying, and when she mopped his tears with her apron, Mehmet caught the smell of spice. Something very strange was happening, but this at least was familiar.
A while later, Hüseyin went back down the street to check the situation. Five minutes later, he ran in again to tell his parents what he and Mehmet already knew.
‘Everyone’s leaving,’ he shouted. ‘Everyone! We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘No! We can’t go without Ali!’ Emine cried. ‘He won’t know where to find us.’
‘Why would we run away from our own people!’ said Halit.
‘These are not our own people, Father. They’re Turks.’
‘But haven’t they come to keep us safe?’ snapped Halit.
‘They’re hardly going to kill us, are they, Hüseyin?’ said Emine.
‘How do you know that, Mother?’ His voice rose with fear and anger. ‘It’s chaos out there. How will they know who is who? Have you met any Turkish soldiers?’
‘Hüseyin!’ Halit warned.
‘You don’t know them, Father. You don’t know what they are like! You don’t know what they’ll do when they get here!’
Up until now, many people had defended Turkey’s actions. They had believed that it was doing what was within its rights, to try and guarantee the independence of Cyprus. But now it seemed to have transgressed the boundaries. If Emine did not know the reputation of the Turkish soldiers, it was because she did not want to hear. Stories of murder were widespread. Reports of rape were legion.
‘I’m more worried about the women in this city than the men,’ said Hüseyin.
‘Hüseyin! Don’t say that kind of thing to your mother!’
‘I am trying to save us. We need to get out of here.’
‘Maybe he’s right,’ said Halit. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t risk it.’
‘But Halit!’ pleaded Emine. ‘Ali is just a child! When he comes back, he’ll come back here. We would be abandoning him.’
Halit tried to persuade her, but she refused to even consider it. By now, she was almost hysterical.
‘I won’t go! I won’t!’
She stormed out.
‘We’ll wait a while longer,’ said Halit to Hüseyin. ‘She’ll come round.’
The hours passed, and as night fell, the tension grew.
Hüseyin stirred coffee inside a tiny pan. As the foam rose to the surface, he extinguished the heat beneath it and poured the dark liquid into two tiny cups.
At their small table, Halit smoked one Dunhill after another.
There was silence except for the rattle of the fridge; their nazar, the evil eye, seemed to watch over them from the wall. Mehmet sat, unnoticed, on the floor.
Eventually Emine returned, her face streaked with tears.
‘If only we’d stopped him going,’ she wept, sitting down at the table. ‘Then we would all be together and we could leave.’
?
??It’s not too late,’ urged Hüseyin. ‘Let’s go now.’
The debate continued, only suppressed by the need to keep their voices low in case the soldiers were coming closer. Mehmet climbed on to his mother’s lap and clapped his hands over his ears. For his entire, though short, life he had listened to quarrels rage within the family.
‘Gavvole! God damn it!’
His father slammed his fist hard down on the table. One of the small cups bounced off and smashed into a dozen pieces on the stone floor. Everyone in the room froze.
Emine began to weep again into her apron, trying to stifle her sobs.
‘I can’t believe this is happening again,’ she moaned. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
Silently she picked up the pieces of the broken cup.
‘If we carry on like this,’ said Hüseyin, regretfully, ‘there’ll be no hope for any of us.’
Just down the road, most of the Georgiou family were gathered together in Irini and Vasilis’ apartment. A low flame flickered before the icon of Agios Neophytos, creating strange distorted shadows on the ceiling. Windows and shutters were tightly closed and the room was airless. It was two in the morning.
On the table were some empty cups and a small glass of zivania.
Panikos paced up and down. Vasilis sat slumped in an armchair, running his fingers nervously through his worry beads, but their clacking sound was almost inaudible next to his daughter’s panting.
Maria’s hands rested on the table next to her father and Irini stroked her back rhythmically, repeating the same words and quietly comforting her: ‘Softly now, softly now.’ Her hands were clammy, wet from the sweat that had soaked through her daughter’s dress from her neck to her waist.
From time to time Maria let out a deep moan as she gripped the edge of the table. Her knuckles whitened and tears of pain dropped on to the lace cloth.
In the corner, on the floor, sat Vasilakis. His head was buried deep in his hands, which were clamped over his ears, and his knees were held to his chest. Certain that it would make him invisible, he kept his eyes tightly closed.
The door opened just for a moment, and a shaft of moonlight fell across the wall, briefly illuminating the glass mati, the evil eye, that hung on the wall. Markos slipped into the room.
Irini looked up, her concentration momentarily distracted from her daughter.
‘Leventi mou! You’re still here!’
‘Yes, Mamma, I’m still here. I wasn’t going to abandon you.’
‘But you could have left,’ said Vasilis. ‘Fled like everyone else …’
‘Well I didn’t,’ said Markos. ‘I’m here.’
He sauntered across to his mother and nonchalantly kissed her on the back of her head as though this was just a casual visit, a normal day.
Unlike everyone else in the room, he was feeling exhilarated. With Savvas gone, he had realised the potential of what he controlled. That morning, he had sold a gun from the safe. There were plenty of people desperate to own the means to protect themselves who were willing to pay anything it cost. And now the vault was filled with something even more valuable than weapons.
From the shadows came Panikos’ voice.
‘What’s going on out there?’
‘It seems quiet at the moment. Most people have gone.’
Maria, oblivious to anything but the spasms that gripped her body, let out a low howl, a sound immediately muffled by her mother’s hand.
‘Shhhh, my darling. Shhhhh.’
‘Somehow you have to keep her from making any noise,’ whispered Markos. ‘Otherwise we’re all in danger.’
‘I think it’s nearly her time,’ said the older woman. ‘Panagia mou! Why now?’
Moments later, the heavy, rhythmic beat of boots was heard outside.
Chapter Twenty
THE FIFTEENTH OF August was an important date in the calendar. It was the Feast of the Assumption, the day of celebration for the Virgin Mary, one of the most significant days for the church and for thousands of women who bore her name. Maria would normally be celebrating.
This year it was different. As the final agonising pains of labour tore through her small frame, the Turks broke through the last defences in Famagusta. The remaining members of the Cyprus National Guard had fled. Linking up with Turkish fighters inside the walled area, the soldiers had walked unimpeded into an empty city.
In her parents’ bedroom, Maria held her newborn daughter. Two months premature, the tiny baby suckled feebly. Panikos came in and stroked his wife’s head.
During the last few hours, Maria had been aware of nothing but the shattering quakes of pain that racked her body. All the windows and shutters had been firmly closed to contain her screams, so the heat had built up.
She was exhausted now, and her eyes were shut. The world outside had ceased to exist.
As long as they remained silent, they might all be safe for a while. Now that the baby had been born, they were talking quietly about what should happen next. When could they leave? Or was it too late?
Markos had gone out again.
When he returned some hours later, Vasilis immediately demanded to know what was happening outside.
‘Looting,’ he said. ‘Ransacking, robbing …’
‘Panagia mou …’
His mother sat down. She rocked gently as she sat.
‘We have to get out of here, Markos,’ said Vasilis.
‘Look, there’s no question of going out in the streets now. We need to wait, keep as quiet as we can and see what happens.’
‘What about food?’ asked his mother timidly.
‘When we run out, I will go and find some,’ he said. ‘Everyone has gone. It’s just soldiers out there.’
‘Turkish …?’ asked Irini in a whisper.
‘Yes, Mamma, Turkish soldiers. They’re just going into shops at the moment. But sooner or later they’ll begin on the houses.’
‘Come on,’ said Vasilis decisively. ‘Let’s get some furniture up against the doors.’
For the first time, Irini wondered if Christos, wherever he might be, was in less danger than they were.
Savvas and Aphroditi had not reached their destination. Several hours into their journey, they had realised that they might have to change their plan. On the congested road out of Famagusta, they began to encounter heavy traffic coming the other way.
A similar exodus was also taking place from Nicosia as residents fled the capital city. People in the capital were familiar with conflict and fear, having lived with the line dividing their city for a decade, but this time many of them were getting out. Rockets had been fired at the Hilton, which was being used as a Red Cross hospital, and even the psychiatric hospital had been a target.
Soldiers at the roadside warned them that Nicosia was as dangerous as Famagusta, and Savvas had to face up to the fact that there was no question of going there.
Along with thousands of others, they were being diverted to the relative safety of the British base at Dhekelia, fifteen miles south-west of Famagusta. Cars were at a standstill now. Families walked between the vehicles; some people even wheeled bicycles laden with their possessions. This teeming mass of thousands was all making for the same destination.
Cars, buses, tractors, fruit lorries and mule-drawn carts passed the checkpoint into the base. Old and young, rich and poor were all in search of the same. Everyone had come to find sanctuary and most had the same dazed and fearful expression on their faces. Tens of thousands of them had abandoned everything they knew for the unknown, leaving their city empty for the taking. Once the National Guard had gone, there had been no other choice.
Aphroditi felt her body temperature plummet, her fear making her cold on a warm day. She was shivering, and her palms felt like ice. If they were not going to Nicosia, what chance did Markos have of finding her amidst all this chaos?
Within two days, nearly forty per cent of the island was under Turkish control. The Attila line that cut off the north from the south
was as good as complete.
Inside the base at Dhekelia, conversation was universally bleak. Everyone, male or female, religious or agnostic, was reduced to the same. What they were now and what they had been only a few days before were immeasurably different. For now they were all stripped to nothing.
The Turkish soldiers had brought terror into their hearts. The trauma they had suffered manifested itself in many ways. Some were completely silent; others wept openly. On the first day following arrival in the base, many were numb. After that, there were the practicalities to be dealt with: where to sleep, how to find food, how to get medical attention for the sick. Latrines had to be dug, kitchens erected, and shelter allocated.
Many of them now looked to their religious faith for salvation.
‘Only God, the Virgin and the saints can help us now,’ a woman repeated over and over again while they were standing in the queue for food.
‘What about America?’ Savvas muttered audibly. ‘Or Britain?’
‘Savvas!’ scolded Aphroditi, but the old woman was oblivious.
‘Blind faith never helped anyone,’ he snapped, ‘but the Americans could have done.’
‘Why not the Greeks?’ interrupted another voice.
People were pressed up together in the queue, jostling so as not to lose their places.
‘Because the odds are against them winning, that’s why.’
‘Greece got us into this mess,’ said an irate woman close to Savvas, ‘so they should get us out of it.’
Her view was a common one, but in their hearts they knew that Greece would already have come to their rescue if it was going to. The prime minister of the newly restored democracy there had inherited more than enough problems from the dictatorship, and taking Greece into a full-scale war with Turkey over Cyprus was something he could ill afford.
Makeshift churches evolved where people gathered to pray. Many were frantic over missing relatives, and their only comfort was to imagine that God would hear their prayers and safely reunite them. They had lost their homes, but this was a small loss compared with the separation from a son, a brother or a husband. The number of those missing was growing by the day.