I saw Kyria Ana in the market this morning. She was talking to the Greek Orthodox priest Theodoros and she was laughing! I still don't see the joke. But I did get some pomegranates and lemons. There was a pile of sardines in tins so I bought some of them, too. They are marked British army issue. If only I could find some bread I could have a sardine sandwich. I talked to the man Robert bought flour from. He said that you cannot make bread if you haven't any wheat flour and there was no wheat flour because the thieving Bulgars stole it direct from the farms and left almost none for the markets. Then the most awful thing happened. Three men in uniform strode up, grabbed the baker by the arms and dragged him away. He shouted and raved and they hit him. The one who wasn't holding the baker slapped me off my feet for listening to seditious talk, but he left me where I fell and didn't arrest me, luckily. They went away in their truck, taking the baker with them Then the market heaved with wails and cries. The baker's son took over his stall. He gave me a cloth to wipe my face. I asked him what would happen to his father. The baker's son said that he might not be shot if the commander was in a good mood. I took my shopping and went back to the widow's house. We have to leave. This is a terrible place. I want to go home.
Father does not want to leave. He seems content to pass his life sitting under the vine and reading the Bible. I packed all our things and led him towards the door and he pulled away from me, ran back into the garden. He sat down in his chair, opened the Bible and began to read it. In a few moments he was calm again. So I suppose we will have to stay for the present. He's bigger than me and I cannot drag him, though I wish I could. Abdul suggested that we ask Father Theodoros to talk to him. I struggled in my conscience with this. I have to get Father to leave, but I am fairly sure that Father Theodoros is not a real priest. In any case, we do not have priests. Our religion is a matter of communion with God. I don't know what to do. The widow is pleased because she likes Father. Abdul is anxious and wants to go. I shall wait on a revelation. In the meantime I shall go and ask Kyrie Robert to lend me a book. I know he has books, a whole shelf of them.
Kyrie Robert lent me
Kidnapped
. It is the first book I have read for months. It is wonderful. I spent all day in Scotland with Alan Breck Stewart and Davie. I spent today reading it and then reading it again. When I take it back I shall ask for another.
I took the book back and the Kyrie lent me
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
. It's scary. I told Kyrie Robert about the widow and Father. He counselled me to wait and see. That seems to be all I can do.
Today Abdul and I were in the market and we were arrested by the Bulgarian officials. I do not speak Bulgarian but they had a young soldier who spoke French and he told us that we had been denounced for being Muslims. Who would bother denouncing unimportant people like us? It was terrible. Abdul is a Muslim, and I know that he has very strong views on renouncing his faith. I was afraid that he was about to tell them that there is no God but God and Mohammed is his prophet, so I recited the Lord's Prayer as loud as I could. I was trembling. If I could not convince them, they might check to see if we were circumcised and I could not survive that. Besides, they would steal my money and that is all that Father and I have to get us home. There were three of them. The officer was young and well dressed and looked bored. They brought in Father Theodoros to talk to us. He said very seriously that he had previously tested our faith and that we were true believers and real Christians. So the officer waved a hand and they let us go. I saw the officer tear up the denunciation. I don't care what Father wants, we have to leave this place tomorrow. If he won't come with me, I suppose I could leave him with the widow. She seems to like him.
I had a screaming fight with the widow when I told her we were leaving. She was screaming. I wasn't. I can't see why she wanted Father so much, but she did. Finally she let us go. I was leading Father by the hand and he was dragging against me and whimpering, and so was Sirius, when by a miracle Isaiah appeared and took Father's arm and led him into the street. I was so pleased to see him. He looks just the same, purple and red rags and peddler's pack. He led us around a few corners and loaded us into a horse-drawn market cart which still had a few sheep in it. Then off we went. I asked him where he had been and he said, âHere and there,' but he was now going to Anthia and we ought to come too. Then he told me that the widow had fallen in love with Father and had denounced Abdul and me to the Bulgarians to get rid of us. She knew that I would try to take Father away from her. So now I have another person to forgive. I shall pray.
We are camping next to the cart in the bushes near the sea. The horse, whose name is Roland, is grazing next to me. It is a nice soothing sound, crunch munch. There is eggplant and rice for dinner. I'm feeling free. I am, I agree, short of housing, food and money, and I am sitting in shrubbery next to the sea in a foreign land, but at least we are out of the widow's house. She stank of some perfume like musk lollies. I prefer crushed grass. Abdul is so relieved that he didn't have to die for his faith that he has been doing all the water carrying and fire lighting while Isaiah plays strange little melodies on a pipe. Father is reading the Bible. All is peace, for the present.
We jogged on towards Anthia today. Isaiah says that the situation on Gallipoli has got worse. He says that everyone is dying in huge numbers and there is no chance that either side will give up. I remembered my friends Bluey and Curly and wondered how they were faring. They were so alive and funny. I have seen so many dead people now that all I usually think is, well, it might be better for them, they were hungry and lost, at least they are with God now. And God will look after them and dry their tears. But I don't know how Bluey and Curly would like heaven. I put this to Isaiah. He laughed. He told me that each person finds heaven to his taste. That's why it's heaven. This is a new thought. Bluey and Curly would like a heaven with sun, beaches and endless beer. Like Australia, in fact. It seems like heaven to me, too. Abdul told us that paradise had unlimited virgins, beautiful streams, wonderful food and a lot of meadows. It sounds good, except for the virgins. But Abdul seems to think that they are a splendid idea. I asked Isaiah about his heaven. He said music, peace, soothing fountains, a lovely garden and someone bringing him an iced drink so cold that the outside of the glass was frosted. That sounded good too. Father actually joined in. He said that heaven was to lie down in the blissful and endless embrace and immortal understanding light of God. After that we talked about the road ahead. It's hot and still and poor old Roland is plodding along. We got out and walked to spare him. Luckily tomorrow we get to deliver the sheep.
The sheep were going to another one of those refugee camps, like the one which Kyrie Robert was running. I suspect that they are going to be soup pretty quickly. We mustered and drove them in. There were thousands of poor people sitting on the ground under canvas shelters. Silent, like all such places. The Friend who was running this camp was so pleased to see Isaiahâand the sheepâ that she almost cried. Isaiah did not ask for any payment for the sheep. The Friend, whose name was Mary, was an Australian. I heard her accent, even when speaking Turkish to Isaiah. Father heard it too and asked quite clearly, âWhat news of Australia?' in English. Mary was surprised but told us that there had been a drought and a plague of grasshoppers. A shark attack near Bondi. She had a copy of the
Age
and gave it to us and we fell on it and began to read avidly. It was a month old, but it was news of home. She said we could keep the paper but I would not deprive her of it. I read it through while she and Isaiah talked about refugees and famine. This summer is very hot and the crops have failed. By winter there will be famine in the land. I hate Thrace. Mary offered us some food but we could not take it. So many are starving.
It's quite nice, jogging along in the cart through the lanes. This path winds and winds and does not seem to be getting anywhere but Isaiah says he has been this way before. In the end we will get to Anthia. There, he says, he knows a fisherman who will take us to a Greek island. For the moment we are comfortable. No one is shooting at us, which, as Bluey used to say, always improves your day. Father actually talked about Australia and recalled the seafront at Apollo Bay. He remembered Aunt Euphie. Then he said that he had a mission. I told him that he had fulfilled it and we were going home. He seemed to accept this.
Abdul says that he has a message to deliver in Anthia. I asked him flat out if he was a spy and he told me that he was an Ittihadist. A Young Turk. They say they will rule Turkey and drag it into the twentieth century. If this is the twentieth century, I said, I liked the nineteenth better. He scowled. Isaiah laughed. He said that centuries happened whether we liked it or not. He added that the Young Turks were likely to take over because they were led by a great general called Mustafa Kemal. I shall be out of their area by then.
Abdul is dangerous company. But he is our friend. I can never forget how he cared for me while I was sick. Even though he is a pagan. I shall just have to pray that he doesn't get caught. He hugged me and said that I was his brother. I hugged him back. I never had a brother until now. Perhaps Father can adopt him. He would like Australia. But perhaps he would not like to leave Mustafa Kemal. And his own father, in jail in Istanbul.
We came up to Anthia before sunset. This place looks almost prosperous. I was standing in the market listening to Isaiah bargain for a fine fresh fish when someone standing behind me asked casually, âWhat is the price of oranges in Edirne?' and I answered that they cost 20,000 lire. A terrible price, murmured the voice. I don't know who spoke to me. A woman, I think. We bought the fish and went back to the cart to roast it. And found that Father had let Sirius eat three pieces of bread. All the bread we had, in fact. I had to go back to the market for more and I felt like clipping the little beast's ears for him. But I got more bread and we roasted the fish over a little fire. With lemon juice and sea salt it was magnificent. We ate it down to the bones while Father had bread and cheese and purslane.
I think we can afford to rest today. Isaiah says we can go back on the road maybe tomorrow. We are going to Alexandropolis, where there may be a boat. Abdul has gone off on some task of his own. He would not tell me what it was. I can get on with repairing our clothes and goods. I might try to find a new pair of boots for Father. His are worn through.
LATER I bargained for a newish pair of boots in the marketplace. The shoe-seller was a Jew, like Isaiah. I got a pair of ex-British army boots in the right size at a good price and the seller threw in a new pair of shoelaces when I gave him my old boots as a swap. There is a lot of army stuff in this market. I wonder where it all came from? Someone has been selling army supplies. I got another tin of sardines. They had a pile of bully-beef tins, too. I would much rather eat almost anything else. One of the butchers had skinned red animals to sell which looked to me like rats. Though I suppose they might have been undersized rabbits. Bully beef would be better than that. I suppose. Thinking about it I would rather have rat, really.
LATER Isaiah's friends brought him another fish. Several fishes. We had a feast. I wonder if his friends are Jews as well? I can't tell. Abdul has not come back and it's time to go to bed. I am worried about him.
Abdul did not come back in the night. I am very worried. I did all the morning chores and then I left Father with Isaiah and went into town to see if I could find out anything. Luckily everyone at the market seems to speak mostly Turkish and Greek. Once I would have just gone and asked someone. Now I drift along, ears flapping, listening to the market gossip. The talk is all of war and horror. Massacres. Lost wives and husbands and children. The beggars tell that their home village was sacked and burnt by one army or another. It's probably all true. I bought some dried plums and shared them out among the children who throng the market, looking for a dropped loaf or an untended stall. Hungry, angry, quick as rats. They told meâwhile my plums held outâthat a boy who looked like Abdul was grabbed and hustled away by some men. Not officials, not soldiers. Just men in Western dress. They had dragged him away to the tower. They never looked at me while they were talking, but around, as though at any moment the men might grab them, too. This is bad. I walked around the tower. It is an old stone building they call a castra with only one door and narrow high-up windows, like a wheat silo. The door is shut. If Abdul is in there I cannot imagine how we are going to get him out.
I went back to our camp and told Isaiah what I'd heard. He looked worried. He is going off to sell his things, and said that he would see what he could find out. I'm going to make a stew for Father with carrots, spinach, tomatoes, onions, eggplant and herbs, and a fish stew for the rest of us icthyvores. And wait. I hate waiting. But I will wait. And pray, of course.
No news of Abdul. Isaiah said he was taken by SMARO, a revolutionary group concerned with the freedom of Macedonia. They hate Turks, and Young Turks in particular. Isaiah says they will probably let him go when he has told them what they want to know. But Abdul will not tell them anything. I know him. He is stubborn as a donkey. He'd die before betraying his beloved Mustafa Kemal. I have to do something. Could I buy him? I have to try.