He had noticed a pattern with the soldiers’ movements. It appeared they patrolled Kennedy Avenue in the late afternoon.
‘I think we should take turns and do shifts,’ said Markos. ‘The rooftop is a good viewing point for all the approaching roads. And they’ll never come from the beach side.’
Next day, Halit volunteered to do the first shift.
‘There’s no reason why I can’t do a shift too,’ said Vasilis.
‘But—’ started Markos.
‘I’m not too old for it,’ he said defensively.
The only problem would be the long climb up fifteen flights of stairs, but Vasilis was adamant.
‘We can always go up there together,’ said Halit.
The offer made Irini smile. She had never imagined it would happen.
The men agreed that they should go to the rooftop every day before dinner. Markos made them promise that if they smoked, they would stay out of view. As dusk fell, the glow of a cigarette might attract a soldier’s attention.
Every day after that, Hüseyin went up to the rooftop to take over from the men. It was only there that he had a sense of purpose. Since being in the hotel, he had yearned to run, not to fight but simply to get away from the stagnation. He wanted to do something other than sit and wait, not even knowing what it was he was waiting for. The lack of activity in the hotel was difficult for him. Earlier in the week he had woken up from a vivid dream in which he was in front of a selection panel for the national volleyball team. Too fat to jump, he had failed. He was now anxious that one day he might even be as corpulent as Panikos.
One night, he could not sleep. Quietly he slid open his balcony door and looked out. It was November now and the air was cool and crisp at night. He looked down at the beach, lit by the moonlight, and imagined he could hear his friends’ voices. Every dent and footprint had been removed from the sand by a constant steady breeze. The sunloungers still sat there piled up where he had left them.
He wondered what had happened to the friends with whom he had played beach volleyball and water polo. The best times of his life had been spent on that beach, with boys like Christos. Kyria Georgiou had not mentioned him for a while. It was as if he had become a ghost in their lives.
He knew that Ali was fighting somewhere too. Perhaps the two of them had even encountered each other. Sometimes it made Hüseyin feel like a coward that he had not joined his brother, but he could not picture what he would be fighting for. To kill some Greek Cypriots? To avenge his lost cousins? Both would be pointless.
Night after night, in the flickering candlelight, Panikos tuned the radio. They caught up with the latest attempts to establish a solution for their devastated island and the situation with the homeless and the refugees. They also listened to the lists of people who were trying to find lost relatives, but the names they were hoping to hear were never read out. The batteries were running low, as was their belief that they would ever again see either Ali or Christos.
I
N NICOSIA, SAVVAS
and Aphroditi were doing their best to survive. Although their diet was more limited than that being enjoyed by the Georgiou and Özkan families, Aphroditi was feeling much better now. All her symptoms of dysentery seemed to have passed, and a few weeks on, she noticed that, for the first time since she was a teenager, she had actually put on a little weight.
Even if she had packed her own clothes and brought them from Famagusta, she would not have been able to get into them; she was glad of her mother’s elasticated waistbands.
Like Irini in Famagusta, the owner of her favourite
zacharoplasteion
could create a mouth-watering variety of results – all of them fattening – out of flour, honey, oil, nuts and various spices. Aphroditi knew that she should stop going there, but her reasons for visiting were no longer just to taste the beautiful pastries.
Day after day she sat at a table close to the window, watching for the woman with her ring. Sometimes she waited in vain, but on other days the person she was waiting for would come in, always with the same group of women.
How they seemed to love themselves, thought Aphroditi, how over-primped and over-preened they seemed against the backdrop of nearby dereliction. They seemed unaffected by everything that had happened. Aphroditi found herself feeling the occasional pang of envy for their camaraderie and their apparent oblivion to everything outside this shop. They appeared not even to notice her, so enthralled were they with each other and their hilarious conversation and unrelenting gossip. If the woman would only come in on her own, just once, Aphroditi could ask how she had acquired this piece of jewellery. As things were, she knew she could not separate her from the crowd. They were like a string of pearls without a clasp.
She tried not to stare. She did not want to be noticed. In spite of the fact that she had put on her aquamarine necklace, she knew she looked dowdy and down at heel.
One day the woman with the ring came in alone and sat down. It was Aphroditi’s ideal opportunity and she was about to speak when she noticed something: the woman was wearing the matching earrings. Aphroditi felt the blood drain completely from her face. Even if she had ordered a pastry, not a mouthful could have passed her lips.
Just as she recovered her composure, she heard the ting of the bell. The door opened and the woman’s friends danced in. They were even more dressed up than usual.
‘
Hronia Polla
, Katerina!’ they chorused. ‘Many happy returns!’
They all sat down and coffees were immediately brought, along with a huge cream-filled gateau and seven plates.
‘
Panagia mou!
’ shrieked one of them. ‘Your lovely husband has been generous! Look at those earrings!’
In turn, they all inspected the new addition to her jewellery collection. The earrings were indeed very splendid.
‘Well, Giorgos says there’s nothing worth investing in apart from diamonds at the moment, so I’m not going to dissuade him,’ she said coyly.
‘My husband says the same,’ the one with the helmet hair added, ‘but I don’t seem to be benefiting like you!’
‘Perhaps you should …’
The rest was whispered behind a hand, so Aphroditi did not catch what she said, but there were shrieks of mirth before everyone laughed and carried on eating cake.
Aphroditi slipped out, feeling as nauseous as if she had eaten twenty slices of Katerina’s gateau. She imagined she could still hear their laughter from a hundred yards down the street.
She had plenty of information; she knew the name of the man who had bought her jewellery and the name of his wife. It would not be difficult to find out who they were. Nicosia was a small place and the number of people with that much money had dwindled. Their connection with the politician whose wife she had recognised would probably lead her to them.
But this was not entirely the issue. Seeing the jewellery that she knew had been in the safe fuelled her burning need to know what had happened to Markos.
It must be something terrible. Surely if he was in Nicosia he would have been to see her. He knew where they were living. But he had not come. Markos was the only person with the keys and combinations to the safes. Perhaps he had been forced to open them and was now a prisoner in Famagusta. The thought made her stomach churn.
She had to get there. It was the only way to find out.
Such a journey would be almost impossible, but there must be a way. She could not think of an excuse for asking Savvas to help without revealing the truth and, in any case, they were hardly speaking. She would have to sell the only thing she had. Judging by the woman in the café, there was obviously a market.
Pawnbrokers were already operating in the city. It was the perfect way to exploit anyone who was desperate for food. Most people had something of value to trade and they would accept a tiny fraction of its worth.
A few days later, Savvas told Aphroditi that he would be going away for a week. Though he was sure that it would not be long before the hotels in Famagusta were up and running again, he was still keen to explore other possibilities and wanted to see some sites on the south coast. Many hotel owners and developers were scared and ready to get out of the island, so prices would soon be hitting rock bottom.
He left Aphroditi a little cash to survive on and took the car. She could not bring herself to worry if he would get back safely.
The next night, Aphroditi stood naked in front of the mirror. She had more than made up for her weight loss and was hating her bloated waistline. It seemed ironic to be getting fat when they had so much less to eat than before. Perhaps it was all the bread.
Then she noticed her breasts. They had expanded, and the nipples were enlarged. She looked at herself from the side.
‘Oh my God!’ she murmured aloud, half with shock, half with pleasure.
She turned to see herself from all sides. It was a long time since she had scrutinised herself in the mirror like this. Her shape had completely changed.
She found a piece of paper, sat down on the bed and, with shaking hands, began to calculate. She must have conceived at the beginning of August. Her lack of periods she had put down to illness and stress. It was now early December. There was no question about who the father was.
In spite of the circumstances, she was thrilled at the discovery. Now, more urgently than ever, she needed to find Markos.
The following morning, she made time to have coffee with the Loizous on the floor below her. For an hour or so they shared their experiences of the war. The Loizous had been in Nicosia for the duration. They had nowhere else to go. All their children had gone to England some years earlier, but they had no desire to leave their beautiful island.
‘There were gunshots every day,’ said Kyrios Loizou. ‘And fires breaking out all over the place.’
‘But we stuck it out, didn’t we? We still have our home here,’ said Kyria Loizou. ‘And there’s our orchard in the north. I’m sure we’ll get it back again one day.’
‘That’s not to say that we haven’t had to pawn a few things,’ added her husband.
‘Yes, prices have gone up so much!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘Specially bread!’
Aphroditi’s ears pricked up. She thought for a moment.
‘That’s a shame,’ she said. ‘What did you have to take?’
‘All our silver frames,’ Kyria Loizou answered.
Aphroditi noticed a pile of photographs on the side table.
‘And an icon,’ said the elderly man. ‘We got a good price for that …’
‘But our son has promised to send us some money,’ Kyria Loizou said cheerfully, ‘so we’ll go and retrieve them as soon as it arrives.’
A few minutes later, Aphroditi left the apartment. In her hand she had the address of their pawnbroker.
She felt vulnerable as she walked quickly through the streets. The pawn shop had always been in a seedy part of town, but such areas were even more run-down following the bombardment they had suffered. Slipping through the door, she noticed a row of silver-framed icons and wondered if one of them belonged to the Loizous.
In his white coat, the pawnbroker reminded Aphroditi of a pharmacist. As if scientifically, he examined her necklace, ring and bracelet with his magnifying glass to check on the purity of the stones, and then glanced up at her. He saw that there were earrings to match. She did not look like the sort of woman who would have owned such things, but he was impressed. He could not lie.
‘They’re good,’ he said. ‘Real quality.’
‘I know,’ Aphroditi replied. ‘But I need to sell them.’
‘I’ll give you one hundred for the lot,’ he said, laying them carefully on his counter. ‘The stones are flawless, but you won’t get more than that anywhere else.’
She was feeling bold.
‘I need the money for something specific,’ she said, ‘and I don’t know what it will cost. So that’s what will help me decide.’
The pawnbroker took off his glasses.
‘Well, if you tell me what this something specific is, then perhaps I can help you make a decision.’
It was still early and there was nobody else in the shop.
‘Can I sit down?’ said Aphroditi, suddenly feeling exhausted.
The pawnbroker pulled a chair round for her.
‘Tell me,’ he said.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, Aphroditi felt she had nothing to lose.
‘I need to go to Famagusta …’
The man looked at her. This woman must be insane. Not only was she considering taking one hundred pounds for a set of jewellery worth fifteen hundred, but she wanted to go to one of the most dangerous places in Cyprus. Did she not know that it was fenced off and patrolled by Turkish soldiers?
‘But I need someone to take me,’ she added.
He realised that she was planning to go alone. She must be desperate.
‘Well …’ he said, with deliberate hesitation, ‘I might be able to help you with this.’
His mind had already come up with a plan. This woman certainly had the means to pay whatever it cost, and he would still make a profit out of her. He dealt in desperation, and also in information, and he made money from both.
The pawnbroker had a group of contacts who could be bribed to arrange for safe conduct to the northern part of the island. Many Greek Cypriots had left valuables hidden or even buried in their gardens when they fled from the invasion, fully expecting to return in a short while, but weeks had now turned into months and they were losing faith in the talks and negotiations that might allow them home. All they wanted was to cross the Attila line, make a brief, clandestine visit to retrieve a few valuables, and leave again. It had happened many times and there were networks of people who could help. Anything could be done, as long as payment was forthcoming.
Going right inside the abandoned city of Famagusta was another matter. There were Turkish soldiers willing to accept a bribe, but breaking through the barbed wire was a different proposition.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘come back tomorrow. It won’t be cheap but there will be a way. I’ll have news for you then.’