by Defne Suman
Because of the birthday feast, Panagiota had not been out of the neighbourhood for two days. She was unaware that villagers were flooding into the city and that desperate soldiers were boarding repatriation ships. Caught up in their feverish preparations, mother and daughter had not heard that the Turks had already crossed the Usak border.
Only Grocer Akis knew of the approaching danger, from conversations in the coffeehouse. He had already taken the gold that Katina kept hidden in a pillowcase, and the credit notes he’d saved, and put them in a biscuit tin which he’d then hidden at the bottom of one of the sacks of wheat in the storeroom at the back of his shop. Because a lot of his business was done with credit notes, he didn’t have much cash.
Some of his friends from the coffeehouse were sending their families to stay with relatives who lived outside the city for a few weeks. Akis had arranged with a coachman that if the situation got more tense the man would take Panagiota and Katina to his sister’s in Chesme, but he hadn’t said anything to his wife and daughter in order not to worry them needlessly and ruin Panagiota’s birthday excitement.
Besides, most probably everything would be fine. The British would take over the administration of the city. They wouldn’t allow the Turks to enter Smyrna, let alone permit them to wreak havoc. Everybody was saying that. Besides, Akis was sure that the Turks, their former administrators, would not harm the people of Smyrna. Once public order was restored, the Ottoman ‘millet’ system of semi-autonomous authority, which had run like clockwork for five hundred years, would be reinstated and everyone would be able to breathe easily again.
Adriana raced back to Panagiota, who was still standing in the doorway, and wrapped her arms around her friend’s neck. The two girls giggled as they hugged each other and danced round and round until they almost fell over.
‘Watch out, girl! Katse, vre matia mou. Sit down, stop, my friend. I came out in my clogs – wait here a second.’ Panagiota rushed inside and slipped on a pair of old pink satin shoes that were beside the door.
Adriana was a tall, strong, big-boned girl from a large, happy family, natives of Chios who had come to Smyrna in the last century. Grabbing Panagiota by the waist, she began to waltz right there in the middle of Menekse Street, singing while she danced.
‘They’re coming home, Giota mou! Do you hear me? My Minas is already here. They’re all coming home and our Smyrna will be back to its old, joyous self. Bravo! They’re coming, coming, coming.’
Breathlessly, they tripped into the square together. Panagiota was finally starting to take in what Adriana was saying. She slipped out of her friend’s embrace and, taking her hand, pulled her over to a wooden bench beside the fountain, directly across from the coffeehouse.
‘What are you saying, Adriana? Ti les? Tell me everything – quick! When did he come? How? Where is he now? What about the war? What’s been happening these last two days?’
‘Wait… I’ll tell you everything. Minas, my Minas, is at his home now, sleeping. He came early this morning. The sun was just rising when I woke to the sound of little pebbles being thrown at my window. That’s the way Minas used to wake me up, you know, whenever we met at midnight. I opened my eyes immediately. Could it be…? I’d prayed so much to beloved Panagia, and every day my eyes would stream with tears. I slid out of bed without making a sound. I was so afraid of being disappointed, but I crawled over my sisters’ beds and got to the window and looked down at the street through the tulle curtain.’
‘Ah, ti romantiko! And Minas was standing there, in his uniform, looking so handsome!’
Adriana shook her head. ‘It wasn’t quite like that.’ For the first time a shadow passed over her face.
‘How was it not like that? So how was it then? Was it not Minas who was throwing pebbles at your window?’
Adriana tried to turn it into a joke, in the way that people do when they’re forcing themselves to be positive. ‘Well, it was both him and not him.’
Panagiota was getting impatient now. She shooed away a boy carrying a flagon of water who wandered too near them. Emotions that she’d thought had been long extinguished had rekindled deep in her stomach, and, like a fire burning on the far side of the mountain, the smoke was filling her heart.
‘Don’t make me crazy, girl! Tell me!’
They were sitting side by side on the bench. When Adriana turned to face Panagiota, her green eyes were filled with tears. Without saying anything, Panagiota reached for Adriana’s clasped hands and took them between her palms.
‘When I got to the window, I looked down. As I had feared, disappointment was waiting for me. There was nobody down there but villagers passing by like ghosts.’
Panagiota didn’t understand why villagers would be passing along Katipzade Street so early in the morning, but she didn’t interrupt her friend to ask.
‘Then I heard another “psst” sound. Another pebble hit the windowpane. I looked down and saw a beggar. It was he who was throwing the stones. Just a vagabond. A-ha, it’s a Turkos, I thought, because his feet were bare and he was wearing a grey jacket like the Turkish soldiers do.’
‘Was it Minas?’ Panagiota asked, whispering the question as if she didn’t want to hurt her friend.
Adriana nodded, tears rolling like beads down her cheeks and onto her dress and her clenched hands. Panagiota understood that her friend, who’d been dancing with glee just a few minutes ago, had been hiding her sorrow behind a mask of happiness, as she always did. She squeezed her hands again. For some reason Adriana felt she had to act as if she was carefree and happy the whole time, perhaps because she was a big sister to so many little brothers and sisters.
‘I didn’t recognize him, Panagiota. I didn’t recognize Minas! And then his shoulders slumped and he disappeared into the crowd of passing villagers. I was all confused. I got up, made breakfast, and woke, washed and dressed the little ones. As if having eight mouths to feed isn’t enough, my dear mama has taken in two women who escaped from Manisa along with their children. I gave each of them a bowl of soup. And so on. But I felt uneasy inside. I was going to come and see you anyway – ah, how could I have forgotten! Hronia polla, Panagiota mou! Happy birthday! Signomi, I’m sorry, I left your present at home. Never mind, I’ll bring it this evening.’ She smiled at her friend through the tears.
Her birthday was the last thing on Panagiota’s mind right then. Stavros was coming back! Stavros! Any minute now, he might come round the corner into the square and see her sitting there on the bench under the plane tree with Adriana! Maybe he’d be riding his dilapidated bicycle, the way he used to on those summer nights when they would kiss beside the wall of the French Hospital, with the smell of frying fish in the air. Could there be a more wonderful present? Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.
She turned to her friend. ‘Forget about all that, vre Adriana! So what if you didn’t recognize him at first glance. His hair and beard must have got longer. He’ll go and get a bath, change his clothes, go to a barber’s shop for a haircut and a shave, and turn into Minas the Flea again.’
Pensively, Adriana shook her head.
‘He’s done all that already. Two hours later he came to our door all cleaned up. I was hanging out the laundry in the courtyard. My darling Minas – when he saw that I hadn’t recognized him, he realized what a state he must be in, so he went to a bathhouse and a barber’s shop, and he took off his Turkish jacket, went home and got all dressed up. When he appeared at our door, I lost my mind! I realized that the vagabond had been him and I was so ashamed not to have recognized him. I begged his forgiveness. But, Panagiota…’
Adriana stared at the square in desperation, as if she might find there the words she needed to tell the remainder of her story. A clutch of doves were pecking busily at some sesame crumbs that had been shaken out in front of the bakery. Cats had occupied all the shady spots out of the midday heat; they hissed at Muhtar from where they lay, as he wagged his stubby tail and trotted around looking for a p
lace on the marble where he could cool off. Not a leaf on the plane tree above them was moving. The air was as heavy as lead. Adriana’s little brothers and some runny-nosed refugee boys were playing one-goal football with a ball of paper in front of the bakery. Adriana’s brothers looked like princes next to the village boys, who were running amok with their shaved heads and torn and dirty shirts. A proud smile crept across Adriana’s face.
‘What? But what happened?’ Panagiota pressed. ‘Tell me, Adriana, for God’s sake.’ One part of her mind was wondering where those village boys had come from. Her heart, which earlier had been too big to fit inside her chest, had now contracted in fear. Why was Adriana squirming like that? Was it Stavros…?
‘Something’s changed, Giota mou. Minas is not the old Minas. The way he looked at me, at every woman passing by, at the washing on the line, the pots my mother was boiling on the stove, the hats in the cupboard, at everything, it was as if he was seeing ghosts. It’s like he’s living in a dream. Or as if everything he sees is a hallucination. He doesn’t talk. And this morning… I realized why I hadn’t recognized him – it wasn’t his hair, or his beard or the Turkish jacket. I would know my Minas under any circumstances. But this man… this man, Panagiota, has a frown on his face and lips that have forgotten how to smile. Can you imagine a Minas who doesn’t smile? I don’t know what’s happened to him, Panagiota! It’s like… It’s like he’s been shot in the heart and his soul has leaked out, gone, leaving only the shell of his body.’
Adriana withdrew her hands from Panagiota’s, covered her face and began to sob. It was clear that she was only now, for the first time, allowing herself to acknowledge the truth of what she had seen.
Panagiota’s eyes also filled with tears. The idea that Minas the Flea’s warm soul could leak away through a hole in his heart burned her inside. Minas, who could bring a mandolin to life with one touch of his fingers, or a guitar, or an accordion; Minas, whose olive-black eyes twinkled with mischief as he told his funny stories. Ever since they were children, he’d been the sweetheart of the neighbourhood, its rubber ball, its source of joy. It was truly impossible to imagine him with a frowning face and eyes which had lost their sparkle.
‘Adriana mou, it will pass. Let him get some rest and I’m sure he will be his old self again. He has come back and you are together again – what could be more important! Minas is alive. You’ll get married soon. You’ll have a beautiful home and a gang of babies. He’ll play his mandolin for you at night and you’ll wash his feet.’
From behind her hands, Adriana gave a little laugh.
‘Ah, that’s better. Is it a time for crying, my crazy girlfriend, filenada? No, it’s a time for celebration! Come on, get up. Let’s go down to the quay. Katina Sultan has finally released me. I’ll buy you an ice cream. Today’s my birthday, it’ll be my treat. Ade!’
Adriana dropped her hands in her lap and smiled at Panagiota in gratitude. ‘He’ll be all right, won’t he, Giota mou? He’ll be the familiar old Minas the Flea. He walked all the way here from Afyonkarahisar without sleeping. He hasn’t said anything, but he has definitely seen some horrible things. Our soldiers are burning the Turkish villages. Minas has such a sensitive heart; he can’t tolerate cruelty. I hope he wasn’t forced to do horrendous things…’
‘Adriana mou, tell me, did Minas mention the other boys? Are they all coming home? Is the war over?’
‘Ah, Thee mou, my God, Panagiota, my sweet friend, here I am thinking of my own troubles, and I completely forgot you. Forgive me, I beg you. I forgot to give you the news about Stavros. Yes, Stavros is on his way home. Minas last saw him in Afyonkarahisar. He was trying to board a train. He was fine, as strong as ever. He hasn’t been wounded at all. Today or tomorrow he’ll definitely be here. Ah, Panagia, Mother Mary, thanks be to you, our sweethearts are coming home, one by one.’
Glancing uneasily in the direction of the police station, with one hand Panagiota indicated to Adriana that she should lower her voice. Today, sure enough, she was someone else’s fiancée. To impress the groom-to-be, her mother had locked her up in their kitchen for days, to cook. But so what? He wasn’t her legal husband! If Stavros were to stroll round that corner, she would immediately take off the ring and throw it away.
The faded memory of her former love, which had been simmering inside her, suddenly flared up into a longing that seared her whole body. Everything was going to turn out fine, even if the Turks took over. When she’d said that to Stavros’s face two years ago on the beach at Agia Triada, he’d got so angry! But no, she was never, ever going to make him angry again. She would always go along with whatever he said, be his sweet-talking one and only wife. She removed the engagement ring with her name and Pavlo’s engraved on the inside from her finger, then put it back on again.
In her excitement, Adriana had forgotten that her friend was engaged to another man. Seeing her playing with the ring on her finger, she put her hand to her mouth, as if to push back her words.
‘It’s not important, Adriana mou. You are my closest friend, my sister. We have nothing to hide from each other.’
Adriana saw roses bloom in her friend’s beautiful face. The dimples either side of her lips deepened and her black eyes widened, the embers in them ignited by the flames of passion. Seeing Panagiota like this, love and happiness filled her own heart once more. A peaceful life awaited them. Stavros would return. She and Minas would have a bundle of babies.
Standing up, she reached out her hand. ‘Glassada, mademoiselle? Ice cream?’
Panagiota, copying the fallen women she’d seen in front of Kraemer’s, fluttered her thick lashes. ‘Avec plaisir.’
Captured by the eyes of the men in the coffeehouse with their waterpipes, the girls strolled down the road, arm in arm and laughing, to the quay.
The Exchange
Midwife Meline woke up with a start in a narrow bed on the top floor above Berberian’s Bakery. At first she couldn’t remember where she was. Blinking her eyes, she looked around. There was no one else in the small room. It was a box-like place, with a low ceiling, one small window and cream wallpaper with a floral design. On the floor near her bed she saw a familiar red wooden horse lying on a circular crimson and blue rug – her grandson’s, Nishan’s. Oh, of course; she was at Hayguhi Hanim’s house, her daughter’s mother-in-law. The wooden building was as hot as a Turkish bath; it was as if flames were blazing from the walls.
There was a great racket going on outside, with people loudly booing someone; it was the sort of commotion that happened down at the docks whenever a fight broke out between sailors and porters. What time was it, she wondered? After delivering that young girl’s baby on the quay, she’d not been able to get to sleep until the first rays of dawn, and she’d only just now woken up. Where were the others – her daughter, her son-in-law, her grandchildren?
Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds coming from the docks. When her Smyrna ears heard the familiar chug-chug of a fisherman’s engine and the laughter of children, she relaxed. If children were laughing, then life was continuing. A happy song wafted out onto the street from the tavern next door to the bakery. A deep voice ordered some soldiers to hurry up – another ship was departing.
With a moan, she buried herself in her blanket. She was probably too old now to be working all night. She felt exhausted, not at all keen to get up and join in whatever was happening. Furthermore, she’d had that same dream again. Lying back on her pillow, and in the hope that she might at last close her account with the past, she let the events of exactly seventeen years ago unfold in front of her eyes.
They had reached Smyrna before daybreak. The old villager, the owner of the donkey, walked in front, followed by Meline on the donkey with Edith’s baby in her arms. At the entrance to the city, by the gasworks, she got off the donkey and pressed some money into his hand. With rapid strides she passed the Greek Cemetery at Daragaci and then the train station before coming to Grace’s Maternity House. She could leave the bab
y there without anyone seeing, ring the bell and run away. Grace was an efficient, angelic woman; she would definitely find the infant a good home. Or should she leave it in the courtyard of the Anglican church next door?
No, it would be best to avoid anywhere with a connection to the Levantine community. Under no circumstances could she allow the relationship between the Lamarcks and this child to be discovered. The Greek Orphanage on the corner of Hadji Frangou was a better option. That would mean forgoing any chance of the baby being given to a good family, but Meline could not put her own daughters’ lives at risk.
She passed Agios Ioannis Church and turned left. A sea breeze sprinkled salt on her skin; the humidity was less intense here. Under her cloak the baby was howling and wailing. She stuck her thumb in its mouth.
‘God, have mercy on this unfortunate soul. Mother Mary, I pray that this child be found and put into the arms of a wet nurse urgently. Please show me the way and hold us in thy protecting hands.’
Pushing open the iron gate of the orphanage, she slipped inside the dark courtyard like a thief. Dawn was about to break and the sparrows had woken up. Ragged sheets were hung out on washing lines. Behind a broken-down tricycle two cats had set an ambush for a rat. All three were frozen, waiting for one of them to make the first move. The ground under the chestnut tree was soft. That’s where she should leave the poor thing. It was right across from the door. Maybe someone would hear the screams and wake up. Could the child live that long? Lowering the yellow blanket to the ground, she made the sign of the cross over the baby’s black head.
‘Almighty God, forgive this helpless human being. I am a mother protecting her own children. Forgive me my sins and spare this tiny infant. We entrust ourselves to thee.’
Quickly making the sign of the cross three more times, she hurried from the courtyard into the street. Under the chestnut tree, the baby, detached from the midwife’s warm breast, began to cry with all its might. Meline took a deep breath. Pulling her cloak over her head, she looked around. No, she had not been seen. She turned the corner. The baby’s screams echoed like a bell along the deserted street. What a strong spirit; how she clung to life! Someone in the orphanage would be sure to wake up soon and take her inside. Almighty God protected the innocent, kept them from harm. He would not take that child’s soul.