Aphrodite's Island

by Hilary Green

  He said, ‘I’m so glad to see you. How did you manage to get away before all the others?’

  I told him how I had lied to my teacher and he looked at me with those wonderful blue eyes and smiled that smile that makes me feel as though I have just stepped off a cliff into thin air.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for doing that, so we can have a chance to talk.’ Then he put his hand on mine and I thought I was going to faint with pleasure.

  He went on, ‘I think you must guess how I feel about you. I can’t get you out of my mind. But I know it is not possible for me to ask you to come out with me, as I would an English girl. I understand that things are done differently here. I wanted to ask you, would it be acceptable for me to speak to your father? If I asked him, would he let me take you to the cinema one evening?’

  I felt panic gripping my throat. ‘No! No, you mustn’t do that! I couldn’t … he wouldn’t allow it. No girl can go out alone with a man unless they are engaged to be married.’

  ‘Then can I come and ask him for your hand in marriage?’

  I could hardly breathe. ‘But we hardly know each other.’

  ‘No, not yet. So what happens in your society? If I’m not allowed to be with you until we are engaged, how can we get to know each other? What do other couples do?’

  ‘If … if the parents on both sides approve, then the boy comes to call on the girl and in the evening they go walking together – but with the girl’s parents as well. Then, later, sometimes they might be allowed to sit together for a while alone.’

  ‘Then can I come calling?’

  ‘You come already, every Sunday.’

  ‘But I never have a chance to talk to you alone – or to walk out with you. If I explain to your father that my intentions are honourable …’

  ‘No! If you tell him that you are interested in me he will forbid you to come to the house any more.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because … because you are English. Don’t you understand? The people here resent the British occupiers. If anyone saw us together my whole family would be dishonoured.’

  ‘Then what can we do?’

  ‘Nothing. There is nothing we can do.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  Our eyes met and I knew that I had to find some way to be with him.

  ‘When are you off duty next?’

  ‘On Thursday, from midday onwards.’

  ‘I will meet you then. But don’t come to the school. Wait for me in the square by the Selimiye Mosque.’

  ‘What will you tell the school?’

  ‘I shall tell them I am ill.’ I was surprised how easily the lie came to me. I opened the door of the jeep. ‘I must go now. Wait for me on Thursday.’

  ‘I’ll be there. Don’t worry. Nothing on earth will stop me from being there.’

  That evening Iannis came home from work with a look on his face that made me afraid. He was excited, but it was a harsh, cruel excitement that turned him from my brother into a dangerous stranger.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ he demanded of my father.

  ‘What news?’

  ‘There has been a running battle in the streets of Famagusta – our people against the British troops. At last the Brits are going to see that we mean business. This is just the beginning!’

  ‘Careful, my son,’ father warned. ‘We have a long way to go yet before we can take on the British with any chance of winning. It is a mistake to show our hand too soon. We must be patient and circumspect. Remember, there are still those who would be happy to betray us.’

  I crept up to my bedroom and sat gazing out of the window. I knew Stephen could not have been involved with the fighting in Famagusta because he had been with me but if the fighting spread, as Iannis obviously hoped it would, how long would it be before he and Iannis came face to face on opposite sides of the battle?

  That night at supper we listened to the report of the fighting on the radio. When it finished I said, ‘I don’t see why we have to fight the British. The soldiers are only here because their government forces them to come. They don’t mean us any harm, I’m sure.’

  My father and brothers stared at me as if I had said something obscene and my mother said quickly, ‘Help me clear the table, Ariadne. You don’t understand these things.’

  ‘I do!’ I said passionately. ‘I’ve heard you all talking about it for long enough. Enosis, enosis! What does it matter? Why can’t we just live at peace, the way we always have?’

  Iannis began to speak but my father silenced him with a gesture. He reached across the table and took hold of my hand.

  ‘Ariadne, I am disappointed to hear you speak like this. You have been brought up to have pride in your Greek heritage and to believe in the importance of liberty. We Greeks have the right to choose who should govern us. We are not slaves, to be ruled by foreigners.’ Then he smiled and patted my hand. ‘You are young and, after all, you are a girl. Leave these matters to those who understand them. Archbishop Makarios has given his blessing to our cause. That should be enough for you.’

  On Thursday I took the school bus as usual, but on the way I kept clutching my stomach and groaning and telling everyone nearby that I felt sick. In school I kept up the pretence and at morning break I told my friend Penelope that I felt too ill to be in school and I was going home. She wanted to come with me but I persuaded her that I could manage on my own and asked her to make my excuses to the teachers. I walked out, heading in the direction of the bus stop and, as soon as I knew I was out of sight, I slipped away down a side street.

  I pulled off my school blazer and stuffed it into my bag and covered my head with a dark scarf so that I looked like any other girl out shopping. When I reached the square I was shaking. I was terrified that Stephen would have changed his mind or been prevented from keeping our appointment. There was no sign of him outside the mosque. I looked at my watch. It was still ten minutes before midday. I waited for a while, but I felt foolish and conspicuous standing around and I was afraid that someone who knew me would come by and recognize me, so I slipped into the mosque. Inside it was cool and the vast, white-painted space was calming but I still felt out of place. What was I, a Greek, doing here in what had once been a Roman Catholic cathedral and was now a Muslim mosque? After a few minutes I went outside again. Stephen’s jeep was not there, but then I saw him, hurrying through the crowds towards me. I forced myself to stand still and behave with dignity.

  He stopped a few feet away from me and we both said ‘Good morning’ in an unnatural, formal way. Then he said, ‘Thank you for coming. I was afraid you might have changed your mind. I hardly slept a wink last night for worrying about it.’

  I lifted my chin. ‘Do you mean that you thought I wouldn’t keep my word?’

  He looked so confused that I wanted to laugh. ‘No, no! I didn’t mean it like that. I was just afraid that you might have decided it was—well, a mistake.’

  I said, ‘It probably is a mistake – but I’m here anyway.’

  He smiled then, and I smiled back and after that things felt easier.

  He said, ‘I left the jeep round the corner. I thought it would be less conspicuous.’

  As we walked I asked him how it was that he always managed to have a jeep to drive around in and he grinned.

  ‘I’m supposed to be in Military Intelligence. It means I’m allowed to go wandering round the island poking my nose in wherever I find something interesting. My superiors haven’t twigged yet that what interests me isn’t necessarily anything that might be useful to them.’ Then his grin faded. ‘Mind you, if we have any more incidents like what happened yesterday in Famagusta I may find it harder to get away. You heard about that?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I heard.’

  When we got to the jeep he said, ‘Where shall we go?’

  The question took me by surprise. I had expected him to decide. He saw that I was lost for an answer and went on, ‘I don’t know the island well enou
gh yet. I thought you might be able to suggest somewhere quiet – somewhere we’re not likely to run across anyone you know. That would be best, wouldn’t it?’

  I was thinking hard. ‘Have you ever been to the little church of St Antiphonitis?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You would remember if you had. I’ll take you there.’

  We drove back towards Kyrenia and I kept my scarf pulled round my face. It was difficult to talk because of the noise of the engine and the wind whipping past our ears but I was glad of that. All I could think of was that I, a Greek girl, was riding alone with an English officer. Once we were stopped at a roadblock but when the soldiers manning it saw Stephen’s uniform they saluted and waved us through. I looked back as we drove away and saw them grinning and pointing and realized how easy it is for a girl to lose her reputation.

  I told him not to take the main road, but the one which crosses the mountains to the east of Kyrenia. When we got to the top of the pass, I directed Stephen off onto the narrow mountain road that winds along the top of the ridge. Soon we were deep among the trees, where only the occasional forester goes, or a villager searching for firewood or a lost sheep. We were truly alone now but I was not afraid anymore. I knew that Stephen would never harm me.

  After we had bumped along the track for some time, he looked at me and said with a laugh, ‘Where is this place? I don’t believe it exists.’

  ‘It does,’ I said. ‘Truly! Be patient, it’s only a little bit further.’

  He took his hand off the wheel and touched mine. ‘It’s all right, I trust you. I know you wouldn’t lead me into an ambush.’

  The words were spoken lightly but then he looked away and said nothing for a while and I knew he was thinking similar thoughts to my own. He was thinking how very foolish we were both being, in the eyes of the rest of the world.

  We came to a point where the track widened enough to turn a car.

  ‘Stop here,’ I said. ‘We have to walk the last bit.’

  I led him down the steep, rocky path into the clearing where the tiny church stood, completely hidden among the trees.

  ‘This is incredible!’ he exclaimed. ‘I should never have found this on my own.’

  I pushed open the heavy wooden door and he followed me inside. For a moment or two we were both blinded by the sudden transition from sunlight to the dim interior. Then I heard him draw in his breath in amazement.

  ‘It’s so beautiful! All these frescoes. They must be hundreds of years old.’

  ‘Many hundreds,’ I agreed.

  We walked together round the walls and stood staring up at the face of Christ above us in the dome. I discovered that he knew more than I did about Byzantine art and about the stories of the saints pictured in the frescoes. After a while I asked, ‘Do you have churches like this in England?’

  ‘Not like this. Some of them are very grand and very beautiful but not … not so colourful. I have seen churches like this in Greece, though.’

  ‘Do you go to church often?’

  ‘Not any more. When I was younger I believed fervently in –’ He hesitated and gestured at the pictures ‘– in all this. Sadly, not any longer.’

  ‘Sadly?’

  ‘Yes. I have lost my faith, but I respect and admire those who believe, like the people who made these beautiful pictures.’

  We went outside and sat down on a grassy bank in the shade of the building.

  He said, ‘Thank you so much for bringing me here. And thank you for being here yourself. I think you know I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts since the first day I saw you.’

  ‘And I have thought of you, too, all the time.’

  He kissed me then. It was the first time I had ever been kissed by a man and my first instinct was to struggle free but his arms round me were so gentle and I felt so safe in his embrace that my alarm lasted only a second. His lips were warm and slightly roughened by the sun and when they parted and I felt his tongue flicker across mine, something happened inside me that I had never experienced before. Of course I had fantasized about this moment for years, like any young girl, but I had never imagined that my body could come so vibrantly alive, obliterating all self-consciousness in the torrent of physical sensation.

  I do not know how long we lay in each other’s arms, just kissing, but eventually he drew away and looked down into my face.

  ‘My darling girl, we must stop this. I want you so badly, but I know we mustn’t let it go any further. It wouldn’t be fair to you.’

  I longed to reach out and pull him back to me, to tell him I wanted him, too. But some remnant of honour – or was it fear? – prevented me. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair and I straightened my clothes and tied the scarf back over my hair. He got up and held out his hand to me.

  ‘Come on, I’ll drive you back to Nicosia.’

  When we got back to the jeep I said, ‘When shall I see you again?’

  He took hold of my hands. ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Of course. You know I do.’

  ‘If we go on seeing each other, something will happen, you know that. If I can’t ask you to marry me …’

  He left the sentence unfinished but I understood his meaning.

  ‘We can’t stop. Not now!’

  ‘Then we need somewhere to meet – somewhere safe and private.’

  ‘I know. I’ll think of somewhere. When shall I see you again?’

  ‘On Sunday, when I come for my lesson with your father.’

  ‘I’ll find some way to give you a note. When can you be free again?’

  He shook his head, frowning. ‘I don’t know. Things are getting difficult. You know there is going to be a General Strike tomorrow? That means trouble. I’ll get a message to you somehow.’

  We looked at each other and suddenly I felt empty and hopeless. He put his arms round me and kissed me on the forehead.

  ‘We’ll find a way. Don’t look so sad. Things will work out, somehow.’

  I nestled against him. ‘Yes, of course they will.’

  CHAPTER 3

  The Girls’ and Boys’ Sixth Forms at the Gymnasium have formed a joint committee to organize protests against the British occupation and when the General Strike was announced they made it clear that we were all expected to join the demonstrations. On the day after my date with Stephen we all walked out of our normal lessons to attend a meeting to discuss tactics. The teachers are too intimidated to protest. There is a feeling that anyone who is not wholeheartedly in favour of action is a traitor.

  I realized this at the meeting, when I tried to find an excuse not to join in. I said I didn’t think my parents would allow it but all the others immediately turned on me.

  ‘Of course you must be there!’

  ‘You’re not chicken, are you?’

  One of the boys said, ‘I know your brother Iannis. He’s with us all the way. I’ll talk to him, if you like. He’ll persuade your parents.’

  I saw that I had fallen into a trap. My father and brothers were already suspicious because of my outburst the other evening. I couldn’t afford to make things worse. Also, I was not sure if the boy who had spoken was a sworn member of EOKA or not. Either way, Iannis would not be happy about him poking his nose into our affairs. I muttered something about talking my parents round myself and promised that I would be at the demo.

  When the day came, we gathered outside the school and marched towards the government offices. Penelope and I had made a banner demanding ‘ENOSIS OR DEATH’ and we each carried one of the poles that supported it. Although it was the end of October, the Mesaoria was still parched and Nicosia was like an oven. By the time we reached the street leading to the square where the offices were situated, we had joined up with several other processions and with so many people packed into the narrow confines between the buildings I began to feel I was suffocating. When we got near the square, the whole procession came to a halt and word was passed back to us that soldiers were blo
cking the end of the street. The crowd began to get angry. Craning on tiptoe, I could just make out the ranks of British soldiers in battledress and behind them two or three armoured cars. For the first time I felt angry too. What right had these people to treat us like enemies in our own country, to prevent us from walking the streets of our own capital city? Boys at the front of the demonstration began yelling insults at the troops and the chant of ‘Enosis!’ filled the street and echoed off the walls. Soon the first missiles were thrown and small groups of soldiers charged into the crowd and dragged the throwers back behind their lines. That made the mood of the crowd even uglier.

  I was chanting and shouting with the rest, carried away by the heat and frustration at not being able to move. Then a girl on my left grabbed my arm.

  ‘Look up there! On the rooftop!’

  I looked up. Three soldiers stood on the flat roof just parallel to where we were. One carried a rifle, one a camera and the third, an officer, was scanning the crowd through a pair of field glasses.

  ‘They’re spying on us! Taking pictures!’ my companion shouted in my ear.

  I dropped my head and tried to duck behind her shoulder. My stomach was tying itself in knots. The officer with the field glasses was Stephen. Had he recognized me? What would he think? Would he see me now as an enemy, as I had begun to see the other British soldiers? I tried to edge away towards the side of the street, where I would be out of his line of vision, but Penelope held fast to her end of the banner and would not move. More demonstrators were pressing in at the far end of the street and the crowd was becoming so dense that any movement was almost impossible anyway. I could only keep my head down and hope that he would not spot me among the crowd.

  Something was happening at the front of the demonstration. The soldiers had started to move forward, pushing our front ranks back. The people behind me were still trying to force their way forward and suddenly I was very much afraid. I could not move in either direction and the crush was so great that I could hardly breathe. A surge of bodies ripped the banner out of my hands and it went down, to be trampled under a dozen feet. I was terrified that I might lose my balance and suffer the same fate. In my panic I looked up at the rooftop where Stephen stood. He was not looking in my direction but talking into a walkie-talkie radio.