Waves of Fire

by Anne Hampson

  passions of those of the East____

  Two sailors walked into the garden and bought a drink at the bar.

  ‘A party?’ said one, his lean body moving rhythmically to the music.

  ‘Kopiaste!’ Yannis stopped dancing and steered his partner over to the bar.

  ‘Thanks, we’d love to join you, but we’ve a date at Clito’s. A party of tourists from the Dome are going there and we’ve promised Clito we’ll put on the local colour for them.’ The sailor glanced round. ‘Why don't you all join us?’

  Everyone agreed and a few moments later they had all piled into the pars, taking the two sailors with them.

  Clito’s Bar was far removed from the plush hotels of Cyprus, but no holiday on the island was complete without a visit to this cellar bar which, to every newcomer, had all the appearances of a ‘dive’. The walls were whitewashed and hung with dusty netting and even dustier lights. The ‘tables’ were wine barrels whose only embellishments were stains and cigarette bums. The floor was uncovered stone. From a brilliantly-lighted box in one corner bou%ouki music blared forth and in the centre of the floor half a dozen sailors were already giving the tourists what they had come to see. They danced superbly, their body movements often

  orgiastic. The tourists sat around, drinking and smoking and thoroughly delighted with the atmosphere.

  ‘This is the real Cyprus!’ exclaimed one old man enthusiastically, his knees white as yet beneath his baggy shorts. ‘We must come here every night.’

  ‘Which is Clito?’ asked a woman sitting next to Shani. She was looking enviously at her brown arms and feeling she could provide the information required. ‘We’re told he’s blind.’

  ‘He is blind yes. Here he is, coming down the stairs.’ A sailor immediately left the dancers and went to Clito’s aid. The old man looked happy, as he always did when his bar was full.

  ‘How does he come to be blind? We were told he was beaten up in his own bar.’

  ‘Yes, there was a brawl.’

  ‘But who did it?’

  Shani had already hesitated about answering that even before she caught Yannis’s warning glance. He spoke for her.

  ‘We don’t mention it,’ he said, quite affably. ‘Would you like to meet Clito?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  Yannis got up and brought Clito over to where they were sitting. The tourists were delighted, most of them having read Lawrence Durrell’s famous book in which Clito was often mentioned. The old man welcomed them and they all had drinks on him.

  ‘The atmosphere of your bar is marvellous,’ the woman told him. ‘We wanted local colour and we’ve certainly got it here.’ In the dark corners unshaven sailors in dark jerseys slouched, cigarettes dangling. In other dim places couples flirted and kissed. It was all a

  ‘shoW, put on by the loyal friends of Clito in order to bring him in the money for an operation on his eyes. But there was no doubt that an evening at Clito’s was pleasant and entertaining. The sailors readily taught the visitors to dance, taking the steps slowly and showing amazing patience. The wine was good, and cheap -Clito’s ‘special’ from the barrel. There was laughter and music, dancing and drinking, with the locals mingling with the guests.

  ‘I don’t think anyone could leave here without vowing to return,’ said Shani to Clito. ‘It’s great fun.’

  ‘You’ll tell your friends?’

  ‘I always do.’ Close beside her a relative of Clito’s, an old man, dark and toothless, was making his usual contribution to the entertainment, his movements, as he balanced a glass of wine on his head, bringing roars of laughter from the men but leaving the women completely baffled.

  ‘Sexy, must be,’ said Jenny. 'But isn’t it maddening when you can’t understand what it’s all about?’

  Vulgar, said Lydia’s expression, and Jenny added, softly, ‘Obviously she’s not so dense - but look at her face. This sort of entertainment’s clearly not her cup of tea.’ And it wasn’t, for she yawned repeatedly and in the end she turned to Andreas, saying,

  ‘Shall we go? It’s past one o’clock.’

  ‘You don’t want to go yet,’ put in Dr. Charalambedes. ‘The fun’s only just begun. It goes on till two or three in the morning.’

  ‘I couldn’t stay that long. Andreas, will you take me home?’

  He hesitated, caught the sudden sparkle in his wife’s eye and said softly,

  ‘Very well, Lydia, we’ll go if you wish. Does anyone else want a lift?’ he added, glancing round.

  ‘Not me.’ Yannis shook his head. ‘I’m enjoying myself.’ ‘Nor me.’ Jenny also shook her head.

  No one else wanted a lift and Lydia’s face was a study of satisfaction at the idea of a moonlight drive with Andreas.

  ‘I’d like a lift,’ said Shani, rising. ‘I’ve just realized I’m rather tired.’

  Yes, she thought as she followed them to the car. I am being bitchy tonight!

  CHAPTER TEN

  WITH only ten days to go before her departure for England Shani was fully organized, her boxes having already been collected and taken to the port at Famagusta where they would be dispatched on the next ship for Liverpool. Her aunt was only too willing to have her, but her letter had contained a good many acid comments about men in general and Andreas in particular. With all his money, she had emphasized, he should be made to pay. Shani’s letter to her aunt had been the most difficult she had ever written; it was so hard to explain the situation without putting Andreas in a bad light, and judging by the reply she hadn’t been as successful as she thought. There would be some uncomfortable moments on her arrival, Shani knew, but so great was her aunt’s dislike of men that she would be sure to say in the end that Shani was far better off on her own.

  It was customary for a member of staff who was

  leaving to give a party, and Shani asked Matron’s permission to do this. Matron looked somewhat surprised, thinking, no doubt, that the situation could scarcely be comfortable either for Shani or Andreas. She and Shani were sitting on the verandah, but although it was warm the sky was darkened by clouds and the farmers hopefully declared it would rain before the morning. Already the deluge had hit Troodos and it was so cold up there that snow was expected earlier than usual.

  ‘You’ll return to nursing?’ Matron asked conversationally after she had given her permission for the

  farewell party.

  ‘Later, yes.’

  ‘Your aunt will look after the child?’

  ‘I haven’t asked her, but if she won’t I’ll have to wait until it’s at school.’

  ‘And then do part-time work, of course.’

  Shani nodded, her attention caught by Lydia’s car pulling up on the park at the side of the hospital. The girl got out and walked briskly in the direction of Andreas’s house. Matron cast Shani a sideways glance, causing her colour to rise. It was not difficult to read Matron’s thoughts. She was thinking some hard things about Andreas - and that Shani had been foolish in the extreme.

  ‘You must write to me, and let me know how you’re, getting along.’

  Shani made no answer; once she left the island she would make a new life for herself, using her husband’s name. There would have to be a complete break; she could not even write to Jenny, her best friend. Tears

  filmed her eyes. Would Andreas feel sorry, she wondered, were he to discover how his act had disorganized her life? All he knew was that she was returning to England; he would naturally assume she would be working there. Perhaps, she thought, indulging in a tiny bout of self-pity, he would have serious trouble with his conscience if he ever learned the truth. But it was to be hoped he never would learn the truth, for the child’s sake.

  As she made her way back to the annexe where she had been visiting some of the patients in her off-duty time, Shani glanced automatically at the car park. It was now accepted that the relationship between Andreas and Lydia was strengthening rapidly. They were together far too much for Andreas’s interest to be one of mere b
usiness. Ever since the night of Sister Glover’s party, mused Shani as she entered the annexe. She herself had experienced a brief moment of triumph when she and her husband had danced together ... but Lydia’s was the final victory. ‘But he can’t marry her,’ said Shani, borrowing a little of her friend’s spite. ‘She’s in for a shock if that’s what she has in mind.’ Luciana’s aunt was in the annexe, having fallen down some steps and cut her head and arms. But her injuries were not serious and she was thoroughly enjoying the rest and good food, and the luxury of being waited upon for the first time in her life. She was old and wrinkled, but from her dark face a pair of the most expressive eyes Shani had ever seen shone happily as Shani approached the bed.

  ‘Sister Reeves. ...’ The old woman’s hand clasped that of her visitor. ‘I thought you had gone without having a little talk with me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that; I wanted to have a few words with Matron while she wasn’t busy.’

  ‘My auntie was saying, before you came, that she would like to kiss you.’ Luciana, who had arrived in Shani’s absence, was sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

  ‘Why?’ asked Shani curiously, aware of the soft caress of the woman’s fingers on the back of her hand.

  ‘She loves all the English - my auntie. You see, your Queen sends her money every month, and she never once fails, or is late. And from our own Government she gets not one single mil! So it’s because she loves the English that she wants to kiss you.’

  Shani bent her head and the old woman kissed her cheek, her face smiling yet serene. There was a great depth to some of these old ladies, and Shani had often wondered what sort of an impact they would have made on their island had they been emancipated, and educated.

  ‘Your father was killed in the war?’ Shani straightened up, but retained her hold on the woman’s hand.

  ‘He was in the British Navy, and my auntie was left with six children. Just think of that, Sister Reeves, all alone with six children.’

  And I, thought Shani, am feeling sorry for myself at the idea of having to bring up one on my own.

  ‘They were all small?’

  ‘The eldest was eight. But your Queen’s father sent them money for food and clothes, and for their education. All my cousins received an excellent education and now have the best paid posts. That’s why we all love the English people.’

  Shani smiled.

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed, Luciana, that you and your family are among the few people I know who don’t keep reminding me of “the roads the British made for us”. You know,’ she added, her smile deepening, ‘those narrow strips of tarmac which unfortunately have got your drivers into the habit of keeping to the middle of the road. On first coming here my friend and I hired a car so that we could see something of your island. I complained of this habit, in a nice sort of way, of course, but soon learned to hold my tongue, being told it was all my fault because, they would say, “You made the roads for us”.’ Luciana looked pained, even though Shani herself was amused

  ‘That was not very kind.’

  ‘It was all quite good-humoured, Luciana. Your little argument with the Guardian of the Fields was the nearest thing to a quarrel I’ve ever heard since coming here. ’

  At that Luciana chuckled.

  ‘That’s because we’re all related, even though distantly, and family ties are very strong in Cyprus.’ With the soft sound of a bell ringing Luciana rose from her chair. ‘I have to go now, Auntie; tomorrow my mother will come.’

  ‘Don’t forget to water my garden, Luciana.’

  ‘I’ll water it, but it’s going to rain tomorrow.’

  ‘Perhaps, but water it all the same.’ She looked up. ‘Are you going also, Sister?’

  ‘It’s time you had a little sleep,’ Shani returned gently, taking her hand from that of the old woman. ‘You’ve done enough talking for the present.’

  Shani punched up the pillow and made her

  comfortable. For a long moment she stood looking down into the old woman’s face, serene and composed as already she became lost in a halfsleep. Shani felt that one of her greatest regrets at leaving the island was the idea of saying goodbye for ever to these wonderful old people. They represented the simple village life and customs, and there was no up and coming generation to take their place. Cyprus was caught in the whirlwind of progress. It was a happy circumstance in many ways ... but so very sad in others.

  Three days to go. Shani had had her party the previous evening in the sisters’ sitting-room, with Lydia naturally not invited. Andreas had been cool, but on occasions attentive, extending to her the courtesy and polite care he normally kept for Lydia. His eyes would meet hers, that odd light in their depths, as he handed her some refreshment, or sat talking on the balcony where several little groups were sitting under a starlit sky.

  ‘The rain doesn’t appear to have done very much good.’ Shani felt awkward as, Jenny and Sister Louzides having drifted away, she found herself alone with Andreas. ‘I expect it’s because the ground’s so baked. The rain can’t penetrate.’

  ‘That’s why we have the torrents sweeping down the roads. Part of the Vasilios by-pass has been washed away, one side of the road having completely collapsed.’

  Such stiff conversation, Shani thought. The atmosphere seemed suddenly to become electrified.

  ‘And of course when the rain stops the sun comes out immediately and begins baking the ground again. It will be bad for the island if the winter’s as dry as last year.’ Shani fingered the stem of her glass in an abstracted sort of way. She had the impression that her husband had something of tremendous importance to say to her, but could not find the opportunity, with all these people about. ‘There’s been a good deal of snow on Troodos, though, and if this keeps on the meltwater will eventually do a lot of good.’

  Dr. Gordon joined them, and then one or two others came from the sitting-room. Andreas gave a little sigh and after a while excused himself, saying he had work to do.

  At five o’clock the following morning he was called out urgently to Nicosia and on arrival there he rang through to Loutras saying he would not be back until late the following evening. Shani was off duty, but on seeing her as she came off the ward, where she had been talking to one of the English patients, Matron asked Shani to take some reports to Mr. Manou’s room.

  ‘Just put them on his desk. He’ll attend to them when he gets back.’

  Shani laid them down ... and then her eye caught the key, lying there on the inkstand. The key of the villa up on Troodos.

  Her bracelet. ... Suddenly it seemed imperative that she should have it in her possession - her husband’s only present to her, apart from her wedding and engagement rings, of course.

  She stood by the desk, then hesitantly picked up the key, holding it in her hand and staring fascinatedly down at it. She could go up to the villa and be back before Andreas returned. There was a bus in half an hour’s time ...

  The roads were clear, but snow lay thick on the mountains, and great black cumulus clouds came threateningly lower and lower as, leaving the bus, Shani made for the narrow track along which Andreas had driven on that unforgettable evening. The villa appeared through the gloom, a bleak little dwelling, isolated and forlorn. The interior was dark and cold and a shiver passed through Shani as she hurried into the bedroom. With the bracelet in her pocket she came out of the villa again, locking the door and leaving without one backward glance. Snow came down in great flakes on to the silent mountains and into the valley. The bus would go up to Prodhromos and then return. She must catch it, for she knew it would be the last one that day, with visibility now down to a mere few yards. It had not been a good idea, coming up to Troodos, she chided herself, and yet she was glad she had her bracelet. The downward journey would be tedious and slow, but once safely back at the hospital she would have no regrets about her impulsive decision to go up to the villa.

  She started to run, but with only a short distance between her and the villa she ca
ught her foot on a hidden boulder and, in an effort to regain her balance, she went too near the edge and within seconds she was hurtling down the side of the mountain. Her scream, deadened by the snow, faded altogether as blackness closed in around her.

  Familiar hospital smells assailed her nostrils as she regained consciousness. Familiar voices too ... vaguely familiar ... Matron . .. doctor ... Monikomo. From a long way off her husband’s voice reached her.

  ‘Shani. ...’ He stopped. ‘Matron, would you mind leaving?’

  The white-clad figure disappearing through the door ... the pain ... the sensation of loss. Her eyes, unmoving, stared at those above her. Dazed as she was, their tiredness escaped her, as did the grim set of her husband’s mouth. She did not notice the little white lines close to his jaw or the uncontrollable movement in his throat. She said, her voice husky with pain,

  ‘Did you operate, Andreas?’

  ‘Yes, Shani, I had to. There was no one else up here—’ ‘So now you should be satisfied. You’ve taken all I had.’ Her accents, bitter and accusing, made him wince, but again she did not see. ‘I hope that you consider you’ve exacted full payment for any wrong I might have done you.’ For the first time in her life she spoke. Unfairly, but she was still very ill, too ill, even, to give a thought to how Andreas came to be here, or how she herself had been brought to Monikomo. In fact, so great was her pain that Andreas had to give her another injection and within minutes she was again insensible to everything around her.