The captain could see that she was halfway down the track and appeared to be in some distress.
‘I fell,’ she said, by way of an explanation.
Slithering sideways to where she was crouched, Jahan extended his hand and helped her to her feet. A strand of hair was stuck to her forehead and the skin of her face was flushed. A long tear gaped in the fabric of her skirt, and the captain saw blood oozing through it from where she had cut her knee.
‘Are you all right? Can you walk?’
She nodded.
‘Were you climbing up or down? You look as though you could do with some air.’
Before she answered, he guided her back down towards the beach. At the bottom of the scree, he tried to take her arm, but she pulled away and walked to the water’s edge.
‘You might want to clean that,’ he said, nodding to where the blood was drying on her skirt.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘In this heat it’s unwise to leave it.’
She was heading for the far cliff, her face turned towards it and her fingers curled into her palms. Her thin blouse flapped around the bones of her shoulders and the wet, sand-encrusted hem of her skirt left swirling tracks on the beach as she marched purposefully ahead of him. Since their last encounter, the captain had been thinking of Anyush Charcoudian more than he might have expected. Despite rumours of an Azeri army gathering in Baku and talk of being moved south-east to bolster the Fifth Army at Van, he had found himself distracted by thoughts of her. It took courage to meet him in the old ruin, but he hadn’t expected her to be frightened of him. She hid it well, only two spots of high colour in her cheeks, but she was uneasy all the same. It was not what he had intended.
‘This is a beautiful beach,’ he said. ‘And nobody seems to come here.’
Walking was painful for her, but she didn’t slow her pace or turn to look at him.
‘Tell me, why do you come here?’
‘Because it is my refuge.’
‘And, aside from myself, who are you seeking refuge from?’
She stopped abruptly and turned towards the ocean. With her back to the captain, she lifted her skirt and splashed water on her cut knee. He turned away, facing towards the wadi, until he felt her draw level with him again.
‘My mother,’ she said. ‘I disappoint her and she likes to complain. She also hates men.’
‘Thank you for the warning.’
‘Turkish men in particular.’
‘So,’ he smiled, ‘you come here to get away from your mother.’
‘From everyone. And to swim.’
Jahan already knew she swam on a nearby beach. It was the beach visible from the hill at the top of the village and more easily accessible than the one they were walking on. He had seen her bring the American children there one day, when she had divested herself of everything but her underclothes and dived into the waves beside them. What had struck him most was not that she was an accomplished swimmer or that she seemed so unselfconscious in the children’s company, but that the person who emerged from the water in the wet, clinging underclothes had the shape and figure of a woman – thin but shapely legs, a slim waist and pert breasts, tantalisingly visible behind the wet chemise. It was a revelation to him, and, from where he had been hiding at the top of the wadi, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes from her.
‘Not on this beach,’ she was saying. ‘The currents are too dangerous, but I swim on the main beach sometimes.’
‘It’s rather exposed,’ he said. ‘I’ve swum there myself but not that often.’
‘There are other places. Beaches that are hidden.’
‘I haven’t seen any others.’
‘There is a cove,’ she said hesitatingly, ‘a hidden cove at the bottom of the cliff, but it’s difficult to get to.’
‘More difficult than here?’
‘Much more.’
‘Could you show it to me?’
‘No.’ She looked away.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s not safe.’
‘You swim there.’
‘I’ve been swimming since I was very young.’
‘As have I.’
But she would not change her mind.
‘Tell me where it is then, and I’ll go by myself.’
‘You’d never find it.’
‘So bring me there.’
She was looking towards the cliff, and he followed her gaze along the line of rock out into the white water churning at its base. It didn’t seem possible to swim anywhere near it.
‘There’s a very long drop to the bottom,’ she said. ‘This is not the place to go if you have a fear of heights.’
‘That settles it then,’ he smiled. ‘I have no fear whatsoever.’
‘Anyush and the captain were crouched near the edge of the clifftop, looking at the tiny pebbly cove below. It was completely screened from the beach to the west by the side of the cliff that extended like a rocky arm out into the ocean and by the rank of low cliffs to the east.
‘Nothing except a bird could manage to get down there.’
‘I do.’
‘Then you’re braver than I am. That’s a sheer drop.’
‘There’s a track just there.’
‘For rabbits maybe.’
‘And footholds.’
He got up from his knees. ‘You’re making fun of me. I’ll plunge to my death.’
‘It was your idea to come,’ she said. ‘I don’t care if you climb down or not.’
He stood looking doubtfully at the drop, his black hair blowing around his face.
‘Well …’ he said, glancing at her long skirt, ‘I suppose if you can do it …’
Reversing over the edge of the cliff, Anyush climbed backwards down the track. It was not difficult for her but by the time the captain reached the bottom his palms were scratched and cut and covered in bird droppings from the gulls’ nests he dislodged on the way down. His dusty, chalk-stained uniform was a sight and his face was red and shining with sweat. Anyush smiled, but the smile quickly faded when she thought about where she had brought him. They were completely hidden, tucked into the cliff like babes in arms. Should anything happen, there would be no one to call on, no one to come to her aid. She could swim out to sea around the headland and leave him make his own way back up the cliff, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to. He stood for a moment to catch his breath, watching the low sun play on the water. Beyond the cliffs the waves rolled and broke into plumes of spray, but within the small bay the water was calm and still.
‘This place is Paradise,’ he said quietly. ‘No wonder you keep it to yourself.’
Like a lake of fallen stars, the late afternoon sun sparkled across the blue-green surface.
‘Can you see the cove from above?’
‘No.’
‘What about the fishermen?’ he said, scanning along the horizon. ‘Don’t they come here?’
‘They have to stay far out to avoid the rocks.’
The heat of the day had almost gone, leaving only a gentle warmth in the pebbles beneath their feet. In the evening sky above them the colour was shifting from the palest yellow to rose gold along the horizon. He sat on the pebbles and began to pull off his boots and jacket. The wide plane of his shoulders shrugged out of his shirt, revealing a narrow waist. Each time he bent to remove a sock or boot, muscle rippled over bone beneath the surface of his skin. Anyush had never seen a man’s naked body before, nothing more exposed than an arm or a face. Her own self was known to her only in the shivering lengths glimpsed when she undressed in the loft or in the reflection of a window pane. The thought of seeing her mother or grandmother without clothes was unimaginable, and men’s nakedness was completely unfamiliar to her. A man’s body was for ploughing and building and for imposing itself on the body of a woman. Every girl knew she should look at a man as if he had no body at all, but seeing Jahan undress on the pebbles before her, Anyush couldn’t look away. His skin was startlingly white,
the smooth surface of his chest broken by a triangle of silky black hair that dipped into the hollow of his navel and out again before disappearing beneath the band of his trousers. Anyush pulled her scarf over her ears and tightened the lace on her shoe. Getting to his feet the captain waded into the sea, pulling up his shoulders against the chill. He dived beneath the water and surfaced again, swimming with easy, unhurried strokes towards the reef. Watching him, Anyush felt strange, heavy-limbed and loose, as though a part of her had come unglued, and her heart pumped somewhere it shouldn’t. She closed her eyes and dug her feet into the pebbles, kicking against the smooth stones. When she looked up again he was swimming towards the mouth of the bay.
‘Stay in the middle!’ she shouted. ‘The rocks are dangerous. Don’t swim too close to the cliff.’
The waters of the bay were deceiving. There were dangerous rips and tides along the base of the cliff and spit and beneath the smooth surface of the water. But he kept swimming, his bare, broad shoulders dipping easily in and out of the waves. He was very close now to the mouth of the bay. Approaching the line of breaking waves, he turned and swam slowly back towards the shore. Anyush sat with her arms pulled tightly around her knees.
‘Come in,’ he called. ‘It’s perfect.’
She shook her head.
‘Heavenly. Not cold at all.’
He eased himself back into the water and swam towards the open sea. She watched him turn and float on his back, the light catching the outline of his face and toes where they broke the surface. There was no sound except the gentle splash of his limbs and the distant breaking waves. His movements were graceful in the water, more practised than her own. She dropped her head onto her arms, closing her eyes against the sight of him. When she looked up again, he was nowhere to be seen. She got to her feet and walked along the shoreline, shading her eyes against the low sun. The flat calm sea appeared undisturbed, but a movement in the dark water at the base of the spit caught her eye.
He was over near the rocks on the western side of the cove, swimming against the breaking tide. Although the evening was still and the water calm, the waves broke with surprising heft over the promontory. He was very close now to where the sea frothed on the dark stone, and she realised he was in the grip of an undercurrent pulling him onto it. Again and again, he attempted to swim towards the centre of the bay, but the undertow was too strong and he was washed back every time.
‘Don’t fight the current!’ Anyush shouted. ‘Go with it!’
He didn’t seem to hear and kept thrashing about in the waves. She could see he was tiring and swallowing water. Pulling off her skirt, blouse and boots she dived into the sea and swam as close to him as she dared, but it wasn’t close enough. She had to stay away from the pull along the base of the spit.
‘Listen to me … Captain Orfalea … Jahan, listen. Pull up your knees. Can you hear me?’
Turning as best he could, he nodded.
‘Watch what I’m doing. You must do the same … you understand? Keep your legs away from the rocks. Let the tide carry you onto them.’
His eyes widened, and she knew what she was asking him to do sounded dangerous, but he was too tired to break away from the current, and his only hope was letting the force of the waves carry him in. She had managed this herself once before, but it had been a high tide and there was less chance of hitting the higher rocks. It was a risk, but he had no other option. Taking a deep breath, she let herself drift into the current. The pull sucked her along by the rock face and she swam parallel to it so that she could get herself into the best position facing the spit.
‘Watch the waves!’ she shouted. ‘Wait for a big one!’
Out to sea a huge roller came thundering towards the bay and then broke on the reef into a smaller swell. It moved at speed towards her. Drawing up her knees, she took a deep breath and turned her back to it. Lifted suddenly aloft, she had a brief and terrifying view over the entire cove before falling towards the spar of barnacled granite. Pushing down on her heels, she landed forcefully but intact as the water rushed back between her ankles. Grabbing a finger-hold in the rock, she managed to cling on at the outward pull and crawl onto the higher rocks before the next wave broke over her. At her back she saw Jahan turn towards the incoming waves. One smaller than the other drifted inwards until, finally, another huge roller gathered in the bay. He was in a bad position from the start and then misjudged the timing so that he was pulled back into the water only to be thrown up again. Anyush’s heart beat like a bird’s as she realised the rocks would cut him to ribbons. Tiring and swallowing water, he struck out again for the spot she had launched from. In position just as another big wave hit, he turned his back to it and was carried onto the rock. This time he clung on when the water washed out, gripping hard with both hands. Coming as close as she dared, Anyush reached out and pulled him onto the dry rocks beside her.
They collapsed onto the pebbles, both trying to catch their breath.
‘That was very brave,’ he said.
Anyush couldn’t speak. She should have been angry that he had ignored her warning and put their lives in danger, but all she felt was relief. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she said. ‘And your trousers are torn.’
He looked down and saw that one side of his chest was grazed, and watery blood trickled through his ripped trousers along his right shin. ‘I look like I’ve been in the wars.’
She tried to smile, but her teeth chattered and her lips were stiff with cold.
‘Here …’ He fetched his tunic and placed it around her shoulders. She was suddenly conscious that she had nothing on but a chemise. Despite the cold, blood rushed to her face. Gently he teased away the wet hair from her cheek. She was trembling, and cold had nothing to do with it. Heavy with seawater, her plait dripped onto her shoulder, and he moved it away, resting his hand on her collarbone. Her breath quickened as he traced the drop of saltwater to the low neckline of her chemise and she closed her eyes. In some part of her she knew she should run, get away as fast as she could, but her feet wouldn’t move and her legs wouldn’t carry her. His hand lingered at her breast, pushing against the nipple behind the wet fabric. She wasn’t thinking any more, only that she didn’t want him to stop.
‘Anyush,’ he whispered, tilting her face to his, ‘look at me.’
She looked at him. Hope, reason and any good sense she might once have had deserted her.
‘Anyush … you need never be afraid of me.’
Turning abruptly, he walked to where his shirt and boots lay discarded on the stones. ‘You should get dressed,’ he said. ‘I have to get back.’
Jahan sat against the wall of the ruin, just inside the doorway. Below him the line of white sand swept a majestic curve around the headland, past the rocky promontory, and merged in the far distance into the grey sea. The beach was deserted. She wasn’t coming.
Since the day in the cove he had not been to the ruin. He had stopped keeping track of Anyush’s movements and tried to put her from his thoughts, but being saved from drowning does strange things to the mind. Her courage in the service of a man, whose motives were, at best, questionable, had a profound effect on him. She had risked her life without a moment’s hesitation, and it was the most selfless act any other human being had ever undertaken on his behalf.
He felt ashamed. He had decided to seduce Anyush, and, watching her shivering and half naked on the stones, he knew she was his for the taking. A bit of harmless fun to stave off the boredom of being banished to the back end of the Empire. But it didn’t seem so harmless any more.
A year previously Jahan had been in Paris finishing his officer’s training at the French Military Academy. Enver Pasha, the commanding officer of the Turkish army, was determined to rid the ranks of the older alaylı, those officers who had been appointed without going to military school, and replace them with the mektepli, young, eager graduates of the Military Academy such as Jahan. Like other cadets sent to Berlin, Vienna, Rome, London and St Petersburg, Jahan’
s head was full of the modern advances he would bring home with him. He was determined to establish the first Ottoman aviation corps, and an armoured vehicle squadron, and his superiors were suitably impressed. But the outbreak of war put an end to all Jahan’s dreams. The cadets were recalled to Constantinople to bolster a decimated Ottoman army. The military had never recovered from the disastrous Balkan War which had destroyed it as an effective fighting force. As the events of 1914 lumbered towards the inevitable, the Ottoman army found itself understaffed, ill-equipped and totally unprepared for another war.
Not every aspect of the war was unfavourable for the Orfalea family. Jahan’s father, a leading figure in the Ottoman military, had substantially increased his fortune during the Balkan War and since the advent of the Great War. The family tannery in Constantinople had become the biggest army supplier of saddles, bandoliers and boots, and, being the only son and heir of his father’s business, Jahan ought to have been grateful for an armed conflict.
In reality, he was disenchanted with all things military and disturbed by the nationalistic fervour spreading throughout the country like fire. ‘Armenian,’ he thought, looking up at the darkening sky, had become a dirty word.
Over the course of a few restless nights, Jahan had decided never to see Anyush again. His company was moving to the Russian front in a couple of days, and it would be his parting gift to her, a sincere thank you for saving his life. So sincere in fact, that he had come to the ruin in the hope of saying it in person.
A stiff breeze blew up. The sky and sea merged in a heaving mass of grey and the first drops of rain hit against his face, presaging the storm to come. Pushing his cap firmly onto his head, he stepped into the wind to walk back to the base.
‘Short, Anyush,’ Bayan Stewart said. ‘Keep a little length on top but cut the rest short.’
‘I don’t need a woman to cut my hair,’ Robert complained. ‘I like it long.’
‘Sit still, Master Robert,’ Anyush said, holding the scissors away from him.
‘Nobody complains about Mahmoud Agha’s hair. Nobody makes him cut it off.’
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