The woman took her eyes off me and turned to the man.
“No, you explain. That would be better.”
Then they both turned to look at me.
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* Mustafa Kemal Atatürk: Leader of the Turkish War of Independence 1919–1923 and founder of modern Turkey.
14
Weighing up Madam Maria’s proposition gave me a headache, albeit only for a short while. I had a tough job convincing my mother, sister, brother-in-law, Kiri Vladimiros, Kiriya Evthimiya and even my Turkish teacher, Kemalettin Bey. I spent days and nights persuading everyone that it was a genuine offer, especially Hüsnüye. Distressed by the idea that I might take up with Madam Maria, she wept and lamented, while almost tearing me to pieces with her nails. Although I assured her that Madam Maria was a very serious person, and that I hadn’t entertained such a thought even for one minute, she continued to sulk and cry. But every argument ended the way she wanted, in intense, stormy passion.
My mother, sister and brother-in-law, Arif, were concerned about whether they would go hungry if I walked away from my current steady, secure job. The income from Arif’s small shop wasn’t quite enough for them to make a living so they needed my support from time to time. One reason for my mother’s unhappiness about this new job was her desire to get me married off. How could she find me a wife if I didn’t earn any money and had offended Kiri Vladimiros to boot?
Kemalettin, who was still being held as a prisoner of war, saw things differently. He considered it as the last but one step along the way to being my own boss and earning more money. For that reason, I should make the most of the opportunity and not let it slip from my hands. In his opinion, I shouldn’t drag things out too long before accepting the job as I might miss out on the opportunity altogether. He thought it would be to my own detriment if I did anything else.
Kiriya Evthimiya and the white-haired Kiri Vladimiros shared their thoughts one evening as we sat around another elaborately prepared meal. Kiriya Evthimiya’s cheery and affectionate character made it seem natural for me to call her Aunt. Just like Aunt Evangeliki, the mother of Manolis my teacher, she was always trying to ply me with food. My mother used to say, “They’ll all be saints. Don’t take any notice of the fact that they’re Christians. They’ve got as much of a place up in God’s kingdom as Muslims like us!”
According to her beliefs, we Muslims were destined for heaven. Any Christians who opened their arms to help rather than persecute us would be able to join us there. She was a fervent believer who never questioned the reasons why we Muslims, God’s beloved servants, were being persecuted and pillaged. The table that evening was decked with a magnificent spread; Kiriya Evthimiya and Kiri Vladimiros wanted to make sure that the evening on which we were to discuss parting ways would be a lavish one. All the meze and other dishes had been prepared from seafood. That evening, Aunt Evthimiya proved even more than usual her supremacy at the art of meze. Naturally, in the middle of the table was a fine white wine, especially selected to complement the meze.
It was Kiriya Evthimiya who broached the topic before her husband, revealing their sadness at the thought of no longer seeing me every Saturday evening. “We’ve got used to you being around, as if you were our own son – a son that works somewhere far away during the week and only comes home on Saturdays.”
It struck me that the perpetual smile on her face seemed somehow subdued, that she hadn’t been looking at me as she spoke, but hung her head down towards her plate.
Raising the first glass, Kiri Vladimiros said, “Don’t be upset. Let’s wish that this new job brings happiness and makes Hassanaki a wealthy man. Come on, lad, raise your glass.” I told them how I had been totally preoccupied since receiving Madame Maria’s offer and that I couldn’t find a way out of my dilemma. In terms of money, Madam Maria’s offer was more than satisfactory. I was to get half of the money we earned from every brokering deal and a quarter of any profit we made on properties that she bought and renovated before they were sold. Obviously as she had invested all the capital, she would get the lion’s share. There was nothing I could object to in relation to this aspect of the job, because she had set up the business and would also provide all the investment necessary.
Kiri Vladimiros said, “I understand all of it, Hassanaki: that you want to be more independent, earn more money – it’s just that I can’t imagine life without our Hassanaki, our substitute son. I don’t know if you realise how much pleasure and purpose you’ve brought into our lives. In fact, I might as well tell you now, Evthimiya and I talked a lot about adopting you and even looked into it. But it was impossible with you being a Muslim and us Christians, and on top of that, our communities becoming sworn enemies… murdering each other mercilessly in cold blood. Impossible. In the eyes of society, you’re a Turk or a Mohammedan and we are Greeks or Christians. I’m sure you know what I’m saying. We don’t have children and we wanted you to have our property, the print house and whatever bit of money we leave behind when we pass away, but we didn’t want to separate you from your mother and family. You can see it as our wish to reward good people, but I don’t want to put it like that, because being a good person is a basic condition for everyone who calls themselves human. So, I’d rather refer to it as support than reward.”
‘Thank you, you are both such caring people,” I said. “But please, don’t talk like that, you’re bringing tears to my eyes.”
Before I had even finished the sentence, Aunt Evthimiya got to her feet and hurried into the kitchen, sobbing. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at Kiri Vladimiros. His eyes had misted over. Then, he pulled himself together and cleared his throat before calling out towards the kitchen, “Come on, Evthimiya, come back. You’re upsetting both of us. It’s not as if he’s leaving Chania, he’ll still be here. Whenever he wants to see us he’ll come and visit and taste your meze. And when we’re missing him, we’ll call him over. If he has any problems, we’ll be there for him. If we need any help he’ll come running. Let’s leave him to do what he wants – he’s a young man.”
Kiriya Evthimiya returned, dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief. Her nose was as pink as a radish.
“Hassanaki, my son, you won’t forget us, will you?”
“How could I ever forget? Kiri Vladimiros gave me a job, a good wage and taught me the ways of the world. He’s been like an uncle to me and you like an aunt, as if you were my mother’s own sister. Whenever terrible things happened to the Turks, you consoled me, and who knows how much you’ve protected me. God strike me down if I ever forget!”
As if they had previously agreed on what to say, the husband and wife said at exactly the same time, “You deserve it.”
“Let’s stop all this sad talk now, boss. Like you said, it’s not as if I’m moving away. We’ll just see each other less often, that’s all. I know you want me to be successful and have my best interests at heart, that’s why I need your advice.”
Kiri Vladimiros bowed his head and then looked up straight into my eyes. “There’ll be more and more people fleeing to Chania because of the Greek rebellions and all the murders and attacks on the Turks. All these new refugees will drive up the value of farmland, orchards, houses, shops – you name it. This job could earn you a lot of money, so that’s one thing. If you’re careful with it, it will be a great future for you. The second thing, and in my opinion, by far the most important is this: according to the rumours, some of the Turkish landowners here, or the top dogs in one way or another, are apparently sending money to Anatolia, to Kemal Pasha, who’s fighting back the Greeks. They call them Unionists. When you start earning good money, you might end up helping them out as well – either of your own free will or because they ask you to. It’s natural so I’m not going to say you should or you shouldn’t. But if you do decide to help them, make sure it’s absolutely secret. Don’t give yourself away in idle chat.”
I already knew this was going on and told him so: “I’ve heard two names mentioned – Ta
hmisçizade Macit Bey* and Alyotzade Mustafa Tevfik Bey. In fact, there were a couple more names mentioned as well but no one’s sure about them. They say the money collected to support Mustafa Kemal Pasha is being sent to the Ottoman ambassador in Athens and Macit Bey is the one sorting it all out. The money goes from there to the Unionists. That’s what I heard.”
Vladimiros warned me again, “Whatever’s going on, take heed of what I said. Be careful not to get involved and don’t stick your head above the parapet. If you get caught, you’ll be thrown off the island or killed. We want you to stay in one piece and make something of yourself, that’s our greatest wish. Don’t ever forget that!”
Just the day before, on the Friday, there had been a spate of murders as people were leaving mosques in Turkish villages. My fellow Muslims, my fellow Turks had been slaughtered again. Today there would be more families dressed in black and devastated with grief. But it would have been the height of cruelty at my farewell supper to mention it in front of these two caring elderly people, whose human kindness and wisdom were so far removed from all the religious and racial bigotry around us.
My mother believed that such people were worthy of heaven. She saw the world through the eyes of a simple village woman. But if it was down to me, after all the things suffered by our family and all the other Turks, I’d like to see statues made of these two wise souls – monuments to humanity, although I know it will never happen. After dinner, when the time came to part, we hugged and kissed each other, all three of us welling with tears.
__________
* A Cretan notable who later wrote Girit Hataları: Memories of Crete.
15
In 1920, the news that our enemies were to carve up Anatolia between themselves travelled across to Crete in a flash. For the Greeks, the Treaty of Sevres* sparked ecstatic celebrations and festivities. For the Turks it was bad news, but we said nothing. We feared that the swagger and triumphalism of the island Greeks would get even worse. For all of us in the cities, it was as if we were sleepwalking through a nightmare. Even my business partner, Madam Maria, seemed unsure how to react although I heard that Kiri Vladimiros had spoken to her about it. Somehow, with her female adeptness, she hid her discomfort and succeeded in keeping our relationship on an even keel. The island Turks had been hounded from their homes, they had lost their land and seen their property burnt and desecrated. Now those of us that had survived faced a different threat: a campaign to assimilate us. Venizelos, the wiliest of the Cretan Greeks, announced, “It’s time to stop chasing the Turks away, now you should marry your daughters to their men.” In other words, he thought he could Hellenise us until we melted away. Not everyone agreed with him; his opponents accused him of being a stooge to the Turks and took over the attack with their slogan, “First I am a Christian, then I am a Greek!” Either the bigoted Greeks had forgotten that Venizelos had led their recent victorious uprising, or they were in denial about it.
With the recent repeated forced migrations within the island, we saw history repeating itself.
“Ali Agha,” they had shouted, cutting across our path as we fled our village in a convoy all those years ago, “what’s this, an imperial procession?”
The tailor, Hüseyin Agha, who was working as a farmhand at Kukunara Farm on the outskirts of the city, had reached the end of his tether when he was threatened by Greeks whilst gathering olives with his family and other farm workers. He loaded up all their possessions on to the two-wheel carts we called dalika and set off for the city at dusk. The scornful words of the Greeks who stopped him on the road were almost identical to the words the armed bandits had mocked us with so long ago, still in currency despite the passage of time: “Hüseyin Agha, what a magnificent procession you’ll be entering the city with!”
We did our best to get on with our lives by trying to bury the pain of countless insults like this. Earning money had become my main aim in life. A failure to do so would mean that as a grown man, I would have to wait in the queue for one plate of food at the door of the dervish lodge run by Mehmed Şemseddin Efendi.* How would I ever explain that to my mother, my sister’s family, Kemalettin Bey in the POW camp, not to mention Kiri Vladimiros and his wife, or Hüsnüye, who I generally saw only on Saturdays since starting my new job?
While I addressed my business partner as Kiriya Maria, the Greeks affectionately called her Marigo. She was a dignified, well-read woman who never went out into the street without a hat on and always dressed with real panache. She cut quite an imposing figure with her huge breasts, dusky skin and raven hair. Each day she read both Chania newspapers, kept a keen eye on all the city’s business and tried to keep up with events.
If anyone had asked me who was the prettiest between Kiriya Maria and Hüsnüye, I would undoubtedly have answered, Hüsnüye. With her soft, fair skin, flowing black curls and charming charisma, she was undisputedly a sensual woman and a great drinking companion as well. After three glasses of wine, she became more lustful, murmuring seductively as an overture to unconstrained passion. But whatever happened, she never failed to prepare us a fine table of meze and only sat down for dinner after fixing her make-up and recomposing her dress.
My business partnership with Kiriya Maria lasted three years. Throughout the first two and a half years, she kept her distance from me and our interactions were formal and respectful. I addressed her as Kiriya and she addressed me as Kiri. Every day except for Sunday, I knocked at her door around 9 a.m. and waited for her to open the door from upstairs so I could run through the day’s business and get her views on any sales and purchases, all the while remaining downstairs while she called down from the landing. The lawyer Varuchakis was our first port of call when we had difficult issues to deal with. Some of our dealings necessitated payment in instalments and I would go to him to ensure we didn’t lose any money.
We were making good money from brokering real estate deals on buildings and land, but our main income was from buying houses on the cheap with Kiriya Maria’s money, hiring tradesmen to restore them and then selling them on at a good price. The city was filling up quickly due to all the internal migration. The new arrivals needed to find a place to live. Those who had been able to gather up their life savings of Ottoman gold before fleeing their villages wanted fields to farm; it was the only work they knew. We negotiated fields, orchards and olive groves for them, or sold them vacant land we had bought previously in anticipation of future profits. As well as the sales within the city, I sometimes had to walk to the surrounding fields and back two or three times a day to show them to potential buyers. A sturdy but stylish walking cane became my constant companion on these trips. While it was partly to protect myself against snakes and any other poisonous creatures along the way, it was also to guard against malicious human beings. In time, the walking cane became an inseparable part of my outfit and I thought it added a certain gravitas to my daily dealings. My mother was overjoyed, not just at seeing me earn good money, but also at seeing me go about my business dressed like a debonair city swell.
“You’ve done well!” she used to say. “You can read and write, you’re a gentleman and you provide for all your family too. Your sister always prays for you because of the help you’ve given her.”
“I haven’t done anything special, just what needed to be done. You’ve had a lot to deal with so just enjoy it and don’t be sad about anything.”
“And if I could get you married off too, there wouldn’t be anything better!”
I couldn’t reply positively to this wish of my mother, because she wanted to break the bond between Hüsnüye and me. Attempting to drive me away from her, she would repeat the typical, scornful, Cretan slurs about people whose ancestors were North African.
“It’s time you got away from that halihut woman,” was one of her remarks. “Halihut” was a nonsense word, but I guessed it was a way of looking down on the North Africans and referred to the monotone sound they made when they lifted their hands to their lips in joy or grief. However, it
wasn’t relevant to Hüsnüye, not even in the slightest degree. Her ancestors were from Africa – and that was all there was to it. She herself came from the poor seafaring district of Chania called Kumkapı and that should have been enough for my mother to accept her. I couldn’t understand her attitude when she had come from nothing herself and had herself suffered so much for so long. Nevertheless, I never said anything as I didn’t want to upset her.
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* Treaty which abolished the Ottoman Empire and divided up its former territories, including Anatolia. Eventually replaced by the Treaty of Lausanne after the Turkish War of Independence in 1923.
* A Sufi historian who travelled extensively in the former Ottoman lands, including Crete and the nearby islands. He wrote a travelogue called Dildâr-ı Şemsî.
16
I didn’t neglect the two people who, more than anyone else, had helped us settle and make a life for ourselves in the new destination forced on us by the unstoppable internal turmoil of Crete. Every three to four weeks, I dropped in to see Kiri Vladimiros and Kiriya Evthimiya. On the days I was planning to visit, much to the delight of Kiriya Evthimiya, I sent over a plump fish or, if there were none available, a bunch of seasonal flowers or a basket of fresh mixed herbs and salad leaves. Knowing that these small gifts were a signal that I would be around to visit that evening, Kiriya Evthimiya would roll up her sleeves and set to in preparation of a delicious evening spread. When my work allowed it, I would go to the print house as it was closing and walk to the house together with Kiri Vladimiros. He had now reached a considerable age and I sometimes linked arms to support him as we walked. The print-house employees looked on expressionless, unable to appreciate our relationship, and the sour-faced typesetter Vomvolakis, who had made his dislike of Turks clear to me from the start, shook his head disapprovingly whenever the opportunity arose.
Children of War Page 10