Between the Orange Groves

by Nadia Marks

  ‘Hoş geldin, my son,’ Hatiche cried, hastening to take him in her arms and kiss him on both cheeks before turning to the men standing by her side. ‘Remember your uncle Ahmet and cousin Enver?’ she said and felt a tightening in her throat, recalling the reason why she had summoned him. She knew of Orhan’s strong religious and moral beliefs and hoped he would be able to give her some sensible advice. Hatiche had no idea of the devastating effect the news might have on him, nor could she ever have understood the reason why.

  She left him to wash and rest for a while, then she made coffee, which they drank all together under the mandarin tree. After a while Hatiche asked Orhan to come with her to the kitchen because she needed to talk to him.

  Not a single word left his lips all the while she spoke. When she had finished, Orhan got up, looked at his mother, nodded silently and, to her confusion, left the house. He went out of the back door into the yard and out of the gate, continuing at a normal pace while he was still in full view of the family and then, once he was far enough away, he started to run towards the hills until he was deep in the forest. Then he let out a scream of despair so loud, so heart-wrenching, that it caused the birds in the trees to fly away in alarm. He did not return to the house until he was sure he had regained his composure.

  The misery that engulfed him on that first day after he arrived at the village was more than he could bear, yet he had no option but to endure it and be strong. No one must know his pain. He had no solution or advice for his mother. If Anastasia was set on changing her religion and willing to forsake her family along with everything that was sacred to her, including him, then he had nothing much to say.

  ‘She’s betrothed to be married, and has given her promise to another man,’ was the only comment he had made to his mother after he returned from the forest in an effort to distract from his own personal turmoil. ‘Her actions are unforgivable.’ But the words that pounded inside his head were, If she is willing to change her faith for him, why not for me? Why is his love greater than mine?

  He had held Anastasia in such high esteem, he had put her on a pedestal of virtue and honesty, and her fall pierced his soul. He took her actions as a personal betrayal. Meanwhile the girl, unaware of his feelings, was eager to confide in him and seek his advice, as she always did. She was eager to tell him of the great love she had so unexpectedly found and had been blessed with but his sudden frosty distance towards her, so uncharacteristic, perplexed and confused her. Unsure of what to think, she interpreted his behaviour towards her as a condemnation of her actions. She had expected this reaction from her brother and her parents but not from him. She had hoped that as her best friend he might let her explain, try to understand, even approve of her determination to be independent, join her in solidarity against what she was sure would be her family’s reaction; but he remained unapproachable.

  As much as Orhan believed that Anastasia had given him a sign of her love for him, he had been grossly mistaken. The girl had only ever loved him as a brother, a dear friend and confidant.

  That night Orhan joined the company for the evening meal. He sat quietly and solemnly watching Enver bending lovingly towards Anastasia and wishing he was anywhere but there; his humiliation was too much to endure. Only his mother was aware that her son was in some kind of turmoil, yet she was at a loss as to why he would be so upset. This was indeed a difficult and troublesome situation, Hatiche told herself, but since they could do nothing about it they would have to accept it, and she wished that Orhan would be a little more lenient and stop being so disapproving.

  The next day, on the pretext that he must return to his studies and unable to endure staying in the same house with the two lovers any longer, Orhan left for Nicosia. He kissed his mother goodbye, avoiding everyone else, and left the house. As Bambos’s bus was not due to stop in the village for three more days, he walked the ten miles to the next and bigger village to catch the bus back to town from there.

  18

  On arriving back in Nicosia, Orhan found the house empty. Maroula and Penelope were at the shop and Lambros at the college. Breathing a great sigh of relief, he took himself to the bedroom, pulled out his old suitcase from under the bed, packed all his books and clothes and then, sitting down at the desk, he started to write a note to Lambros. Anxious to finish it before anyone returned home, he quickly sealed the envelope, propped it up against the desk lamp and with a heavy heart left the house quietly and hurriedly, never to return. He knew it would be impossible for him to live among Anastasia’s family any longer, no matter how much he loved them, no matter how much it would break his heart to do this to Lambros. He knew the pain in his heart from the constant reminder of Anastasia’s betrayal would be too much to bear. Dedicating himself to God, taking solace in his faith, was the only way forward for him from now on.

  He stepped out into the garden, closed the gate behind him, crossed the dusty street and scrambled into the dry moat, dragging his suitcase. Then he climbed the Venetian wall as he had done so many times and entered the garden surrounding the mosque. He found his mentor and adviser there at prayer. Without asking any questions, the old imam invited him to his family home. From that day onwards Orhan’s life would be dedicated to the reading and the teaching of the Quran. He would be a scholar, and teacher, not of children as he and Lambros had so ardently been preparing for, but of his religion.

  Lambros picked up the envelope on the desk with curiosity and ripped it open with his thumb. He read the note quickly, leaning against the wall. He stood for a few minutes holding the paper, blinking in disbelief. Then slowly he walked to the edge of the bed, sat down and started to read again. He was unable to make any sense of it.

  My dear beloved friend,

  I am leaving your home which was my home too for all these years. I cannot tell you the reason why. I know you will be upset and I don’t blame you, but I want you to know the gratitude I feel towards your family, and my feelings towards you and our friendship cannot be expressed by mere words. As much as I love you all, I have no option but to leave because it’s impossible for me to live amongst you any longer. Perhaps someday I will be able to explain but now I must go.

  God be with you all,

  Your friend always

  Orhan

  Lambros held the note in his hands in utter disbelief. At first, standing by the desk and reading the words quickly, he thought this must be a joke, a trick to tease him about all his complaints at not being able to go to the village with Orhan. As if paralysed, he continued to read the note over and over again. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, dropping it on the floor, and ran towards the wardrobe which the two boys shared. Frantically he started searching for signs of missing clothes. All of Orhan’s possessions were gone. He ran back and peered under his friend’s bed to look for his suitcase. Distraught, he collapsed back on the bed and, picking up the note, started to reread the words carefully. This time the blood rose to his head; tears of confusion blurred the young man’s eyes. What was the meaning of this? How could Orhan, his most beloved and faithful friend, do this? How could he leave like a thief with no explanation as to why? He could make no sense of what he was faced with. Orhan would never have done this without an explanation, not the Orhan he had known all his life, their loyalty to each other was unquestioned. To Lambros this untimely exit, this sudden secret flight, felt like a kind of betrayal of their friendship, their brotherhood. He sat in the room holding the note in his trembling hands until the light started to fade and he heard his mother’s voice calling for him.

  ‘You’ll ruin your eyes with all this reading,’ Maroula called from the kitchen, imagining her son was still studying. She was preparing the evening meal with Penelope and decided that it was about time Lambros took a break.

  ‘Time to eat soon, my son, wash your hands and come,’ she called.

  He could hear his mother and aunt chatting in the kitchen as he continued to sit motionless in the bedroom; he couldn’t bring himself to face either of t
hem, let alone break the news he’d received in Orhan’s note. Instinct told him to prolong his silence: not speaking about it was to deny that this had happened, that Orhan had gone. He knew that the moment his family read the note, the collective response, especially from his aunt, would be explosive and he couldn’t face the inevitable eruption of anger. He could just hear Penelope spit out her words. They had opened their home and their hearts to the boy, they had given him refuge and this is the way he repays them? What an ungrateful wretch he was. Lambros always knew how his aunt felt about his friend and he did not ever want to hear it, much less now, when he had his own feelings to deal with.

  His thoughts were a muddle; gradually, as his initial state of shock started to subside and the anger that rose in him seemed to fade, it was replaced with a combination of other emotions: bewilderment, irritation, curiosity, and then, finally, concern. He sat alone for several more minutes in the dimness of his room, trying to compose himself before facing his mother and aunt. One word kept rising to his lips – why? Doubts and fears swirled in his head. He knew his friend well and there had to be a reason for his action, there had to be something terribly wrong, but what? Was his friend in trouble, and if so why did he not turn to him for help? What could possibly have provoked Orhan to commit such a drastic act? They had lived side by side, had shared everything since they were born. The only thing that had ever separated them was that one was a Greek and the other a Turk, but that had never divided them. So why? The question pounded in his head.

  ‘Lambros! Are you coming?’ His mother’s voice echoed again from downstairs in the hall.

  Stunned silence hovered in the kitchen. Maroula stepped backwards and collapsed onto a chair; she picked up the note and started to read it again. She looked up at Lambros, tried to speak but no words emerged, bewilderment etched on her face, her eyes wide as an owl’s.

  ‘Well!’ Penelope hissed, the first to break the silence. ‘I always had my doubts, I did warn Savvas, but—’

  ‘Doubts?’ Lambros retorted sharply to his aunt, putting a stop to anything else she was about to add. ‘There were never any doubts,’ he said, quietly this time.

  ‘We need to find out what happened,’ Maroula finally managed to say, her voice barely audible. ‘Something’s wrong. Very wrong.’ Her voice trailed away. ‘We must find out what has happened.’ She looked up at Lambros again, eyes pleading.

  ‘Did you see him after he came back from the village?’ Penelope asked.

  ‘No, he left before I got home. I found the note,’ the boy replied, trying to piece together the sequence of events.

  ‘So, he must have left the village early this morning.’ Maroula looked at her son again. ‘Something’s very wrong, Lambros mou, something happened there. Why else would he not stay? Even for a day!’

  ‘If something was wrong, wouldn’t Anastasia have come back with him or sent word? What could possibly be wrong?’ Penelope added. ‘No! The boy obviously decided he didn’t want to live here anymore.’ She looked around the room at the others. ‘Ungrateful, that’s what I call him!’

  Lambros stormed out of the kitchen in a fury, refusing to be drawn into any discussions with his aunt.

  ‘We must go to the village at once,’ Maroula said, following Lambros out into the back garden. ‘Something is going on . . . this is a bad omen, my son.’

  Orhan’s abrupt departure from the village had left everyone upset and bewildered and Anastasia interpreted it as a personal condemnation of herself. If Orhan, her faithful and dear friend, found her actions so abhorrent, so unforgivable that he was compelled to flee without so much as a farewell, then God alone knew how the family in Nicosia would react. The prospect of facing them all filled her with horror and fear. She could not confront any of them. She pictured with panic her father’s wrath and her mother’s accusations of betrayal; she vividly envisaged the hysterical scenes of sorrow and lamentation that would most certainly take place when she announced her decision. And then there was Panos . . . No! the voice in her head cried. No! She could not see any of them. She felt bad for Panos because he was a good man, but what she felt for him was not love. She felt bad for her family, but despite her attachment and loyalty to them all, her commitment to Enver and her unborn baby went deeper.

  Rationally, she knew her actions were contrary to all her earlier beliefs. She was aware that the way she felt now had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with emotions. For the first time in her life, her heart and her body spoke to her louder than her mind. She saw only one course of action open to her now and that was to leave as soon as possible, forsake everything of her old life. She knew it was cowardly, but she didn’t care; she had to start anew with the man she loved and sail for Istanbul as soon as possible. If she stayed they would try to stop her and the guilt would be too heavy to bear. She couldn’t risk her future for that. From now on, Enver and the baby she was carrying in her belly were her only concerns.

  ‘How can I face your mother, my girl, what will I tell her?’ Hatiche pleaded tearfully. ‘It will break her heart and I don’t want any part of that.’

  ‘Her heart will be broken whether she sees me or not.’ Anastasia’s reply was unyielding.

  ‘But at least that way you can explain,’ Hatiche insisted.

  ‘Explain what? That I am carrying an illegitimate baby in my womb? The baby of a Muslim boy they don’t even know? How will that make it better?’

  Once again Hatiche could think of nothing more to keep her. Anastasia had made up her mind; her future was no longer in Cyprus and Hatiche was powerless to persuade her otherwise.

  The very next day before leaving, Anastasia took her engagement ring, wrapped it in a white lace handkerchief and placed it on a bedside table in Leila’s room; then, the two lovers took the bus from the village to Limassol and boarded a ship for Istanbul. By the time Maroula and Lambros arrived, Anastasia and Enver were already gone.

  19

  Anastasia’s sole experience of travel had only ever been on Bambos’s bus from the mountains to the plains and back again. The sea was a mythical place for her, a place and an element she had learned about as a child at school and then later from Panos, but she had never feasted her eyes on the blue wonderment that was the open sea. Boarding a ship and finding herself surrounded by its vastness was as if she had sailed into another universe and was floating in the sky between heaven and earth. She stood leaning over the rail, gazing in awe at the horizon, the wind blowing wildly in her hair, the salty spray making her face tingle.

  ‘This is more enchanting than I could ever have imagined,’ she told Enver, who held her tightly lest she topple over in her excitement. ‘I thought only the sweet mountain air was worth breathing,’ she shouted over the noise of the engine, and took in a deep breath to fill her lungs.

  That night in their cabin Anastasia and Enver lay in each other’s arms on the narrow bunk, imagining their new life together. She felt woozy and slightly nauseous, not only from her pregnancy but with all the excitement and stress of the day, yet happier than she had ever felt.

  ‘You will love my little apartment, askim,’ he said, stroking her hair, her head in his lap. ‘You’ll see, it’s right in the centre of Istanbul, close to the Blue Mosque and Agia Sophia and a short walk to the palace of Topkapi.’

  ‘Will you take me there?’ she said and closed her eyes, trying to imagine.

  ‘Of course, canim! I’ll take you anywhere you like. So much to see. The Bosphorus is more enchanting than any sea,’ he said, and leaning over her face kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Tell me about the Bosphorus,’ Anastasia whispered as if she was already dreaming. This was one place she recognized from the maps that she and Panos had pored over just a few months earlier, which now seemed to her like a lifetime ago.

  ‘Well, let me think,’ Enver replied. ‘The wind that blows on the Bosphorus is sweeter than the wind of any sea or ocean. I shall take you there every day to breathe in the air and keep you a
nd our baby healthy and strong. It has therapeutic qualities; I know that because I’m a doctor,’ he added and gave a little laugh.

  ‘Will you take me there in a boat?’ Anastasia asked again sleepily and wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘I’ll do just that!’ he replied, pulling her closer. ‘I will take you on a boat and we shall glide on the blue waters that run through the middle of the city. You will see beautiful palaces and mosques, and rich ladies waving from the balconies of their wealthy homes, fishermen with their fishing rods and children sitting by the shore.’

  Enver’s low voice, like a lullaby, carried Anastasia’s mind into a new and unknown place, lulling her into a sleep filled with dreams of a world that was strange to her.

  While the ship that carried the two lovers sailed towards Turkey, Maroula and Lambros were travelling in Bambos’s bus to the village to discover what had happened. They had no time to notify anyone of their arrival so neither Hatiche nor any of their family were waiting to greet them at the bus. On disembarking, both mother and son sensed a strange atmosphere in the square. It felt unusually quiet, with none of the customary noisy banter that prevailed in and around the kafenion, and Lambros was sure that when he greeted some of their fellow villagers they avoided eye contact with him. Neither he nor his mother could have ever guessed the reason why, or what the rest of the village had gradually become privy to.

  The return to the village would normally have been full of excitement and happy anticipation at meeting family and friends. Instead, as they walked towards Hatiche’s house their hearts were filled with misgivings at what they might encounter. The events of the last forty-eight hours had left them confused and fearful. They walked hurriedly and in silence down the hill, and at the turn of a sharp corner they came face to face with Xenia, Maroula’s cousin, approaching them. The woman stopped, gave a cry and dropped the basket she was carrying. She crossed herself three times as if she had seen a ghost and then threw her arms around her cousin.