by Nadia Marks
After the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans, these Byzantine descendants had clung tenaciously to their proud heritage and religion for centuries. Anastasia’s arrival coincided with a time of growing antipathy towards the community, but the Greeks were adamant that the city belonged to them as much as to the Turks. As well as the Church of St George, the most holy of all Greek Orthodox churches and the official seat of the spiritual leader of all Eastern Orthodox Christians, the Patriarchate of Constantinople had existed there for centuries, so didn’t they have every right to be there too? These were troubled times in the history of their beloved city. Antipathy towards the Christians had been present for centuries; even though they had been given an option by the Ottomans to be left alone and be accepted by changing their faith, no Greek worthy of respect and decency would ever have consented – perhaps over the centuries some did, but they were the unmentionables to these remaining Christians living in Istanbul now. So Anastasia understood all too well that to reveal her circumstances to her new friends was not an option, and as most of the Turkish women she met through Enver seemed reluctant to embrace her as one of them, her isolation increased, especially during the latter part of her pregnancy.
Winter arrived suddenly in Istanbul and brought Anastasia’s freedom to an abrupt end. Gone were her excursions to Pera and her visits to her Greek friends. Her heavy belly and the snow which fell suddenly and unannounced made it impossible for her to venture out into the streets, nor did she feel any inclination to do so. She found the Istanbul winter brutal. She was no stranger to the cold – in Cyprus winters in the mountains were long and sometimes harsh, but they were also bright and crisp, and when the snow stopped falling the sky was clear and blue, beckoning you out into the crisp air. Here in the city, unless she had to go out for provisions, she could hardly bring herself to set foot outside the apartment. She couldn’t face mingling with the rushing crowds who pushed past her, wrapped in their heavy overcoats, down the darkened streets, jostling each other at the tram stops and hurrying to the safety of their homes. She felt excluded, shut out and alone.
When she first came to Istanbul Anastasia had promised Leila that she would write regularly, yet she remembered to send a letter only once in a while, if that. The excitement and elation of her new life had at first got in the way of thinking about anyone else. Now, finding herself housebound and isolated, she had plenty of time to write. ‘The cold is bitter here,’ she wrote to Leila and her mother. ‘The icy north wind goes right through your bones and the snow is not like white mountain snow. Everything looks grey and I don’t see a soul apart from Enver from one day to the next . . .’
Alarm bells rang in Hatiche’s ears. She was worried for the girl and made sure that they both wrote back to her regularly with news of the village.
Childbirth on the first of May 1951 came easy to Anastasia. In contrast to her mother’s struggle to bring her into the world, her labour only lasted a matter of two hours before a baby boy was safely delivered by a midwife from Enver’s hospital. It took a single glance for Anastasia to fall wholly and utterly in love with her son, whom they named Hassan, after the dear departed Hassan Bey. As a second name Anastasia insisted on giving the boy her father’s name – Andreas.
‘Maşallah,’ Enver said when he took the boy in his arms. ‘I thank Allah for granting us such a healthy baby and I pray he grows up to be as good a man as my uncle was.’
Hatiche and Leila received news of the birth by way of a letter from Anastasia, who, despite her relief to see the end of the long hard winter, was reluctant and anxious to venture out into the world with her new baby after months of isolation and confinement.
‘I feel so scared to take him outside, I feel he will be harmed,’ she wrote to them. ‘The city seems so hostile.’
It was in response to such a letter from Anastasia, in which loneliness seeped through the lines, that Hatiche with mounting concern wrote back to tell the new mother that she and Leila intended to come to visit her. Her heart ached for the girl, knowing that this was a time when she should have her mother by her side but that she had not been in touch with her family since she left.
Anastasia, longing for company and support, received the letter and news of their visit with great excitement and relief. The reality of living in a strange city away from everyone she had ever known and loved was taking its toll on her. Her love affair with Istanbul was gradually diminishing while her homesickness steadily increased. Enver was absent more than he was present these days, involved with his studies and work, and her only joy and occupation now was her baby boy, looking after their little flat, and the letters she exchanged with her friends in Cyprus.
Once Hatiche had made the decision to visit Anastasia, she found herself in a dilemma; she felt that Maroula should know about the baby, but the two old friends had not met since the last time they had sat in her kitchen and exchanged harsh words with one another. She was troubled by what her next step should be; she felt strongly that Anastasia should be in touch with her own mother, but if this was not to be, then it was her proxy mother’s duty to go and visit mother and baby in Maroula’s place. ‘It’s time we came to see you and meet the baby, askim mou,’ Hatiche wrote. ‘Ahmet also wants to come to see his grandson, but he must stay behind and take care of the shop.’ Enver’s father, true to his word, had moved back to the village and had revived his brother’s tailoring shop; together with Hatiche and his niece they were once again making a living from the family business.
Over the past months Anastasia had begun falling into a kind of melancholia, but now, with the pending arrival of these two much-loved women in her life, she was once again infused with a new sense of energy and purpose. Some days before they arrived she started to spring-clean the apartment and transform the little sitting room into sleeping quarters for Leila and Hatiche.
‘I know we shall be cramped for a while, but we’ll be fine,’ she told Enver who was not in the least concerned, knowing he would be out all day and return home only in the evening. If anything, he looked forward to having meals cooked by his aunt and not having to worry about Anastasia being left alone all day. He was aware that she had been feeling lonely and isolated but there was very little he could do about it. Besides, that was a woman’s role, wasn’t it? His own mother had had to stay at home and look after him while his father went out to work; didn’t all women do the same? He knew Anastasia was a free spirit – he had liked that about her – but now she was a mother and she had new duties. Now, he told her, she was going to be bringing up their son and if God willed it a few more. His own mother had been in a similar situation when his father took her to England away from her family after they married in Cyprus. At least she could speak plenty of Turkish, he told her, unlike his own mother who possessed not a word of English and was frightened even to take a bus on her own. She could find her way around town with no problem.
By the time Hatiche and Leila arrived in Istanbul, baby Hassan was already two months old and the summer was at its breathless height. The three women were beside themselves with joy to be united again, and it took only a glance into the cradle for Hatiche and Leila to fall in love with the baby.
‘Oh yes!’ the older woman said, looking up at Anastasia with tears in her eyes as she held the boy in her arms. ‘I think he too has been here before, just like you, askim mou!’
Baby Hassan was a healthy, beautiful boy with big bright eyes the colour of deep amber just like his mother’s, and he thrived under the love and nurturing of the three women. The nursing mother, too, seemed to blossom under Hatiche’s supervision and cooking; her appetizing food helped Anastasia’s milk to flow in abundance and the baby to grow bigger and stronger day by day. As both mother and baby grew more robust, Anastasia’s old appetite for life and interest in exploring the city returned and she set about showing her guests the sights of Istanbul, as Enver had done with her on their arrival. However, much as she longed to take them to Pera, she dared not. She could not aff
ord to give herself away, so she kept closer to home. Besides, there was much to see within walking distance from the apartment, and the heat and the new baby were enough to deter them from venturing too far. She had not seen Myrto and her mother for a long time and would have liked to visit them and show off her baby boy, but that, she decided, would have to wait until Hatiche and Leila left.
The many bazaars and street merchants dotted around the city that sold goods, from exquisite Turkish, Persian and Egyptian carpets to silver and gold to exotic spices and perfumes, kept them busy for days and they didn’t know where to look first and what to buy to take home.
‘I have wanted to replace that Turkish carpet in the sitting room and covers for the divans for years,’ Hatiche told them as a vendor rolled out a crimson Bakhtiari rug from Iran for them to inspect. ‘This is my chance! I could never find such quality in Cyprus!’
Now that the family business was beginning to prosper, Hatiche could once again afford to be generous to herself and her daughter. ‘This is where we shall find pieces for your dowry, my girl,’ she told Leila as they browsed from shop to shop, bartering with the shopkeepers.
They found the city fascinating, enormous and daunting, all at the same time. There were grand houses and palaces the like of which they had never seen before, as well as shanty towns of incomers from the countryside living in old wooden houses overlooking the Bosphorus. The mosques too were particularly imposing, more than any mosque they had ever entered into in Cyprus.
‘How Orhan would love to pray here and be with us,’ Leila commented the first time they entered the Blue Mosque and stood beneath its gravity-defying dome. ‘Perhaps he’ll come and visit you some day,’ she said to Anastasia, not knowing what torment that would bring to her brother.
‘He has done us all proud,’ Hatiche said about her boy when Anastasia asked after him. ‘Maşallah! I am a lucky woman to have such a son,’ she continued, full of pride. ‘He’s training to be an imam now, you know.’
That was the first Anastasia had heard about Orhan’s change of direction; she had assumed that he and Lambros were still studying together and would be graduating soon.
‘He didn’t finish his studies? But why?’ Anastasia was incredulous, knowing how dedicated to teaching he and Lambros had been.
‘He decided to leave before graduating to concentrate on his religious studies,’ Hatiche explained. ‘He can still teach in the Turkish school but mainly he teaches at the mosque.’
The two women stayed in Istanbul for nearly two months, by which time Hassan was older, stronger and thriving, and Anastasia had regained some of her old peace of mind. She had become used to having them around and when at last they had to return home, their absence left a gap in her life.
Their presence had been like a warm loving embrace and although she tried not to think about it, she now had to admit that she missed her mother and father, she missed her brother and she missed Orhan – the best friend she had ever had.
She still loved Enver, she told herself, he was a good provider, handsome and intelligent, and he was the father of her son, but he was not the friend she had hoped for and thought she had fallen in love with. Her friendship with Orhan had informed her ideas of what a husband should be; their relationship had been her model of a perfect union, though without that extra spicy ingredient – that of sexual attraction – which she never felt for Orhan but had felt so overwhelmingly for Enver. Her youthful imagination had conjured up a husband who would be a soulmate, an equal, a companion and a lover, but Enver was no longer that romantic ideal. He continued to be a lover, even if not as ardent after she gave birth, but his status, education and intellect set him above and apart from her and he treated her that way. He was a good husband who provided for his family, but he was not a friend, he was a patriarch, and by no means an equal. She sometimes caught herself thinking with a sinking heart that she had done exactly the opposite of what she had once intended – she had married someone she hardly knew.
Having Hatiche and Leila with her brought back bittersweet memories that made her heart ache and left her eager to learn news of the family and the village. But of course, Hatiche had nothing to give her except news about Orhan. Until her visitors came to Istanbul, Anastasia knew nothing of the catastrophic results her actions had created between the two families, nor did she know about Orhan’s sudden departure and estrangement from Lambros, as all connections with her family had been severed. She had assumed everyone’s anger and disappointment would have been aimed towards her, never imagining that any blame might have been transferred to others.
‘It’s complicated, my girl,’ Hatiche told her. ‘Yes, your mother was heartbroken and angry with you, but she was equally angry with me.’
‘But why? It had nothing to do with any of you,’ Anastasia replied, perplexed at what she was hearing.
‘Think about it, Anastasia mou . . . just take a moment to consider, did you really believe there would be no consequences to what you did?’ Hatiche looked the girl in the eyes and held her gaze. ‘You are your mother’s daughter, not mine. What you did, what happened when you stayed with me in the village, was as if I took you away from her.’
‘But you didn’t take me away, it was all my own choice. I can understand their anger at me, but not at you . . .’ Anastasia’s voice faded as she tried to make sense of what the older woman was saying.
‘You excluded your mother, but you entrusted me, you abandoned your family’s religion and you embraced mine. If Leila had done that I would feel the same as Maroula, I don’t doubt it.’ Hatiche’s words fell heavy on Anastasia’s shoulders; she hung her head with regret.
‘I hope someday Maroula might forgive me, but I don’t blame her if she doesn’t,’ the older woman sighed. ‘But my biggest sadness in all of this mess is the rift created between Orhan and Lambros. Perhaps your mother was right, I could have done more to stop you. But those boys? They had nothing to do with it.’
‘Why?’ Anastasia asked, looking up in surprise and alarm at Hatiche. ‘What happened between the boys?’
‘Orhan doesn’t live with your family anymore. After your elopement, he left, and he has not been back to see Lambros or the family since.’
‘Why?’ The word rushed out of her mouth in confusion again. ‘Is Lambros angry with Orhan? What possible reason could he have?’
‘I don’t know, Anastasia mou, everyone was angry with each other. I told you, it is a very difficult complicated thing that you did. I believe that Orhan chose to keep away because he couldn’t bear the anger of your family, but then again, I don’t know. As you know he is a very honourable young man.’
Anastasia looked from Hatiche to Leila, lost for words, and then, letting out a muffled sob, she covered her face with her hands and started to cry. Her tears flooded her eyes and soaked her face, she cried silently and sorrowfully, unable to stop. Hatiche got up and took her in her arms and rocked her like a baby for a long time. Anastasia cried until she had no more tears to shed. She cried for the loss of her mother and her father, she cried for her brother and her beloved Orhan, and for poor Panos who had only ever shown her kindness. She cried for all the pain she had caused everyone, and then she cried for herself and Enver and their fading passion. Then, when the tears stopped, she got up, picked up her baby boy who had just woken and was happily gurgling in his cot, kissed him tenderly on his downy head and put him to her breast. She looked down at his tiny hand wrapped around her fingers as he fed, and she vowed that she would bring him up knowing about those people that she had so thoughtlessly hurt in her haste for love.
21
London, 2008
‘After my sister eloped, the whole family went into a kind of mourning,’ Lambros told Stella, following her into the kitchen where she went to fix them both a little food. It was Saturday late afternoon, and she had come for her customary weekly visit, only that day Spiros was joining them.
‘Glad your brother is coming,’ Lambros had said. ‘It
seems that lately it’s always just you and me.’
‘Oh, you know Spiros, Dad, he’s forever busy, but he always asks after you and wants to know what we’ve talked about,’ Stella said in her brother’s defence. ‘I think he just doesn’t know how to organize himself. He’ll be here soon.’
They had been talking for a long while out in the garden and the afternoon was starting to fade into early evening.
‘Did you find out where Orhan went?’ Stella asked, laying out some bread, cheese, tomatoes and olives on a platter to take into the garden.
‘No, he just disappeared,’ Lambros said, filling the jug with water to take outside. ‘He dropped out of college and vanished into thin air.’
‘Did you try and look for him?’
‘No, I didn’t, and that is what I mean about people and our stupid pride. I took it upon myself to decide that Orhan was a coward and that it was his duty to come and explain to me what happened, not mine to ask him. Ask me now if I regret it and I’ll tell you.’
‘And do you, Papa? Regret it?’ Stella turned to look at her father.
‘Yes, without a doubt, I regret it every single day. Then, I thought it was a matter of honour. It was as if my sister had been kidnapped and Orhan was responsible – my stupidity.’
Stella walked out into the sunshine, Lambros still following behind, and laid the tray of food on the garden table.