by Defne Suman
Avinash sighed. ‘You’ve remembered correctly. Sir Osmond de Beauvoir Brock declared it. But still—’
‘Ha, ha, ha. Just listen to that showy name and then see if you believe his words! Don’t worry, my love, I read in the morning paper that Mustafa Kemal has decreed that any soldier who so much as touches a hair on the head of any civilian in Smyrna will be sentenced to death. If you don’t believe Brock, believe Kemal Pasha. Not a thing will happen. Look over there.’ She waved her fork towards the sea. ‘I just counted them. There are nineteen battleships anchored in the bay. All with the Allied forces. And look, there’s another one arriving – where’s that one from?’
Avinash narrowed his eyes – eyes that Edith likened to those sweets that tasted of milky coffee – and looked at the ship that was coming into the harbour right across from them.
‘It’s the USS Litchfield, I think. American. Bringing Admiral Bristol, perhaps.’
After a short silence, he turned to Edith. ‘With the situation as it is, I would advise—’
Edith knew what he was going to say. Because her mouth was full, she could only shake her head. Kraemer’s chef, Pavli, had cooked up yet another masterpiece. The sardines melted in her mouth. She waited until she’d swallowed the whole fish before speaking.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Avinash. Don’t waste your breath. Particularly now, with all those sad unfortunates in my garden. I’m not going to go scurrying here and there. I cannot.’
Avinash wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. He knew there was no point arguing with Edith. ‘I’m not saying that. You should stay here, I agree; and I am here anyway. I was thinking not of you but of your mother.’
Edith raised her eyebrows over the giant beer mug. A moustache of foam had settled above her red lips. ‘What were you thinking concerning my mother?’
‘I don’t know if you are aware, but the British have closed up their houses. Some of them are on the British ship Thalia, which is being used both as a refuge and a hospital, and some have moved into their winter homes in Smyrna.’
Edith sensed where Avinash’s words were leading, but she continued to listen without speaking.
‘Bournabat is deserted. Without your brother Jean-Pierre there, it is not safe for a woman of her age to remain there all alone.’
‘What do you mean, Bournabat is deserted? Has everyone left – including the Thomas-Cooks?’ Edith laid her fork down beside her plate and turned to Avinash as she challenged him. ‘Don’t tell me that Edward abandoned his house because he believed some rumours?’
Avinash sat there twisting his moustache and looking at two young girls who were walking past them, happily licking their ice creams. As if he’d just remembered something, he suddenly rose from his chair, but then immediately sat down again.
Edith looked to see what had attracted her lover’s attention. ‘What’s up?’ she asked with her customary sarcasm. ‘Do you know those girls? They’re very young, very pretty in their blues and pinks.’
‘No, I do not know them.’ In distracted silence he rolled a cigarette and licked the paper. ‘Bournabat is not completely empty,’ he said, ‘but that does not mean that your mother is safe there on her own. True, Edward is still there. His mother and brothers moved to their homes in the city long ago, but he stayed. Because of that, I am obliged to go there in person and speak to him very soon, at the request of our consul general. We are issuing travel passes to all British citizens so that they can leave the country. Edward’s is still not completed. If he cannot prove that he is British, he could get stuck here.’
‘What does Edward have that is British except his name?’ said Edith with a careless smile. ‘Ah, of course, he has his latest-model motor cars…’ She realized with surprise that this was the first time in years that her heart had not constricted at the thought of Edward’s cars.
‘We spent the whole of last night printing passports, Edith. There are so many people like Edward in Smyrna, you wouldn’t believe it. British citizens who have never in their lives set foot in Britain. Edward is one of them – he’s never even been to the consulate. Which is why I have to go to him; not because I adore your childhood friend but because it’s an order from the Consul General. Should we need to organise an emergency evacuation of all our citizens, they must all be in possession of the requisite travel documents.’
‘The French Consulate hasn’t issued any such warning. Nobody has said, “Leave Bournabat,” or anything like that. I think your consul general is exaggerating a bit. The only thing I’ve heard is that Admiral Dumesnil said he would intervene if Greek soldiers tried to burn or loot the city. If that happens, he’ll prevent the Greek repatriation ships from leaving the harbour until the Turks arrive. I think your people are just acting like heroes out of spite.’
Then, abruptly, she said, ‘Anyway, forget about that for now. I was going to go to Bournabat today, to pay my mother a teatime visit. Let’s go together. Seeing as your consul general has given you his motor car, it’ll be a breeze. Maybe we could stop for a picnic on the way.’
When she saw how Avinash’s face darkened at this, she regretted her flippancy. She wouldn’t leave the refugees in her garden anyway, and they’d taken into the house a woman who had just given birth, and her baby. But she couldn’t help how she felt. In spite of Avinash’s dire predictions and the heartbreaking flood of desperate villagers into the city, she had never felt so strong and content. Was this what it meant to be happy?
Suddenly there was a clamour from the crowds in the port area. Some people were clapping, others were booing.
‘What’s happening?’
Avinash stood up and, taking a pair of gold-plated opera glasses from his waistcoat pocket, looked towards the port.
‘It’s Stergiadis. High Commissioner Stergiadis is leaving the city. People are jeering at him. Even from this distance it’s obvious how broken he is. He’s aged such a lot in the last couple of days – he looks ten years older.’
Lowering his opera glasses, he sat down, his face gloomy. ‘What a shame – a great shame.’ He sighed. ‘Stergiadis was such a fair, honest and highly respected man; he could have been of enormous benefit to Smyrna. He had so many wonderful plans for our city. He was building the world’s largest university, a university that was to be open to all nations and races, to women as well as men, and teaching was due to start next month. What a shame!’
He looked as if he might cry if she touched him. Edith knew how important this university project had been to her spy-lover. Last winter he had met with Stergiadis to discuss bringing scholarship students from India to the university. The meeting had gone well, and Ionia University’s first Indian students had been due to arrive in Smyrna in 1923. Now all of those dreams and plans had been shelved. With Stergiadis and his Greek administration withdrawing from the city, the future of the university open to all nations and races, like the future of the refugees camped on the quay, was now in the hands of fate.
‘Avinash,’ Edith said, reached out to take his hand, ‘just now I made a tasteless joke quite inappropriate to the seriousness of the situation. Please forgive me.’
Avinash paused for a moment, trying to remember what they’d been talking about before Stergiadis appeared. Oh, yes. The motor car and the picnic.
‘How were you thinking of getting to Bournabat?’
‘By commuter train, of course. Why?’
‘Darling Edith, you really have no idea, do you? Did you not know that Hadjianestis, nicknamed “Batty”’, has been made head of the Greek armed forces and that for a week now trains have been carrying nobody but soldiers and the wounded. Why do you think all these poor wretches have been streaming in on the backs of donkeys, in oxcarts and on foot? All public vehicles have been commandeered to evacuate the Greek army before the Turks reach Smyrna. There’s no chance of a place on a train for you or even for those desperate refugees in your garden, my girl. It’s time you opened your eyes!’
Edith was just about to tel
l him that she’d decided not to go to the cinema that evening when something distracted her. An officer was bidding farewell to his young Smyrna sweetheart. With his neatly ironed uniform, polished boots and slicked-back chestnut hair, he stood out from the pitiful soldiers around him. His girl had black curly hair that tumbled down her back and Edith realized that she was one of the blue and pink girls who’d passed them earlier, eating ice cream. She couldn’t see the girl’s face, but her pink satin shoes with worn toes had caught her attention. The young officer’s face, round and sweaty, was turned towards Edith. His forehead shone like a mirror. He’d taken the girl’s hands in his palms. It must have been because he was trying to say so much in such a short time that he was speaking so fast, as if there were horses chasing after him. He kept glancing over his shoulder, towards Punta; he could not miss the ship that was to carry him back to his homeland.
From her seat outside Café Ivi, Edith couldn’t take her eyes off the touching and rather strange goodbye she was witnessing. Avinash had gone inside to say hello to someone from the consulate.
The young lieutenant took the girl by her shoulders and drew her to him, burying his face in her hair. They stayed like that for a time. In his neatly pressed khaki uniform, he looked strikingly clean, strong and healthy. He had to be one of those lucky officers who’d been left in the city rather than being sent to Asia Minor. As they parted, he wiped the tears, which he hadn’t bothered to hide, from his cheeks.
Edith felt an irresistible urge to see the girl’s face. She waited for a horse-drawn tram to pass, then stood up and picked up the parasol she’d hung over the back of the chair. She was just taking a step towards the parting couple when all at once the quay began to move.
Another ship was departing. The barefooted soldiers who’d just arrived at the dock dropped their rifles to the ground and with one last spurt of energy rushed ahead, racing towards Punta through the throng of camels, porters, refugees and fashionable ladies. The young officer released the girl’s hands, glanced at the disorder around them with a desperate expression on his face, whispered something in his sweetheart’s ear and then quickly joined the herd of soldiers flowing forwards. As he was dragged along by the crowd, he turned one last time, jumped up, pointed at something in the sea, waved his cape in the air, and disappeared from sight.
Avinash appeared at Edith’s side, his round face full of anxiety.
‘Edith mou, the gangs congregating in the mountains are taking advantage of the chaos and are about to come down and raid Bournabat. I have this from a reliable source. I will go at once to fetch your mother. Please stay at home tonight – don’t go anywhere.’
‘But…’ Something had stuck in her mind, but as she tried to recall it, it eluded her, like a dream that faded in and out. She couldn’t even remember what it concerned. A strange, strange thing, but what was it?
‘Edith, listen. When the Greek soldiers here were retreating from Afyonkarahisar, they burned all the villages, looted the houses, raped the women, filled the mosques with men and set fire to them. They nailed girl children to crosses and hung them from trees in the village squares. If Asia Minor wasn’t going to be theirs, they vowed to leave only ghosts behind. I don’t tell you these details to upset you, but you must know that we are now in real danger. Go immediately to the French Consulate and obtain passports for you and your mother. Then return home, close the doors and padlock them. Do not take new people into your garden. I will bring your mother to your home. Send a telegram to Jean-Pierre. He should bring his family from their summer place in Foca and return immediately. Get in touch with your sister too. It would be better if they came here from Boudja too.’
Avinash’s voice was harsher and more authoritative than she’d ever heard it. Without even opening her parasol, she set out for the French Consulate with hurried steps. In disregard of all the fear and agitation below, the sun was caressing the quay and its blue waters with a golden light. The mischievous wind was slipping between her legs and puffing up her chiffon skirt like a balloon. With her free hand, she held on to her hat so that it wouldn’t blow away. Her stomach, full of Pavli’s sardines, was beginning to ache from within the hooks of her tight corset. A group of young girls in colourful dresses passed her, their gaze distracted. Uneasiness hung in the air. In the seclusion of an empty building, hair and moustache entangled, a young soldier dressed like a vagabond and a curly-haired blonde woman were locked in an embrace, weeping silently.
The gate of the French Consulate on the Limanaki Street side was packed with refugees, shoving, pushing, elbowing and kicking each other, and screaming in broken French that they were French citizens. Edith managed to slip past them, shaking off the children who grabbed at her skirt and the mothers who tried to thrust their swaddled babies into her arms. A uniformed guard opened the door just wide enough for her to enter before closing it in the faces of the shouting, crying, fainting crowd.
Edith paused, blinking, in the coolness of the high-ceilinged hall. She stood for a moment beneath its Bohemian crystal chandeliers. The scenes she’d witnessed outside had shaken her to the core.
A surprising silence filled the consulate. The heels of her shoes echoed on the stone floor as she walked in the direction the guard had indicated to the room where travel documents were being issued. All at once she worked out what had been bothering her. It was something she’d seen in that farewell scene. It wasn’t that the officer was crying openly or that the young girl had been laughing with her friend and eating ice cream ten minutes earlier. That wasn’t the detail that had escaped her. Something else had happened, something that had slipped from her mind when Avinash came to her side. As soon as the tearful lieutenant had disappeared from sight, his fiancée, the young girl, had pulled the engagement ring from her finger and stuffed it into her pocket.
My God, what a world!
Good News!
Adriana ran from one side of Bread-Baker’s Square to the other. She’d gathered up the skirt of her pink-and-white-striped dress and was out of breath. The men sitting under the arbour of the coffeehouse stopped shaking the dice they were about to throw, left their waterpipes and their newspapers, and, as one, stared at the strong white calves showing under the scalloped dress. Adriana’s breasts were heaving under her low-cut neckline, and her thick, chestnut-coloured plaits flew out behind her as she ran.
Paying no attention to the eyes staring at her bared flesh, Adriana raced past the coffeehouse, the fountain, and old Auntie Rozi sitting on a wooden bench in the shade of the plane tree, and into Menekse Street. Stopping in front of Grocer Akis’s blue door, she began to shout at the top of her voice.
‘Giota! Open the door, girl! Hurry! Ela, ela! I have good news!’
Panagiota was in the kitchen with her mother. They were making hors d’oeuvres, pies and saffron pilaf to go with the lamb that was to be roasted in the back courtyard for the birthday feast that evening. What with the pots bubbling on the stove and the hot and humid weather, the small kitchen was unbearable. Katina had taken her daughter prisoner for the past two days to prepare this feast, not even allowing her out in the evening to sit in the square. Pavlo would be attending the celebration for the first time, as Panagiota’s official fiancé, and Katina, wanting everything to be perfect, was being more meticulous than ever. She was making Panagiota rush from one job to the next as if it were Pavlo’s birthday, not hers.
Hearing Adriana screaming from the street, and without taking her eyes off the vine-leaf dolma she was wrapping, Katina nodded at the door. Most of the preparations had now been completed: the pie was filled; the lamb, salted and spiced, was marinating in olive oil; and the hors d’oeuvres were cooling. Her daughter could go out now.
Seeing her mother’s slight inclination of the head, Panagiota didn’t waste a second; she tore off her navy-blue apron, hung it on a hook on the wall, hurled herself out of the hellishly hot kitchen and thundered down the stairs. The clatter of her clogs on the wooden steps caused everything to shake,
even more so than Adriana’s fists beating on the door. Grocer Akis’s apprentice ran out into the street, thinking there was an earthquake.
When her friend finally appeared at the door, Adriana, with tears running down her cheeks, threw herself into her arms. She was laughing and crying at the same time. Panagiota had thought she was coming to wish her a happy birthday, but given the state she was in, she had obviously brought important news. Panagiota’s heart began to beat wildly. Had something happened while she’d been shut up with her mother in the kitchen?
‘Adriana mou, what’s going on? What’s happened, girl? Ela, come on in. Let’s go upstairs.’
Adriana didn’t have the patience to climb the stairs before sharing her good news. She exploded, as if finally revealing a secret she’d been keeping for a long time.
‘He’s back, Panagiota! He’s come home! Irthe o Minas mou. Minas has come back!’
Staring at the stunned Panagiota, who was standing in the doorway with a huge smile on her face, Adriana stopped shaking her friend’s shoulders and took five steps back to let her digest this wonderful news. Her tearstained cheeks were red from the running and the excitement, and beads of sweat had gathered at her hairline. Unable to stand still, and not caring that the skirt of her dress was flying up, she twirled around in the middle of the street, her long plaits flapping like birds’ wings beside her ears.
It was as if Panagiota’s brain had stopped. She gazed at Adriana as if she hadn’t understood what she’d said. Then, gradually, the pieces began to fit together. Minas had returned. They were sending the soldiers home. The soldiers were returning. Minas… War… Had the war ended?
