Daughter of the Winds

by Jo Bunt

  “Oh, right.” Pru glanced down at it briefly and noted that it was covered with airmail stamps. “Probably something for the baby. Eddie’s parents are going to spoil it and it’s not even born yet.” Pru was already annoyed with her unborn child for taking all of the attention. She had expected a little more reverence in her direction seeing as she was the person carrying and sustaining this baby.

  The Greek lady nodded with her eyes half closed and turned to go.

  “How’s Helene?” Pru asked. She had never before enquired about the pregnant woman downstairs. Time spent with Betty and Bernie had made her crave company in a way she hadn’t before. She was feeling in need of some sympathy for what she was going through. Perhaps it would help to talk to another woman.

  “Okay. See?” Mrs Kostas pointed a crooked finger over at the row of trees to her right.

  Pru tossed the package behind her into the hallway so it landed with a clunk and closed the door behind her, pulling it until she heard the ‘click’ of the lock catching.

  Mrs Kostas was already halfway down the concrete steps by the time Pru turned back. Her landlady had never been very welcoming. Pru thought that, seeing as they were providing her with a decent income, she could act a little bit more grateful. Under the shade of the nearby Cypress trees Pru could see the blossoming figure of Mrs Kostas’ daughter-in-law, Helene. Pru couldn’t see her face but could see her legs that were set in the rather inelegant position that only a pregnant woman can appreciate. Helene was three weeks further on in her pregnancy than Pru was but the two women had shared little more than glances of the co-afflicted in this heat. From Pru’s position on the steps she was still in the shade and lingered for a moment, bracing herself for entry into the heat-condensed air.

  Gripping the warm, metal handrail Pru lowered herself down the last few steps and headed towards the trees. As she reached Helene, the darker woman raised her head and nodded. “Yasou.”

  “Yasou. How are you?”

  Helene shrugged and looked away.

  Pru continued, “It’s so hot, isn’t it? I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know whether it’s the baby or the heat keeping me awake.”

  “Is not so hot.”

  “No, well I suppose you’re used to it, but it’s a lot hotter than summer in England so I er....” Pru looked over in the direction that Helene was facing. There was a crowd gathered at the end of the road by the hotel.

  “What’s going on over there? More building work at the hotel? What is there to see? People here would cross the road to watch paint dry. They really need to get a hobby.”

  Pru squinted against the sharp glare of the egg yolk sun and shielded her eyes with her hand to focus on the scene that had so captured Helene’s attention. There was a grand hotel a few hundred yards down the road towards the beach. Pru had been there once when they first arrived here. It had been someone’s twenty-first birthday, she didn’t remember whose now. She only remembered thinking that this was where she wanted to live, not in married quarters like the other carbon copy army wives.

  Pru could only make out shapes and shadows from this distance under the scowling sun. Workman were dancing on the watery haze of heat that was shimmering above the newly lain, sticky black road.

  “They move the bodies,” Helene stated bluntly.

  “What bodies?” asked Pru squinting harder. “You don’t mean dead people?”

  “The bodies. They take them away now. The Turkish bomb come hit hotel. Many bodies.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I hardly think... Are you sure? No one told me. They wouldn’t have let me come back here if…” Thoughts whirred around Pru’s head. Death and destruction so close to her beloved home didn’t seem possible. She had only arrived back this morning but she would have thought Eddie would have said something. She would be giving him an earful when he came home tonight.

  “Sit,” commanded Helene, her hazel eyes never leaving the exhibition of devastation in front of her.

  Pru, slightly stunned by the scene in front of her, and by being told what to do by the Greek woman, lowered herself onto the creaking wooden chair. Heat prickled her body and the ripples of realisation coursed through her body. Now she knew what she was looking at, the vista came into sharp focus in front of her unwilling eyes. The shadows she could see hanging from the windows weren’t workmen. They were dead bodies. Her heart hammered in her chest. She’d never seen a dead body before.

  Pru wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach. Half of the hotel was still standing but the other half had disappeared. There were no jagged lines of crumbling walls, no piles of bricks and mortar, it just looked as if half of the rooms had been scooped away. Pink-papered walls were now open to the elements. A bed sheet was draped in a nearby tree, snagged by dry branches as it attempted to flee from the horror. A man’s body hung upside-down from one of the lower floors. His body was naked, either blown from his clothes by the impact or wrenched from his innocent slumber. He was European-looking. Blond hair hung limply from his immobile head. A British flag still crowned the hotel but looked impotent rather than majestic.

  “I didn’t know the fighting had been so close. We’ve been staying up near the base. I only got back this morning,” Pru whispered. “I mean, I hadn’t heard. I thought it was miles away. No one said anything. When did it happen?”

  “We see no soldiers. The planes they come from many miles. They bomb army shop too.”

  “The NAAFI?”

  “Yes. Planes come round and round.”

  “But I was on my way there. I was going to cook a nice meal for Eddie. I… I know the people who work there.”

  The other woman exhaled slowly and rubbed the side of her curved stomach.

  The only two places Pru ever shopped for food and household essentials were the NAAFI and the little shop by the side of the road run by a Greek woman and her daughter, Anemone, who sold the most delicious fruit. It was unfathomable to Pru that parts of her day-to-day life were being affected by the war. Luckily it had been all over so quickly and a ceasefire had been hastily agreed. She wondered briefly about her little fruit shop. The woman and her daughter were probably safe. They lived in one of the villages in the hills and brought their fruit down to Famagusta by cart every day. She didn’t even know the woman’s name but she was quite taken with the little girl.

  Would they be back by the side of the road today in their makeshift hut that looked more like a bus-shelter than a shop? Pru had been planning on making a lemon meringue pie today. It didn’t look likely now.

  The two pregnant women sat in silence as the sun continued ascending the cloudless blue sky to its zenith. Mrs Kostas wordlessly appeared, bringing the pregnant women cool water and then disappeared again. Minutes later she was back with a salad and a bowl filled with thickly cut bread. None of the women spoke as the bodies were removed from the hotel and driven away. The food stood untouched. Mrs Kostas crossed herself and shuffled back inside.

  Silence pressed down upon Pru until at last Helene broke the quietude, her voice croaky through either emotion or lack of use.

  “The planes come. Early in morning. The childrens were on the roof when planes come from sea. They think this is very good, yes? But the planes, they go ‘bang, bang, bang’. The childrens is okay, but they lucky. Next time maybe not so lucky. They go swim in the sea and come back with the... errr, the bang, bang, bang?” She held her fingers apart a little to show the size of the object she was referring to.

  “Bullets,” Pru answered. “Or shells, I suppose.”

  “Bullets,” repeated Helene slowly, rolling the word over her tongue. “My husband, he is gone.”

  “Jesus! Dead?”

  “I not know. He with father in Kantara mountains. He is not come for me. Big fighting in mountains. The Turkish planes big boom-boom bullets on mountains.”

  “Dropping bombs?” Pru suggested.

  “Yes. The trees on fire. My husband he help the National Guards. I pray and I pray.” Helene
clasped her hands in front of her chest to emphasise the point.

  “Well, it’s all over now, isn’t it? They’ll work everything out, and we can get on with our lives. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. It was quite irresponsible of him to swan off when you’re about to have a baby. I wouldn’t have let Eddie do it.”

  Helene snorted. “The fighting still not stop in mountains.”

  “Really? Can’t anybody do what they’re told in this country?”

  “Men wait for this day. Five years, ten years. They hide guns in mountains. Greek people and Turkish they very different. You English think we are same. We no same. In North the Turks beat my grandfather with guns and shoot his dog. He lucky. In other place all men dead.” Helene looked back towards the hotel.

  Pru studied Helene’s profile. There appeared to be a veil of tears over those amber brown eyes but she was not letting them go. There was strength in the way she held her head and the way her strong chin jutted forward that Pru admired.

  “Well. Must be off. I’m sure you’ll see that there’ll be no more fighting now.”

  Helene gasped and grabbed Pru’s arm.

  “Look, I’m sorry that people are dying but it really has nothing to do with me!” Pru tried to pull away.

  “Arrgghh! Baby.” Helene bared her teeth and emitted a guttural sound.

  “What? No. Just a false alarm. I had one myself, only the other day in fact. That really is hurting me you know. Could you just–”

  Pru looked down to the floor as the amniotic fluid spread over the cement floor. No longer noticing the nails digging into her arm, Pru instinctively lifted her feet in disgust.

  “Oh, shit!”

  “The pains start in my bed last night but then stop. Aaaaaarrrrrrrhhhhhh!”

  “Can you walk?”

  Helene nodded with her eyes closed.

  “Then let’s get you inside.”

  Pru helped Helene to her feet but seconds later the Greek woman was crouched over and grunting.

  “That’s it. It’s okay. It’ll pass. Shallow breaths now,” soothed Pru and then, louder, “Kyria Kostas? Kyria Kostas!”

  The older woman appeared at the doorway wiping her hands on her apron. In a swiftness not usually associated with a large woman of such advancing years she was instantaneously at the other side of Helene gabbling in Greek.

  “Okay then, I’ll leave you to it. You know I’m just upstairs if you need me. Not that I can be of any help, I’m sure.”

  Helene linked her arm through Pru’s and leant her considerable weight on her, baring her teeth in pain.

  “Oh! Okay, um… I’ll help you into the house and then I really should go.”

  They got Helene into the house and onto the sofa where Mrs Kostas crouched by her side and questioned her in Greek. Satisfied, she stood and beckoned to Pru.

  “Here!” she barked.

  Pru took up position on the floor and Helene took her hand while Mrs Kostas went into a back room. Another contraction shook Helene and her whole body went rigid, the veins on her neck bulging with the intensity of the pain that coursed through her. She gripped Pru’s hand and Pru squeezed back.

  Between them, Pru and Mrs Kostas placed sheets under and over Helene. In turn, each woman washed their hands in hot, soapy water and put on a clean apron fresh from the basket of washing lying on the kitchen table. Pru followed Mrs Kostas in a trance-like state and then stopped suddenly.

  “Wait. What are you doing? Shouldn’t we get her to a hospital? You are not suggesting she does this here, are you?”

  “Eh?”

  “The hospital? We-drive-Helene-to-the-hospital?” Pru asked annunciating each word slower, clearer and louder in order to get the point across.

  “Phfft!” Mrs Kostas waved her hand in a show of dismissal and chuckled dryly.

  Turning to the younger woman, Pru continued, “Helene, I really do think it would be better if you were in a hospital. Do you have a car? Helene? Mrs Kostas? Is anyone listening to me? Oh bloody hell!”

  Pru glanced at the open door. It was so tempting just to leave. She briefly thought that no one here was in a fit state to stop her leaving if she chose to. She looked from the door to Mrs Kostas and Helene. Of course, she thought, it might make things unnecessarily difficult with her landlady if she were to leave now.

  Resigning herself to staying, for a while at least, Pru decided that it couldn’t be too difficult to deliver a baby. Women had been doing it for years. They would probably be so grateful for her intervention they would most likely end up naming the baby after her if it was a girl.

  “Okay then, I’ll stay. But don’t expect me to be down ‘that’ end. Okay?”

  Time passed and the shadows lengthened. Cicadas began their nightly serenade but the heat refused to abate. Pru was holding a cold cloth on the back of her neck to cool herself down. She was just wondering about a nice cool bath when Helene screamed. Her cries echoed around the tiled house but the baby resolutely refused to come. Mrs Kostas mimed pulling Helene onto her feet and Pru stood to walk her around the room. After a few minutes of hobbling and back rubbing the labouring woman’s legs failed her. She fell to all fours on the knotted rug, howling like a trapped animal.

  Pru still thought that Helene would be better off in a hospital but had given up trying to push her point. She was starting to worry about the wearying dark-skinned woman. She didn’t look she was going to have any energy left to push with. Pru was beginning to wonder if something was wrong. Did labour usually take this long? She had nothing to compare it to, but Mrs Kostas didn’t seem worried.

  The smell of bitter sweat mingled with the aroma of the pungent warm bushes of oregano by the open door. Somewhere nearby someone was cooking lamb and Pru thought of her own empty stomach. Would it be rude to excuse herself for five minutes to get a drink and something to eat? She had no idea how long she had been there. She wondered whether she could leave now but she could not tear herself away from the combined horror and beauty of what was occurring in front of her. Pru hadn’t really stopped to think about what was going to happen when it was time for her own baby to be born. This was partly due to fear and partly due to Pru’s habit of living entirely in the moment.

  The woman who had sat beside her only hours earlier with serenity and grace was now on her knees with her face tear- and sweat-stained. The usually smooth skeins of chestnut hair were plastered to her forehead and hanging lank over her cheeks. Part of Pru was fascinated to see a birth first hand, seeing as she would be experiencing it herself very soon. But there was the fearful voice inside her head telling her to run. She was scared of what she might see. The pain that Helene was in made her look inhuman at times and Pru had whispering doubts about whether the young woman would survive the ordeal.

  Helene closed her eyes and started rocking back and forth. She began to hum tunelessly as if oblivious to Pru’s presence. Mrs Kostas was back by her side urging her onto the cushions she had placed upon the floor. She propped her up against the sofa and covered her once more with the sheet. Turning to Pru with the measured confidence of a woman who has witnessed such things time and again, she beckoned to her.

  “Is time. Towels. Come.”

  Pru grabbed for the towels and held them out towards Mrs Kostas but the older woman ignored her and examined Helene. She said something in Greek to Helene but she shook her head.

  Mrs Kostas took Helene’s shoulders firmly and looked straight into her eyes “Nay.”

  Helene shrugged and nodded with reluctance, “Nay.”

  Helene reached for Pru’s hand again while Mrs Kostas took her place between Helene’s knees.

  This time when the contraction seized her the atmosphere had changed. This time it was not something to be fought but to be harnessed. Helene dropped her chin to her chest and strained.

  “That’s it Helene. That’s it. Not long now. Nearly there. You’re doing so well. Good girl. Great job.” Pru was aware of the fact that she was gabbling and that Helene probab
ly wasn’t hearing a word she was saying but she had to talk to steady her own nerves. Moments later Mrs Kostas was beckoning her with a slight smile. “See?”

  Pru, in spite of all her senses telling her not to, looked where she was pointing and could see the top of the baby’s head protruding from the young Greek woman.

  “Oh my God! I can see it, Helene. I really can. I can see the baby’s head!” Pru shrieked.

  The wonder at seeing a new life overcame her revulsion at the blood and mucus. “Not long now, Helene. Really.”

  But twenty minutes later and Helene’s pushing was beginning to lose its power and she was visibly flagging. Mrs Kostas’ Greek had now taken on a more urgent tone but Helene was weakly shaking her head. The experienced Greek woman took out a pair of scissors from the pocket in the front of her apron and nodded at Pru. Pru instinctively knew what she had to do and eased her arm around Helene’s shoulders and gripped firmly. She looked away but squeezed tighter as Helene brayed and Mrs Kostas cut the skin that was impeding the child’s birth.

  Helene sagged into Pru’s shoulder with a groan. “Why does it not come?”

  “It will now. It will now. Come on, I know you can do this.” Pru poured the soothing words into her ear.

  There was a focused intent etched on Mrs Kostas’ face as she worked between Helene’s legs and then, with an almighty scream, Helene sat upright and squeezed with every last drop of strength in her body.

  Leaning forward with her Pru was able to see as the baby emerged from its sheath and into its grandmother’s capable hands. The baby was mottled grey with a dark plastering of hair on its head and although its mouth was open no sound emitted from it. Pru faltered. Was it alive? Had it been starved of oxygen for too long?

  Helene held out her arms as the baby was deposited onto her stomach and, as she did so, the baby started to bleat, shakily at first but then with more vigour. Pru laughed with relief and sank back onto her heels holding her own baby-bump.