Daughter of the Winds

by Jo Bunt

  “Not the baby. Not the baby,” she kept murmuring to herself over and over again.

  She stumbled and almost fell to the sand again. Her legs were too weak to carry her any further but she could see where the bomb had hit. Pru sank to her knees in dismay. Through heavy lidded eyes she expected to see fire crews and ambulances but eerily, few people were around. The apartment where she had been sitting earlier that night was now a singed, hollow husk. A shell had passed straight through the building leaving a hole right through its heart. The men she had seen jog up the beach were standing by a group of older men and, some feet in front of them on the ground, there was a huddle of bodies covered in dirty cloths. The smell of burning thickened the air even though nothing appeared to be alight anymore. Pru closed her eyes as tears formed around her eyelashes, stinging her raw face.

  The men had gone by the time Pru opened her eyes again. Some time had passed but she couldn’t tell how much. The bodies were still there lying in the street where they had been dragged. Propelled by the need to look at them, to see whether it really was who she feared, she pushed herself upright. Pru willed her feet up the slight incline to where the bodies lay under the trees.

  Helene’s profile was easily recognisable under the cover. Her black wavy hair spilled out from its cotton tomb and Pru suddenly retched without warning. The pain of her empty stomach did little to slow down the reflex action of her muscles convulsing and causing her to heave. Warm water splattered her toes and she hunched over the puddle of vomit percolating the dusty ground.

  When she was spent, Pru staggered to one side and rolled onto her back. She gingerly straightened out her legs, concentrating on slowing down her breathing to stop her stomach from trying to eject everything it had ever had in it. Every inch of her limbs ached and screamed at her. The nausea was slackening its hold on her now and the tears started to trickle down her face. She wasn’t sure what she was crying for; there was no particular thought associated with the weeping. They needed no urging to spring forth from her eyes and she was soaked in her unnamed grief within minutes.

  Pru wanted to experience the numb feeling that she’d harboured earlier. Anything would be better than this desperate feeling lying heavy on her chest. She was struck by the futility of life. Her baby had died but she, Pru, had lived. Helene’s baby had been born safely but then Helene had died. In the depths of her self-pity, Pru felt that Helene was the lucky one as she did not have to wake up in the morning knowing that her baby was dead. She had been spared that gut-wrenching knowledge that she had been unable to protect her only child. Pru wished that she had stayed with Helene and her mother, then all of this pain would be over for her. She too would have been lying beneath a white sheet, stripped of grief and pain.

  Again, Pru wondered at the eerie silence of the streets surrounding her and sat upright. This was normally a busy area and if people weren’t rushing to some place, they were sitting out under the stars, telling stories and drinking ouzo. She snorted to herself. “They knew,” she thought. “They knew another attack was coming and they’ve already left the area, leaving the Kostas to fend for themselves. How could they?”

  Once more the sea invited her to sleep in its clutches for eternity and she steeled herself to make the walk back down to the seafront. The sea promised peace, a release from the pain. Its soothing whispers told her it understood what she was experiencing and didn’t blame her for ending her life. It knew she had done all she could and no longer had anything to live for. The Turkish soldiers had taken away her future and that of the Kostas and there was nothing more she could do here.

  The line between the sky and the sea was becoming visible again as somewhere over the horizon the sun was starting to make an appearance. Black was starting to give way to purple as the night began to lose her dominance.

  “Now or never,” Pru thought.

  In a trance-like state, Pru stood up, trying her best not to notice the pain flowing through body as readily as blood through her veins. “It won’t be hurting for much longer,” she told herself. Standing by the shell of her former house, Pru afforded a last glance backwards and fancied she heard a soft cry from the debris. Sighing she turned and started to walk towards the sand.

  Her steps faltered, she wasn’t getting any strength to her muscles and she was finding it increasingly difficult to propel herself forward. At this rate it would be dawn before she reached the sea.

  “Whatwas that noise?” For a moment Pru contemplated whether it was the weaker part of her mind playing tricks on her or something more compelling. She no longer felt in control of her body or her mind. It was as if the part of her that was essentially Pru was shrinking and, if she didn’t do something decisive now, she would be lost forever.

  She stared at the rubble but no further sound came, and yet, she had the feeling that she should retrace her steps and investigate.

  “God, tell me what I should do. I am so tired” she whispered.

  She strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything over the inviting shushing of the waves like a mother soothing a fretful child. In spite of her resolve to receive the embrace of the sea, another noise had Pru starting back towards the building.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  She couldn’t make out anything from the gloom and chaos that greeted her at the hole in the wall. An acrid smell seized her nostrils and she wrinkled her face against the unpleasant smell.

  “Hello?” she asked again softly, feeling slightly scared by her own voice echoing back to her to amplify her intrusion.

  A shrill bleat from the middle of the room alerted Pru to something still living amongst the stones and dust. And again, that same noise.

  “Oh my God! The baby!” Abandoning any pain and doubts she had, Pru stumbled in the darkness towards the sound and listened again. This time the cries were more insistent. She pulled aside the table and found a basinet lying on its side. Inside its cushioned shell was a pink pearl. A baby girl.

  Pru had trouble getting her hands underneath the squirming mass and it took a couple of attempts to ease the baby out of the confines of her wicker bomb-shelter. She clutched the baby to her chest, terrified of dropping the priceless package, and made her way out of the building, more carefully this time, fearful of tripping or the building collapsing in its entirety around her. By now the baby’s crying was more insistent even though it wasn’t very loud.

  “Shhhhhh. Shhhhhhh. Are you hurt? Where does it hurt, baby?”

  She rushed round to the front of the building ignoring the shrouded bodies and hurried to where the street was lit so she could see the baby better. Falling to her knees she placed the swaddled baby on the floor and unwrapped the blanket. She ran her hands over the baby girl’s smooth arms and bucking legs but could find no marks or injuries.

  “Shhhhhh. You’re okay now, you’re okay.”

  Pru clasped the baby tightly and rocked her but the crying didn’t stop. Her little rosebud mouth opened and closed at Pru’s breast.

  “Are you hungry, baby girl? But I haven’t got anything for you.”

  Looking around her, Pru could see no alternative. She needed to get Helene’s baby to a hospital, but until then, Pru would have to feed her herself. She tentatively loosened her coat and let it slip down to expose her left breast still full of the milk that should have been sustaining her own son. Instinctively the baby searched for her nipple, latched on and began to suck. In a sensation that was both painful and euphoric, Pru allowed the baby to feed from her as she looked on in wonder.

  Pru didn’t know how long she sat there cradling the baby at her bosom before she heard the rumbling of the truck and saw the headlights coming up Lakira Street. She glanced over her shoulder at the oncoming vehicle and assumed it had come to take away the bodies of Helene and her mother. She wrapped the coat around her and the baby, tucking in the blanket to preserve her dignity. The truck stopped beside her, and she was about to point to where the bodies lay when an abrupt yelp took her by surpr
ise.

  “Oh sweet Jesus! Pru!” Marjorie was on the floor beside her with her arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay? I can’t believe you did this all on your own. Someone help me here!”

  Strong arms hoisted her to her feet but she kept both of hers around the suckling baby.

  “I’m fine Marjorie, really.”

  Pru could hear murmurs coming from inside the truck and realised she must look quite a sight.

  “I knew I should have stayed with you. Were you in the building when it was hit? Sweet Jesus. You two are lucky to be alive!”

  “Yes,” whispered Pru stroking the baby’s cheek with the side of her thumb. “It’s a miracle. We saved each other’s lives.”

  Pru felt a blanket being draped around her shoulders and someone helping her up into the truck.

  “We’re being evacuated” explained Marjorie. “They’re taking us to Episcopi where there are Hercules planes waiting to take us back to England. Are you okay to travel? Is the baby okay?”

  The questions kept raining down on Pru’s ears but she could only hear the gurgle and murmur of a contented baby in her arms. Pru looked up long enough to notice that she was back on the same bus as a few days ago, with largely the same people, and yet, the world was markedly different now. She had been through something so life-changing, and so nearly life-ending, that she felt entirely removed from the circus around her.

  “Where’s Eddie? Does he even know?” asked Marjorie.

  “I honestly don’t know,” sighed Pru, finding her voice at last but never taking her eyes from the baby who had now fallen into a peaceful satiated sleep. “I think he’s working.”

  Both women sat in silence looking at the sleeping baby until Marjorie spoke.

  “She’s gorgeous Pru. What’s her name?”

  “She doesn’t have one yet.”

  “Well, I guess it’s all been a bit of a rush, hasn’t it? Mine were without names for three or four days before we decided what suited them.”

  Pru bent over and kissed the baby’s forehead. This poor baby no longer had a mother or grandmother and didn’t even have a name and yet she looked so content. She was blissfully unaware of the war that was unfolding around her that had already claimed the lives of at least two members of her family. Pru supposed the army might be able to track down the baby’s father, if he was still alive, but she was reluctant to leave the baby to the whims of the administrative system. She was going to see if she could stay in Cyprus and help track down the baby’s father. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her all alone.

  Pru sat back in her seat and waited for the bumpy journey to conclude. Each bump and pot hole in the unevenly tarmacked road reminded her of her physical ordeal over the last twenty-four hours. She pulled the blanket around the baby and then covered herself up, suddenly aware that she was woefully underdressed and completely naked under the ill-fitting coat. As if sensing her discomfort, Marjorie was tapping Pru on the shoulder.

  “Here.”

  Pru looked down at the bundle of clothes in Marjorie’s hands.

  “It’s obvious that you weren’t able to pack any clothes in the circumstances. So, everyone has donated an item of clothing out of their bags for you.”

  Pru looked around at the women and children in the crowded truck.

  “Thank you. That’s so...” Pru’s eyes instantly flooded and overflowed down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “Hormones. Don’t fret about it. The knickers are mine. They’re clean, don’t worry! Claire has given you a top and a cardigan.” Marjorie leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “Silk! Here let me hold the baby while you get dressed.”

  “Hello, little dumpling. Are you coming for a cuddle with your Auntie Marjorie? Are you? Are you? Who’s a beautiful girl, then? Eh, eh? Yes you are.”

  Pru slipped into the borrowed clothes with some difficulty due to the bumpy terrain and her aching body. The bell-bottomed jeans wouldn’t do up over her still-swollen tummy, but a hastily-applied elastic hairband managed to bridge the gap between button and hole. The cardigan was soft against her battered skin and the well- worn flip-flops she eased her toes into were a perfect fit. She pulled a brush through her knotted hair and was starting to feel a little bit more like herself again when the bus pulled into the air base. There must have been over one hundred people sitting in the hangar next to a hotchpotch of bags and boxes. Men in uniform were pounding about with clip-boards and urgency.

  “Here you go, dumpling, back to Mummy,” Marjorie said as she handed the baby back to Pru.

  “Oh Marjorie, no. You don’t understand. You see, she’s not my–”

  “No, don’t make me hold her any more, I’m already getting broody again! Look honey, I can see Jason over there so I’m going to grab him while I can. Come on kids, stay with Mummy please. Okay Pru, I’ll see you later love. And make sure you get the two of you checked over by the doctor, okay?” Marjorie flowed into the crowds.

  Pru saw Eddie’s Commanding Officer moving through the crowds and hastened to him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mrs Clarke. Well, that explains why Eddie didn’t turn up for his shift tonight then! Boy or girl?”

  “Erm... girl. So, you haven’t seen Eddie tonight then?”

  “No. Well, congratulations to you both. Unfortunately I can’t stay and talk. Do excuse me.”

  “Of course.” Where was Eddie? He wasn’t at home and he wasn’t at work either. She had needed Eddie more than ever today, and not only had he left her at the hospital, but he hadn’t even gone to work. He was probably drunk somewhere and talking about how his wife had let him down. And in a way, Pru supposed he was right. She would never be able to give him children and they had little or no future together now anyway.

  If she was sure of anything, it was that her marriage was effectively over and she was leaving Cyprus without Eddie. Mind made up, Pru walked over to the registration desk to add her name to the list of those being shipped out to Oxfordshire that day.

  “Name?”

  “Prudence Clarke. And this,” she said without hesitation, “is my daughter Helene.”

  Chapter twenty-one

  Leering at me from across the road, I could clearly see the half-shelled building where I was born. When I say that I saw it clearly, I don’t mean just that my vision was unimpaired, I mean that my gaze pinpointed the building and faded out everything around it. I knew without any trace of doubt that this was the building that I was looking for. Where it had all began. Where it had all ended.

  I bit down the urge to run to it and looked around myself cautiously. Now was not the time to get caught. It was unlikely that there were guards in these buildings; they seemed to patrol the points by the fence, and this building was away from the sagging wire fence but even so, I had to be careful. To get this close to the building and then not be able to go inside would be unbearable.

  It took me longer to cover those final yards than it had to walk the previous mile. I tried my best to savour these final steps leading to the realisation of my quest. Even though this was the reason that I’d come to Cyprus, the circuitous route that had led me to this point meant that it was all taking an unnaturally long interval to sink in.

  My feet carried me soundlessly under the trees and to the front of the building. The upper floor of the building looked remarkably intact, unaware of what had happened beneath its floor. In the bottom right of the building, there was a gaping hole as if the house had opened its mouth wide in shock. The shell that had hit it appeared to have gone straight through the middle of the apartment leaving an almost perfect cylinder like a cored apple.

  I couldn’t make out anything inside the building, just darkness and debris. If the building over the road was anything to go by, there was very little chance that this had been left as a shrine to my dead mother and grandmother. The sun was still obscured by a stubborn mantle of cloud and there was hardly any light pe
rmeating the gloom. Above, and to the left, I saw Mum’s old apartment exactly as Eddie had described it to me. It stood perfectly still, untouched by the tragedy that had befallen its neighbour. The curtains hung still and straight at the missing window. The front door was a light blue. It hadn’t been painted that shade, of that I was sure, but decades of sun had bleached everything to a shadow of its former self.

  I waited for fifteen minutes silently before I broke free from my trance. The heat that had built up through the day was oppressive and barred everything but slow and stately progress through its mire. Now that I was close enough to touch the bricks I didn’t know what I was going to do next. I thought I would start with the building closest. There was no door to walk through, only a gaping cavernous hole. I stepped over the threshold and looked around me. I expected to feel some of the memory of Helene’s death lingering in the air, but there was nothing. This was the place that I was born and the place that my biological mother and grandmother had died. And yet, there was nothing that separated this building from any other building in Varosha except the wormhole shot through its centre.

  Any one of these buildings could be hiding a painful history. With nobody around to tell their stories, the secrets would stay unearthed, untold and, to those too young to remember the conflict, unfathomable. I stepped carefully over the brick-strewn floor. I didn’t want to risk disturbing anything and have the entire building come crashing down around my ears.

  The walls of the large room that had once been a kitchen-come-living room were remarkably untouched by the devastation of the bomb. They still held the pattern of the wallpaper in muted greens. The physical carnage was straight through the middle of the room, like a cyclone had passed through. There was an overturned dining chair and table to one side but all other furniture seemed to have been removed, or used for firewood. I placed the chair on all four spindly legs and sat down delicately upon it. It groaned but showed no sign of surrendering under my weight so I relaxed my back into it. I willed something to happen then – something to link me to this room – but I was coming up empty. The elation at finding the building had been replaced by a heavy feeling of numbing anti-climax. Now what?