by Nadia Marks
Katerina’s appearance was an immediate priority to Olga, who discarded her threadbare jumper and skirt, and her shoes with flapping soles, and replaced them with a brand new wardrobe. Appearances were important to her and she was not one to keep the girl looking like a servant, with an apron and a uniform, as was customary in so many bourgeois households of the time.
‘She’s a pretty thing underneath it all,’ Olga told her mother, ‘and with a little help we can turn her into a human being.’
It didn’t take long for Katerina’s cheeks to turn rosy, her matted hair to become a glossy chestnut mane, and a smile to brighten her face. In just a few months her metamorphosis was complete, from a dirt-poor peasant girl to a young woman fit to live amongst the sophisticated Linsers.
‘She might be our maid but she is not our slave. If she is happy then my girls are happy, and I am content and free to get on with my work,’ Olga had told her mother. ‘Everyone has a right to a good life,’ she continued. ‘I despise these people who think otherwise!’
Thirsty for knowledge and eager to learn, Katerina was absorbing everything that was on offer. The two women helped her with the art of cooking. Over the years Katerina’s culinary skills developed to match those of her mistresses, incorporating a sophisticated European cuisine as taught to her by Olga and Ernestina. Of course the peasant Cypriot dishes, which mainly involved pulses, learned from her own mother and now expanded by Kyria Despo, were not forgotten either, making her an excellent cook. The old cleaner was tutoring Katerina well in the art of housekeeping, knowing that one day she’d be taking over from her.
For her part, the Linsers’ new maid threw herself into her work, treasuring her new life. Sometimes she thought wistfully of her brothers and sisters and her poor mother, but even if she felt pangs of guilt for her good fortune she thanked God every day for her escape. On Sundays she would set off for the Greek Orthodox church of St Lazarus for the Sunday service to give thanks and pray. The Linsers, on the other hand, would make their way to the Catholic church of Our Lady of the Graces.
Olga’s parents’ and grandparents’ Catholic persuasion, as opposed to the Greek Orthodox religion which was prevalent for Christians on the island, followed their family tradition. The main language spoken at home was Greek, but both of Olga’s young daughters also had a good grasp of German and Italian, taught to them by their mother and grandmother. Much to Katerina’s dismay they would often punctuate sentences with the other two languages, but being determined not to be left out, she too began to pick up words and phrases in German and Italian. Darned if I’m not going to know what they’re all talking about, she told herself.
In those days in Cyprus, those who entered a household in service often did so for life. A young woman could happily dedicate her life to someone else’s family, renouncing prospects of marriage and a family of her own. If the family was kind and generous, the advantages were great. She’d have her board and lodgings, a small salary, and if she was extremely lucky she might meet someone to marry. But for most girls coming from a very poor family with no dowry or prospects, the chances were extremely slim.
By the time the girls were grown up, Katerina was an established fixture in Olga’s home; an important and valuable member of the household and family with no desire to leave, ready to take on the next generation. The Villa Linser and its occupants were her home, her family, her destiny.
The family house had been built in 1910 by Josef Linser, Olga’s grandfather. Like most houses for the affluent at that time it was made out of the local sandstone. It was an enormous imposing building, big enough to accommodate four families by modern standards. Its style was a cross between an Italian villa and an Ottoman mansion and it stood in the centre of town, surrounded by a large garden and only a stone’s throw away from the seafront. Marble steps led to an imposing front door flagged by two tall palm trees on either side.
The front door opened into a large, sun-filled hall, its floor a tapestry of colourful mosaic tiles. On entering the house, you were faced with a sweeping staircase leading up to two more floors.
The first floor housed the saloni – the best room of the house, with a main purpose of receiving guests and hosting parties. This was filled with heavily carved rosewood furniture, opulently covered velvet sofas and armchairs, and a grand piano. A dining-room table and chairs stood at one end of the room, along with sideboards and glass cabinets filled with crystal and silver.
On the same level, another room served as a family room; its floor-to-ceiling French windows opened on to a veranda overlooking the back garden, while the top level housed several bedrooms and two bathrooms. The kitchen, along with a small study and a library, were situated on the ground floor, with French windows opening straight out into the fragrant garden.
Olga was born there, her father Franz grew up there and as her grandfather had hoped when he built it, many generations of Linsers to come would also be making it their home. Communal living was the way of the times. No family expected to be separated. In wealth or in poverty, people stayed together. By the time Katerina entered the Linser house, only women were left living there. Olga’s father had died and she had long divorced her husband.
‘Papa was the only man I have ever been able to depend on,’ she’d tell her mother when her marriage fell apart.
‘Women are a superior species,’ she’d tell Katerina, a feminist in advance of the concept. ‘We are stronger, perhaps not physically but certainly emotionally and mentally, and much more capable.’ Katerina was a good pupil and Olga was her mentor.
Larnaka, 2010
Anita looked around the room at the three pairs of eyes staring at her with a mixture of surprise, sadness and fatigue. Dinner had long finished, yet they continued to sit around the table allowing the old woman to transport them to a past they had little knowledge of. Adonis’s jet lag was getting the better of him but there was no question of going to bed; they were all far too intrigued to hear more.
‘Why didn’t Katerina ever say anything to us about her life?’ Eleni was the first to speak.
‘She was a very proud woman and felt deeply ashamed of her father,’ Anita replied. ‘But you know, Eleni mou, even though she hated him, she continued to send money until her mother’s death. Then she severed any connection with him. After that she never mentioned his name again.’
‘I can understand why she couldn’t talk of these things to us when we were children, but later when we were adults – why not then?’ Adonis added and reached for the bottle of wine to fill their glasses. ‘We were always so close …’
‘She had her reasons,’ his mother replied.
‘She was so very kind to me,’ they heard Marianna say. ‘I owe everything to her,’ she whispered and wiped her eyes with the napkin lying on her lap.
‘You, my girl,’ Anita said, ‘were her alter ego. She had a mission to save you as she had been saved.’
Anita reached for her glass of wine again and sat back in her chair to continue with her story, fatigue and emotion etched on her face. This was not easy for her.
‘So, I suppose you are all beginning to piece together a different picture of our beloved Katerina,’ she told them. ‘I know you thought of her as a wise old woman of the world, but as you are finding out now, her origins were far from the woman she became, which makes her even more remarkable.’
‘She knew so much,’ Eleni said.
‘She had your grandmother to thank for that,’ Anita replied, ‘and later on our family priest, Father Bernardino, he also taught her a lot. My mother treated Katerina like she treated us, like a daughter and also as a friend too. For us she was our second sister.’
‘We never thought of her as anything but family,’ Eleni said again and Adonis nodded in agreement.
5
Franz Linser, great-grandfather of Eleni and Adonis, was the only son of Austrian botanist Josef Linser who arrived in Cyprus in the spring of 1890 with his wife Eva and baby son on a scientific missi
on to record the flora of the island for the Natural History Museum of Vienna. The assignment was to be for a maximum duration of five years but the Linsers fell in love with Aphrodite’s birthplace and decided to stay on the island for good, making Larnaka their home.
‘This island is paradise,’ Josef told his wife on their arrival. ‘I can feel the presence of the gods here.’ Eva was less convinced of its celestial qualities – she had left a central European capital for what she initially perceived as a primitive, Middle Eastern backwater far to the east of the Mediterranean. But her husband’s enthusiasm and the obvious natural unspoiled beauty of Cyprus, rich with rare flower species, were infectious and the island soon won her over too.
‘Look, Eva, look how much beauty grows on this land,’ Josef would enthuse, showing her all the rare plants he had collected. ‘This surely was Demeter’s playground.’ Eva’s mind conjured up images of Persephone and her mother tiptoeing playfully through a crocus field.
They initially set up home in a typical Ottoman-style house on two floors. All rooms, plus the gallery balcony on the first floor, looked inwards over a courtyard garden, which accommodated the lavatory and a small bathhouse. But the two trees that stood in the middle of the yard, a lemon and a pomegranate tree in full bloom, made up for any early reservations she might have harboured.
‘There is nothing more fragrant than lemon blossom,’ she told Josef, ‘and nothing more vibrant than the crimson of the pomegranate flower.’
Eva was a talented botanic illustrator, and husband and wife worked as a team. While she stayed at home and took care of their son, Josef roamed the wild country and mountainsides for rare island species of orchids, cyclamen, anemones and a multitude of seasonal plants. After he returned home at the end of the day, laden with samples, the two would record the findings in a series of exquisitely detailed botanical drawings, together with copious notes, which were then dispatched to the museum. It was not long before the couple made Larnaka, with its natural beauty and rich history, their home.
‘How much history can a place claim?’ Josef told his wife. ‘Cyprus, my dearest Eva, is the birthplace of Aphrodite and also of the great philosopher Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism who believed in the divine nature of the universe. He also claimed that in order for us to achieve true happiness we should live according to nature!’
‘Then how wonderfully appropriate, Josef dear,’ Eva replied, smiling broadly at her husband. ‘Zeno would be most pleased since we are living by his rules.’
‘And you know something else, Eva?’ he continued fervently. ‘Zeno was born just here where we are, in this insignificant little town of Larnaka – imagine that! Of course he travelled to Athens too and worked with the great philosophers of his time, but he was very patriotic and when they offered to make him a citizen of Athens he refused, for fear that he would appear unfaithful to his native land.’
‘Well, my dear husband,’ Eva replied, amused by his infectious enthusiasm, ‘if Larnaka was good enough for Zeno of Citium, then it’s good enough for us!’
Josef Linser was a happy man indeed; so long as he explored the hills and valleys, the mountains and plains of Cyprus, he was entirely content and asked for little else.
Once she had taken to their life on the island, Eva would only occasionally travel back to Vienna to visit her old mother. The journey was long and tedious and although she took young Franz with her, she missed Josef too much to stay away for long. After her mother died she no longer returned to her home city, unless it was with her husband and son. She, like Josef, was content to live on Aphrodite’s island.
At first the Linsers were something of a curiosity to the local Greek and Turkish population of the town. But the island, which for centuries had been under the rule of the now waning Ottoman Empire, had recently changed hands from the Turks to the British, bringing a more multi-ethnic, multi-lingual population to Larnaka. The town’s position as a port had always encouraged trade and movement; now it was becoming a cultural centre too and it was to Larnaka rather than to Nicosia, the capital, that the consuls of European countries were posted.
Eva’s work and her young son kept her busy, but when the time came for Franz to attend the local elementary school she was left with more time than she knew what to do with. Conversing and forming friendships with the local women was not easy as Eva’s Greek and Turkish were still in their infancy, but gradually, encouraged by Josef, she was introduced to other wives of European origin who spoke French and German like herself. One of these women was the wife of the newly appointed Belgian consul Hans Peeters.
Martha Peeters was a gregarious woman who, like Eva, found herself away from her native land and was thirsty for company. They met at an evening reception given by the Peeterses at the Belgian consulate to which the Linsers, along with other European residents and visitors, were invited.
‘This is a perfect opportunity for you to meet some like-minded ladies,’ Josef had said to Eva as they were getting ready for the occasion.
‘I’m not so sure how like-minded they’ll be,’ she replied, slipping into her corset and offering him her back to be laced up. ‘Exactly how many ladies do you think are going to be interested in the art of botanic illustration, Josef?’
‘You never can tell, dearest,’ he said and kissed her gently on the back of her neck. ‘Perhaps you’ll find you can communicate better with them than with Kyria Marika, the baker’s wife?’
‘Perhaps …’ she replied, unconvinced. ‘In any case I like Kyria Marika and the other women I’ve met here. For one, I’m learning Greek and Turkish from them,’ she added, as she stepped into her evening dress, which had been kept wrapped up in tissue paper in the travelling trunk since their arrival. ‘I have no idea why I’m taking this with me,’ she’d told Josef when they were packing for Cyprus. ‘I can’t imagine I’ll ever wear it but it’s so pretty I’d just like to take it along anyhow.’ Made of French lace in pale canary yellow, long enough to sweep the floor as she walked, the dress pinched tight at her waist with a small bustle at the back showing off her slender figure and ample bosom; now she was more than glad she had not parted with it.
‘The local ladies are perfectly agreeable, Josef,’ she continued while she adjusted her waistband, ‘and at least they don’t have airs and graces.’ Eva intensely disliked what she considered the superficiality and snobbery of society gatherings, but she also recognized that of late all the spare time she had on her own had tipped into loneliness and she was in need of company.
‘We shall see, shan’t we?’ she said finally, pulling on a pair of long satin gloves.
As it turned out Martha did have much in common with Eva, not least that she was down to earth, half Viennese, and a keen artist. The two women were soon to become good friends.
That evening Josef and Eva were picked up by a horse and carriage and were driven to the consulate residence situated in Larnaka’s main street, overlooking the sea. Along with other streets in the town, this had recently been renamed by the British governor, who on his arrival proceeded to change many of the Greek names to English ones, and was now called ‘The Strand’. Josef and Eva were irritated to see a rash of freshly painted street signs posted throughout the town, announcing such inappropriate names, in their opinion, as ‘Victoria Street’ or ‘Disraeli Street’.
‘Why do they have to go messing with the island’s heritage?’ Josef had complained to Eva. ‘“Aphrodite” and “Zinon Street” are marvellous names and fitting for this place.’
Although The Strand was no distance from the Linsers’ house and a journey that the couple would have gladly made by foot they decided for the occasion to indulge and take a cab. It was a warm spring night with a full moon hovering over the bay. From a distance the consulate, illuminated from every window, looked almost as if it was on fire. As the horse-drawn carriage drew closer, a string quartet by Mozart could be heard over the lapping of the waves on the shore and the buzz of conversation reached them, carried
by the evening breeze.
As they entered the building, Martha, standing next to her husband to receive their guests, hastened to greet them.
‘Welcome, Herr und Frau Linser,’ she said, beaming as she shook their hands. ‘I have heard about both of you and your work. Please, come in!’
‘What charming people!’ Josef told Eva at the end of the evening as they made their way home, on foot this time.
‘Indeed they are!’ Eva agreed. ‘I do believe Martha Peeters and I could be friends,’ she added, taking her husband’s arm as they returned home along the promenade under the full moon.
*
‘How much of the island have you seen?’ Martha asked Eva one early summer’s day as they sat drinking tea together in the salon of the consulate. The breeze from the open window smelled of the sea and Martha’s Greek maid was busy laying out on the low ottoman coffee table some dishes of local pastries and sweets. Martha, a keen watercolourist, was interested in Eva’s work and the two women had begun to meet regularly, either at Martha’s elegant home or to stroll together along the promenade under the shade of their parasols. Even in late February the winter sun was strong enough to burn their pale northern European complexions.
‘I’ve seen quite a bit,’ Eva replied, reaching for her china teacup, ‘though mainly in the open country when I sometimes accompanied Josef on his quest for plants. Apart from shepherds grazing their flocks, no one goes there. There are so many spectacular unspoiled places here that seem to be quite untouched.’
‘You are very lucky to have been able to explore the land. I hear the mountains are very fertile, with many vineyards and olive groves. I should like to do some exploring myself and make some sketches of the countryside, but getting there is difficult. How did you travel?’
‘Usually by mules and donkeys. It’s quite fun if you don’t mind the long trek and young Franz loved the donkey rides,’ Eva enthused. ‘We must take the children one day.’
