by Nadia Marks
The realization that he was falling in love with Martha dismayed and confused Savvas; when it came to matters of the heart, or rather of the flesh, he had always been in control. He had embarked on this erotic journey with his mother-in-law the way he had always done – knowing exactly where he was going with it, and for no other reason but purely for his sensual gratification and excitement. However, he had never entertained the possibility that for the first time in his life he might lose control. That was something he didn’t know how to handle.
The wedding day was fast approaching and he was at a loss about what to do. He had wanted to speak to Martha, confess his love, but after her brisk reply he hardly dared; yet he had to let her know how he felt. He could wait no longer, time was running out; he had to do it now. Perhaps, he convinced himself, if she knew how he felt she would change her mind.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Penelope, he told her, when he finally summoned up the nerve to speak to her. On the contrary, he was very fond of the girl; she was a delightful young woman with beauty and charm, which evidently she had inherited from her mother, and would make some man happy, but he was not that man.
‘What I feel for Penelope doesn’t compare to what I feel for you,’ he told her. ‘I love you with all my heart; you are the woman for me.’
He reached for her hand and clasped it in both of his. ‘Say yes, and I’ll put off the wedding,’ he continued passionately. ‘You can leave Christos and marry me!’ Martha stood motionless and speechless, staring at him as he searched her eyes for clues. He held his breath and waited for her reaction.
‘Have you lost your mind?’ she finally hissed at him, articulating every word, and pulled her hand away from his grip. ‘You will do no such thing!’ she hissed again, her eyes flashing. ‘You will marry my daughter and you will stop this crazy talk at once!’
‘But . . . what . . . what . . . about us?’ Savvas mumbled, looking pitiful and confused. ‘Surely you love me, not Christos. We love each other, don’t we?’
Martha took a step back and glared at Savvas.
‘Christos is a good man, and I have no intention of leaving him for you or for any other man, and as for love, whoever said anything about that and what does it have to do with this? You listen to me, my boy, we’ve had our fun, be grateful for that and stop all this nonsense, do you hear me?’ And with that, Martha turned round and walked out of the room, leaving him, as she always seemed to do, trembling in his shoes.
From that day on she stayed well away from Savvas and kept him at a distance, as if nothing had happened between them. The wedding preparations continued as before and nothing was ever said again about the affair.
For the first time in his life Savvas was experiencing rejection. No woman had ever treated him this way. How could he have let himself be swept away like that, he scolded himself. What a fool he had been – of course he must marry Penelope, who was as fresh as a rosebud and who adored him. Martha was right, he had surely lost his mind to even contemplate wanting to take a woman so much older than himself as his wife. Yet he had to admit that even well past her first bloom of youth, his mother-in-law had got under his skin and her indifference distressed him.
After the wedding, as it had been planned, Savvas moved into the house with Penelope and the rest of the family, which was what he had been looking forward to long before his affair with Martha but which was now turning out to be a liability.
Try as he would, there were times when his anger towards her, still mixed with desire, made living under the same roof intolerable, and for the first time since he had left his village and family he wished himself back at home living the simple life of the mountains.
‘Wouldn’t it be good if we had our own house, just the two of us?’ he would say to Penelope sometimes when the burden of having to see Martha day in and day out became too oppressive for him. Soon any longing and passion he might have felt for her turned to fury alone.
‘Why would we do that?’ she replied, surprised that Savvas would even think of such a thing. ‘Our house is large enough for all of us.’
‘But when we start having children, then what?’ he would insist.
‘There is plenty of room for us all,’ she would tell him and kiss the top of his head.
Luckily for Savvas his misery was short-lived. The solution to his predicament came when his father-in-law suggested that it was time to think seriously about expanding their business in another town, and wanted Savvas to be in charge.
‘I think you know that for a while now I have been thinking of taking the bakery to Nicosia,’ Christos told him one night after they had finished their supper. ‘I have an old friend there, Petros is his name; we go back a long way and he’s come into some money problems.’ He picked up his glass of wine and drained it. ‘He owns a grocery shop and he wants to sell it and I am thinking of buying it off him.’ He reached across for the bottle of wine and continued talking. ‘My plan is that while Petros continues to run the shop you will set up a bakery and when that’s up and running you can take over the shop, too.’ Christos looked at Savvas and filled up their glasses again. ‘The capital, my boy, is where you could make a fortune. So, what do you say?’
Savvas didn’t have to think for long before giving his reply with genuine enthusiasm.
‘I say yes, Father!’ he said eagerly and raised his glass. ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to and will help you as much as I can.’
‘That’s my boy!’ Christos picked up his glass too. ‘I was worried that you might not want to leave Paphos, but believe me, my son, as much as I don’t want to see you and my Penelope go, Nicosia is the city of opportunities.’ Smiling broadly, Christos stretched across and noisily clinked glasses with his son-in-law.
‘Stin ygia mas,’ they both echoed as they drank to the future and to each other’s health.
Unbeknown to Savvas, Martha had played a hand in convincing her husband of the idea. She too could see how hard it was for the two of them to continue living together under the same roof. Now, they would both regain their peace of mind and she was glad to have him out of the way. Savvas was delighted with the prospect of leaving the paternal home with his bride for Nicosia, which could hardly be further away. Marrying Penelope was the wisest decision he ever made, he told himself – or perhaps, he mused, it was the wisest thing that Martha had decided for him. He had often heard people say that he was lucky; now he began to believe it.
His father-in-law’s offer was a great gift and he vowed to work hard and make a success of the business, not only to repay Christos’s kindness but also as an act of atonement for the way he and Martha had behaved. He threw himself into work and started to make plans for their departure, deciding that once he set up the bakery in Nicosia he would send for his brother Andreas to come and help him.
‘This is a great opportunity for us both to make some money at last,’ he wrote to Andreas with excitement, telling him of his future plans. ‘You, my brother, know all about being a grocer, you’ve been managing our father’s shop since you were in short trousers. You know exactly what to do, while I know all about baking bread.’ Savvas needed his little brother with him, he’d been away from the family for too long. ‘There is no great urgency,’ his letter continued, ‘the old man who runs the shop is still managing it, but when the time comes you and I will make a great team and have a family business of our own.’
Savvas’s enthusiasm was infectious and Andreas was delighted to hear that things were finally looking up for his brother. However, what Savvas didn’t know when he first wrote home to announce his future plans, was that Andreas was not the kind of man willing to make the decision without the consent of his beloved wife and Maroula was in no hurry to leave their village. But Savvas wasn’t going to give up easily. He was certain that he could have no better partner than his younger brother and so he made up his mind to wait.
‘It will be good for all of you,’ he pursued every so often in his letters, ‘the children
will benefit too, it’s time to make the move, my brother. The bakery is running well now and making good profits, soon it will be time to think of the grocery shop, too, and I need you for that to keep it in the family. I’ve already started building our house, which will be big enough for all of us. As you know, Penelope and I haven’t been blessed with children, so your Lambros and Anastasia will bring joy to our lives, too.’ Savvas’s letters were now being sent all the more frequently and each time another arrived the temptation and call from the city was becoming greater for Andreas.
5
Both Andreas and Maroula were conscientious parents and wanted the best for their children, and now after the conversation with Lambros’s teacher, the issue of education was playing heavily on their minds.
‘If he is as clever as the teacher says then we must do something about it,’ Andreas told his wife. ‘We can’t ignore it, intelligence is a gift from God.’
So that very evening when the couple sat at the kitchen table discussing their son’s future and the likely award of his scholarship, they at last made the decision to accept Savvas’s offer for them to join him in Nicosia and help to expand his business.
‘One thing is certain,’ Andreas repeated, sipping the cup of hot tea his wife had placed in front of him, ‘we can’t stand in our boy’s way. Savvas is doing well and maybe together we can do better.’
‘We could use some of your brother’s good luck,’ Maroula said and reached for her husband’s hand. ‘If you think this is the best plan for us, Andreas, I have no objections now to leaving for the city; we must do what’s best for our children.’
‘You never know, wife,’ he replied, ‘maybe Hassan and Hatiche will follow us. Orhan needs to carry on with his studies too.’
‘Inşallah,’ Maroula replied, and looked over her shoulder at the icon of Agia Ekaterini, hoping that the saint had heard her plea. ‘I couldn’t be happier if that was to happen,’ she sighed, and promised that she would speak to her friend the very next day about their plan. Yes, you never know, she thought – given enough time, their friends might decide to make the move too. But if her family had to leave without the Terzis, it would be the first time they had been separated. She didn’t want to think about that.
The snow had been falling all night. Unlike Lambros and Anastasia, who were already up and calling each other excitedly, Maroula could hardly drag herself out of bed, unwilling as she was to leave its cosy warmth. Her thoughts had kept her awake most of the night and the eerie silence which comes with falling snow had prepared her for the sight she was faced with when she finally pushed off the heavy eiderdown and swung her legs to the floor, searching for her slippers. The room was as cold as she had expected; shivering, she reached for her dressing gown on the chair next to the bed. Wrapping the warm fabric around her she let out a long sigh and made her way to the kitchen. Andreas had already been up for hours and was now feeding the stove with more wood while Anastasia was cutting thick slices of bread for toast.
‘We’d better set off for school early,’ the girl said to her brother, who was still standing at the window.
Although snow was not an uncommon sight in their mountain village during winter, it was usually more of a flurry; the previous night’s snowfall was surprisingly substantial, bringing joy to the young and irritation to their elders who knew how much tougher their work would be in the bad weather. Lambros stood looking in wonderment at the village and forest ahead of him. Every rooftop and every treetop was covered in a clean crisp blanket of snow as if the whole village had just been whitewashed. He couldn’t wait to run out with Orhan and fill his lungs with fresh clean alpine air.
‘LAMBROS!’ Anastasia’s irritated voice snapped him out of his reverie. ‘Stop dreaming and come and help, it will take us longer this morning to get to school.’
With a heavy heart, Maroula walked into the kitchen and sat herself down at the table, watching as everyone busied themselves with their morning chores.
‘Kalimera, Maroula mou, how are you?’ Andreas greeted his wife. ‘Have you seen outside?’ He pointed to the window with his chin. ‘The chickens haven’t budged from their coop.’
‘What’s wrong, Mama?’ Anastasia asked, surprised to see her mother so out of sorts. ‘Father said you weren’t feeling so well.’
‘I’m fine, Anastasia mou, just a little cold, it’s this weather,’ she replied, unwilling to explain what was bothering her just yet. ‘You’d better call round for Orhan and Leila on your way,’ she said to change the subject. She and Andreas needed to have a long discussion with their children and this morning was not the time.
‘Don’t we always?’ the girl replied, surprised at her mother’s suggestion. ‘When do I ever walk to school without Leila?’ she added with a quizzical look.
‘I know, but with this snow . . .’ she didn’t finish her sentence. She got up slowly and reached for the bricky hanging on a hook above the sink. She had a heavy heart but she also had a heavy head this morning, and she knew that a large cup of coffee would at least deal with the latter and help her to think.
She stood at the window watching the four children disappear noisily down the road, throwing snowballs at each other, and her eyes filled with sorrow. She must go next door soon and talk to Hatiche. She gave yet another long sigh: how would they all manage to live without each other?
She pushed open the back door and stepped outside with a broom to clear a path. The snow, dazzlingly white in the sunlight, squeaked beneath her feet like the cornflour she used to make mahalepi, which in turn always reminded her of snow. She breathed in the crisp fresh air; the pure blue sky and the sun beating down on her back would normally have lifted her spirits, but today nothing seemed to work. It took her a surprisingly long time to clear the path, delaying the moment of having to speak to her friend.
Hatiche sat in silence for a long while after Maroula stopped talking. She was afraid that if she spoke too soon she would not be able to control the flow of tears she was holding back and she knew that would only add to the distress of them both. What good would tears bring, she told herself. Maroula wasn’t leaving her in order to punish her; this was equally painful for her, she was leaving for the good of her family, and Hatiche would do the same in her place. But Hassan’s business was thriving and if Orhan wanted to continue with his studies, Paphos was a good deal closer than Nicosia.
When Hatiche at last managed to speak, her words brought no surprises to Maroula; in fact, she later thought, she should have expected them.
‘I knew it, my friend,’ Hatiche said, her voice barely a whisper, ‘I read it in the cup. I have known for a while now but I didn’t dare breathe a word about it in case it was true.’ She reached for her friend’s hands and held them tight. ‘For the first time since I’ve been reading the coffee grounds, I hoped the cup was lying.’
The news of their impending move affected everyone in different ways. It would be a life-changing event for all four members of the Constandinou family; none of them had ever ventured far away, and apart from their lack of money, Andreas knew that his family was content with life as it was.
‘Even if you don’t get the scholarship your teacher hopes for, we have a duty to help you to continue with your studies,’ Andreas told his son after their evening meal a few nights after he and Maroula had made their decision. It was a bitterly cold night and they were huddled around the crackling fire in the kitchen, discussing future plans. Anastasia had just finished helping her mother to clear the dishes from the dinner table and was now at last about to join her father and brother by the fire; Maroula was handing out cups of sweet black Russian tea for further warmth.
‘I can earn more in Nicosia for your school fees, and your uncle Savvas has pledged to help us,’ Andreas continued and reached for his tea. ‘The family house is almost built, and it will be big enough for us all to live there. We wait and see about the scholarship; in the meantime you help me in the shop.’ He took a sip and looked over the rim of
his cup, anticipating the boy’s response. Maroula darted worried looks at her husband; they had never discussed leaving the village before and her anxiety was mounting at how her son would react.
‘What do you think?’ Andreas said again, hardly giving Lambros a chance to reply. ‘This will be a good move for you, my boy,’ he continued. ‘Your future isn’t here, your future is in the city. I stayed in this village and look where it got me. So, what do you think?’ He looked eagerly at his son.
Lambros took a sip of his tea, looked at his father and was about to speak when Anastasia interrupted him.
‘Does anyone care what I think?’ she blurted out, her voice raised, her cheeks flushed. ‘Doesn’t my opinion count to you?’ She looked from one parent to the other. ‘No one asked me if I wanted to go to Nicosia’ – her eyes flashed with anger now as she spoke – ‘and what about my school, do neither of you care about that at all?’
‘You will finish your schooling in the city,’ Andreas replied, open-mouthed at the girl’s unexpected outburst, having never imagined that Anastasia would have an opinion on the matter. ‘Besides, you have only one more year of school to go and you don’t even have to go if you don’t want to.’
‘Of course I want to finish school!’ she burst out again. ‘But that’s not the point – the point is that neither of you thought about me, or asked what I think. You never do!’ She darted a look at her mother.
‘I didn’t think you cared one way or another about school,’ Andreas said, bewildered. ‘Haven’t you been saying that you want to learn to sew with your mother?’
‘That might be so, but the fact is you only ever care about what Lambros thinks.’
‘Of course we care about you, my girl . . .’ Maroula said gently, trying to appease her daughter, and moved closer to take her hand.
