by Nadia Marks
When she was little her mother always pinned a little blue glass charm inside her undergarments, the so-called mati, to fend off the curse of the evil eye and keep her from harm, and when she was older Maroula insisted that she hang the blue mati on a gold chain round her neck along with a gold cross given to her by her grandmother on her baptism. When Anastasia looked into Enver’s blue eyes now, she saw no evil; all she saw was love.
13
Did she really see love in Enver’s eyes, Anastasia asked herself, or did she only see what she desired? She had no way of knowing. She only knew how he made her feel, which was something like love – a strange unfamiliar sensation that disturbed her deeply. She believed she knew about love; after all, she loved Panos, or why else would she have agreed to marry him? Yet when Enver’s eyes were upon her they caressed her with such intensity she felt as if her skin was on fire. Neither Panos’s eyes, nor his hands, had ever sent such signals to her brain as to leave her breathless. She was no stranger to loving, she had plenty in her heart for the people she knew – in fact it was her chief motivation in life – but this, this kidnapping of her thoughts and senses she had never encountered before, and it was thrilling and frightening all at once.
Enver, at the age of twenty-four, had been in love several times with both English and Turkish girls, but none had ever had the effect that this Cypriot beauty had on him. From the very first moment he met her he was captivated. She drew him to her like a magnet and apart from her obvious good looks he sensed something else, something he had never felt with any other girl who came his way. There was a hint of rebelliousness about her which excited him; she was like a graceful gazelle, with eyes warm and sweet as mountain honey that spoke to him more than words ever could. No sooner had he met her than he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her lips, which her eyes were inviting him to do. He too had stayed awake that first night after they met in a torment of opposite impulses, scolding himself that he should keep away from the girl. Apart from being a family friend she was a Christian, a Greek. There would be no way she would ever have him, it was unheard of, and besides his aunt had told him the girl was already spoken for and betrothed to be married.
Anastasia and Enver both knew, both recognized and accepted silently and secretly to themselves, that their attraction to each other was mutual and momentous and had been simultaneously consumed by the same disturbing feelings for each other. Romantic love or erotic attraction, whatever this was, did not concern them. All they knew was that what they felt was both real and utterly impossible.
During the days that followed the two young people spent most of their time trying to avoid each other lest anyone pick up on the chemistry between them. Enver feared he couldn’t be responsible for his own behaviour if he came near Anastasia, while for her part, she knew that her actions would soon give away her feelings if she stood too close to him. She fretted about it privately and alone, not knowing who to turn to. Her usual modus operandi would have been to seek advice from her beloved Hatiche Hanoum or speak to Leila, or to confess to Orhan if she was in Nicosia. But for once she was alone, and what’s more she had no desire to share her feelings with anyone. Apart from anything else, what could she say? I have fallen in love with a man I don’t know, who is not my fiancé and who is a Muslim and a Turk? All three statements would be contradicting every principle she had believed in so far in her young life. Wasn’t she the one who had argued with her parents that she could never tolerate a union with a man she didn’t know, and that desiring someone purely on first appearances was abhorrent to her? Wasn’t she the one who had told Orhan that a union between a Christian and a Muslim was impossible, and wasn’t she the one who accepted Panos’s love because she had come to know and like him? She was a hypocrite, she rebuked herself; yet what she felt now for the first time in her life was too powerful and too all-consuming to allow for any feelings of remorse.
That summer which she had longed for and looked forward to for many reasons was turning out to be anything but relaxing for Anastasia. Now all she wanted was to spend time on her own to decipher her emotions and put order into her thoughts. But as privacy was not a concept understood too well by the Cypriots her apparent wish to be alone started to trigger reasons for concern, and drawing attention to herself was the last thing she wanted to do.
Lying in her bed at night was the only time and place that Anastasia was able to think in peace. Finally, after sleepless nights, she came to the conclusion that she had no choice but to accept and acknowledge that the feelings she had for Enver were real, and moreover that as she could do nothing about them she had to keep them in her heart as a precious gift from God. This, she also decided, meant that now she could not, nor even want to, marry Panos as she clearly did not love him. Enver would be her one and only true love, regardless of the fact that she could never belong to him.
After her decision Anastasia felt better, lighter and more at peace. She was less fearful of being in his presence, so she started to spend more time around him and the others. Her decision, and the knowledge that she loved him regardless, comforted her and indicated to her that this must be God’s will. He, she told herself, had sent her a love which she couldn’t have but could keep in her heart forever.
No matter how much she had tried to conceal her confusion, both Hatiche and Leila had noticed Anastasia’s withdrawal, so when she regained her composure and was her old self again they both breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I think she must have been missing her fiancé, it’s still early days,’ Hatiche told Leila after Anastasia breezed into the kitchen one morning and greeted everyone with her usual smile before joining Enver and his father out in the yard.
‘I know, Mother,’ Leila replied. ‘If I was engaged I wouldn’t have left my fiancé for so long.’
‘I think you youngsters should arrange to do something nice today to take her mind off it,’ Hatiche suggested.
‘I’ve been talking with Anastasia’s cousins about taking a hike up to Kato village, where there is a panigiri today,’ Leila suggested. As was customary every year, the closest village to them whose patron saint was the Prophet Elias was celebrating his name-day with a three-day-long fiesta which attracted people from all around the mountains.
‘Good idea, you can show Enver around, and explain to him how the Christians celebrate their religious festivals. I don’t suppose he’s seen any where he lives,’ her mother agreed. ‘You can take some food and make a day of it.’
It was almost mid-morning by the time they had all gathered in the backyard for their hike. There were seven of them in total. As well as Enver and the girls, Uncle Ahmet decided to come along with Anastasia’s three cousins from next door, two boys and a girl, Hambis, Costas and Agathi, all excited about their day’s adventure. They set off carrying baskets of food and water for the journey. They took fresh sesame bread and olive bread, freshly laid hard-boiled eggs, halloumi cheese and Hatiche’s keftedes, her famed meatballs which she had made for their lunch the day before with plenty left over, giant red tomatoes, and black olives.
‘We’ll pick ripe grapes from the vines on the way,’ Uncle Ahmet said with delight, ‘like we used to do when I was half the age you all are now.’
Although the sun was already high in the sky, a mountain breeze prevented them from overheating. The climb through the forest was steep but they all knew their way apart from Enver, who was more than happy to hang back and walk by Anastasia’s side.
‘You’re all regular little mountain goats, aren’t you?’ he remarked as he clambered behind her over a rocky slope.
‘You mean mouflons,’ his father teased back.
‘And what is a mouflon?’ Enver asked, looking at Anastasia.
‘It’s what you call a goat,’ she replied laughing, ‘only different!’
‘They’re the wild goats of Cyprus, son,’ his father started to explain. ‘If you were born and raised here like me you’d know all about them. They roam the forest, but they a
ren’t easy to spot.’
‘They’re very shy creatures. If you’re quiet and don’t disturb them you might get to see one,’ Anastasia added as they continued cheerfully on their way towards a clearing by a little stream for their picnic.
They sat on the ground, soft with pine needles and ferns, and dived into the baskets of food, hungry and thirsty from their climb. They ate with gusto before relaxing back in the summer breeze while one of the boys, Hambis, delved into his pocket and pulled out a harmonica. Bringing the mouth organ to his lips he started to play a lilting tune which filled the air, drowning the endless drone of the cicadas.
As the day progressed they lay languidly in the warm sun. Anastasia was leaning against a tree trunk while Enver lay on his side propped on his elbow, gazing at her. Eventually Hambis put down his harmonica and closed his eyes as one by one the company drifted into a doze in the afternoon heat.
‘Look at them all,’ Enver said and shifted a little closer to Anastasia. ‘No stamina. Shall we go for a little walk to find some mouflons?’ He reached for her hand. As if hypnotized, she obediently started to get up. He helped her to her feet and holding her by the hand led her into the forest. They followed the stream, which led them into a heavily wooded area.
‘Over there!’ she called out softly, spotting an animal behind a tree. They both stopped in their tracks. She pointed to some rustling leaves in the distance. ‘See it?’ She brought her index finger to her lips to stop him from speaking. ‘He’s behind that tree . . . see?’ But the creature had fled to safety before he managed to glimpse it. Enver didn’t care, because at that moment the only thing that the young man had eyes for or cared about was the girl standing next to him whom he desired more than he had desired anything in his life before. Taking a bold step towards her, he pulled her with one arm against him and kissed her lips with such intense urgency that it made her stumble backwards.
‘Seni seviyorum,’ I love you, he murmured, releasing his grip a little, his breath burning in her ear, his voice throaty and hardly audible. Bringing his other arm round her waist he pulled her closer yet, in an embrace so tight, so powerful she could hardly breathe, her heart thumping, her head spinning. ‘You are my destiny.’ He murmured more words she did not understand. His head was bent over her face, his eyes blazing with passion, her heart thumping. Standing on tiptoe she looked up, lifted her arms, wrapped them around his neck and pulled his face to hers with as much force as he had done earlier, offering him her parted lips. They stayed locked in each other’s arms for timeless minutes – how long neither of them knew – until they heard voices calling for them from afar.
The rest of their day was spent in blissful confusion and delirium.
From then on everything changed for Enver and Anastasia. They both knew that life would never be the same for them again. The knowledge of their shared passion gave them wings and made their hearts soar with courage to face the truth which they knew had existed since the day they met.
Creating opportunities to be alone again wasn’t easy. After the day of the picnic the first time that they managed to steal away from everyone was the day that was to change the whole course of their lives and of those close to them too.
With the arrival of Bambos’s mobile post office, Enver suggested that Anastasia accompany him for a stroll in the village under the pretext of posting a letter.
‘Maybe we can go and look for those mouflons of yours too,’ he suggested, darting a glance at her as they drank their early morning coffee together with Ahmet in the backyard. Hatiche and Leila had left early that morning to catch the farmer from the nearby village, who was still delivering fresh produce from his farm.
‘Good idea,’ his father encouraged. ‘I spotted one the other day quite near the village when I went for a walk.’
‘You never know . . . I might be lucky second time around,’ Enver said and gave Anastasia a dimpled smile that melted her heart.
No sooner had they finished their coffee than they left the house before the two women returned, to avoid having to explain where they were going. They made their way straight into a large orange grove, which in turn led deep into the forest thus bypassing the square: it would most certainly have caused unwanted village gossip if they were seen heading into the woods alone together.
They walked side by side for a long while between the densely planted orange trees laden with not-as-yet ripe fruit. They held tightly on to each other’s hands until they reached the start of the woodlands, and only when they felt they were safe and protected by the deep forest did they stop. Enver bent his head to look into Anastasia’s eyes and cupping her face kissed them both in turn, then softly kissed her lips. She looked down at her hands and removed the gold band on the third finger of her left hand that tied her to Panos and placed it in her pocket. Then, taking hold of her arms, Enver gently pulled her down onto the soft pine-scented ground and there among the plane trees and pines, to the sounds of birdsong and the mountain breeze rustling through the leaves, they made love for the first time, with no conscious thought or awareness other than of each other and the pleasures of the senses. Anastasia had never imagined that anything could be so all-consuming as this act. Any pain she might have felt from losing her virginity was overshadowed by the joy of his love and the flood of pleasure that engulfed body, mind and heart all at once.
Neither of them felt any remorse. This was indeed their destiny. Nothing mattered to them anymore, nothing at all, not religion, nor culture, nor language nor moral judgement. The only thing of any significance for them now was their love and each other. Nothing would come between them.
14
London, 2008
‘Ah, Anastasia, Anastasia,’ Lambros sighed, looking at Stella, ‘she was born a rebel and lived like one . . .’
The old man reached for his coffee and sat back in his chair. ‘She had a great future as a businesswoman, you know. A talented seamstress, which I suppose would have made her what you now call a fashion designer like young Erini. But she didn’t do it, she ruined it all.’
‘What do you mean, ruined it all, Papa?’ Stella looked quizzically at her father.
‘She went and fell in love with a Turk, that’s what.’
‘Papa!’ Stella raised her voice and darted a disapproving look at her father. ‘How can you say that? Your best friend was a Turk! How was it so wrong?’
‘Yes, but you don’t understand, Stella mou, it just wasn’t done then, nobody married outside their religion – it wasn’t like it is here and now in Europe. Christians and Muslims couldn’t mix their blood together. Right or wrong, that’s how it was.’
‘Wrong!’ Stella swallowed hard to stop herself from saying more. She had no wish to plunge into a debate with her father just then. She wanted him to tell her more about the past. ‘Is that why you hardly ever talk about your sister?’ Stella asked, encouraging him to go on. ‘Is that why I know so little about her?’
‘Yes, at the beginning it was that, and there was all the political stuff too that made things difficult, but not for me. For me it was about the rift she caused between us all.’
‘What exactly happened, Papa?’ Stella asked, curiosity getting the better of her and seizing the opportunity to ask Lambros more, now that she had found him willing to talk. She had wanted to ask her father about this family skeleton for many years, but he had refused to talk about it. Her aunt Anastasia had always been something of a mystery. But perhaps now at last she might be able to piece some of the story together.
‘Well, you see,’ Lambros continued, ‘after my sister decided to do what she did, she broke your yiayia’s heart, brought shame to the family and divided everyone in half.’
‘What does that mean, Papa, divided everyone in half? I don’t understand!’
‘You know what I mean, it’s a Greek expression; she came between us all. Our family was all against it but the Terzi family seemed to be OK with it as the boy was a Turk and a member of their family; at least I think th
ey all were. I never found out what Orhan thought about it.’
‘From what you tell me, Papa, he was very religious; do you think that’s what upset him? If the Christians were against it why wouldn’t a very pious Muslim be opposed to the match too?’
‘Orhan was very close to my sister . . . now when I try and make some sense of it all I wonder if he was sweet on her himself. But you see, Stella mou, he would never have admitted such a thing. We grew up together, we were family and he was honourable and, as you say, very religious so her actions must have been as upsetting to him as to all of us.’
‘If only you could have seen each other and spoken about it—’ Stella started to say but Lambros fervently cut into her sentence.
‘Exactly! That is why I can’t forgive myself, I rushed to judge him too quickly. None of this was his fault, but that’s another story.’
‘Oh, Papa, it’s so sad.’ Stella reached for her father’s hand. ‘It’s such a sad story, but she only fell in love, was that really such a crime?’
‘You might not think that now, my girl, but remember those were different times,’ Lambros replied. ‘Falling in love was drama enough then, but that wasn’t all, there was everything else too . . .’
15
Cyprus, 1950
Once Anastasia and Enver had decided that nothing in the world would separate them they went to Hatiche. The two lovers told the older woman what had happened and asked for her blessing. She listened with a troubled mind, for she knew this could not end well, no matter how much love the two young people had in their hearts or how much was shared between their two families. She loved Anastasia like her own, and Maroula like a sister, but she knew only too well that her friend would find this unacceptable and see it as a betrayal. Greeks and Turks had lived harmoniously in the village for generations but there was always one factor that set them apart and that was the dividing line that both communities would never compromise on or renounce – their religion. The Constandinous and the Terzis were no exception. Even if the political unease that was on the rise on the island at that time was creating discord between Turks and Greeks, mainly fuelled by the British colonial rule, both families had refused to allow conflict to come between them, much to the disapproval of certain members of their community. However, when it came to their faith, that remained non-negotiable for them all.
