The Sunrise (19 page)

Not far away, across the inky blackness of the sea, Turkish naval units lay in wait.

W
HEN APHRODITI WOKE
the next morning, she saw a dent in the pillow next to hers. Savvas had already left.

The silence in the apartment was oppressive. She had to get out and find Markos. Hastily putting on her dress and shoes from the previous day, but leaving her jewellery on the side table, she hurried out.

In the foyer of The Sunrise, suitcases were lined up in organised rows. The guests themselves were less ordered. Several hundred people thronged round the reception desk, eager to settle their bills, the good manners usually observed by northern Europeans all now forgotten. The receptionists tried not to lose their tempers at the demands of the guests, many of whom were insisting on refunds, querying bills, and asking for explanations while dozens of others jostled behind them. There was change to be counted out, exchange rates to be calculated, receipts to be given.

A few small children chased each other round the fountain, squealing and laughing, oblivious to their parents’ anxieties. Costas Frangos tried to keep some kind of order, fruitlessly asking people to form a queue, trying to answer queries, organising taxis.

Aphroditi surveyed the scene, looking for one specific face amongst all these near-strangers. Several people approached her, clamouring for information, agitating to get their bills faster and demanding that she should help organise transport for them.

‘Mr Frangos will look after you,’ she said firmly, directing them to the hotel manager, who remained immaculate amidst the maelstrom of rudeness.

She wandered towards the terrace bar and the pool, and looked out over the beach. A few people stubbornly continued with their holiday routine, applying sun lotion, going for a dip and soaking up the rays. These were their precious annual days of hedonism and sunshine, and they were reluctant to give them up. When the queues in the reception area died down, they would stroll in to check on the situation, but for now they were not going to panic.

In their midst was Frau Bruchmeyer, who had no intention of going anywhere. This was her home. She looked up from her book and waved to Aphroditi from her sunlounger.

Aphroditi did not want to engage in conversation with anybody, so she returned to the foyer and retreated from the entrance. Chaos reigned outside, mostly created by the taxi drivers, who were shouting at each other, their cars clumsily parked and blocking each other’s exit.

Over by the door to the Clair de Lune, she saw the man she was looking for. Restraining herself from running, she went across to him.

‘Markos!’ she called breathlessly.

He spun round, a huge bunch of keys jangling in his hand.

With the noise going on all around them, they could speak without fear of being overheard.

‘Where have you been?’

Markos hesitated. ‘Look, why don’t you come inside? We can talk there.’

He double-locked the door behind them, and they went down the stairs and through a pair of velvet curtains into the nightclub.

‘I was worried about you.’

‘You mustn’t worry about me, Aphroditi,’ Markos said, taking her in his arms, stroking her hair.

‘It’s been two days!’

‘An eventful two days,’ he replied blandly.

His tone of voice was very matter-of-fact.

‘I’ve missed you,’ was all she could think of to say.

‘I had to be with my parents,’ he said. ‘They’re very anxious.’

She felt the light touch of his lips on her forehead and the unfamiliar sensation of being dismissed.

‘I have a few things to finish off before I leave,’ he said. ‘But I’ll see you soon. I’m sure it won’t be long before things are back to normal.’

‘Couldn’t I stay with you here a while?’

‘
Agapi
mou
,’ he said. ‘People will think it strange if they know you are here.’

‘I don’t think anyone will notice today,’ she said.

‘Even so, I think it’s best not,’ he said, stroking her arm in such a way that she was momentarily reassured of his affection.

He led her back to the front door and let her out. She was anguished by a sense of being embraced and pushed away at the same time.

Aphroditi heard the keys turn in the lock behind her, but after that, she was aware of little else. She felt disconnected from the world and drove straight across a crossroads, not registering that she had narrowly missed another car.

In this blind fashion she reached home and went upstairs to the apartment. She could think of nothing to do, so she rang her mother.

‘Aphroditi, I have been trying to call you but I couldn’t get through. What’s going on? What’s happening there?’

‘I’m fine, Mother,’ said Aphroditi. ‘There’s a bit of a panic. It probably looks worse on the news.’

‘It’s terrible. Poor Archbishop Makarios!’

Artemis Markides still regarded Makarios as her spiritual leader, and the fact that he had been deposed was her main concern.

‘You should come over to England if things get worse,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty of room here, as you know.’

‘I’m sure I won’t have to do that,’ said Aphroditi firmly. Leaving Cyprus to go and live with her mother was the last thing in the world on her mind. ‘We’re just coming to the final stage with the new hotel,’ she added, ‘and Savvas has no intention of stopping!’

‘Well, keep in touch, dear. I need to know that you’re safe.’

‘I will, Mother,’ answered Aphroditi.

The following morning, just as the sun was rising, Turkish planes were heard over Cyprus.

In the ground-floor apartment, Markos, Maria and Panikos gathered round the radio with their parents. They were avidly listening to the news on CyBC.

Turkey was demanding the restoration of constitutional order. They feared for the safety of the Turkish Cypriots and the imminent declaration of
enosis
by the perpetrators of the coup.
Their ultimatum had not been met, so they had landed thousands of Turkish paratroopers in the north of the island. Kyrenia, just forty miles from Famagusta, was being bombed. It was the family’s worst fear.

‘
Panagia
mou
,’ muttered Irini, her head bowed as if in prayer.

Maria sat next to her and took her hand.

‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ she said softly. ‘The Greeks will come and save us.’

‘Do you think so?’ Irini said, momentarily reassured.

‘Of course they will.’

Her small son tottered round and round the table, oblivious to the events of the day.

Irini Georgiou looked up at Markos. He knew she was thinking about Christos.

‘I’m sure he’ll be with us again soon,’ he said.

‘I can’t listen to this,’ said Vasilis Georgiou, storming angrily towards the door. ‘Why didn’t Makarios come to some arrangement with the Turks? Weren’t they supposed to want the same thing? They could have got rid of that Sampson together! Now see what’s happened!’

He was shouting at the air. Nobody in the room disagreed with him, but the situation was out of their hands and even Markos felt it futile to respond. In the brief silence that followed, a voice on the radio was suddenly audible. All able-bodied men were being called up to defend Cyprus.

Markos exchanged a look with Panikos.

‘We’ll have to go,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive.’

‘
Panagia mou!
’ Irini said, crossing herself. ‘Not you as well. Please not you as well …’

The instruction on the radio was repeated. It was a matter of urgency.

Panikos hugged Maria, who was fighting back the tears. He briefly touched her swelling stomach.

‘Don’t worry,
Mamma
,’ said Markos. ‘They’ll see that we’re not fighters.’

He knew that Savvas Papacosta would find a way to exempt himself and his right-hand man. As for Panikos, he was in no shape to defend the country.

As they left, Vasilis, knowing he did not qualify, took himself to the
kafenion
, where he continued to argue with his friends for an hour or so. By the time he returned, he would be ready to sleep off an excess of
zivania
and fury.

There was less anger but almost equal fear in the Özkan household. Turkish Cypriots knew that this new development would make each one of them vulnerable. They feared retaliation and knew they could be its victims.

Lots of young men were joining the TMT, preparing to defend their communities, and Emine Özkan begged her son to stay at home.

‘What good will it do?’ she insisted. ‘You don’t know one end of a gun from another!’

Ali did not reply. His mother’s words were far from the truth. He could take a semi-automatic pistol apart and put it back together in three minutes. There were so many villages that needed armed protection. He could not sit listening to reports on the radio without wanting to feel his finger on the trigger of a gun.

When night fell and everyone was trying to sleep, he whispered to Hüseyin, with whom he shared a room, that he was going.

‘Don’t try to stop me,’ he said, and the elder brother knew there was nothing he could do. Mehmet continued to sleep soundly in a small bed next to them as Ali crept from the room and left the house.

The National Guard were already known to be attacking Turkish Cypriot villages and quarters throughout the island. Turkish troops were heavily outnumbered, so young men like Ali knew they had a role to play.

That day, the streets of Famagusta were almost empty as people stayed in their homes, glued to their radios. There were developments hour by hour.

Irini and Maria listened nervously to reports of military clashes, praying that Markos and Panikos were safe. Cypriot navy boats, sent out from Kyrenia to engage the approaching Turkish naval flotilla, were sunk by combined Turkish air and naval attack. Greek Cypriot forces failed to dislodge the Turkish landing force, and their tanks and armoured vehicles were destroyed. Fighting then broke out in the mountains behind the town.

Around midday, they heard the slam of a car door. Markos sauntered in, with Panikos behind. The women leapt up and embraced them.

‘It was chaos,’ said Panikos. ‘No weapons, no plan. It was a shambles. They told us we could go.’

‘So who’s defending us?’ asked Vasilis gloomily. ‘If the Turkish troops link up between the coast and Nicosia, then it’s all over.’

‘I’m sure the United Nations will have some influence,’ Markos assured him. ‘And the best thing is that they are not taking sides …’

‘It sounds as if they’re blaming both sides, though,’ said Panikos, holding Maria as if he would never let her go.

Maria did not hide her relief that her husband and brother were back.

The United Nations Security Council was demanding immediate withdrawal of all foreign military personnel unless they were there under the authority of international agreements, and made it clear that they disapproved of the Greek coup that had precipitated the crisis as well as the Turks for taking military action.

‘At least if everyone keeps talking, things won’t get any worse,’ said Panikos optimistically.

There was every possibility that the situation would escalate into an all-out war that would not be confined to Cyprus. Greece had announced mobilisation, and troops were moving towards the border with Turkey.

Meanwhile, the Turks continued to claim that they had invaded purely to protect Turkish citizens, and that they hoped for the recommencement of talks between the communities.

Just down the road, the Özkan family was also anxiously considering events.

‘Perhaps it’s true,’ said Hüseyin. ‘They could just be here to protect us.’

Thousands of Turkish Cypriots had been driven from their homes, and many others were now effectively hostages in villages surrounded by the National Guard. Hundreds of others were being held in football stadia.

‘If the Turks hadn’t invaded, none of this would have happened!’ cried Emine in vexation.

‘You don’t know that,’ remonstrated Halit. ‘We could have found ourselves living like we did in the sixties. Those Greeks from Athens – they don’t want us here! Nothing’s changed.’

‘So perhaps they
did
come to protect us …’ repeated Hüseyin.

‘But all they’ve managed to do is put us in danger,’ responded his mother.

There was silence for a few moments before she exploded again, this time revealing the true cause of her anxiety.

‘And your brother …’ she cried, now in tears. ‘Ali! Where is he? Where has he gone?’

She knew her questions were futile. She left the room, and father and sons listened to the sound of sobbing that penetrated the walls.

The following day, Panikos went out to the electrical shop as usual, but business was dead. No one even came in for a light bulb.

Irini tirelessly tidied and dusted and cooked and then tidied once again. Everyone was on edge.

Vasilis came back home from the
kafenion
bringing plenty of rumour but also plenty of truth. Where one ended and the other began it was impossible to tell.

‘They’re using napalm!’ he exclaimed. ‘They could burn the entire island down that way!’

Irini urged him to be calm. ‘It might not be true. Sometimes it doesn’t help to talk that way,’ she said.

Christos’ absence cast a huge shadow over their lives, bringing the dread that hung over the fate of Cyprus into their home, into their own souls.

Meanwhile Turkish soldiers were making relentless progress; Cypriots from both communities looked on with fear as they saw well-drilled soldiers marching southwards.

In the chaos and terror following the invasion, waves of people, both Greek and Turkish, began to flee from their homes, taking with them only basic necessities. Many buried money and valuables in their gardens before they left. Thousands sought refuge in the military bases retained by Britain after independence.

Tourists had much more to worry about now. The island’s main airport had been bombed, and those still in Famagusta began to hear about the hundreds of people trapped in the Ledra Palace Hotel in Nicosia. Thousands of holidaymakers had already left after the coup against Makarios, but the invasion sent the rest of them into a blind panic.