This chapter took a long time to write. I was trying to remember what Paphos was like when I visited the island in the seventies, just before the Turks invaded. The place has changed a lot and I really wanted to get things right. I had no notes because I'd only been in the town for a day at the time. I spent a long time poring over articles from old archives and the Internet. In the end I did remember the surrounding countryside and other faint recollections of an old man leading a donkey, the Indian shopkeepers, and the terrible hotel - at that time listed as a three star place. It was awful. I also remember getting scorched legs due to not parking the Ford Escort out of the early morning sun. In the end I managed with the information at hand.
Enda and Jessica manage to find a Turkish village where Isia was known and an old man who tells them where to find her friend, Jamilya. Oh yes - and Enda has a sleepless night but not before Jessica keeps him where she wants him - under the thumb and still unsure of their relationship.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Inside every doorway a shopkeeper’s face
smiled, ready to light up and wish you well and take you on a guided tour of
the shelves if you ventured inside. Language and money were no problem.
Travelers’ checks changed with ease and the day’s exchange rate; dependent on
how slow business was, worked out in the blink of an eye. In September,
tourists were staying away because of the soaring temperatures. The place
looked like London’s favorite seaside resort, Southend-on-sea at the end of the
summer season – deserted and devoid of any cultural character.
We’d
arrived two hours earlier. While we booked in at one of the more expensive
hotels the clerk informed us there wouldn’t be any water for twelve hours. I left
a frustrated Jessica with the manager and went for a stroll along the
boulevard. I wanted to think.
We
chose Pafos for a reason. The cove in which Stevenson and his men had ambushed
George showed up as a dot on the map a few miles to the north. It could be
reached by road followed by a two mile hike. According to various press
reports, George operated in the north west of the island. It stood to reason
that Isia must have come from the same area; an area with half a dozen or so
thinly populated villages. Armed with just a name and a photo, I hoped we could
track the girl or her family down. Jessica had made enquiries about Isia before
we left London but she found nothing. It appeared there had been no proper
census records kept on the island before nineteen seventy-four.
I
walked back to the hotel and made arrangements at reception to have a hire car
for the next day. It was eight p.m. and the heat made me tired. I wanted a shower but it didn’t look like I
would get one unless the hotel had fixed the problem.
“Well,
hello stranger.” Jessica appeared from the elevator. Slipping an arm through
mine, she announced she had a surprise. We were on the top floor and there were
fabulous views across the sea. Not only that, there was water. It came from a
separate tank on the roof. She moved me away from the desk and whispered,
“Actually it’s what they call the
penthouse suite. I call it the pits but at least we have water.”
“You
changed our rooms?”
“Yes,
don’t worry, I paid.” She pushed the button to summon the elevator back.
“There’s only one small problem.”
The
elevator doors opened. “What’s that?” I asked.
“There’s
only one bed.”
I
turned as she pushed me into the elevator. “Sorry, but I must have water. Oh,
and that’s another thing,” she said, absent-mindedly. “We have to conserve what
water there is so we’ll bathe together. There’s a Jacuzzi.”
We
traveled up in silence. I was too afraid to talk while Jessica tried hard not
to laugh. The corners of Jessica’s mouth twitched as she tried to control a smile.
I decided to act nonchalantly. If this was a joke I didn’t want her to think I
was expecting any extras.
The
penthouse suite turned out to be three rooms. A shower and toilet, a sparsely
furnished lounge with three easy chairs, a sideboard with built in minibar and
a dining table straight out of the sixties. A queen-sized bed dominated the
bedroom. In one corner stood a writing table and in another, a couple of old
chairs. Set into the floor near the balcony doors a pink Jacuzzi looked out of
place but none the less, a welcome sight.
Net
curtains billowed into the room on a sea breeze that wafted through the open
glass doors. Outside, white plastic furniture faced toward the Mediterranean
which, under the waning light of a setting sun, was turning a deep blue.
“Pour
the water, Enda. Last one in is a sissy. Isn’t that what you say?” Her voice
came from the shower room.
“Yes.”
I was at the taps and turning them before she finished speaking.
I
found a small bottle of scented bath oil and poured the contents into the
water. Undressing quickly, I threw my clothes on the bed and in my rush to seek
refuge, stepped into the bath with my socks on. Sitting on the end of the bed
and feeling bloody stupid, I pulled the socks off and threw them on the floor.
I
slipped under the bubbles a minute later just before she appeared with a bottle
and two glasses. Still in her clothes, she wore the biggest of grins.
“I’m
sure you and the wine are at room temperature by now.” She kept her eyes on me and chuckled.
My
grin covered my embarrassment. “Well at least I get to bathe first.”
I felt humiliated that I’d not acted my age
and she had shown me up. What had I promised myself in the lift? I should have
known better and guess I got what I deserved.
“Pour
the bloody wine before it gets hot,” I said, flicking suds at her.
She
giggled and put the wine and glasses on the edge of the Jacuzzi. “Just a
second…..”
She
slipped out of her shoes and put one foot over the side of the Jacuzzi and into
the water, followed by the other. Allowing her dress to billow about her as she
lowered herself into the water, she sat next to me, our bare thighs touching.
Our eyes met and we laughed. As the laughter subsided I grabbed her by the
shoulders and pushed her down under the suds amid screams of protest. When she
surfaced, her arms encircled my neck and we kissed.
The
ember of expectation that had been shouldering all evening erupted into a fire.
I peeled her wet dress up and over her shoulders and dropped it in a sodden
heap on the floor. I ached from head to toe, unable to focus. I’d never
experienced that before. Her breasts
felt soft against my chest and her lips hot. We caressed and kissed until her
nails dug into my back, pulling me into her.
Later,
after lying on the bed together in silence, she said, “Do you think I should
call Max and let him know?” She recalled the holiday conversation with Max.
I smiled and gave her a playful slap. “Yeah,
right, make his day.”
She raised herself up on an elbow and lent
over me, drawing a finger lightly down my chest. “You’ll do for me, Enda.
Whatever else, you have a big heart and that I really like.”
Jessica
didn’t know it but that was the best compliment any woman ever paid me. It
showed how she really felt. I kissed her and said, “I’m madly in love with you.”
“I
know.” Shifting to her side, she looked at me and said, “Let’s just say we’re
really good friends for now and you’re on probation.”
The old Ford Escort ran well
enough. There being no air conditioning, we kept the windows right
down.
Jessica wore a long loose red cotton dress, a pair of sandals and
Ray-Ban’s. I, on the other
hand, cursed
myself for failing to dress for the occasion. A pair of khaki shorts are great
for walking
but not for driving. It might have been September but on Cyprus
it’s the second hottest month. My
thighs were cooking on the hot plastic seat.
I loosened a couple of buttons on my shirt and adjusted
the ball cap.
Sunglasses shaded most of the sun but my eyes were sensitive in bright light,
a legacy from the fire that killed my parents.
Jessica looked down at an unfolded map across her lap. “Let me see now, she traced the road north to the Akamas Peninsula and the town of Polis. “Can we stop near Polis? She wanted to see Aphrodite’s Baths, where Akamas, the son of Theseus surprised Aphrodite who was bathing nude by seeing her reflection. She glanced sideways at me. “Please?”
Not wanting to disappoint her, I agreed, although the visit would have to be on the way back. Isia came first. As an afterthought, I added, “Wasn’t there an unhappy end to that love affair?”
“Yes, Aphrodite returned to her husband, the god Hephaestus.” She gave my knee a squeeze. “Did you know that if you drink from the spring that feeds the baths you’ll fall hopelessly in love?”
I gave her a little nudge in the side. “Must have been some of that spring water in our Jacuzzi,” I said, looking straight ahead. I drew a deep breath. “In the meantime, where do we go from Polis?”
The car suddenly lurched to one side as we hit a pothole. Jessica’s map fell to the floor. The car juddered for a second and the engine nearly died.
“Bloody roads are useless and this car isn’t much better.” I looked sideways and our eyes met. We both half smiled at each other. I went back to complaining about the dust and drove on.
Our route took us west of Polis to a village called Dyo Potamoi. Another three or four villages were located to the south.
George operated in the northwest, mainly around the area from Pafos to Polis and the whole of the coast near the British firing range. He smuggled arms and men right under the army’s nose and moved them east through canyons and gullies into the Pafos Forest.
I hoped someone might recognize Isia and point out how we could find her. She obviously didn’t live in the area any more. All the Turkish Cypriots had moved into the northern enclave after the invasion. The division line meandered between Kato Pyrgos in the West to Famagusta in the East, and north of the area we were in.
We drove along the main road north passing large green orange and lemon groves; each carefully tended tree heavy with fruit. Several miles further, we left the road and headed down a dusty track to Dyo Potamoi. The track ended in a square surrounded by dingy hut-like homes caked in whitewashed plaster. Most were windowless, the openings covered by a slatted wooden shutter. All had flat roofs where lines of washing dried in minutes. Further into the village a long hitching rail, covered by a thatch roof of branches and long thick grass, provided shade for a line of silent donkeys standing with heads bowed. In the middle of the square a teenage boy dressed in dirty shorts and T shirt sat under a eucalyptus tree. He held onto a small donkey, its tail swishing the flies away at regular intervals.
The boy stared at us with large brown eyes as we stopped the car. As I climbed out, I caught sight to his feet. On one foot he wore a faded blue cord slipper and nothing on the other. I wiped beads of sweat from my eyes and forehead.
Jessica, fanning her face with the folded map, looked across at me. “Let me do the talking.”
“He won’t speak English,” I said.
She walked over to the boy and said a few words. The boy got up and led the donkey away without saying a word. A dozen men appeared from behind some huts and stood in front of us. None of them smiled.
Jessica tried again although I could sense the tension in her voice. “I want some information about a girl called Isia….. She swallowed and started again. “We think she lived around here some time ago. Does anyone know of her?”
The circle around us parted and a middle aged man stood pointing a shotgun at us. I’m not a coward but there’s something about the barrel end of a gun that really makes me nervous. The man snarled something at us and gestured with the shotgun for us to go. I took a step back, pulling Jessica with me. The man continued shouting obscenities, I’m sure. He kept spitting on the ground.
Jessica spoke to him, calmly, asking the same question. This time she tried in broken Turkish.
The reply got even louder. I grabbed for her arm and pulled her back.
“Time to go, let’s get out of here,” I said, taking another step back.
“Just a minute, Enda.”
“No! Now!” I wasn’t arguing with her.
We walked backward to the car with careful steps, followed at a distance by the small crowd led by the man with the gun. I crunched the car into reverse gear, eased my foot on the accelerator, and drove out of the square to the track.
Jessica looked out at the crowd of men. “That was close,” she breathed.
“Close? You could have got us shot!” I drove forward in a cloud of dust, the car bouncing over the rough ground until we reached the track. The crowd disappeared from view in the driving mirror. “What the hell did the man say anyway? He obviously knew her.”
Jessica picked up her map and unfolded it. “Oh yes, he knew her.”
I spotted an old man walking out onto the track about twenty yards ahead of us.
“Now what!” I slammed the brakes on and stopped short, hoping he didn’t have a gun.
“Calm down, Enda. He’s just an old man.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t know there was an age limit on firing a gun. If he’s got one – what are you going to do?”
“Got your red cape?”
The old man stepped up to Jessica’s window. “Go to Bellapais and ask for the whore Jamilya. She can tell you about Isia.” He held a leathery hand out for the customary gift and Jessica reached for her purse.
“Can you tell us where Isia is?” I asked.
He waved us away. “You must go now.”
“Bellapais is on the map. I saw it earlier,” said Jessica. “Its south of Kyrenia. You were right. This is the area she came from.” She looked at her watch. “Thirteen-thirty, time for lunch.”
“Okay, lunch it is,” I answered. “We’ll look for Bellapais tomorrow. At least we’ve found someone who knew Isia. Now, lead me to the place of gods and lovers.”
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