Chapter 17 - Nearer The Truth

There was not an awful lot wrong with this chapter although I had to rework the woman proprietor of the Bellapais cafe to make her more believable. Bellapais is a beautiful small village overlooking the sea but travel a little off the beaten tourist track and you will find the other side of Turkish Cypriot society, a male dominated world where women go quietly about their work, avoiding eye contact. The men gather in groups, smoking and drinking Raki, and regarding strangers with much suspicion. Their way of life contrasts greatly from the Greek Cypriots who live in modern housing and who have a more outward look on life.

Enda and Jessica find someone who can lead them to Jamilya. They are about to enter the downtown area of Bellapais to see her and learn some very dark secrets.

                                                          CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cyprus is a wonderful island but travelling a long distance in a car on a hot day is no treat, especially when there’s no air conditioning. There’s one main crossing point into the north and that’s in Nicosia at the Ledra Palace.

       We left the hotel early, windows rolled down, and were on our way to Bellapais to try and find Isia’s friend, Jamilya. After travelling along the coast for a few miles, we passed Limassol and turned onto the main highway going north.

       My plan was to get to Bellapais as soon as possible but Jessica insisted we have a quick lunch on the way, before we entered the north. Turkish cuisine did not suit her palate.

       “I guess so,” I’d answered. “Did you know there’s a McDonald’s in-?”

       “No, Enda,” she’d retorted, nose in the air.           

       As we drove along the highway, Jessica went through notes from our previous day’s experience. She’d written them onto a large pad. According to her translation, the man with the shotgun had bad mouthed Isia, calling her a ‘lady of lose morals’. I accepted her version but knew the man had said something far worse.

       Jessica pushed the sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and turned back to her notes.  “I expect that’s why all the men in the village knew her – or maybe they were just branding her for another reason,” she said, more to herself than to me.

       A blast of hot air filled the car as a large covered truck passed us going the other way. The rush of air brought with it a cloud of swirling dust that blew across my face and settled in my hair. I shook my head and brushed the front of my shirt. Dust was everywhere.

       Jessica covered her mouth with a hand and wrinkled her nose at me. She waved the other hand to get me to slow down as we passed an old woman riding a donkey. Large net bags loaded with oranges hung from either side of the animal. With practiced ease, Jessica pulled her camera from a bag between her feet and took several shots. We continued driving.

       Returning to her notes, she asked, “So what of Isia? Do you really think she was?..... And what about George?”

       I shook my head, reading her mind. I explained. If George and Isia were having an affair they would have broken all social and religious protocols. Her family would have beaten her and disowned her. I hoped for her sake, Isia had kept her secret after George died. “I hope she’s okay,” I muttered.

       “Well, look who’s got a warm heart?” Jessica patted my knee. She changed the subject. “Have you found out any more about how the marbles are going to be packed?”

       “Some,” I said. The marbles needed to be packed and stored in a safe way, their recovery guaranteed in case of a catastrophe.  They were going to be waterproof and I was pretty sure some sort of compressed air device would aid them back to the Mediterranean’s surface. I still had to make enquiries. I’d thought she might have got onto that.

“I guess you’ve been on my mind to much lately,” I said truthfully.

       “Enda, that’s feeble.” She slapped my arm and gave a short husky laugh.

      

After lunch we called in at the checkpoint, filled out forms for a day pass and were soon through and into the Turkish sector heading north.

       Bellapais village overlooks the sea and stands on a sloping terrace a couple of miles inland. To the East there’s a long ravine. Apart from that the place is pretty spartan.

       The real attraction is the Gothic abbey that stands to the north end of the village. Tourists flock here to join guided tours, each armed with a camera and a wallet full of money that’s quick to disappear in the tacky souvenir shops and small eateries.

       “Where are we going to start?” asked Jessica, stepping out of the car.

       I slammed the door behind me and looked around. From the lines of tables and chairs outside the tea house, hundreds of male eyes turned to look at us – actually, Jessica. Small groups of men in doorways stopped talking and stared. If Jessica was worried, she didn’t show it.

        “I suppose we should make for the dingiest part of town.  It would be better if I asked women, although I’ll probably get some odd stares.”

       Jessica shrugged. “I’ll ask.”

       “That could be worse.” I imagined the response if she started doing that.

       “What about asking a policeman?”

       “No, the last thing we do is talk to a man, how about a waitress or shopkeeper?”

       The small restaurant we found was full of tourists. Fighting our way through the souvenir festooned frontage, we found a vacant table next to a hoard of loud Germans.

       There were several waitresses and our one spoke passable English. After ordering coffee, Jessica asked her about Jamilya. The girl shook her head and replied her mother, the owner, might know.

       With that, she disappeared with our order.

       A minute later a woman with large black eyebrows and a remarkable hairy top lip hunched over us and laid both huge hands flat on the dirty wooden table. A bundle of graying hair was tied in a bun and her grubby black dress stank of grease. The once white apron was marked with a variety of stains.

       The woman smiled, showing a row of yellowed teeth. “You want ….Jamilya.” She waved a finger between the photo, me, and her eyes as she made sure I understood her broken English. “I know you want ….. see ….her.” She was looking at the photo and nodding slowly.

       “You know her name?” I reached for my wallet, opening it to show my press ID.

       Her outstretched hand hovered over my wallet. She nodded again and clicked her fingers.

       Jessica was looking out of the window, trying not to laugh. She wasn’t trying too hard.

       “English pound is okay. Twenty for me…. twenty for Ester…. son. He will take you…. see Jamilya.”

       I winked and the smile widened. Her hand remained poised to grab. Isia’s photo lay on the table. “You know Isia too?”

       I felt conned but pulled the money out. The woman’s grubby hand took it, sifted it, and deposited it into the apron pocket with practiced ease.

       “Isia, yes. She a good friend…. Jamilya.”

       “Does Isia still live here?”

       The woman’s smile vanished….. “Jamilya?” There followed more hand waving. “She tells you what you want.” Her bushy eyebrows rose up and down and her eyes had a suggestive glint in them. “Everyone know Jamilya. Ester take you. I fetch him.”

       She bustled away into the kitchen. Her voice boomed out in Turkish above the general hubbub.

       I turned to Jessica and whispered, “If I was him I’d run, she looks like the cook from hell.”

       Jessica smothered a laugh. Ester appeared from the kitchen. He didn’t say anything but there was the faintest hint of a sneer as he passed us.

       The woman stood in the opening to the kitchen, her hands on hips, indicating we should follow with a slight nod of the head.

       “Thank you,” I murmured. Jessica and I rose together.

       I followed Jessica out through the drab tables, pleased we did not have to eat lunch there.

       Outside, Ester headed up the street at a fast pace, dodging between tourists and baskets of produce stacked on the pavement. I pulled Jessica by the hand and half trotted to catch up. “Stay close. You need to keep your eyes open,” I said, breathing heavily. I gripped her hand. We were leaving the tourist area for the darker side of town and I wasn’t too keen about Jessica being there. My fears were confirmed the moment we caught up with Ester after turning the next corner.