The Sunrise (37 page)

Markos turned back to his work. Hüseyin could now make out his features. They were dimly illuminated from below by a small kerosene lamp, which cast distorting shadows on his face. The expression of demonic greed was unmistakable, and Hüseyin saw him more clearly in this half light than ever before.

All over the surface there were neat piles of small boxes and a mound of velvet bags. Piece by piece, Markos removed the jewellery and spread it out, concentrating, calculating and making notes on a pad.

Hüseyin could see mounds of glinting gold and dazzling precious stones. It was an astonishing hoard.

He watched as Markos picked up three or four items and dropped them casually into his jacket pocket. The others he carefully packaged up again and replaced in the safe.

Hüseyin backed away and crept up the stairs. The picture was now clear. Finally he understood why Markos regularly left the city. Money, guns and gold. It made perfect sense.

As Markos locked the safes, he looked up suddenly, thinking he had heard a noise. But there was no one there. He gathered his papers and glanced with satisfaction at the numbers written there.

Back in July, Markos had found that the items he was safeguarding for his brother in the vault were suddenly objects of great desire. After the invasion, not only guns but also gold had gone up in value. In addition to Aphroditi’s jewellery, in itself worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, he had undertaken to look after necklaces, bracelets and rings for several of the local jewellery stores. He had let it be known that, with its layers of doors and its combination locks, the strongroom at The Sunrise was more secure than anywhere on Cyprus. People felt confident about leaving their valuables there. Some of them had deposited their best pieces with Markos as early as 20 July, when the first of the Turkish troops had landed in the north.

Since then, property, land, stocks and shares had all dropped sharply in value, so Markos was one of the few people on the island with any real wealth. His only problem now was finding enough storage space for the vast amount of cash and jewellery in his possession.

Over the next few weeks, Hüseyin followed Markos every time he could. He realised that Markos had worked out with almost mathematical precision where the troops were positioned and at what time there was a change of duty. Judging by the complex route he took to the wire and how relaxed he seemed at times, he knew where they were garrisoned, where they watched from and the best time to leave The Sunrise. He realised that Markos even took into account the phases of the moon. During the days before and after it was full, he took extra care.

On every journey, he was catlike in his avoidance of Turkish soldiers. In spite of this, Hüseyin knew that Markos’ conduct was a risk to everyone at The Sunrise.

He did not know how Markos had come by the guns, but it sickened him that he was clearly smuggling jewellery that was not his own out of the city.

One night, when Hüseyin saw Markos reach the wire, he decided he would follow him out. There were a few buildings and just about enough trees to give a slim man a hiding place. As long as Markos did not look over his shoulder at the wrong moment, Hüseyin would be safe.

He trailed him three or four miles to a crossroads and eventually saw Markos reach a cluster of abandoned vehicles. Hüseyin guessed that they had been there since the mass exodus from the city. He heard the dry, choking sound of an old engine being brought to life and saw a vehicle move off. Amongst all these clapped-out vans and cars, Markos had found one that still functioned.

As he disappeared out of sight, Hüseyin wondered what happened when this snake of a man met Turkish soldiers. He knew instinctively that Markos would find a way. He was fluent in Turkish, as he was always keen to demonstrate in front of the Özkans, so Hüseyin imagined that language would get him through. Clearly he also had plenty of cash and gold with which to bribe them.

Cautiously Hüseyin made his way back to the fence, his curiosity more than satisfied. He began to question everything that had taken place over the past months. He now suspected that Markos was using the Özkans as a buffer to keep his own family safe. There was nothing Hüseyin would put past him. He wondered just how much they had all been manipulated.

He knew, though, that he had to keep everything to himself. Even if Markos was effectively keeping them all there for his own benefit, it would be hard to prove.

The following day, a thick fog came in from the sea. The atmosphere was heavy and the mood at The Sunrise was low.

When Hüseyin saw Markos the next morning, smiling and charming as usual, in spite of the gloom into which everyone else had been plunged, he could not smile back. He could not share the good cheer displayed by the Greek Cypriot.

It was seven months since the beginning of their time alone in the city, and nearly six since they had arrived at The Sunrise. Most of them were still enjoying the ample store cupboards, and for Emine and Irini the luxurious bedrooms with their fine linen and well-appointed bathrooms were a daily pleasure.

Gradually the two older men had lowered their guard with each other. They smoked, sometimes drank and even discussed their political views, clicking their worry beads almost in unison.

Panikos was kept busy doing practical jobs, and Maria helped with the cooking but was mostly preoccupied with the baby, who continued to thrive and grow.

The little boys had become inseparable, playing together all day and every day, chasing up and down the stairs, kicking balls in the corridors and building camps out of cushions and chairs. They knew that their games had to be played with the minimum of shouting and squeals, but they were used to this now. Mehmet and Vasilakis enjoyed more freedom in The Sunrise than they might have done outside it.

It was spring now, and with a change of season came fine rain. The beach, which was out of bounds in any case, now held little allure.

F
OR MANY WEEKS,
Aphroditi had been lying in her bed. Savvas was grateful to have Kyria Loizou acting as her nurse and happy to have her coming and going to and from their apartment. He had moved into the spare room.

Kyria Loizou was almost constantly at Aphroditi’s bedside, dressing wounds, changing sheets and holding her hand. It was clear that Aphroditi did not want to talk about what had happened, and it had not been difficult for the older woman to surmise that she wanted to keep something from her husband too.

Savvas accepted the story that his wife had slipped and fallen down the stairs. It would explain her broken fingers and bruised face. He was solicitous but not over-enquiring. His optimism had returned as the country settled down, and he was far more interested in the business opportunities that this new Cyprus offered.

On his trip to Limassol he had acquired some contacts and was already in discussions over a new hotel.

‘I know it’s long-term,’ he said, ‘but we have to think ahead. It might be a while before we can get The Sunrise back.’

He was sitting on a chair at the end of the bed and continued chatting for a few minutes, unaware of Aphroditi’s reaction.

‘I’ve no idea what’s happened to Markos Georgiou,’ he said. ‘He never showed up with the keys.’

Aphroditi turned her head away so that he could not see her face.

‘Your bruises are going down,’ he said brightly. ‘I think we should resurface the staircase with something non-slip. There are some very good materials around these days. All the hotels have started using them. I’ll get it priced up.’

That afternoon, Kyria Loizou found Aphroditi weeping. It was the first time she had cried.

The mention of Markos Georgiou’s name had brought her mind back to the image of him that she had seen that terrible night in Famagusta. Suddenly there was clarity. She knew with blinding certainty that it had not been a hallucination.

The elderly woman took her hand, and when she looked into Aphroditi’s eyes she saw a familiar grief. It was as deep as it had been on the morning she had returned with her injuries.

Up until now, Aphroditi had not confided anything, though her demeanour had already told Kyria Loizou a great deal. That day she was ready to speak.

‘Have you ever made such a terrible mistake … that you can’t make it better?’ she asked through her tears.

Kyria Loizou squeezed her hand.

‘Everyone makes mistakes from time to time,’ she answered kindly.

‘Not like this,’ replied Aphroditi. For a moment she seemed to be speaking to herself, weeping at the same time. ‘He was there. He saw. He saw it happening.’

‘Whatever happened to you,’ the elderly woman reassured her, ‘I’m sure it was not your fault.’

For the next few hours she stayed with Aphroditi as the tears continued to flow. Her pillow was soaked. Kyria Loizou could see that whatever the young woman had done, she had paid very dearly for it.

It seemed from that day that her wounds began to heal a little faster. Within a few weeks she could leave her room, making her way carefully down the stairs, holding the banister rail. Kyria Loizou supportively took her other arm and they went out into the sunshine together.

The moment that the scent of the city hit Aphroditi’s nostrils, she knew she had to leave. The odour of this island would never change for her now. She smelled dust, rat droppings, decay, blood and bitterness. Everywhere.

‘All those things are in your imagination,’ said Kyria Loizou. ‘Perhaps they’ll fade. I can’t smell any of them.’

‘But for me, they’re too strong,’ said Aphroditi, with tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t think it’s possible to live with them.’

She told Savvas that night that she wanted to go and stay with her mother.

When she rang Artemis Markides, she got the response she expected.

‘I
knew
you would see sense eventually,’ said her mother with satisfaction. ‘I’ll send someone to meet you at Heathrow.’

It would be very simple, since she had almost nothing to take with her.

When she heard the news, her kindly neighbour insisted on taking her shopping for some new clothes, even though they would not be particularly suitable for England.

‘You can’t arrive wearing a dress of your mother’s,’ said Kyria Loizou. ‘But I expect you’ll have to buy something warmer when you get there.’

A few days later, Aphroditi was on a plane from Larnaca.

It was a cloudless day, and as they climbed, she had a clear view of her island from above. With its miles of empty spaces and remote, peaceful beaches where turtles came to lay their eggs, it did not seem possible that such bloodshed and division had taken place. She could make out a few scars on the landscape, but the citrus groves, mountains and villages dotted about on the landscape looked deceptively unscathed. The plane did not need to pass over Famagusta for her to imagine its streets echoing and ghostly and its buildings devoid of life.

Aphroditi pulled down the window blind. She did not want to see the land disappear beneath her. The numbness that she had felt since her last visit to The Sunrise had gone.

As feeling had returned, so too had pain.

W
HAT PARTICULARLY ASTONISHED
Hüseyin was how casual Markos was becoming in his meanderings around the city. He behaved like a man who would never be caught, acted like someone who thought that everyone had their price, a sum for which they could be bought.

For many weeks now, Hüseyin had been on Markos’ trail. It had become an obsession, and yet he still lacked the nerve to confront him.

One night he followed him down a side street on to a main road. About fifteen minutes after he had left the hotel, he realised that a lone Turkish soldier had appeared between himself and Markos. He was thirty or so yards behind the Greek Cypriot, and Hüseyin felt his heart pound.

The young conscript was clearly unaware of Hüseyin, even though there was a similar distance between them. It crossed Hüseyin’s mind that he could have spotted Markos on another occasion, and might already know about The Sunrise.

For a few minutes, they followed each other. Suddenly Markos stopped and bent down. He appeared to be doing up a shoelace. It was then that Hüseyin realised the soldier was drawing his gun. Unless he was very inebriated, the unsuspecting Markos would be an easy target.

Hüseyin was shocked to find that he felt a stirring of pleasure at the thought of Markos being killed by a Turkish bullet. Then it occurred to him that he might not be killed but taken prisoner. Would Markos keep the secret of The Sunrise? He doubted that betrayal was beyond his capabilities.

At the same time as these thoughts were running through Hüseyin’s head, he was surveying the immediate vicinity. The only weapons to hand were lengths of metal, shards of glass and other debris from derelict buildings. Then he spotted a jagged lump of concrete. Without pausing, he picked it up and hurled it. Even if it missed, it would distract the soldier and alert his prey.

Although it was a long time since he had played a game of volleyball, Hüseyin had lost neither his skill nor his strength. He could throw with pinpoint accuracy. The solid slab gathered speed as it travelled and met its target.

The soldier knew nothing. The blow to his head felled him instantly.

Markos heard the thud, spun round and saw the soldier lying still on the ground. Hüseyin was a few yards behind him.

The two men looked at each other and simultaneously ran towards the lifeless body.

‘We need to hide him,’ said Markos.

There was no time for questions or explanations. There was hardly time for Hüseyin to dwell on the thought that he had killed a man.

‘Quickly. If they find the corpse, they’ll come looking for whoever did it,’ said Markos.

‘We need to get him as far away as possible from The Sunrise,’ agreed Hüseyin. ‘There’s a big grocery store up that side street. With piles of empty sacks at the back.’ It was one of the shops that Hüseyin had methodically emptied in the days before they moved to the hotel.

Silently the two men dragged the corpse through the street. It was heavy, and even between the pair of them it was a huge effort.