'The Cypriot'

[The Cypriot]

Ghlioris poured water from a large metal jar into the bowl on the chest of drawers opposite the marital bed. The water had been standing all night and was the same temperature as the room. He stood, completely naked, before a large mirror that rested on the table. How round, saggy and hairy he was becoming. Ghlioris recalled the lithesome young son of Irini, plunging into the sea earlier that week. How proud Irini had been of him. Ghlioris wished that he was young again.

Slowly and with grace, his right hand, with two fingers and thumb gathered, rose up to his forehead, swooped down to his stomach, swayed across to his right breast and then to his left. Then, punctuated by Ghlioris’ murmured prayers, it rose, swooped and swayed again. And then once more, as Ghlioris completed his crossing ritual.

Now Ghlioris cupped his hands and drew water to his face. He washed the sleep from his eyes and took in the familiar sounds and smells of an early Sunday morning from the open bedroom window. The cockerel chorus was already under way and Ghlioris’ wife, who was still asleep on the bed, joined in with loud snores. As her lungs filled with each breath, the bed’s metal frame creaked to accompany the snores.

Ghlioris knew that, like his wife, most villagers would be enjoying a lie-in this morning. Then they would all enjoy a family breakfast of bread, olives and hallumin. Most of the Christians at least would then ready themselves for church. Ghlioris sighed. Sunday family rituals weren’t part of his experience. He needed to be up and out, preparing for a greater ritual for his wider family.

But Ghlioris would not go hungry this morning. He would help himself to something when he got to the church of Saint Varnavas the Apostle. There was always plenty of andidheron, small pieces of bread that the villagers had already prepared for today’s memorial services. Ghlioris was never short of andidheron. Nor of gumandaria, the sweet red wine for the baptisms, the betrothals and the weddings. Bottles and bottles had collected in the cupboards of the ieron, the sacred room, the holy of holies, which was out of bounds to his congregation.

Ghlioris saw the wine as a necessary perk of the job. Fortified and fortifying. To wash down the andidheron. To wet his tongue and lubricate his larynx. The divine tasting wine, the sweet-smelling incense and the specks of dim light from the candles would take possession of his senses. Working together they would enable Ghlioris to commune more easily with God.

Without doubt the wine was a blessing. Despite his years as the village priest Ghlioris was still prone to nerves, still open to doubts. Such feelings had to be checked. Ghlioris had to appear strong for the faithful so that they might remain so. Thankfully, much of the archaic Greek Ghlioris chanted in church was incomprehensible, so the odd slip-up usually went unnoticed.

But it wasn’t just the bread and the wine the people brought. Those who could afford it, and those who could not, were obliged to show appreciation for church services. A shilling was now the universally acknowledged rate. And as his wife was a close friend of Yoda, the village gossip, it was a rate people stuck to religiously, for fear others might learn of their lack of appreciation.

And then there was always the church box. Under Ghlioris’ watchful and approving black eyes, good Christians would throw in at least a ghrosin coin before kissing his hand and escaping the demands of their church for another week.

How Ghlioris’ wife delighted each Sunday evening when her husband brought the takings home for her to count. It was important for a priest’s wife to keep an eye on church finances. There were many costs to consider. It was an old building in need of constant repair. New icons, oil for the lamps and other church expenses too numerous to mention had to be paid for. And these things weren’t cheap as there was only one supplier. After all, as the congregation was reminded by Ghlioris on each and every Sunday, there was only one faith.

Yes, donations had to go a long way, so Ghlioris thanked the Lord for all the additional services he was obliged to offer his flock. A new home, a new piece of farmland, even, on odd occasions, a new donkey, might need his blessing, his incense smoke and a few well-aimed splashes from his bottle of holy water. And the villagers would kiss the priest’s hand and once again show their appreciation to a degree deemed by one, and accepted by all, as appropriate.

Ghlioris had rinsed his long, slightly greying beard and was wiping it dry with a towel. Then he put on his black cassock and carefully positioned his high black hat on top of his head. Now he was formally on duty.

“Good morning, Baba-Ghliori,” murmured his wife sleepily but provocatively from the bed. She admired his reflection through the mirror. “My All-Holy Virgin! How becoming my husband looks in his priestly attire. Come to me, my Lord. I’m in need of your blessing.”

“Enough nonsense, woman. Have more respect for the clothing I wear in the service of God,” chastised Baba-Ghlioris dismissively, still inspecting himself. He noticed his wife’s reflection, as she wiped her eyes clean and fluttered those black lashes at him.

“I must go,” he insisted. “I’m already late for God’s work.”

“Oh, but that tall, thrusting hat of yours. How it turns me on, my husband,” she breathed. “Surely there’s time to administer to your wife before you administer to your flock.”

Baba-Ghlioris winked at his wife through the mirror. If any man could look fetching in a priest’s hat it was he. But Baba-Ghlioris was on duty and had to respond accordingly.

“Hush woman, in case you’re struck down by a thunderbolt for such heresy. Fornication can be considered a sin unless it’s for the begetting of children. And at the last count we’d produced four young demons that take after you. Do not tempt the Lord your God for he’ll surely bless us with a fifth.”

But his wife had swung back the sheets and was now clambering down the bed towards him. Before Baba-Ghlioris had time to protect himself he could feel his wife’s hands reach round and rub against his groin.

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” warned the priest.

“I know women aren’t supposed to venture there but I’d like to see what you have inside your ieron,” she cajoled, licking her lips.

“You’re a demon, woman,” cried Baba-Ghlioris, before pulling off his hat and placing it carefully on the table. “And now I am but a vulnerable mortal in your evil clutches.”

“I have the power to crucify you or to release you,” declared his wife, feeling her husband’s growing manhood in her hands through black cloth. She was pleasantly surprised. Of late it hadn’t been as responsive as it once was.

“You can have no power at all against me, except if it were given to thee from above,” retorted Ghlioris, now breathing more heavily. Here, at least, was one ritual he might enjoy this Sunday.

“If you’re a man of God, then save yourself,” teased his wife.

“Father, why hast thou forsaken me?” implored Ghlioris. With that he turned towards his wife and pushed her back onto the bed, engulfing her in his cassock.

“You have brought this man to me as one that perverts the people,” declared his wife, releasing Ghlioris from his priestly attire. “And behold, I have examined him and find no fault in him.” She continued guiding him into a heavenly realm.

“Amen, amen, amen, amen,” she groaned as an invigorated Ghlioris pushed himself forward in search of exaltation. An image of Irini suddenly entered his mind again, and with it a feeling of guilt, quickly followed by release.

“Into thy hands I commend my spirit,” gasped the priest.

“What befalls the priest let it befall the priest’s wife,” responded the priest’s wife and she gave a long and satisfied moan.

“Forgive her, Father, for she knows not what she does,” implored Ghlioris and, after taking a few moments to get his breath back, reached out for his priest’s hat and replaced it on his head.

“It is done,” concluded Baba-Ghlioris.

•••

That same Sunday morning Irini arrived at the well on the outskirts of the village. Irini was a religious woman but not so devout as to neglect her earthly duties even on the Lord’s day.

She came here most mornings with her large clay jug in which she would collect enough water for the day. It was a fair walk and a tiring routine, made bearable only by the fact that a visit to the well invariably turned into a social event.

Despite always arriving early, to avoid having to queue too long, Irini was guaranteed an encounter with one or two other women of the village on the same errand. It was an opportunity for conversation.

This morning Irini was particularly pleased to see Yoda already at the well and pulling at the rope to fetch her first bucketful of water. Yoda was a large, gregarious woman and always a rich source of local news.

Receiving Yoda’s gossip was generally a pleasurable experience for any woman, but there was a price to pay. For if you enjoyed Yoda’s services you too were expected to feed her with your own morsels of information, for future consumption by others. You also, of course, risked becoming a character in one of her stories.

“Good morning, Mrs Irini,” declared Yoda with a nod and Irini noticed a mischievous glint in the woman’s eyes which could only mean one thing. Another juicy morsel to share.

“I’m so glad our paths have crossed today, Mrs Irini.”

“Me too, Mrs Yoda. I hope you and your husband are in good health.”

“We’re well, thank you.”

“And your daughter, Anna.”

“She’s well, thank you.”

“And your two boys...” Irini’s voice trailed off. Their names wouldn’t come to her.

“They’re well. Getting up to their usual mischief, as boys do. They’re a blessing from God and help keep me young,” responded Yoda. There was a large age gap between her daughter and two young sons. In between, Yoda had suffered the misfortune of several miscarriages.

“And may I congratulate you, Mrs Irini, on your son Andonis,” continued Yoda, “for his role in the celebrations the other day. You must have been really proud.”

“Thank you, Mrs Yoda,” nodded Irini. “When he reclaimed the cross from the sea, I have to admit, it was one of the happiest moments of my life.”

“Indeed. And I’m sure all the single girls in the village will have noticed how strong and how handsome he’s becoming. You’ll no doubt be expecting to receive propositions from a number of families keen to have him as a son-in-law.”

As Irini listened she started to turn the handle to lower the bucket towards the water.

Yoda continued. “Do you have any matrimonial plans for Andonis at present?” she enquired with mischief. “Some believe you intend for him to be betrothed to Stella, the widow’s daughter.”

Irini hesitated. Perhaps Yoda had been made aware of a particular family’s interest in Andonis and was testing whether it was appropriate to pursue the matter on their behalf.

“We’ve not really discussed this directly with him, Mrs Yoda. Andonis is still young. I think his mind has yet to set fully,” replied Irini.

Yoda closed one eye and nodded.

“Perhaps you’re right, Mrs Irini. Perhaps you’re right,” she agreed. “Judging by the other night’s performance, it does appear your youngster still has a lot to learn.” Her tone, though still agreeable, was also slightly patronising. The term ‘youngster’ in particular troubled Irini.

Irini stopped turning the handle and gave Yoda a frown. “What do you mean, Mrs Yoda? What happened the other night?” she demanded.

“Ah, but you must know,” declared Yoda with a wry smile. “The whole village has been talking about it. A fine gesture, I don’t doubt. But,” Yoda sighed, shook her head from side to side and raised her hands, “what can you do? There are those who’ll read more into it.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Yoda. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” countered Irini defensively. “What exactly is my son supposed to have done?”

“Why? Didn’t he tell you?” admonished Yoda and now Irini knew she had fallen into the woman’s trap. Irini realised she should have claimed full knowledge and approval of her son’s actions. A family had always to appear united or have others drive it apart.

“Your son was performing with that Funda, the Turkish girl, in the square. A big crowd had gathered. They threw lots of money for the girl and her crippled brother. By all accounts Andonis was a star act, a real garagiozis.” Yoda revelled in the last word by which she meant a clowning puppet. “But people can’t help but wonder, Mrs Irini. Perhaps Andonis has feelings for this girl? You understand, I’m only concerned for the boy’s reputation. You know what people are like. Little things can be misconstrued. Before you know it, you have a scandal on your hands. And none of us want that.”

Irini was stung. For many years she had enjoyed Yoda’s tales at the expense of others. Today it was her family’s turn to provide the amusement.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you talking to me about this, Mrs Yoda,” declared Irini with deliberately over-emphasised gratitude.

“What are friends for?” remarked Yoda haughtily.

“It makes me laugh how foolish people can be, to read such nonsense into my son’s no doubt well-intentioned act,” mused Irini. “He likes to help people. He’s always been kind to those in need.”

“Too kind, perhaps, for his own good, Mrs Irini,” ventured Yoda with raised eyebrows.

“But surely you can never be too kind, Mrs Yoda. Your concern for my son, bringing this matter to my attention, with no thought of gain for yourself, surely that shows that good deeds are a reward in themselves?” suggested Irini.

Yoda nodded. She had never had the opportunity to discover how astute Mihalis’ wife could be. Yoda picked up her jug full of water and raised a parting hand.

“Of course, you’re right, Mrs Irini. A fine young man, your Andonis. One day he’ll make someone a fine husband. Good day to you.”

“Good day to you, Mrs Yoda,” said Irini. And good riddance, Mrs Yoda, she thought.

Later that day, in church, people glanced at Irini and whispered. Some also glanced at Stella.

•••

My friends, this is the last installment of the novel I'll be putting up on the forum. I'm pleased to announce I have secured a deal with a UK publisher for a summer launch. I will post further details in due course.

Meanwhile, your thoughts on what you've read so far and how the work might best be promoted to Cypriots and the world would be gratefully received...

[repulsewarrior]

Cypriot, can I ask you,are you tapping this on the key board, and we are reading this 'hot'?

It is my fantasy that some writers are able to do this. Because the chapters are so short, it is much like stand up comedy, which has a set-up and a punchline, but unlike a short story, there is a broader timeline, a novel approach, woven.

Please fill this thread each day, fight, you are doing more, with this work, than ten thousand soldiers can do, to stop you. If I must wait patiently for this book, so be it, but, help me, because I love you, and you have become, my friend. If you are a writer, please write for us, something, so that we can remember, never forget, and to act with this compassion.

[The Cypriot]

[brother]

I am quite upset that you have 'spoon fed' us some of it and now taken it away.....how cruel of you, so what is the books name on release, the name of the author and when can i buy it.....and it better be VERY soon as i need closure to the story.

[The Cypriot]

Sorry to do that to you, Brother. I'd have continued posting a few more chapters but, now that a deal's been struck, I thought I'd better stop. It would have taken six months to put the whole thing up... I'm really glad you've been enjoying it!

The name of the book is 'The Cypriot' and it will be launched in the summer. More details will be available from the publisher's website and also the Cypriot Academy's website.

But don't worry. I will keep you informed.

Meanwhile, suggestions as to how we can best promote it to Cypriots and the world would be gratefully received.


PS. You can help ensure it's a happy ending...

[Crash Test Dummy]

after much hype I have read it. Cant wait for the hollywood film

[The Cypriot]

My friend, you're going to make it happen!

[brother]

[CY]

just finished reading most of it. Thanks for posting it up and as ctd said, cant wait for the film

[The Cypriot]

CY, forget just Hollywood. With all your languages we're now talking international blockbuster!

[Dhavlos]

Im loving the story..!!! now i know what people were on about!

[The Cypriot]

A dream of Afrodhidi
(Another short extract to keep you entertained until such time as I'm able to give more information about the book release)

My darling. You are my goddess of love. All-holy daughter of Uranus, a virgin sent from heaven to bring the gift of life into the world.

Like the most precious of pearls, your love was placed on a shell and gently carried to me by the moist breath of the North Wind. And as the waves broke against the jagged rocks of Cyprus, the foam was fashioned into human form.

And the sea nymphs wrapped you in divine silk. They perfumed you with incense and anointed you with the sacred oil of the gods, to create an effervescent beauty with the power of the ocean.

And upon your head they laid a crown, bejewelled with precious stones. And through the pierced lobes of your ears they hung ornaments of copper. Round your delicate neck they hung a necklace of pure gold. And round your milky-white hips they placed the embroidered girdle of desire.

Your melodious call entranced all who heard you; your fragrant aroma intoxicated all who breathed you in. Your perfect figure captivated all who set eyes on you, and your immaculate flesh beguiled all who touched you. Like the ocean, you beckoned all to come to you. You demanded that all explore you.

And no man could resist your spell. Even the gods themselves wished to possess you. For the love you offered was eternal. But you rejected them all. Like the ocean, you were tempestuous, and sought vengeance against anyone who dared try and conquer you.

And so the maiden of love sought sanctuary. In accordance with ancient rites you sat in the sacred garden waiting for the lonely stranger to claim you. Only he with an open mind, a generous heart and a pure spirit could triumph over those who sought only to control you.

I threw a small offering to you and invoked upon you the name of Afrodhidi, born of the foam. I begged you to share with me your sensuous blessings. We came together like the union of the goddess of fertility with the god of vegetation. You unlocked within me the door to affirmation and self-love, and I in turn released within you the seed of devotion and of honour.

Oh, my goddess of love, let no impediment hinder our path to ecstasy and meaning. Open to me my own true feelings. Spark our beings with the magic of love. Guide our pairing with wisdom, and fill our hearts with tender devotion. Let us dance the love and passion of equals. Radiant, joyous beings, sipping from the cup of eternity.

[The Cypriot]

A message from the publisher

I am really pleased to tell you that we have agreed to publish 'The Cypriot', and are very excited about its prospects. It’s an engaging and dramatic story as well as a very human and sympathetic introduction to the history and culture of Cyprus.

I would naturally very much appreciate help in getting it to those who ought to read it both in the UK and Cyprus. From your point of view I think it achieves several objectives. At an important time for Cyprus, with the prospects of unification and Turkey’s EU accession, it strikes a highly constructive and conciliatory tone throughout. It doesn’t dodge the issues, but it presents them as complex, and accepts that no one side is blameless, or totally to blame.

It is human, nuanced and sensitive, it never preaches, and there are characters from all sides who are presented in a sympathetic light. The central theme is love across the divide. All of this speaks very positively to Cypriots from both communities, and can only help in the process of reconciliation that will be needed in the coming years.

The book is a fascinating general introduction to Cyprus and its history for the general (non-Cypriot) reader, and can only be good in building up an awareness of Cyprus outside the island and Cypriot communities abroad. Cyprus’s entry into the EU, and possibly tricky negotiations over reunification, mean that understanding and sympathy towards the island in the outside world has never been more important. This book packs a lot of background into its narrative, and does so in an approachable way, a way that will make people want to read it. It may have the effect of a history lesson, but it never feels like one.

Finally, the book is an exciting story and a rewarding read, from a Cypriot who has lived in London all his life, who is proud of Cyprus and passionate about its future (and a great communicator of that), and of whom Cyprus in turn can be proud. This is a great showcase for Cypriot creativity and talent.

So I would urge you to see what you can do to promote this piece of Cypriot culture. It would help greatly if you could publicise the book in any way you can, through any information services you have access to.

(More information to follow in due course)

[Crash Test Dummy]

Great news mate . reserve a signed copy


Get in contact with Greek City near where the meet up was.

[The Cypriot]