Dedicated to the friendship between Greek and Turkish Cypriots
Midnight. Wind blows over the workers cabins. The river Marathasis – as if it too is in conspiracy with Hendrix, (the director of the company) - brings down all the cold from the snows on Troodos. It channels it down into the barracks of the miners’ settlement; their tin roofs clench their teeth so as not to make a racket.
Niazi’s Rashiha, with her big belly, is unable to sleep. There is only a week to go before she gives birth and the only thing she can think is that she really doesn’t want her third child to be a boy again. No, no. Just the thought makes her hairs stand on end. She wants a little girl who as she grows up won’t go and work in the mines of CMC*. Niazi is a miner there. When her boys grow up they will go to work there; her daughter – may she live a more quiet life, a life closer to the sun. There in the depths of the earth where Niazi works there are black demons – allies of Hendrix as they are called – which amuse themselves as they push down the earth and bury the miners; then their laughter rings around the tunnels, and by the time it escapes up to the valley above, the distorted echo mutates into tearful cries. Cries of mothers, wives, children. No, she does not want a son. Carefully she turns herself the other way on the bed. But isn’t it the same, Rashiha, if you daughter’s husband is also a miner and struggles daily with the ghosts of Hendrix? The child kicks hard, it wants to get out. Rashiha is restless. She gets up to move around their two by three room to stretch the numbness from her limbs. It’s just the same, Rashiha, just the same. See, the same way you are now drinking the bitter poison, waiting for Niazi to return from the night shift.
Just then the wind blowing around the workmen’s cabins dies down. A great silence opens up. The two boys are sleeping, the baby is kicking in her belly. Then, out of the nowhere the dreadful siren from the hoist blares out. Rashiha, you are done for. Don’t cry Rashiha, you’ll wake the kids; but they are already awake.
-Mum, was that the siren we just heard?
-No child, go back to sleep.
- Mum I heard the siren clearly, says the older one
- No my son, it’s the goat outside, kicking some tin.
Yet the signal of siren “seven-one” was clearly audible around the settlement of Mavrovounio. Rashiha still in her night dress rushed out; there were many women already gathered near the fountain. They all very well knew what the situation was. The black demons had again played their tricks in the galleries below. Their laughter reached the settlement. Hendrix’s allies cackling in the Solea valley night. The men and the women who did not have men on the night shift comforted the unlucky ones who had gone to bed alone that night.
The lone women of that night would not calm down. They would wait for the small train to pass; wait to see if the Minotaur of the company from Los Angeles had got their man or not.
Niazi Djemal with six others didn’t return. He had taken a blow to the head and been rushed to Pentageas’ hospital[2]. Rashiha went to see him in the morning. The doctors would not let her in to see him “No, he needs to rest” they said. So she returned, without having accomplished anything.
-Mum, it’s got to be serious, said Salil, her eldest son, who was all of eight years old.
On the third day when they all went to see him he did not speak, nor did he move. Only his shining eyes fixed themselves steadily on Rashiha’s big belly.
After three days Rashiha’s contractions began. They called the doctor of the company. He refused to come as in the meantime the strike at the mine had begun. So they called a midwife who offered her services for free during the great strike of ’48.
Upside down, the little bugger, she murmured but she straightened him and pulled him out. Niazi Djemal’s third son.
When Niazi heard the news his eyes flickered. A few days later he got off his sick bed. In any case this was not the only reason he made haste to get out of the hospital. He did not want to be “a burden to the company”. Anyhow if he stayed in the hospital, where he’d gone before the strike began, he would not count among those on strike.
When he went with some others to get the pay the company owed them they were told that if they took the money they would have to leave the cabins where they lived. The huts with the tin roofs.
We’re leaving, and you can keep our wages.
As he was leaving two black demons appeared before him; they were laughing, their teeth snapping like pincers. His teeth began to chatter and shake, his whole body convulsing in fear.
-Help, help, he shouted in despair.
-Costas Mixis came up to him.
-What’s up, Niazi?
-Can’t you see Hendrix’s boys?
-I can’t see nothing. Keep walking.
Indeed, there amongst the oleanders two rangers in black were hiding. They had been sent by the colonial government to keep an eye on the striking miners. And to intimidate them.
As they arrived at the cabins they found Costas’s wife milking Rashiha’s cow. Rashiha, having just given birth, was not allowed by her neighbours to go out in the cold. Two days before the company’s welfare board had stopped providing milk for the children.
Rashiha, Rashiha. What has befallen us, cried the disconsolate Despina, Your goat’s teats are swollen and she has all dried up.
The black demons appeared before him again. Their metallic cackling echoed around the settlement. A beast bashing itself against the ice cold tin roofs.
- There they are! There they are! Roared Niazi.
-Calm down Niazi, there ain’t no one there, said Costas, vainly trying to convince him, himself distressed about the situation with the goat.
-But I’m telling you, there they are! Right there! Behind the tin hut. A knife. Give me a knife, for God’s sake, he said, bolting into the barrack where his wife lay exhausted. He gave her a feverish kiss on the cheek and stormed out, all lit up. He grabbed the sick harmless animal, which was oblivious to the great evil which had befallen Rashiha’s children. He sliced its head off, raised it high up, holding it by the horns, its blood dripping over his clothes.
-Let’s see now if you dare to come back, you bastards of Los Angeles.
The company’s doctor, the same one who had refused to help Rashiha give birth, pronounced that Niazi had gone mad. He came with the police to drag Niazi off to the mad house. As they took him away they saw the banners held up by the children, that the company had deprived of milk. Salil Niazi, the eldest son, was holding a board which read “the company is offering us tuberculosis”. As Niazi passed by the boy’s eyes filled with tears. Niazi gave a peaceful smile and collapsed.
One month later - when the strike flared up, the solidarity of the workers was growing, the children were breaking their saving pots, beggars were offering all they could gather to the fund raising for the strikers, the Archbishop, with a circular letter “in the name of God”, called on the miners to return to work and “seek justice in the sky”, the Newspaper of the Metropolis of Kyreneia asked the government to oppose the strikers, the New Union[3] saw ulterior motives of the Left - the message came that Niazi Djemal had died in the mad house.
[1] From the collection of short stories “The Big Lie” (1981)
[2] The hospital in Pentagea village belonged to CMC
[3] New Union was the new right wing union formed to counteract the old union which had both Greek and Turkish Cypriots members
Midnight. Wind blows over the workers cabins. The river Marathasis – as if it too is in conspiracy with Hendrix, (the director of the company) - brings down all the cold from the snows on Troodos. It channels it down into the barracks of the miners’ settlement; their tin roofs clench their teeth so as not to make a racket.
Niazi’s Rashiha, with her big belly, is unable to sleep. There is only a week to go before she gives birth and the only thing she can think is that she really doesn’t want her third child to be a boy again. No, no. Just the thought makes her hairs stand on end. She wants a little girl who as she grows up won’t go and work in the mines of CMC*. Niazi is a miner there. When her boys grow up they will go to work there; her daughter – may she live a more quiet life, a life closer to the sun. There in the depths of the earth where Niazi works there are black demons – allies of Hendrix as they are called – which amuse themselves as they push down the earth and bury the miners; then their laughter rings around the tunnels, and by the time it escapes up to the valley above, the distorted echo mutates into tearful cries. Cries of mothers, wives, children. No, she does not want a son. Carefully she turns herself the other way on the bed. But isn’t it the same, Rashiha, if you daughter’s husband is also a miner and struggles daily with the ghosts of Hendrix? The child kicks hard, it wants to get out. Rashiha is restless. She gets up to move around their two by three room to stretch the numbness from her limbs. It’s just the same, Rashiha, just the same. See, the same way you are now drinking the bitter poison, waiting for Niazi to return from the night shift.
Just then the wind blowing around the workmen’s cabins dies down. A great silence opens up. The two boys are sleeping, the baby is kicking in her belly. Then, out of the nowhere the dreadful siren from the hoist blares out. Rashiha, you are done for. Don’t cry Rashiha, you’ll wake the kids; but they are already awake.
-Mum, was that the siren we just heard?
-No child, go back to sleep.
- Mum I heard the siren clearly, says the older one
- No my son, it’s the goat outside, kicking some tin.
Yet the signal of siren “seven-one” was clearly audible around the settlement of Mavrovounio. Rashiha still in her night dress rushed out; there were many women already gathered near the fountain. They all very well knew what the situation was. The black demons had again played their tricks in the galleries below. Their laughter reached the settlement. Hendrix’s allies cackling in the Solea valley night. The men and the women who did not have men on the night shift comforted the unlucky ones who had gone to bed alone that night.
The lone women of that night would not calm down. They would wait for the small train to pass; wait to see if the Minotaur of the company from Los Angeles had got their man or not.
Niazi Djemal with six others didn’t return. He had taken a blow to the head and been rushed to Pentageas’ hospital[2]. Rashiha went to see him in the morning. The doctors would not let her in to see him “No, he needs to rest” they said. So she returned, without having accomplished anything.
-Mum, it’s got to be serious, said Salil, her eldest son, who was all of eight years old.
On the third day when they all went to see him he did not speak, nor did he move. Only his shining eyes fixed themselves steadily on Rashiha’s big belly.
After three days Rashiha’s contractions began. They called the doctor of the company. He refused to come as in the meantime the strike at the mine had begun. So they called a midwife who offered her services for free during the great strike of ’48.
Upside down, the little bugger, she murmured but she straightened him and pulled him out. Niazi Djemal’s third son.
When Niazi heard the news his eyes flickered. A few days later he got off his sick bed. In any case this was not the only reason he made haste to get out of the hospital. He did not want to be “a burden to the company”. Anyhow if he stayed in the hospital, where he’d gone before the strike began, he would not count among those on strike.
When he went with some others to get the pay the company owed them they were told that if they took the money they would have to leave the cabins where they lived. The huts with the tin roofs.
We’re leaving, and you can keep our wages.
As he was leaving two black demons appeared before him; they were laughing, their teeth snapping like pincers. His teeth began to chatter and shake, his whole body convulsing in fear.
-Help, help, he shouted in despair.
-Costas Mixis came up to him.
-What’s up, Niazi?
-Can’t you see Hendrix’s boys?
-I can’t see nothing. Keep walking.
Indeed, there amongst the oleanders two rangers in black were hiding. They had been sent by the colonial government to keep an eye on the striking miners. And to intimidate them.
As they arrived at the cabins they found Costas’s wife milking Rashiha’s cow. Rashiha, having just given birth, was not allowed by her neighbours to go out in the cold. Two days before the company’s welfare board had stopped providing milk for the children.
Rashiha, Rashiha. What has befallen us, cried the disconsolate Despina, Your goat’s teats are swollen and she has all dried up.
The black demons appeared before him again. Their metallic cackling echoed around the settlement. A beast bashing itself against the ice cold tin roofs.
- There they are! There they are! Roared Niazi.
-Calm down Niazi, there ain’t no one there, said Costas, vainly trying to convince him, himself distressed about the situation with the goat.
-But I’m telling you, there they are! Right there! Behind the tin hut. A knife. Give me a knife, for God’s sake, he said, bolting into the barrack where his wife lay exhausted. He gave her a feverish kiss on the cheek and stormed out, all lit up. He grabbed the sick harmless animal, which was oblivious to the great evil which had befallen Rashiha’s children. He sliced its head off, raised it high up, holding it by the horns, its blood dripping over his clothes.
-Let’s see now if you dare to come back, you bastards of Los Angeles.
The company’s doctor, the same one who had refused to help Rashiha give birth, pronounced that Niazi had gone mad. He came with the police to drag Niazi off to the mad house. As they took him away they saw the banners held up by the children, that the company had deprived of milk. Salil Niazi, the eldest son, was holding a board which read “the company is offering us tuberculosis”. As Niazi passed by the boy’s eyes filled with tears. Niazi gave a peaceful smile and collapsed.
One month later - when the strike flared up, the solidarity of the workers was growing, the children were breaking their saving pots, beggars were offering all they could gather to the fund raising for the strikers, the Archbishop, with a circular letter “in the name of God”, called on the miners to return to work and “seek justice in the sky”, the Newspaper of the Metropolis of Kyreneia asked the government to oppose the strikers, the New Union[3] saw ulterior motives of the Left - the message came that Niazi Djemal had died in the mad house.
[1] From the collection of short stories “The Big Lie” (1981)
[2] The hospital in Pentagea village belonged to CMC
[3] New Union was the new right wing union formed to counteract the old union which had both Greek and Turkish Cypriots members
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