[This is an English translation of the previous chapter]
-- The days are getting shorter, it's so dark already. I've been waiting with my door open for hours. Where have you been?
-- So you were. Excuse my question, Miss Gül, but do you live alone?
-- No. My mother and father went to cook some beans for a poor relative. We just finished shelling them. No-one is home. There is salt and bread on the table. If you drink, there is some Rhodian wine as well. I set it aside for you. Won't you drink any?
The man, teeth clenched, hiding behind his long hair and beard, could not hide the blooming blush of his cheeks. O Father who art Heaven, hallowed be thy name.
-- I cannot accept your generosity, Miss Gül. I am fasting.
Miss Gül, still young, thought the man was angry and lowered her eyes, examined her yellowing kaftan. She did not know how to behave. He was not like other men in the village. She did not know him enough to decipher his facial expression; however, she did know his bass voice, which came echoing down the skirts of the mountain, from the White Monastery. And how well she knew it! Whenever the hymns and chants began, she would freeze in her place. Her insides trembled as she listened.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Father Valentinos breathed in the evening fog, glittering pearly-white. Before coming here, he had stood on the balcony of the monastery and gazed at the Mediterrannean waters to find peace, and had calmed the waterfalls crashing in his veins. One of the nuns had taught him to open his soul to these turquoise waters and simply breathe in and out, to take in the beauty and scent of the Lord. What were the storms of the heart but a whimper, compared to His divine wind? Spiritual wealth was infinite -- he realized this anew every day.
Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
He could not help but find it strange, to see the girl without her honey-coloured kerchief. When they had first met at the Bellapais market, she had had her hair covered with this kerchief, as was the custom in public. She was a weaver. It was very likely she had embroidered the thin lace on the edges of her scarf herself. Why hadn't she put it on this evening? This was probably the source of his discomfort. The thick hair spilling over her shoulders were waves, sea sparkles slipped down them. Her hair was very beautiful. The monk silenced these perennial thoughts as he always did. Since Gül was rather small, it mustn't be difficult to treat her like a young girl. The religion of the Turks allowed children to wander around without head scarves or kaftans. What was the harm in viewing Miss Gül in this light? She was, after all, much younger than himself...
Yet Valentinos heard it again -- no matter how many years it had been suppressed -- the troublesome whispers of that voice inside him. It is not a child in front of you, Valentinos, but a woman. He did not want to imagine the meaning of this. O Lord, forgive this sinner. He gripped tighter the little red book in his hand. He smiled respectfully and continued his fatherly conversation.
-- May our Lord open the roads for your family on this holy day. It does not look as though it will rain, and it is always nice to travel in clean air. It is a bright evening. Why have you not gone with them?
-- I was waiting for you, replied the young woman, with a plain and melancholic voice. Her left hand still gripped tightly the door she had opened and not let go. It was obvious that she was excited. Perhaps she had drunk from the wine herself. What deeds the human body could urge the mind to commit! Valentinos, despite being quite composed and patient (in reality Gül's shy manner rather amused him), furrowed his dark eyebrows.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
-- Miss Gül, you must know that my time is limited. I have brothers awaiting my return at the White Monastery. To be seen here, with you, alone, may lead to undesirable talk; yet I would not want to turn back, having come so far. I am here because you wanted to speak urgently, please do not misunderstand my intentions. I would ask that you respect my situation.
-- Whatever I said, I didn't say it to offend you, Father, said the girl, with a respectful, sorrowful smile. I wouldn't wish to make you wait. Let us speak inside.
She stepped aside and motioned for the monk to enter. A fire burned in the hearth. The one-room adobe home was warm, a sweet glow inside. The man clasped his hands in front of him and settled in one of the wooden chairs.
When viewed from behind, he looked much older than he was; he leaned forward as he walked, as though carrying a large stone. He wore a pitch-black, shapeless kaftan, a heavy cross hanging from a golden chain. Perhaps it was the cross that bent him so. He was tall. How much of his body was bone, how much of it skin, she wondered.
They sat in front of one another, and examined their faces for a brief moment. His cheeks had collapsed, hers were soft and a deep red, like medlar; his skin was sun-touched but pale, his face serious, like a mountain, and hers vibrant. Valentinos' countenance was as Greek as it could be. It was a bit unsettling.
-- I am listening, Miss Gül, the monk said. He seemed to really want to know the important business for which he had been summoned.
The sharpest knife could not pry open Gül's mouth, because any knife that could open her mouth would bleed her heart. She fell silent. She hung the full copper kettle on the wooden table, over the fire. She waited. Bowing down to the unbearable quietness, she took the figurative knife to her own lips. It was time to bleed.
-- I will tell you a story, Valentinos. Do not say anything before I finish, otherwise you will be the one responsible for my pain rather than my happiness. Is that understood?
Valentinos did not say anything. He knew, more or less, what was to befall him. Years ago in his youth, he had listened enough to his friends who had left the church during their confessions. He bowed his head: yes.
For thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.
-- Then I'll begin, said Miss Gül and this is how she began her daring story...
I was constantly thinking of someone every day. Maybe you know him, or perhaps only I know him. Without his knowledge, he has entered my nightmares. Don't misunderstand, not because he did me wrong -- indeed, because I was glad he entered my life, because I didn't want to lose him, that it came to be so. I was always belittled by him in my nightmares, I could not bear it.
He is someone who comes to the market in a black outfit. Sometimes when I weaved rugs, he would pass by our stall without looking at me. Mine was a hapless, secret admiration that boiled slowly, you understand. It fed itself.
He has curly, fair hair, and his eyes are fluid, glinting like kelp floating down a stream. I can describe the moment he noticed me; you would find in me a poet. It was a summer morning. He was with the old crossed men with black kaftans. That day, I had put on my yellow kerchief, maybe that had caught his attention. Or maybe he thought my scarf was a flower -- I learned much later that he loved flowers. I admit, there was nothing in his eyes that told me he viewed me any different than any other Turkish girl. But at least I had entered his life once. The rest was kismet.
After that day, I wore nothing but yellow. I got used to seeing him, and him, me. I don't think I ever weaved that much in my life. My mother and father tried to keep me away from the market because they caught my eyes searching for him; yet my weaving also benefited them, so nothing happened.
One holy day I found some time to myself. With a close friend, we took to the Bellapais road. The aim was to go for a stroll. You do understand that this was not the case for me, don't you? Because now I knew where to find him. He was a monk at the White Monastery. By no means did I consider doing something crazy that would put him in danger. If it didn't suit him to speak to me, I would not call for him, and dirty his reputation by speaking to him. It's not like I didn't understand how strict the old Greek Orthodox Church could be. If you only knew what the Turks say about them!
She picked up the boiled water from above the fire and placed it on the table. She took out a wooden cup, poured the boiling water in it and handed it to the monk.
Where was I? Yes, I went to see him a few times. By seeing, I mean to listen. I was struck by his voice coming up from the depths of the church. The way he sang hymns... Honestly, I imagined him one day singing to me and stayed awake the whole night. My ears were sensitive to his voice, I could even hear his lilting tones in birdsong. There was no escape. I had to see him closer.
In the mornings, when he left the market, I took a break from my weaving to follow him. I would go all the way to the monastery by hiding in the cypress shadows. That was when I decided he loved flowers. Whenever he saw one, he would put his fingers under its chin and caress the petals, even whisper to it. I did not understand what he was saying. He didn't speak Turkish as he did at the market. He was Greek. I didn't care.
I embroidered handkerchiefs with flowers and left them on his path. I tied them around flowers, branches, I even left some on the church walls. He didn't notice any of them. It came to such a point that the handkerchiefs would have been visible in my parents' periphery. I gave up.
What determined everything happened last week. I found the audacity in me to pretend I was a faint young girl, and bent over double in an archway which I knew he frequently passed through. He approached me with fatherly kindness, asked me if I was alright. I said that my stomach hurt. He gave me advice, recommended herbs. I thanked him. As he was about to continue along his way, I asked him to help me with some urgent business next week in my home. I gave him my name. In spite of his surprise, he must have felt my hopelessness, that he gave me his word. Ever since that day I have been weak with sleeplessness.
Tonight, he kept his word. Even if he was a little late, he came. When I went to open the door I was miserable -- a fire ate at my insides! I mustered every bit of calm I had in me to resist embracing him. I still cannot believe he's here.
I am in love with you, Valentinos! May He be my witness that I cannot love another!
Covering her face with her hands, she wished for compassion, understanding, that he would not stay quiet. Valentinos sat like a calm sea, forehead wrinkled, for a long while.
-- Say something, man! If you condemn me, then condemn me. I will understand.
The young girl, be because of her shame or the relief of having let go of a heavy weight from her heart, fell at the monk's feet.
-- If this is a sin, then I kneel in front of you and confess. I have done nothing but love you.
-- I thank you for your confession. But do not kneel for me, Gül. Stand up and bow your head for the compassion of the Lord. Let us pray together. Absolve your sin. Do you know any prayers?
The girl looked at his eyes in bewilderment. Whatever she had hoped to find in them, she did not.
-- How many months I have listened to your voice in longing, Valentinos, but I did not understand a word, whispered Gül in dismay. I am sorry.
-- I am not the one you should be apologizing to, it is Him, said Father Valentinos, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Now bow your head, give your right hand to me and repeat what I say: Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us.
Gül's head began to spin, her heart ached. Her hand felt as though it were melting in the monk's hand. She was going to faint. She repeated with a weak voice:
-- Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal... have mercy on us.
-- All Holy Trinity, have mercy on us. Lord, forgive our sins. Master, pardon our transgressions. Holy One, visit and heal our infirmities for your name's sake.
Did this man have no feeling? Or any morsel of love he could spare from the Lord and give to her? Was there a fluttering, like hers, in that solemn face, sculpted from alabaster? She felt so small, full of hate for her stupidity. How she wanted him to let his devout air go, and behave like an emotional human being!
-- .... visit and heal our infirmities for your name's sake.
Gül's hand moistened. Had the man swallowed? If she slid her imprisoned fingers to his defenceless wrist, would she feel his heart rate quicken?
-- Your good Spirit shall lead me on a level path; Lord, for your name's sake, you shall preserve my life.
-- You shall preserve my life.
-- Glory to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, said Valentinos, his voice rising.
-- Glory to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, repeated Gül, squirming in frustration.
-- Now and forever and to the ages of ages.
-- Now and forever and to the ages of ages...
And so it was ending. The last kick to her heart would be a goodbye. This was it, her fate: her hopes empty, her beloved a hollow hearted Greek man.
-- Amen.
-- ... Amen.
Gül felt a light kiss on her frozen hand. Her breath flew from her lungs. Before she could ask any questions, Valentinos let go of her hand and headed to the door. He stood at the threshold, turned around and wished that Miss Gül's evening would be peaceful, and godspeed. He communicated his greetings to her family. He left.
He appeared a few more times at the market and their eyes met. Then, he boarded a ship anchored to the Kyrenia harbour. It was said that he was going on a pilgrimage to Mount Athos. No-one noticed the handkerchief laced with yellow-flower embroidery tucked into his little red prayer book.