Chapter 2 - The First Years
Kyrenia, 1888-1902

No. 183[1]

Name: Costas Charalambou

Place of Birth: Karakoumi Village

Date of birth: 13.11.1888

Godmother's Name: Polyxeni Gr. Demetriadou

Note: On 24.1.1888 Constantinos Gregoriou Demetriades succumbed to revolver wounds at age 19.

Karakoumi - Karmi

My date of birth is November 26, 1888, according to the new calendar. On the eighth day I am given the name Socrates in church. Hadjiglioris, the first notable of Kyrenia, agrees to have his eldest daughter Polyxeni baptize me but wants to name me Costantinos, after his son who died of revolver wounds earlier that year. So I am baptized Costas in memory of that young man. My father agrees, never opposing Hadjiglioris, who also baptized my brother Glioris; the first notable and my father are related by the Sacrament of Baptism. My father, Charalambos Kyriakou, hails from Karakoumi, a small village. Our one-room home is located approximately fifty fathoms from the sea. My mother hails from the village of Karmi, which is up on the mountain, almost directly beneath Ais Larkos. In Karmi they name their children after ancient Greek gods and men. My mother's name was Athena. I remember her holding my hand; we were walking along a footpath. It was Easter, at dawn, and we were returning to the village from Kyrenia. I remember feeling sad because we had left Archangelos Church - the huge bonfire in its courtyard, the people holding lit candles, the young men ringing both the bell and the semantron and setting off firecrackers. Men firing shots into the air and the priests, in their glittery bedecked vestments, chanting "Christ has Risen!" It's like I am there now - holding her hand and trying to keep up with her pace until, from one side of the village, my eldest sister appears, head uncovered, hair tousled... She is waving her hands and shouting things that I do not understand. In the commotion my hand slips out of my mother's so I grab onto her skirt but it, too, slides out of my grip. She tumbles down into the stream next to the footpath... I am very frightened.

"Ma! Ma..."

Nothing! This is the only memory I have of my mother; I do not even remember her face.[2]

I remember the second one more vividly although her face has completely faded from my memory, too. I am in a nice konak[3] in the middle of a chiflik,[4] which has everything: flowers, trees, running waters... My second mother spoils me with affection and dresses me in a sailor's uniform. Her name is Marianna. She is the mistress of the attorney Pericles, who keeps her in a house on his chiflik. And this is why I lose her, too. Elengou and Maria, my mother's sisters in Karmi, are incensed that an unwed woman is raising me. They say it's a sin that brings shame on their family.

Aunt Elengou has no children of her own, so she arranges with my father to have me brought to her. In Karmi her one-room house is smaller than my paternal home in Karakoumi. Her husband Tzambris works as a labourer anywhere he can get employment, if and when he can get it. The man certainly likes to drink! The wine gourd is always in front of him; he raises it up and drinks straight from its mouth.

Karmi is a lovely village,

but all of it is rocky;

it has pretty girls

like pomegranates rosy.

Karmi is a nice village,

but it's full of kartamilles;[5]

some are lame, some are hunched

and some have eye gunk.

Life is primitive in Karmi but at least I go to school, which is among oldest and best in the area. The villagers are poor but hold onto it by the skin of their teeth, paying the teacher's salary with money they can't spare. Georgios Stavrides is our teacher this year. My education begins with him. We are afraid of him but we study. He writes poetry, loves nature and beautiful things, so we find ways to get out of the classroom. Eleni, one of our classmates, is quite pretty; her hair is styled into two long, well-groomed braids with a huge silk bow at each end. She is the teacher's pet, so we coax her into asking him for favours.

"Ask him to take us on an excursion, Eleni!" we convince her and she cajoles the teacher.

"Sir, please take us on a field trip! Please, Sir..."

The teacher appears to be undecided but there's no escaping her - her smile forces him to oblige. He takes us on a trip to Ais Larkos!

It's spring. Flowers everywhere, verdant green, aromatic bushes: myrtle, savoury, chamomile, marjoram, mint. And trees: cypresses, pines, planes, olives, carobs... The teacher talks to us about the castle, about Hilarion, the sainted ascetic who lived on this peak, about the houses of Rigaina, about the conquerors... I have heard it all many times before both in class and from my aunts. I'm bored so I wander off with three or four other boys. We chance upon a group of English visitors, who have arrived on mules at the entrance of the castle. They are dressed in white and wear wide-brim hats. The women are plump, fair-haired and blue-eyed; their dresses, full of ruching and falbalas, look brand-new. We are scrawny and barefoot. We observe the English visitors with unbridled curiosity; they smile and give us ham sandwiches. None of us has seen anything like this before... Not trusting the strange ingredient, we toss the ham and eat only the bread. When the teacher catches up to us, he notices the ham on the ground.

"You tossed the cured ham and ate the bread by itself?"

By itself, yes, but what a lovely and soft white bread it was, smothered in butter! Could it be that what we tossed was just as scrumptious? Carefully, so as not to be seen by the teacher, we pick up the ham and clean it as best we can. The slices that fell on grass have no dirt on them. Our teacher was right - thin, pink slices of cured ham are indescribably delicious! Late afternoon I slip away again along with a few other students. We wander off and darkness begins to fall; the landscape loses its beauty and turns wild. The sea below is not a dazzling blue anymore; now it is dark, like the sky above the trees. Everything goes dark, almost pitch black... We want to join the others but cannot find our way back. We are lost! Unable to see where we are going, we run around here and there, gripped by fear. Finally we hear the teacher calling our names. We run toward his voice, guided by the sound; it would not matter if he beat us until we bled, as long as we can reach him. We join the others at last! Yet the teacher does nothing to us, no punishment whatsoever; he only sighs with relief.

"Let's head back to the village," he says. "It's getting dark."

Always cooped up indoors, we are often bored in class. We yearn for another excursion but young Eleni is not at school. She is at home sick. Who is going to ask the teacher?

"Come on, Costis, ask him to take us on a field trip. So we can get some sunshine, if nothing else..." my classmates urge.

Truth be told, we are hungry for the sun. Karmi is wedged on the north side of the tall mountain; it has a lovely view of the sea but the hours of direct sunlight are few, only around noon. That's why many locals die of consumption; their lives are very hard and filled with dearth.

"Come on, Costis, ask him!"

After a great deal of coaxing I muster enough courage. I dare!

"Sir, please take us on a field trip," I plead with the teacher but he, hunched over a book, does not respond.

So I ask again:

"Even if it's only for a walk. Please, Sir..."

The teacher looks up from his book and smiles, but not in the way that he smiles at young Eleni.

"Costantis Kolofantis with the short breeches, run up, run down; there's the turd, swallow it down!" he...