The Island of Missing Trees(29)

‘What did you tell her?’

‘I told her you are a good lad and that both Yusuf and I are proud of you. I said you sometimes stop by in the evenings to lend us a hand, that’s all. I told her she shouldn’t worry.’

Kostas lowered his head. ‘Thank you.’

‘Look …’ Yiorgos tossed the cloth aside and placed his palms on the counter. ‘I understand. Yusuf understands. But there are many in Cyprus who never will. You two must be careful. I don’t need to tell you things are bad. From now on, always go out separately through the back door. Do not walk out together. You can’t risk being seen by a single customer.’

‘What about the staff?’ asked Kostas.

‘My staff are reliable. I trust them. No problem there.’

Kostas gave a tight shake of his head. ‘But are you sure it’s okay for us to keep coming here? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.’

‘No trouble for us, palikari mou, don’t you worry about that,’ said Yiorgos. His face flushed with a new thought, perhaps a memory. ‘But I hope you don’t mind me saying this: when we are young, we think love is forever.’

Kostas felt a chill slide down his spine, a sinister tide rippling under his skin. ‘I’m sorry if that’s been your experience, but it’s different with us. Our love is forever.’

Yiorgos said nothing. Only a young person would make such a claim and only the old would recognize its false promise.

At that second the door opened and Defne strode in, wearing a fern-green dress hemmed with silver thread, her eyes burning bright. The parrot, Chico, excited by the sight of her, began to rustle his wings and squawk her name, ‘Dapnee! Dapnee! Kiss-kiss!’

‘That’s cheeky!’ Defne said on an outrush of breath, then turned to the others, her spirited expression instantly dispelling the mood in the room. ‘Yassou!’

Walking towards her, Kostas broke into a smile, despite the anxiety beginning to gnaw away at him.



THE HAPPY FIG

MENU

Our cuisine is a mixture of the many cultures who have inhabited this heavenly island throughout the centuries. Our food is fresh, our wine is old and our recipes timeless.

We are a family here – a family that gives, shares, listens, sings, laughs, cries, forgives and, most importantly, appreciates good food.

Enjoy!

Y & Y

Appetizers

Baba Ghanoush with Tahini

Yellow Split Pea Fava (served on flatbread) Stuffed Bell Peppers (Dolmadakia/Dolma) Stuffed Courgette Flowers with a Surprise Inside Minced Meat and Rice Wrapped in Vine Leaves Soups

Crushed Sour Wheat Soup (Trahanas/Tarhana) Hungry Fisherman’s Soup

Salads

Cypriot Village Salad

Watermelon and Pomegranate Salad with Whipped Feta Grilled Halloumi Salad with Orange and Mint Chef’s Specials

Meatballs in Yogurt Sauce (Keftedes/K?fte) Slow-roasted Pork with Wild Oregano Golden Fried Fillets of Plaice

Shrimp Saganaki

Grilled Lamb with Onions, Stuffed into the Lining of a Lamb’s Stomach Oven-baked Spicy Moussaka

Artichoke Stew with Mussels, Potatoes and Saffron Chicken Souvlaki Wraps (served with chips and tzatziki) Desserts

Oven-roasted Figs with Honey and Aniseed Ice Cream (secret recipe smuggled in by one of our favourite customers) Good Old-fashioned Rice Pudding (no secrets here) Crispy Honey Puffs (Loukoumades/Lokma) Nomadic Baklava (Greek/Turkish/Armenian/Lebanese/Syrian/Moroccan/Algerian/Jordanian/Israeli/Palestinian/Egyptian/Tunisian/Libyan/Iraqi … Did we forget anyone? If so, please add) Liqueurs

See Our Exquisite Wine Menu!

Hot Drinks

Cosmopolitan Coffee Roasted with Cardamom Mediterranean Mountain Tea

Carob Tea with Dandelion Root

Naughty Hot Chocolate with Whipped Cream and Vodka To Sober Up

Tripe Soup with Garlic, Vinegar, Dried Lime, Seven Spices and Herbs (the oldest cure for hangovers across the Levant)





Saints


Cyprus, 1974


His mother was deeply religious. Kostas could not remember a time when she was not, but as years went by religion had become all the more manifest in their lives. Up the white-painted walls, along wooden shelves, in nooks studded with drops of candle wax, clusters of icons stood guard, staring from an unknown world, silently watching.

‘Never forget, the saints are always with you,’ Panagiota said. ‘Our eyes only notice what’s in front of us, but it’s different with holy men. They see everything. So, if you do something in secret, levendi mou, they’d know it immediately. You could fool me, but you could never fool the saints.’

As a young boy, Kostas had spent many an idle hour mulling over the optical structure of the eyes of holy men. He imagined they must have 360-degree vision, not unlike dragonflies, though he did not expect his mother to approve that thought. He himself would have been thrilled to have dragonfly qualities – how spectacular it would be to hover in the air like a helicopter, a flight so unique it had inspired scientists and engineers worldwide.

Some of the most lucid memories from his childhood involved sitting by a peat fire in the kitchen, watching his mother cook, a sheen of perspiration slowly forming across her forehead. She was always working, and her hands would testify to that, the skin rough with calluses, the knuckles raw from harsh detergents.

His father had died when he was only three years old, of lung disease from prolonged exposure to asbestos. Black death from white dust. The mineral, extracted from the eastern slopes of the Tro?dos, was exported in large amounts from Cyprus. Across the island, mining companies unearthed iron, copper, cobalt, silver, pyrite, chrome and gold-bearing umbers. International firms made huge profits while in the mines, mills and manufacturing plants local workers were poisoned, little by little.