The Sunrise Read Free

and taps for the fifth time that day. One of them straightened the shampoos and cans of lacquer so that the brand name, of which they were proud, was repeated in a perfect line:
WellaWellaWellaWellaWella
.
    A great deal of business was expected from the female guests, who would be wanting their hair tamed after a day exposed to sun and sand. Within the next few months they confidently expected that every chair in the salon would be full.
    ‘Can you believe this?’
    ‘Not really …’
    ‘We’re so lucky …’
    Emine Özkan had been cutting Aphroditi Papacosta’s hair since she was a teenager. Until very recently, she and Savina had both worked in a small salon in the commercial part of Famagusta. Emine had come in on the bus every day from Maratha, a village ten miles away. When the modern resort had begun to expand and thrive, and her husband found work there too, they had uprooted their family and come to live on the edge of the new town, preferring it to the old walled city, which was predominantly inhabited by Turkish Cypriots.
    It was the third time that Emine’s family had moved in the space of a few years. Nearly a decade before, they had fled their village when it was attacked by Greek Cypriots and their house had been burned down. After that they lived for a time in an enclave where they had the protection of United Nations troops, before settling in Maratha.
    Likewise, Famagusta was not Savina’s birthplace. She had grown up in Nicosia, but the spate of violence between the two communities nine years before had left her with deep scars too. Such fear and suspicion had developed between Greek and Turkish Cypriots that United Nations troops were brought in to maintain the peace, and a boundary known as the Green Line was drawn across the city to divide the two communities. It had tainted her family’s life.
    ‘We hated being cut off like that,’ she explained to Emine when they were sharing memories. ‘There were good friends we just couldn’t see any more. You can’t imagine. It was terrible. But Greeks and Turks had been killing each other – so I suppose they had to do it.’
    ‘Maratha wasn’t like that. We all got on quite well there, us and the Greeks,’ said Emine. ‘Even so, we’re all much happier here. And I’m
not
moving again!’
    ‘Things are better for us too,’ agreed Savina, ‘but I miss my family a lot …’
    The majority of Greek Cypriots were at ease with the Turkish Cypriots these days and no longer worried about paramilitary groups. Ironically, there was now rivalry and violence among the Greek Cypriots themselves. A minority of them wanted
enosis
, unification of Cyprus with Greece, and aimed to achieve it through violent means and intimidation. This was hidden from the tourists, and even most local people in Famagusta tried to forget that the threat was there.
    Both women were standing in front of the mirror. They were identical in height, with a similar stocky shape, and wore the same fashionable short hairstyle and salon housecoats. They caught each other’s eye and smiled. Emine was more than ten years older than Savina, but the similarity between them was striking.
    That day, on the eve of the hotel opening, their conversation was flowing as usual like a river in springtime. They spent six days a week in each other’s company, but their chatter was unceasing.
    ‘My youngest sister’s oldest is coming next week to stay for a few days,’ said Emine. ‘She just walks up and down, up and down, gazing into shop windows. I’ve seen her. Then she just stands and stares and stares and stares.’
    Emine did an impression of her niece (one of a total of fifteen produced so far by her four sisters) transfixed by an invisible window display.
    ‘The one who’s getting married?’
    ‘Yes. Mualla. She’s actually got something to buy now.’
    ‘Well, there’s plenty for her to look at here.’
    Famagusta had a plethora of bridalwear emporia whose windows were filled