THE MIRACLE A True Story friends and relations to the huge Gunaydin estate at Kuruçesme; the lambs we roasted on the spit in that heavenly place, which was planted with masses of white and red mulberries. How we laughed when our hands and faces were stained bright red from the juice of the fruit!    The whole Gunaydin family behaved like a genuine Turkish Muslim family, religiously observing all the Muslim festivals. They had adopted Turkish names and customs, but deep down they still cherished the Christian faith. Carefully preserved in trunks inside the house were icons depicting the saints, which were brought out every Sunday for worship. When the family was alone, they spoke Greek together and used their Christian names: Osman was Christos to the rest of the family, Gulistan was Maria, Yasar was Kostis, Naciye was Athanasia and Mayide was Katerina. When necessary, they would go secretly to remote churches where they were not known, in order to pray, take holy communion or be baptised.    I also thought of the wonderful excursions we had gone on to the Prinkiponisia: the islands of Proti, Antigoni, Halki and Prinkipos - each one of them with its own kind of beauty. I remembered the house where Dora lived with her sea-captain husband. Every time he went to sea, he would promise to bring back a small tiger for me; how I used to long for his return so that he could fulfill his promise!    All these images passed before my eyes. Farewell, my beloved places! Goodbye, my dear friends! Goodbye, my beloved Constantinople! We hadn't even reached our destination and the seeds of a deep sadness and longing were already taking root inside me.    As we progressed the landscape kept changing, presenting different pictures, different scenes until we finally arrived at the Greek border. The coach drew up in a large open space in front of a long building that was the Customs House. All the passengers alighted and we were told to collect our belongings and keep them with us. A long queue of people clutching whatever they had managed to bring with them gradually formed outside the entrance to the customs building.    After we had been waiting for an hour, a Turkish customs official got on to the coach to check that nothing had been left inside. Then he went straight to the back entrance of the customs building and the final plunder began; this, too, was organised down to the last detail.    When our turn eventually came, three or more hours after our arrival at the Greek-Turkish border, we entered the long customs building where our belongings were subjected to a rigorous check. Many were confiscated by the Turkish customs officers because they said it was "forbidden" for us to take them with us into Greece.    My consternation was indescribable when they discovered amongst our possessions a little handmade rug with a white cat so skillfully embroidered on it that you thought it could talk. I was so upset that my mother plucked up the courage to say in her broken Turkish:    "Sir, this little rug has no special value for you to need to confiscate it," she said. "But it has great sentimental value for the children because they grew up with it. It was a present from their grandmother who is now dead."    The official looked up at her, annoyed. "Keep quiet, or even the things you are allowed to take will be confiscated!" he bellowed at her.    We were dumbfounded at his words and looked at one another in silence. I was ready to burst into tears, but I held them back because I knew I shouldn't cry.    After the customs check came a physical check of our 105 and 106 Leonidas Koumakis THE MIRACLE A True Story If you prefer a hard copy of the book, please send an email to HEC-Books@hec.greece.org Previous Page | Initial Page | Site Map | Next Page (107th of 204) © For Internet 2001 HEC and Leonidas Koumakis. Updated on 19 June 2001.