THE MIRACLE A True Story   1 Constantinople, September 1964    Her eyes darted about nervously. She turned round and looked anxiously behind her and when she was sure we could not be overheard, admonished me in a voice that betrayed her distress:    "You're practically grown up now! How many times have I told you not to speak Greek in the street? Haven't we got enough problems? Isn't this disaster bad enough already? Do you want someone to hear you and give us more trouble, now your father's gone? Have you already forgotten what happened to Uncle Sideris?"    She was right. Ever since my father had left in such a hurry, she had made herself hoarse warning my sister and me, over and over again, that when we were out in the street or any other public place, we should keep our mouths shut -out of necessity, because our lives were in danger. To speak Greek in the street or other public place in Turkey was more or less the equivalent of committing suicide. It was akin to crossing a national highway on foot with your eyes closed, because of a special law which had come into effect in Turkey in 1932 on the "vilification of Turkism". The law had been introduced to terrorise and oppress the country's non-Turkish population. It was sufficient for two Turks to give false testimony and make vague claims that you had insulted Turkey or the Turks, for you to be sent to prison without bail. So we were afraid to utter a single word in Greek in the street, lest we were accused of insulting Turkey.    What had happened to Uncle Sideris about four years earlier, when he was lucky to have escaped with his life by handing over all his savings to the "right" people, was absolutely typical of the times.    Sideris Vafias, a distant cousin of my mother's, ran a grocer's store in the commercial centre of Constantinople, at the upper end of the Kapali Carsi, or covered market. His shop, which he kept spotlessly clean -this was one reason why he was so popular both with the Greeks and with the Turks -was filled to the brim with cheeses, olives, butter and other foodstuffs. Uncle Sideris was a very stingy man. He had amassed a considerable fortune through his hard work and his miserliness and was known throughout his circle of friends by the nickname "fat hen". He was a philosophical person and remained faithful to his goal of making lots of money, so he was not at all bothered by the nickname.    One day, on 30th August 1960, he was in his shop, tidying up and arranging goods on the shelves, despite the fact that it was a public holiday when the Turks were celebrating the beginning of their campaign that ended in victory over the Greeks in the Asia Minor disaster of September, 1922.    Suddenly, a Turk appeared in the doorway and pointing his finger at my uncle said in a challenging voice:    "Hey, giavour (infidel)! How dare you work today? Have you no respect for Turkish public holidays?"    With little heed to the risk he was running, Uncle Sideris smiled and answered:    "Holidays are for lazy people! There are no holidays when there's work to be done!"    That was enough. His eyes blazing, the Turk gave an odd smirk and disappeared without saying a word.    In less than an hour, three men from the Turkish police appeared at the shop. One of them barked rather than said: 13 and 14 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 (15th of 204) © For Internet 2001 HEC and Leonidas Koumakis. Updated on 19 June 2001.