THE MIRACLE A True Story   6    We were on our way, my mother, my sister and I, along the road to Sirkeci. The trunk containing our belongings had to be checked by the customs authorities.    We walked in silence. The slogans daubed on the walls had but a single target: the Greeks. "Fellow citizens, speak Turkish!" "Damn the infidels!" I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. My mother held my sister tightly by the hand and told her to keep her eyes looking down, never to the left or right.    I have often wondered where the bounds of human endurance lie. It would appear that man is a very hardy creature. We had put up with being subjected to a monstrous strategy of extermination and economic ruin by clinging on to every last bit of strength we had and upholding all the principles we held most dear. It was as if the continued persecutions, the oppression and terrorism, the plunder of our property and now banishment from our homeland had strengthened our will to survive and given new impetus to our resolve to create a new beginning.    When we reached the customs building, we went into a huge long hall. A seemingly endless line of benches was being used to lay out people's belongings for examination.    After being questioned and hanging about for an hour, we reached the bench with our belongings on it. The customs officer, a typical Turk with spite written all over his face, looked as us searchingly.    "Is this your trunk?" he asked.    "Yes, it is," my mother answered.    "What do you have in it?"    "Some clothes and a few essential household things," replied my mother in her broken Turkish.    "What sort of things?" came the question.    "A few sheets, one or two blankets - the kind of things we'll need straightaway when we get there."    "You do know, don't you, that you are not permitted to take anything valuable, gold sovereigns, jewellery or foreign money?" the official asked meaningfully, his eyes fixed intently on us.    "No, no, we have nothing like that," my mother hastened to assure him.    "We shall see!" grunted the Turk. "Empty the trunk on to the bench!" he ordered, and walked off.    Behind him stood an armed soldier who was following the whole procedure in silence. There were several such soldiers standing at intervals behind every customs official.    My mother beckoned us to come forward. We opened the trunk and began to take out all the possessions we had left, laying them on the bench. Soon the bench was covered with the contents of the trunk.    In a while the customs officer returned. The first thing he did was to remove four pillows from the heap of our belongings.    "Why do you want to take these pillows with you?" he asked my mother in a tone of voice I did not understand.    My mother shrugged her shoulders helplessly, not sure whether an answer was expected or indeed what she should answer.    The officer grabbed one corner of a pillow and slit open the seam from top to bottom. He began to pull out the feathers from inside, working dexterously until the pillow was completely empty and in shreds. Then he picked up a second one, all the while looking us straight in the eye as if he was enjoying our helplessness and 93 and 94 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 (95th of 204) © For Internet 2001 HEC and Leonidas Koumakis. Updated on 19 June 2001.