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previous year and was clandestinely leading a new campaign for
enosis.
He had found a new and willing generation of young men such as Christos ready to join his newly formed EOKA B.
    ‘What I can’t understand is why you stopped! It’s a mission, for God’s sake. You don’t just abandon it when you feel like it. Not until it’s won!’
    Christos loved the rhetoric of
enosis
, enjoyed making a speech, even to the single audience of his brother.
    Markos sighed. When he himself had flirted with the cause as a teenager, he had even sworn the oath – ‘I shall not abandon the struggle … until after our aim has been accomplished.’ Nowadays its aims no longer suited him.
    ‘Perhaps I have other interests now, Christos. Cyprus is becoming something else. A land of opportunity. How exactly is it going to benefit from becoming part of Greece?’
    ‘What do you mean? A land of opportunity?’
    ‘You haven’t noticed?’
    ‘Noticed what?
    ‘How this city is growing?’
    Christos was annoyed by his brother’s bland language.
    ‘What … so it’s a matter of the money you have in your pocket, is it?’
    ‘Not only that, Christos. Just ask yourself: do you want your precious island to be governed by a dictatorship? From Athens?’
    Christos was silent.
    ‘
Gamoto!
Damn!’ Markos had nicked himself slightly with his razor and blood oozed out of the cut. ‘Pass me that handkerchief, Christos.’
    He dabbed at it until the bleeding ceased, mildly irritated by the realisation that a blemish would be left.
    ‘Look at you. Wincing like a baby,’ Christos taunted his brother.
    Christos continued trying to persuade Markos to see his point of view, but the more desperate and ranting in his entreaties he became, the calmer Markos grew. He looked at his younger brother with sympathy and shook his head from side to side.
    Christos stood clenching and unclenching his hands, almost crying tears of frustration.
    ‘How did you change so much?’ he pleaded. ‘I just don’t understand …’
    Markos did not feel that he had changed. Not inside, at least. It was the world that had changed, and new opportunities were now presenting themselves and asking to be taken.
    ‘Christos …’ He appealed to his brother, but was immediately interrupted.
    ‘You’ve become like our parents …’
    Markos could not halt his tirade.
    ‘… happy with an easy life!’
    ‘And there’s something wrong with that at their age?’ he asked.
    ‘Father was a fighter once!’
    ‘Once, Christos. But not now. And if you’re going to be part of it, just make sure you keep it to yourself. You don’t want people finding out.’
    Markos was not only referring to their parents, whom he wanted to protect from the anxiety. The police were constantly searching for EOKA B suspects.
    He continued his ascent of the concrete stairs and the voices faded. Even with the windows open, the sound of arguing and the noise of the cicadas would not keep Markos from sleeping. A long day and night of work would be followed by a brief but deep slumber.
    The next morning he was up at nine as usual, and after the rituals of showering and shaving (he was more careful today), he went down to spend half an hour with his mother before going to work.
    Irini Georgiou was chatting to her caged canary when he appeared. She wore a brown chiffon headscarf trimmed with lace which would be kept on all day, and beneath her rose-print apron she wore a floral blouse, the two designs clashing furiously. Everything in Irini’s life was similarly busy, from her daily schedule that was full from morning to night with a continuous sequence of small tasks, to the decor of the place where they lived. Their house in the village had been larger than the apartment, but they had brought with them every stick of furniture and knick-knack they had ever possessed. The combination of these made the apartment resemble a museum of small objects. Every plate, framed print, vase of plastic flowers,