Evan's Gallipoli by Kerry Greenwood Read Free Book Online

with himself and demands Greek lessons. And I do like the baby goats.
    July 18th
    This would not be a bad place to sit out the war. In the morning you get up and wash and have breakfast, which is bread and soft cheese or maybe jam, if there is any jam. And tea. Then we go out with the goats and watch them graze. Lunch is more bread and maybe some cooked vegetables or yoghurt with honey. Then more goat grazing until it is getting dark, when we bring the herd in and have dinner, which will be a soup or stew of whatever Auntie Fatima can find, usually beans. No bacon or pork because that is not halal, or permitted. Abdul and I spend all day exchanging languages. Father grows slowly better. Today he walked into the village square and sat down with the old men. He seemed to belong there. His hair is becoming white, his beard is growing, and he seems serene and old, like them. In his Turkish clothes he looks Turkish. Like me, I suppose, with my shaved head. I must look Turkish too.
    July 19th
    Abdul and I were sitting under a tree with a lot of goats when we saw someone very official come into the village. He had soldiers with him. The man wore spotless white and shone in the sun. Abdul told me he was Sabit Bey, a local governor, and very important. I asked him what such a personage would be doing in such a small village and Abdul said we should creep close and see what was happening. So we burrowed down through the undergrowth. I was suddenly so afraid that I had to clench my jaw to stop my teeth chattering. I had felt safe in the village but we are not safe anywhere. We have no papers and everyone in Turkey needs papers. I strained my ears to listen and found that the official was asking about Father and me. He clearly didn’t know about Abdul. He was asking for a man and a boy in British army uniforms. I thought of a dozen ways I could get out of the village but not Father. He was sitting in plain sight with the old men over their glasses of mint tea. The bey was asking each old man if they knew where these fugitives might be. One after another, each shook his head. When it came to Father’s turn my heart was in my mouth, but I couldn’t do anything but stand and stare and clutch a thorn bush so hard that the thorns were driven into my hand. I didn’t even feel it at the time. I was terrified that Father would deliver his speech about the values of peace. If he spoke in English the officer would surely know that this was the man he was looking for. Time slowed down so that hours seemed to pass as I waited for Father to respond. Father just shook his head. None of the old men spoke. Sabit Bey looked disappointed, handed over a leaflet, then got back into his truck and went away. I let out the breath I had been holding and felt quite dizzy for a moment.
    Then Abdul and I broke cover. He grabbed the leaflet and translated it for me. It said that a reward of 1000 lire would be given for news of us, 10,000 for our capture. That is a lot of money in these dirt-poor places. My one gold coin had only got us 2000 lire. We would have to leave right away.
    But why hadn’t the old men handed us over? They knew Father was the man the official was looking for. Auntie Fatima came out of the house and said that no one trusted officials, who were only interested in stealing the work of the farmer’s hands and giving him trouble. Funny. Australians think the same. She said that we are safe for the moment but not for long because sooner or later someone would be tempted. I have packed all our stuff—such as there is of it—and we are leaving in the morning. Abdul is coming too. I should not have felt safe here. Now we are marked men. Anyone can turn us in for the reward.
    But money doesn’t mean a lot in the country. Most of the trade is barter. There isn’t a lot to buy. However, I did spend some of my lire on a tarpaulin and a blanket, a cooking pot and matches and some food. We are going to have to avoid