A feeling of resentment flooded over Ayla at the sight of cameras swinging from almost every hand and eyes peering into humble dwellings. The remote Cappadocian village had become more prosperous since its rock churches had been 'discovered' two years ago. The tiny inn did a brisk trade on the days the tourist buses arrived, and two small shops were now well-stocked with hand-woven rugs and embroidery, which previously had been sent away for sale. It had been found profitable, too, to bring in goods from other areas - pottery and onyx items sold well.
Ayla could hear the guide calling to the group as he led the way along the newly widened paths and up towards the caves hollowed out of the hillside.
The people of Avcilar had been surprised when their ancient caves suddenly attracted attention. The neighbouring towns of Urgup and Zelve were well known for their rock-cut churches and monasteries, and in the summer months were thronged with visitors, but Avcilar had remained undisturbed. Their more accessible caves had long been used as storehouses and shelters for livestock, and sometimes as dwellings. Those higher in the hills (and there were many) were difficult to reach, often dark and in places walls had crumbled away, so they had remained deserted.
Christians had come to Cappadocia centuries ago, seeking refuge from persecution: they had dug many rooms, large and small, from the soft Tufa rock and had painted the walls with religious scenes.
There were many of these in the cave that Ayla entered. Strong sunlight flooded in and there was no need to light the small oil lamp she kept there. The painting glowed with colour and there was a gleam of gold around the heads of a solemn-faced lady and the child she held.
Ayla had stumbled upon the cave long ago, when she was hunting for a lost goat. It was rarely that anyone from the village came up here.
She'd swept out the light dust that blew in, and decided to keep her few treasurers here. It was a large cave - long and rather narrow. At one end there was a tiny dark room and from this room a tunnel had been cut back into the hill. One day Ayla plucked up courage to feel her way along the narrow passage, bending double in places, until she came to a heap of rubble blocking the way. There was no room to turn and she had gone out backwards. In one tight spot she found herself wedged, and almost fainted from fright, thinking she might be stuck there forever. It was a relief to find herself back in the cave with the familiar figures on the walls.
Some day people would come here, she knew. There were occasional strangers walking about the valleys, climbing up the cliffs, looking for concealed caves and tunnels.
A wave of depression, almost of desperation, swept over her. Her father was ailing and he had decided that she must be married soon. At sixteen it was more than time - her mother had married at fourteen. She would finish her year at high school in Avanos and then she would possibly marry Yilmas: it would be arranged. She had seen him once or twice - a heavy, dark-jowled fellow with a roving eye. He was about thirty, and by local standards, quite prosperous. He was manager of an onyx works in Avanos, and had set his sights on having his own factory.
Her friends would think her fortunate: she would escape the wretchedness some of them faced, married to men who spent much of their time gossiping in the tea-room, while their wives cooked and cleaned, and trudged each day to the few acres of land which supported the family. Her sister Selma was married to such a one, and she would be an old woman by the time she was forty. Ayla thought bitterly that this might be preferable to marriage with Yilmaz. She could refuse - her family would not force her, but in their eyes it would be a highly desirable match.
She walked slowly to the little niche in the wall and took out her most treasured possession - a tiny box made of bone, delicately painted with flowers and her initial. She closed her eyes and held it to her cheek. It was three years since Volkan had left Avcilar and moved to Konya with his family. His father had obtained a reasonably good job, and Volkan would go to university. She thought of him often, and the way his eyes had laughed at her whenever they met. They exchanged nothing but glances and a few brief words (always in the company of others), and she was overwhelmed when he gave her this gift and touched her hand to his forehead. Her heart ached at the memory, and the tears fell.
"Oh, isn't she pretty!" The American voice rang out and a dozen pairs of eyes turned on the startled girl as she hesitated at the foot of the path. Passengers were alighting from a bus. "Oh, don't run away! Let's take your picture!"
But the headscarf was quickly pulled across her face as Ayla retreated around the corner and ran up the uneven ground to her home. "Hateful people! Why must they come here?" Her father, lounging against the door, looked faintly surprised at her outburst, but made no comment. She ran past him into the house.
"Ayla, two of your little pictures were sold this morning!" Her mother's voice was high with excitement.
The girl stopped and stared at her, unbelieving."It can't be true!" she stammered at last.
"It is - I saw Mustafa this morning. He says you must do more for him."
Ayla's knees suddenly felt weak and she sank onto the nearest chair. She had always liked to draw, and one day she felt an urge to copy the pictures in her cave. Paper was almost a luxury, but her teacher at school, recognising the talent, gave her whatever she could spare. Mustafa presented her with two small pots of paint when she hesitantly showed him some of her efforts, drawn with a school pencil. He had thought the drawings neat, that they might appeal to tourists who came looking for souvenirs. He framed them simply.
Ayla felt a flush of success. She must work harder, spend more time at the cave...but that, of course, was difficult: her schoolwork was important and there were always house and farm chores to be done.
It was three days before she was at the cave again, and she wasted no time in setting to her drawing. She had an extra colour now - she could copy the picture of a man on horseback pointing a spear at a strange creature on the ground. There was only a little time before the daylight would start to fade and she worked quickly.
The crunch of footsteps on the path startled her and, as they came closer, she felt trapped. It was unlikely to be one of the villagers and the thought of a stranger, possibly a man, finding her here alone, horrified her. There was only the tunnel! She gathered up her work silently and ran to the opening. It was very dark and she moved in backwards, carefully. After a few moments she could faintly hear the soft tread of someone walking about the cave, pausing now and then. It seemed that hours passed, then there was again movement in the little room and she could see the vague outline of a man as he peered into the gloom.
She turned back slowly. He was taller than she had remembered and his eyes were serious as they studied her.
"You . haven't forgotten me?"
Her eyes were downcast and a flush crept over her face. There was an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
"You kept my box." It was a statement, not a query, and her head jerked up, eyes wide in surprise. So it was he, Volkan, who had been here that day!
"And Yilmaz? Are you promised?" Once again she lowered her eyes and there was the same small shake of the head.
"I went to your home - I wanted to see you. He was there, so I went away."
"I was here." It was scarcely more than a whisper.
"But the cave was empty - I examined it well...oh, the tunnel?"
She peered up and his eyes were laughing now. "You were hiding from me!" There was a long pause.
"You - won't hide from me again, will you?" And then, very seriously "Will you?"
There was a shy smile, a more vigorous shake of the head, and she ran lightly down the path.
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