He went to the headquarters of the hastily established Red Cross Relief Center in the unoccupied zone of Nicosia, where he learned that his family was safe and had inquired about him several times.
“They’re fine, don’t worry,” assured the young woman at the counter, her kind brown eyes soft with compassion. Seized with anxiety as he had been, a relieved smile broke through his worried features. “Thank God,” he murmured, thanking her effusively.
“Where can I find them?” he asked quickly, already half-turning to leave as soon as she gave him their whereabouts. She unfolded a map of the city from the stack on her desk and showed him where refugees—dispossessed, confused, often hysterical—were being temporarily housed. He thanked her again and dashed toward the door.
The girl jumped to her feet. “Wait! Please, wait!” she called after him, hurrying around the counter. “You need to be taken care of. Come with me.”
He hesitated, then realized how exhausted he was after walking for hours to reach the capital. Though Euclea had done her best, she wasn’t a qualified nurse, and many of his wounds were still infected, some bleeding again. With a weak smile, he followed the young woman to the infirmary, where a nurse rebandaged his injuries and gave him medicine to fight infection.
The reunion of the Angelidis family was deeply emotional. Michaelis’s mother came running toward him, arms outstretched, crying, “My son, my boy… oh, Michaelis, darling! I’m so happy to see you! We were so worried! Are you all right?”
He hugged her and his sister Electra tightly, tears streaming down their faces. Relief flooded him—he never wanted to let them go again.
“Did anybody harm you?” he asked anxiously.
“No!” mother and daughter answered at once. Then, interrupting and talking over one another, they began recounting what had happened.
As soon as the Turkish soldiers overran the plantations, taking command, they rounded up the men and marched them off to the fortress. Women and children were driven into the woods and left to fend for themselves. Most made their way to Nicosia on foot, as all regular transportation and communication had ceased almost immediately after the attack. The invasion was swift and devastating—a complete surprise to authorities and civilians alike—gaining momentum as it progressed.
“It all happened so fast,” Mother Elena cried. “They just burst in and told us to get out! I still can’t believe what happened to us!” Despite the tranquilizers prescribed to her, the desperation on her face betrayed raw pain and utter incomprehension at the sudden upheaval in their lives.
Electra described how they had managed to escape in the jeep with Persephone, the cook, once they realized that all was lost and they needed to flee.
Father and son embraced, both weeping openly. Mr. Angelidis had been in Limassol at the time of the invasion and had rushed to Nicosia immediately, hoping his family was safe—and that perhaps he might save something, anything. But the city was in turmoil. Turkish troops had sealed off access to the north, while dazed, dispossessed families carrying only a few belongings were allowed to cross the demarcation line, where Red Cross personnel helped them.
Elena clung to her son, sobbing, “I thought they had killed you! My child, my darling, my son! Thank you, merciful Lord, for saving him!”
Michaelis stayed with them in the overcrowded room assigned to their group—one of many who had become homeless overnight. A few days later, the Angelidis family was transported by bus to Limassol, where relatives took them in.
At first, they hoped for some resolution through Greek or international intervention. But it soon became clear that this would not happen, and their hopes were crushed.
Eventually, Mr. Angelidis found a small house for the family, with help from Michaelis’s uncle, who owned a discotheque in Limassol. Later, Mr. Angelidis secured work with a small shipping company as an assistant to the loading manager, while Michaelis worked initially as a waiter in his uncle’s club before finding employment at a five-star hotel along the coast.
In time, the Angelidis family—like countless other Greek Cypriot refugees—adjusted to a semblance of normal life. Yet their world had changed forever.
After reuniting with his family, Michaelis lost touch with Christo’s group. Disgusted by what had happened—to himself, his family, his friends, and his countrymen—he couldn’t bring himself to take up arms again. Though he still longed to reclaim what had been taken from them, by the end of the first week after the invasion, the matter was a fait accompli. It would have taken an army to drive the Turkish forces from his homeland.
The Turkish army had occupied a vast portion of northern Cyprus, strengthening its positions daily. Through the grapevine, Michaelis later heard that his friend Plato had escaped, but nothing more was ever learned about Nikos. He was eventually reported dead, though his family never saw his body.
On July 6, 1974, President Makarios accused the Greek government of turning the Cypriot National Guard into an army of occupation. Nine days later, on July 15, a coup d’état backed by the Greek military junta and the Cypriot National Guard overthrew Makarios and proclaimed the Hellenic Republic of Cyprus. In response, Turkey claimed the right to protect the Turkish Cypriot population and invaded the island on July 20, 1974. The coup led to civil war and ethnic violence; it soon collapsed, and Makarios returned to power.
In May 1976, Christo, Plato, and several others reappeared in Michaelis’s life. He ran into Christo at the old marketplace in Limassol while buying groceries for his mother. Christo was well-dressed, his hair slicked back, wearing what looked like an Italian-made suit. The two men embraced and went for coffee.
Michaelis learned that, although the nucleus of the resistance group still existed, their activities were now limited to sabotage along the demarcation line near Nicosia and other checkpoints. Any attempt to overthrow the occupation was by then impossible. In February 1975, Rauf Denktash had declared himself head of state of a Turkish nation in Cyprus.
Christo and his friends were still involved in the movement, though now for reasons very different from the patriotic ideals that had once inspired their fight to drive out the oppressor.