Legend of the white eagles E-Book

Hristo Santulov

• Herausgeber: Europa Edizioni
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Legend of the white eagles comes as an attempt to create a piece rich in story lines and adventure. Yet here too, we can hear a recognisable voice, art has no pretence, everyday life gently intertwines with the higher messages and the magic, nature is a beautifully inspiring helper of the wise while above all, quietly but almighty, is God’s love. 
The writing is very true to life and very colourful at the same time. The landscapes are so vivid that we can almost sense the fresh mountain breeze always accompanying the strong characters to remind them of hope and that is the main message, delicate and confident.

Hristo Al. Santulov was born on Oct 30th in the ancient town of Plovdiv (Philipopolis) in 1940. He is a young child during the harsh post-WWII years. Time and place made their mark on him. Young Hristo is fascinated by the vibrant fast developing town full of characters of all nationalities. Its famous seven hills are the home of numerous children’s games and dreams. But above all are the picturesque Rhodope mountains whispering their legends. That’s why his first book of fairy tales is called The Magy of the Mountains.
Far from being autobiographical or moralizing, Hristo shares the deepest values, ideas and impressions, the beauty of places and people that preserved the child born to a family of illiterate parents that still remembers the hunger and the bread tickets of post-war times. This kid grows up to be a pater familias, a philosophy doctor, an entrepreneur and a writer in his eighties, as fresh in his mind and tales as the mountain breeze he loves to describe so much.

Leseprobe

Hristo Santulov

Legend of the white eagles

© 2023 Europe Books| London www.europebooks.co.uk | [email protected]

ISBN 9791220137966

First edition: July 2023

Legend of the white eagles

Hristo's wife and daughter, Elena and Maria, worked along with him on the style and language and Maria translated from Bulgarian to English. So all the family present the readers with their labour of love.

Chapter one

The meeting

Every year the last Saturday of April was a big market day in Smolyan, the largest town in this part of the Rhodope Mountains. Merchants came not only from the nearby villages and Turkish neighborhoods, but also from Edirne and Thessaloniki. This year, too, heavy ox-carts and horse-drawn carriages arrived full to the brim. The merchants spread colorful tarpaulins and placed their rich stalls in front. Everyone cheerfully and loudly offered what was produced or bought from distant lands – the southeast of the Ottoman Empire, even further away. There were all kinds of goods – various fruits and foods, all kinds of handicrafts for the home, the fields and the mountains; fabrics - home-woven or brought from abroad, gold jewelry, gems and even precious stones. The color palette was rich with the national costumes, too – a picturesque variegation of turbans, red fezzes with black tassels, European hats, and rustic fur kalpaks1.

People greeted each other smilingly. The aroma of rich frothy Turkish coffee could be scented coming from the nearby cafe, carried and offered by several kids for small coins. The spring sun shone brightly and pleasantly warm, raising the festive mood of the people who crowded the market.

Slavin woke up to the hubbub as his father's two-story house was near the marketplace. He got dressed, looked in the mirror and went out to join the crowd fairly intrigued.

Slavin was a bright, hazel-eyed lad with high-cropped hair. Everything about his appearance suggested that he had lived in Europe. The beige suit gave him an air of exquisite softness, caressed by the morning sun rays. Indeed, he had only recently returned from Vienna, where he had graduated as a physician. The young man got out nimbly and walked down the cobbled street towards the bazaar.

The maidens in Smolyan had heard that a lad of their age would soon be returning from abroad. By word of mouth, good things about him were said among them. In their eyes, he grew more and more handsome and clever, though none of them had seen him, for chorbaji2 Tanyo, his father, had sent him to a boarding school when he was still a young boy. A word that the doctor had returned spread like wildfire. The shy peeped out, cautiously lifting the lace curtains of their narrow windows to catch a glimpse of him, while others sauntered out into the bazaar to meet him.

Slavin immersed himself in thе enchanting festive crowd, which he barely remembered from the time when he was a kid and thought – "Vienna is a very beautiful city, but such a lively gathering can’t be seen there." This calm man, who, despite his youth, exuded charming dignity, walked around the market, stopping now and then in front of an odd stall. He bent over a rosary of exquisite make.

Colorful gems and a few amber beads. He liked it very

much and decided to buy it as a present for his father, whose birthday was coming up. When he raised his head to ask for the price, a girl in a blueferriage appeared before him. Under the veil two warm brown eyes shone, shadowed by long, thick eyelashes and the delicate whiteness of her angelically beautiful forehead.

Slavin did not know the girls from Smolyan. His delicate pale face turned pink, and he bent over the rosary, embarrassed by the fairy vision. He tamed his rapid breathing and slowly raised his head again. The girl was still standing in front of him and with her two milky white hands was handing him the rosary.

—Good morning, mister. I can see you like the rosary – said the girl in a soft singsong voice.

—Yes, I do. I will buy it as a present for my father. He will be fifty-five next Sunday. How much does it cost? -– Slavin asked with a slightly trembling voice.

—I can not say. My father went to see a friend and I expect him to return soon. – Answered the girl. There was a shade of confusion in her voice, too and Slavin sensed it. He wanted to continue talking, but in a moment people swirled around the stall and he felt uncomfortable. She immediately drew back and covered her whole face. He gathered himself, quickly placed the rosary on the stall and looked at the girl. After a while, the people went away and Slavin decided to approach again.

—What is your name? Do you come from Smolyan? – he asked. – I'm Slavin.

The girl almost imperceptibly pulled back the veil and it could be seen that her eyes shone in a fine smile.

—My name is Anife. I'm Turkish, as you can see. We live further up in the hamlet by Osmanovi göl, a very beautiful lake surrounded by tall and dense pine forests. – she answered. – Here, take the rosary to have a better look until my father comes back.

She held it out to him. Slavin placed his hands under hers and for a moment had them together with the rosary. They both trembled at once and looked into each other's eyes. The next instant both already knew they were meant for each other. The rosary fell where it was before. At that moment, Anife's father appeared. She silently bowed before him, covering as much of her beautiful face as she could.

—What would you like, young man? – he asked in his gruff voice that pulled Slavin back to reality. The Turk wore a large turban, silken and impressively arranged in a beautiful combination of Turkish blue, red and white. A massive gold rim with a large purple amethyst held it. His lust for power was evident. Slavin sensed this as soon as he saw hisdaughter startle and bow at his appearance.

—I would like to buy this rosary – and he pointed to it. – How much does it cost?

—Ninety groschi, less than a golden lira – replied the merchant, emphasizing less than a lira, intending to avoid long haggling.

Slavin knew perfectly well the commercial habits of both Bulgarian and Turkish merchants, so he delayed his proposal a bit. Then slowly but firmly he said:

—I would give sixty-five groshi. It’s very pretty, I like it. – and looked straight into the merchant's eyes, expecting the new price.

—Young lad, I assume you are buying it for an elderly relative, therefore, I shall give you a discount. Pay me seventy-five groshi and make a beautiful gift for the old man.

—Yes, I really want to buy it for my father as a birthday present. – Slavin said and paid for the exquisite rosary. Then he got it to handle. The amber beads in the string, as well as the other gems, gave it an amazing coloring and finesse. Tied to it was an elaborate tassel of silk threads which shimmered in the morning sun, and among them crept the glints of a few purple ones.

—I bought this rosary in Beirut, the most beautiful and large city in Lebanon. The Arab merchant told me an interesting story. This, sir, was made by a century-old Arab craftsman, who may still live alone in the mountains of Lebanon. He was a half-blind sage, a skilled jeweler and a magician. Legend has it the master made two same rosaries, and whoever possessed both, would meet and live the true love of his life. Congratulations and I hope your father will be happy.

Slavin listened to the merchant's story. Satisfied, he put the rosary in his jacket pocket and secretly looked at Anife. He felt her dazed look at his face and was touched again. Something might have taken him as well, he somehow staggered slightly turning around before the first steps away. "Shall I see her again?" – he thought, as he was well aware of the strict patriarchal and religious orders of the Turkish families, not to forget the arrogance and contemptuous attitude towards the enslaved Bulgarians. He also knew Bulgarian traditions, attitudes and sentiments against the oppressors and their religion. Pensive and captivated by the girl's warm gaze, he headed slowly towards the town’s cafe, which was in the square, not far from the bazaar. He sat outside under the thick shade of a huge beech tree and looked at Stoyu, the keeper.

—Uncle Stoyo, bring me one of ours, please. – ordered Slavin and took the rosary out of his pocket. Only now did he notice that each bead was engraved with some mysterious signs and symbols. "It's really lovely. Father will be happy.'

He was happy with the purchase, but his heart felt somehow heavy, the Turk's story lingering in his mind. The young man felt a strange hesitation deep inside, a desire to keep the rosary for himself, so that its magical power would help him meet Anife again.

—Here is your favorite Viennese coffee, Slavine, my boy. Hey, you taught me how to make it and the alashverish3 grew stronger with the Bulgarians. – the host said with a smile, twisting his shaggy mustache.

Slavin took a small hot sip of aromatic coffee and another of cold mountain water. Raising his head he was surprised to see Anife approaching the cafe. She was in a hurry. Her gait was light and the mantle of her silken ferriage swayed back and forth. It created the illusion that the girl was not walking on the ground, but floating slightly above it. She was startled when she saw him, stopped beside him and bowed her head shyly.

—Baba, my father sent me for coffee. – She murmured quietly. – And I have to get back as fast as I can so he doesn't punish me.

—Anife, I need to see you again. We can climb Orpheus Rock. I will come on the road to the Ottoman Gül to pick you up. I will be with my horse. Just tell me when. – the young man asked frantically and waited for her answer, as if it was the most important thing in the world. She thought for a moment. After a few seconds, the longest of his life, she whispered:

—I can't, I shouldn't. No one will let me out alone. - she darted into the cafeteria hall. In a few minutes, she came out with a cup of coffee in hand, walked past him and, without looking at him, muttered – "Only on Saturdays at the market". And hurried to the bazaar.

Slavin remained as if chained to the chair and followed the girl’s walk with an admiring gaze. From this fleeting meeting and her refusal, he suddenly remembered that the spontaneous communication to which he had been accustomed in Vienna was unthinkable and impossible here. All the fateful questions and words he longed to share with her still sounded unspoken in his mind. He got up, finished his coffee and went home thoughtfully. He couldn't stop thinking about Anife, but he didn't know what he could do to see her more often, even every day. There was no peace and tranquility in his soul, it wandered and rebelled, for he was fully aware that there was a high wall between them. But the figure of the girl in a blue ferriage and warm eyes remained vivid in his mind.

After this first meeting, Slavin could not find rest. He could not wait for the market day, and was early in the bazaar, waiting for her arrival. As soon as she arrived, she quickly looked around, and every time she met the gaze of awaiting Slavin, her eyes shone. All through the market day they secretly looked for each other, and when they managed to meet eyes, a pure and sublime joy overflowed their hearts. Their love grew with each day. Both were confident that nothing could stray them from their pursuit to get together and their common lifepath was the only way to happiness.