Through Seeds and Beyond

Introduction

The arrival of the sun was like a sudden breakthrough into a snow-covered dawn. A slight breeze that could drive any solitary soul mad had already started its journey across the empty streets. In Heywood, near Manchester, the usual cycle of street noises had begun. Milkmen, newspaper boys, egg vendors, bread sellers, and various other itinerant traders had begun waking up the sleepy town. It was a scene repeated every morning, and today was no different — except for Alfred, who lay awake on the second floor of an old lodging house, staring at the sunlight piercing through the mist-covered window. The rays of the sun forced themselves in, strong enough to scatter the last traces of frost on the glass pane.

Alfred pushed away the heavy December cold and sat up, his face marked with a quiet struggle. His mind was burdened with endless thoughts, a strange conflict that had taken residence in him since the day he arrived here. It had been three days since he had taken shelter in Heywood, but his heart remained restless. He didn’t know how long he would stay or where he would head next. For more than fifteen years, a question had haunted him—something he had tirelessly searched answers for. Sometimes, it felt like all that search was a waste of time; other times, it felt like the only thing worth chasing in his life. And now, standing at the crossroads of that mystery, Alfred was more confused than ever.

Alfred had grown up in Carlisle, a quiet town nearly twenty miles from Heywood. His childhood was as peaceful as one could wish for. From a young age, he showed remarkable ability in academics and extracurricular fields. He was bright, thoughtful, and a deep thinker — always lost in books, maps, and stories from faraway lands. But he was not without struggle. His right eye had limited vision, and over time, the color of its iris darkened into a deep shade of blue, unlike the other eye. Despite this, he carried on with great resilience.

Alfred's family was large and rooted in tradition. His father and mother, his beloved grandfather, an uncle, an aunt, and cousins — all lived under the same roof or nearby. Among them, Alfred was the only son and perhaps the quietest of them all. From his childhood, he had sensed that the family did not speak kindly of his mother's elder sister. He had only seen her a few times, and always in a pitiable condition, as though life itself had broken her spirit. He never fully understood why she was kept at a distance, but her sad eyes never left his memory.

The closest to Alfred was his grandfather — a strong, wise dairy farmer, who lived with more goats and cows than people. His world was filled with life, animals, and nature. Alfred spent countless days beside him, learning how to care for animals and listening to endless stories. It was a colorful and happy life. His grandfather, who lived well into his eighties, was a man of great patience and a gentle heart. After his retirement, the bond between Alfred and his grandfather only grew deeper. Together, they would sit for hours, talking, laughing, and reading. Alfred’s happiest days were spent on that farm, surrounded by the earthy smell of hay, milk, and rain.

But those days were not to last forever. Alfred was twelve when his grandfather passed away. His death left a wound in Alfred’s heart that never quite healed. After that, life took a sharp turn. His father, a stricter man than his grandfather, took over the farm with Alfred’s uncle. Though his uncle was kinder and gentler, his father’s firm hand ruled the house. Alfred’s days of joy were replaced with responsibilities — helping with the animals and assisting his mother and aunt in household chores. His cousins, studying at Oxford, rarely visited, and Alfred spent more time with books than with people.

It was during one of those lonely days that Alfred stumbled upon something that would change his life forever. While cleaning his grandfather's unused room — a place filled with dust and old memories — Alfred accidentally cut his hand on the sharp edge of an old suitcase. Blood oozed from the cut, and he quickly tied it with a cloth. But his curiosity was aroused. What was this old suitcase, left behind and forgotten? With effort, he forced it open. What he found inside would puzzle him for years to come.

Inside the suitcase was a worn-out European map, so old that many of its markings had faded. Yet, what caught Alfred’s eye was a region marked in red ink — a small town in Cyprus, far from Britain. Along with the map, there was a bundle of barley seeds, carefully wrapped in a paper that had yellowed with time. Alfred was stunned. What connection could his grandfather, a simple dairy farmer, have with a town in Cyprus? Why the seeds? He rushed to show the objects to his uncle, but his uncle merely shrugged, saying that his grandfather must have left them long ago. But Alfred wasn’t convinced.

That night, as the summer winds howled outside, Alfred was disturbed by strange dreams. In one dream, he was walking through a thick forest, the trees like silent watchers. In the middle of the forest, he saw a massive tree, and though he tried to walk toward it, the tree seemed to move further away with every step. Alfred woke up in a cold sweat. Over the following nights, more dreams followed. Once, he dreamed of sitting beside a riverbank, and on the sand in large red letters was written "Paphos" — the name of a river and a town in Cyprus. On another occasion, he saw a man digging deep into the earth, uncovering the shape of an ancient house buried for ages. The dreams unsettled him. He was afraid to tell anyone, afraid of being called mad.

Years passed, and Alfred carried those memories with him. Now, at sixty-six, a respected teacher, Alfred still carried the weight of those mysteries. The memories of his grandfather, the map, the seeds, and the dreams had never left him. They haunted his quiet days and sleepless nights. Though life had moved on, deep inside, Alfred still felt like the young boy standing in that dusty room with a suitcase full of riddles.

Many times, Alfred thought of traveling to Cyprus. Yet, practical difficulties stood in his way — money, health, and time. A flight from Manchester to Larnaca or Paphos would only take five hours, but tickets were costly, and Alfred’s modest income as a teacher was barely enough to cover his living expenses. Traveling by sea was cheaper but would take over a week. Still, the desire burned within him.

Finally, after years of postponing, Alfred made up his mind. He would do it. He would find out what secret his grandfather had left behind. Maybe it was something silly, maybe it was nothing. But Alfred had to know. This was his journey — one that began with a map and a dream.

He started preparing — searching for affordable routes, selling some old belongings to raise money, and contacting people who might help him in Cyprus. His body was weaker than before, but his mind was sharper than ever. The urge to complete what had remained incomplete for so many years was now overwhelming.

As Alfred sat by the window that morning in Heywood, watching the sun melt away the frost, he knew that this journey was going to be the most important one of his life. He didn’t know what lay ahead — whether he would return with answers or only more questions. But he knew one thing for sure — he was ready to face whatever came his way. The road to Cyprus was long and uncertain, but for Alfred, it was a path he was destined to walk.