Greek Island Escape

by Patricia Wilson

  Startled by his change of mood, Megan stumbled on. ‘I don’t know if she was married to a hunter. She lived in England for a long time, but came back here recently.’

  An elderly man came out of the kafenio and a heated exchange took place between him and the kafenzies. Megan didn’t understand everything they said – her Greek was so limited – but she caught the words, malaka, hunter and Despotakis several times. Then the other fellow spat dramatically into the road. He scowled at the three of them before marching away.

  ‘Why do I get a horrible feeling we’re not as welcome as we thought?’ she whispered to Gary.

  The guys shrugged. ‘Seems that way. Best we drink up and leave.’

  ‘Can we pay?’ Jeff called out.

  The kafenzies, who had stood in his doorway since the exchange, made a definite ‘tut’, raised his eyebrows and said, ‘You no pay me nothing, I no want your money.’

  There was no generosity in his voice. He flicked his jet worry beads over his hand and returned indoors.

  *

  ‘Why don’t we ask at the police station?’ Jeff asked. ‘We’ve got an hour before the bus leaves.’

  ‘I don’t understand why he got so angry. She’s just an old woman. She’s lovely, really gentle and kind.’

  ‘It’s a mystery to me,’ Gary said. ‘Do you know much about your grandfather?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘He died when my mother was a little girl. Mum hardly remembered him.’

  They found the police station but had no success.

  ‘I know nothing,’ the policeman in the front office said. ‘Leave your details and come back tomorrow.’

  *

  The next morning, they went to the bakery together and feasted on doughnuts, cinnamon rolls and strong Greek coffee.

  ‘What’s the plan for today?’ Jeff asked.

  ‘I’ve got to find my grandmother,’ Megan said. ‘I’ll busk at the harbour, to earn my bread, then go back to Kissamos.’

  ‘I’m up for a day on the beach,’ Gary said, with a grin. ‘I need to get a tan and with my fair skin, it’s a slow process.’

  ‘So why don’t we tan and juggle this morning, and do Kissamos this afternoon?’

  They nodded in agreement.

  CHAPTER 31

  SOFIA

  Korydallos Prison, Athens, 1972.

  I HAD SEEN LITTLE OF MARKOS for the past three years. Then, a new junta officer, Despotakis, took over the camp. Efforts to convert Communists into Royalists escalated, and Markos was singled out as an example to those who stubbornly stuck to their ideals. When they dragged him, unconscious, into the ward, Thina kept him there as long as possible and we cherished every moment together.

  As spring approached, I realised my life was about to change. Tender breasts, no period and debilitating tiredness told me I was pregnant. I was both horrified and elated. Markos’s child grew inside me, the living proof of our future. I longed to tell him about the baby. If there was anything in the world that would make Markos renounce communism and get out of Korydallos Prison, surely it was this.

  I hadn’t seen him for three months, but the memory of our last encounter was still fresh in my mind.

  ‘I love you, Sofia. You are my life, my all,’ he had whispered. ‘You make anything bearable. When they inflict their torture, I thank them because I know they are bringing me back to you.’

  My beautiful, wonderful man. In those moments of turbulent passion, he was restored to the handsome Markos I had fallen in love with. All the scars and disfigurement of junta torture disappeared in the dark, behind the hospital screen.

  I calculated that our baby was due in early November 1972. That left me with six months to try and persuade the love of my life to change his priorities.

  Yet weeks passed with no sign of Markos. Every day stretched out. Every time the hospital door opened, I was overcome by both hope, then fear, that I would see the father of my baby, near death once again.

  ‘I’m desperate to send him a message, Thina,’ I told the midwife. ‘But the junta are cunning, and the prison’s riddled with informers. It’s too much to risk.’

  ‘You do right, Sofia. Nobody knows who they can trust.’

  *

  I stood on a chair and peered out of the high hospital window. The glass had long since gone, but thick bars blocked any chance of escape. April turned to May, and the wasteland outside the prison fence became an undulating blanket of wild iris. The frilly, pale blue flowers uplifted me. New growth and hope. A shadow dashed past, making me flinch. I turned my eyes up to the cobalt sky, where the first swallow of the year did its aerial dance to celebrate the season. It soared, twisted and dived in an aerobatic display of freedom. I wanted to weep with joy. But then, overcome by sadness, I placed my hand on my swollen belly. Would my child ever run free in such a meadow?

  The prison loudspeakers came on, blasting the creed of the Colonels. The statement droned on, but always ended with the same words: The government is good, communism is bad; admit to the error of your ways and return to freedom!

  I peered up at the blue sky of summer and whispered, ‘One day we’ll be free as a bird, small baby. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get us out of here.’

  The door opened and I jumped down, almost tipping the chair in the process.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, Sofia!’ Thina cried.

  ‘Sorry, sorry – I was just chasing a wasp.’

  She wasn’t fooled. ‘You know you’ll get punishment if you’re caught looking out of the windows. Watch it, Sofia!’

  I nodded rapidly.

  ‘How’d the shift go? Any more patients?’ she asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘How are you feeling in yourself?’

  ‘No change here, Thina.’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m three months pregnant and Markos has no idea. I don’t even know where he is. And we hear such awful things . . . like that poor seven-year-old boy. A junta officer ordered his name tag to be stitched to his bare chest! And that old man they lowered into a barrel of water by his feet. Dipping him until he gave up struggling and drowned.’

  Thina frowned. ‘It’s all so awful, but what can we do?’

  The swallow flitted past the window again. I wished I could climb on its shoulders and fly away, like one of Aesop’s fairies.

  *

  A month later, Markos’s body was dragged in and thrown onto a bed. They had beaten the soles of his feet until he was unconscious and beyond revival. When the officers had gone, we rearranged the beds and pulled a screen across the corner. I bathed Markos’s feet with cold water to try and reduce the swelling, then I sat beside him.

  They had kept him awake for days, tied to a table, whacking the soles of his feet with a pole every time he closed his eyes. Constantly reminding him that he only had to renounce communism, pledge allegiance to the new government and they would set him free. Of course, Markos refused until eventually, with many bones in his feet broken and his clothes stuck to his body by urine and defecation, his tormentors had given up on him.

  The doctor, a stern, unreadable man who came to the prison twice a week, kept Markos sedated for four days. For most of that time, I sat next to his bed. Sometimes he muttered incoherently; other times he screamed and, terrified, I would burst into tears. But there was nothing I could do to stop the demons in his head. On the fourth day, Thina reduced the sedative. As he returned to his senses, I took his hand and arched over the bed, my face close to his.

  ‘Markos, love, before I say anything else, I must tell you I’m having our baby.’

  For a moment, his eyes lit like street lamps, then they dulled as the situation dawned on him.

  ‘You can’t have a child in this place. I’ll not have my son or daughter born here. Oh, God have mercy on us.’

  He was silent for a long time, holding my hand, his eyes on me. A fledgling of hope fluttered in my chest – if only we could be free. I knew he was thinking the same. Then a
frown furrowed his brow and I realised he was thinking of all those who had died so that he could continue fighting for the cause.

  ‘I know what you are going to say,’ I said, ‘but I swear I’m not leaving this island without you.’

  He was silent for a long time again.

  ‘We must escape,’ he said eventually. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll make a plan, get help, get us out of this hellhole.’

  ‘There are only two ways out of here,’ Thina interrupted. ‘You renounce communism and do whatever they demand, or you die and leave in a body bag.’ She had a dish of black water and two cotton balls. ‘Place these on your closed eyes for ten minutes. They’ll stain your skin black, make you appear ill. Hopefully the doctor will keep you in for another couple of nights.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Water and mashed walnut husks.’

  As the door into the ward opened, Thina came over with a mug of tea. She discreetly whipped a thermometer out of the drink and stuck it into Markos’s mouth. His blackened eyes widened, and I guessed it was hotter than Thina had anticipated. Straight-faced, she picked up Markos’s wrist and took his pulse.

  ‘This way, doctor. Prisoner 83247 has an infection. His temperature’s up and down, and some of his lesions are infected.’

  We had moved the steriliser and desk across the corner of the ward, so that I could stay behind it whenever an official entered. We didn’t want anyone to notice my expanding waistline.

  The doctor whipped the thermometer out of Markos’s mouth and stared at it.

  ‘He certainly does have a temperature.’ He pulled his eyelid down. ‘Odd discoloration around the eyes, too. Might be a liver infection.’ He pulled the sheet back and pummelled below my man’s ribs, ignoring the white scars from past tortures. ‘Might need a B12 shot.’ He scribbled on a prescription pad and handed it to Thina. ‘Call if he gets worse. We don’t want something contagious spreading through the camp.’

  He moved on to the next bed and twenty minutes later, left the ward.

  I returned to Markos’s bedside.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I whispered.

  ‘Apart from a scalded mouth.’ He stuck the tip of his tongue out. ‘I’ve probably lost my sense of taste altogether. Come here.’ He placed his hand on my belly. ‘We’re really having a baby? I’m amazed. I’m happy. So happy. We’ll find a way to get out of here, Sofia, if it’s the last thing I do.’

  I nodded. ‘Tell them you’ll give up fighting for the communists – that you see the error of your ways. That you were misguided and misled.’

  He turned his head away from me, and my heart was breaking for him. After all he had gone through, it was a hard decision, but for the sake of our child, we had no other option. I, too, wondered why we had to suffer so much, when deep down we both loved our country with a passion. Perhaps this was my punishment for breaking my promise to Mama so many years ago. I gave my word that I would never get involved in politics, yet here I was in a political prison, having the baby of a man who had brought about my mother’s death: a communist freedom fighter.

  As I looked down on the man I loved, I longed to absorb his pain. We had known each other so long, meant so much to each other for so many years, that nothing could break us apart now. No matter what the junta threw at us, we would always love each other.

  After kissing him softly, I whispered, ‘Remember Zoniana? We can find that village happiness again, Markos. I love you so much.’

  He raised his eyes to mine and, in a moment of understanding, he tried to squeeze my hand.

  ‘I’ll find a way,’ he whispered.

  Thina came over. ‘You’re booked out of here after seeing the doctor tomorrow morning. I’ve asked if Sofia can help me through the night shift, and he’s agreed she can.’

  She turned to me. ‘You’d better oil the wheels on the screen . . . – we may have to pull it around Markos’s bed in the night. I don’t want to wake the other patients.’

  She raised her eyebrows, a knowing glint in her eye, and I understood.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  *

  I spent the night in Markos’s arms. We made love in the ward, behind the simple cotton screen. Silently, hardly moving, yet filled with love and tenderness. Neither of us knew when we would see each other again.

  Hope grew in my womb alongside our baby. We talked through the night, making plans for the future, yet both knowing we were dreaming. Unless we could get out of there, we had no future at all.

  The next morning, he was taken back to the prison where his torture would continue as an example to other communists. It would break his heart to abandon the cause, but now we had more important things to consider.

  When he had gone, I sat behind the screen in the corner of the ward and wept.

  *

  As the weeks and months passed and my child grew inside me, I was torn over Markos. I longed for his return to the hospital – yet I dreaded it, too, always hoping I would not see him again until we were free. Agapi had given me a long, pale silk dress, and I spent every spare moment carefully unravelling it in order to crochet my baby’s layette. At least I would have a special shawl for swaddling.

  I tried to gather information about Markos from other prisoners. One day, an elderly man from the cookhouse was admitted to the ward with severe burns.

  ‘You Sofia?’ he asked gruffly, while I concentrated on removing the dead, white skin from his palms.

  I nodded.

  ‘Markos is your man, isn’t he?’

  I nodded again, my hand trembling at the mention of his name.

  ‘He’s asked me to give you something. It’s in my back pocket.’ He went to retrieve it but winced with pain.

  ‘Wait, I’ll get it. You keep your hands still.’

  The paper was crumpled. I smoothed it and read the creased words.

  My one and only love. My thoughts are always with you. Soon, we will be together forever, I promise. You must trust me, whatever happens. All my love, XXX

  ‘I wrote it for him ’cos he can’t use his hands right now.’

  I clutched the letter to my heart as if it were my beloved Markos.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s havin’ it hard all right. Don’t know how he stays on his feet the way he does.’ He looked at my swollen belly. ‘That his?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m so afraid for him.’

  ‘I reckon he’ll be in here soon enough.’

  ‘Why? Oh God, I can’t stand much more of this.’

  ‘Of course you can, young woman. If he can put up with what they’re throwing at him, at least you can be strong when he needs you.’

  ‘What are those bastards doing to him now?’

  ‘They’s using the thumbscrews. Busting his fingers. Poor bastard. He’ll be good for nothing if he ever gets out of this place. You’ll see him soon enough.’

  *

  The old man was right. The next afternoon they hauled Markos in. Thina rushed over to the officers who dragged him to a bed.

  ‘Leave him,’ she ordered, drawing their attention away from me, and giving me a sideways squint of warning.

  I understood. She did not want them to know I cared about this man. If they discovered he loved me, they would torture me in front of him. I stiffened my back and stood behind the desk so they couldn’t see the advanced state of my pregnancy. The moment the officers had gone, Thina pulled the screen around his bed and ordered me to take care of him.

  I rushed to Markos’s side. Barely conscious, he mumbled incoherently.

  Every finger on his mashed hands was broken several times. His arms were bruised black to his elbows.

  ‘Can’t you give him a shot to relieve his pain?’ I asked her.

  ‘I can’t. I’ve used up our supply. We’re waiting for a delivery tomorrow.’

  ‘But he’s in agony. It must be unbearable!’

  ‘Look, the body has a way of taking care of itself. If the pain is
indeed unbearable, he would be unconscious. Now go to his bedside and remind him why he needs to get off this island.’

  She nodded at my full belly.

  *

  A few weeks later, I was cringing with a backache that had bothered me all night.

  ‘Let me listen,’ Thina said, indicating the examination table.

  I struggled onto it, cumbersome, yet oddly energised.

  ‘I’m betting before midnight,’ she said. ‘Try to take it easy today. No heavy lifting. We don’t want your waters to break until the last minute. Sit behind the desk and crochet your baby blanket until I need you.’

  I placed my hand on my belly and thought about Markos.

  ‘Do you think I can get a message to him, Thina?’ I asked, climbing off the table and smoothing my uniform.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps someone’s going off the ward – they could let him know it’s time.’

  The door opened and Colonel Despotakis barged into the room. His petite wife, who was heavy with child, was trying to keep up with him.

  ‘Where’s the doctor?’ he demanded.

  I ducked behind the desk.

  Thina answered, drawing the colonel’s attention away from me.

  ‘Dr Orpheus has gone into Athens for supplies, sir. I suspect the storm has hindered his return. They say the road’s collapsed under a landslide. I’m in charge. Can I help you?’

  ‘My wife Anna should have returned home today, but she has the same problem. Communications are down. Transport of any sort is impossible, and the wind’s almost reached hurricane level. Have a look at her – she’s not feeling well and the baby’s due in a few weeks.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course.’ Thina quickly assessed the small woman, who looked exhausted. ‘I’m actually a midwife, sir. I have all the skills to take very good care of your wife.’

  ‘Good. You’ll come and examine her in my quarters.’

  Thina shook her head. ‘All our equipment’s here, sir. Better for your wife if she could stay overnight. That way I can keep a close eye on her.’

  The colonel considered this for a moment. He flicked a glance around the ward, hardly seeming to notice me.