Greek Island Escape

by Patricia Wilson

  Except, of course, Markos would probably never play the lyra again.

  When I woke, dawn was pushing back the night in Korydallos and I had been crying in my sleep. On this day I would say goodbye to my baby – and who knew when, or if, I would ever see her again?

  At least my daughter would be away from the cursed prison and in the safe hands of a good woman.

  I held Zoë at every opportunity, snuggling her close to my chest. I told her to listen to my heartbeat, to remember it, in the hope that one day she would hear it again.

  Later that day, as the roaring wind outside abated, a swallow flew in through the high window, explored the room in a darting flight, and then returned outdoors. It seemed like an omen. Anna needed the bathroom, and for a few precious minutes I was left with Zoë. I did not know if I would ever be alone with her again, and I had so much to say.

  ‘My dearest darling daughter, I love you with all my heart. Be good for Anna. She’ll make a wonderful mother. I feel it. Take my blessings for a good, happy life. That is all I can give you.

  ‘I want you to know that in the few hours we’ve had together you have changed my life, and the life of your courageous father. He loves you so much. He’ll always fight for your liberty, for a free world for you, where swallows duck and dive over the orchid fields, and men sing whatever they like in the kafenio. Keep me in your heart, my beloved baby, until we meet again.’

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes and I had to swallow hard to stay in control.

  When Anna returned, she could see I was emotional.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, forcing the words through the pain in my throat. ‘I’ve grown so attached to her that I don’t want to see her go.’

  ‘She is precious, isn’t she?’ Anna smiled. ‘You’ve been so kind, Sofia. I couldn’t have wished for better care. I’m sure my daughter owes her life to you. If ever you’re in Athens, please come and see us. I’ll give you my address and telephone number. You’ll always be welcome.’ She glanced at the bed. ‘I guess I’d better shower and dress, ready for when the taxi arrives. Will you look after her for another half an hour?’

  ‘Of course. It’s my pleasure.’

  I glanced at Anna and for a second, God forgive me, I wanted to kick the legs from under her. I longed to smash down the prison gates and run, as far and as fast as I could, with Zoë grasped tightly against my chest.

  Yet I had to be strong, for everyone’s sake. For Zoë, above all.

  When the hour came, I handed over my child. Thina was at my side and I sensed her concern. She feared I would break down and not let go of my baby – or worse, claim she was mine. For my daughter’s sake, with my heart like lead in my breast, I placed her in the arms of Anna Despotakis.

  When the door finally closed on the colonel, Anna and my baby, I stared after them, my vision swimming. Cold and stiff, I was filled with a sense of awful shock. I thought a condemned woman must feel the same when she put her head on the block under a guillotine, accepting the inevitable.

  I had already died inside.

  ‘Go and change your uniform, quickly,’ Thina ordered, staring at my chest.

  I looked down and saw two round, wet patches over my breasts. My milk had come in.

  CHAPTER 36

  SOFIA

  Korydallos Prison, Athens, 1972.

  A WEEK AFTER I HAD given up Zoë, they dragged Markos into the ward, unconscious and dehydrated.

  ‘What have they done to you?’ I asked, after we had pumped him full of fluids and he regained consciousness.

  ‘I signed the papers,’ he said.

  I was so amazed, so pleased, that I began to cry.

  ‘I swore allegiance to the bastard government and said everything they wanted me to say – but still it’s not enough! They’ve ordered me to inform on my comrades. Me, a traitor. I can’t do it, Sofia.’

  ‘Oh, Markos!’

  ‘We have to escape,’ he said, slowly. ‘I can’t bear it any longer. I want to be with you, in the real world. And maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to get Zoë back.’

  I said nothing, and stared at the floor. I knew this was impossible. It was a heartbreaking thought that we had no proof she was ours. However, in the outside world, we could have more children and live the life of a normal family.

  ‘I’m making a plan,’ Markos whispered. ‘You won’t leave unless I do, right?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Going together is doomed to fail. So, you must go, and I’ll follow.’

  ‘No, Markos! Don’t ever suggest such a thing again! You go first, and then I’ll find a way to be released. I’ve already got the colonel on my side – he appreciates everything I did for Anna. I think he’d be lenient if I confessed to my wrongs and swore allegiance to the government. Besides, I’m up for a review at the end of the month. I just have to sign the papers and swear an oath that I’ll never write subversive songs again.’

  Markos was silent for a long time.

  At last I asked, ‘How do you intend to escape this hellhole?’

  ‘With the help of flour-man Fannes.’

  ‘There’s no way you can get outside the fence – it’s too heavily guarded.’

  ‘You’re right . . .’ He glanced at the window. ‘That’s the difficult part.’

  *

  A plan was hurriedly put into action. Fannes delivered the flour at noon on a Friday. He dropped the full sacks off at the gate, where the empty ones were stacked and waiting for him. A note was placed in the pile telling him that Markos would be hidden in the next stack of sacks.

  It was a wild plan, incredibly dangerous if he got caught, but we could see no other option. Markos was desperate.

  I could hardly breathe for excitement. Markos and I would soon be free. Markos dreamed of finding a way to get Zoë back, and though I knew how near impossible that was, his hope was infectious. I began to plan out all sorts of possibilities. I had Anna’s address, after all. I could get a job in her household as a nursemaid, and spend as much time as possible with Zoë; then, one night, I could take her from the house and we would run as fast as we could, Markos and our child and me.

  But what a wicked thing to do to Anna. If I committed such a terrible act, caused so much pain, then I would be no better than the bastards that tortured us all.

  The ward was full, but I was in no state to look after anyone. When I dropped the bedpans, Thina rolled her eyes and told me to concentrate on my job. When I messed up a catheter removal, and ended up drenched in a patient’s pee, she became angry, even though the patient found it entertaining.

  ‘Sofia! Concentrate, will you! I’m trying to teach you, and we’ve got a job to do.’

  I glanced at the window, wondering where Markos was. His plan to cut through the wire fence was weak, but we couldn’t think of another way to get outside the prison. It was pitch-black outside and had been for the past hour. I heard gunfire just after dark. Although that was nothing unusual, the horror of what might be made me gasp. I turned towards Thina, wanting to share my fears, yet afraid to do so.

  ‘Listen – did you hear that, Sofia? It sounds as though we’re in for a busy night.’ She studied me for a moment. ‘Are you all right? You seem upset.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, it’s just that . . . Oh, Thina!’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  I hesitated, but couldn’t keep it secret any longer. Thina was my friend, and I owed her a lot. We went to the desk, out of earshot of the patients, and I told her about Markos’s planned escape.

  ‘I’m so afraid for him!’

  ‘Let’s sort the casualties out, and then I’ll see what I can find out from Agapi. There’s nothing you can do but get on with your job.’

  Later that night, the priest came into the ward hugging his arm.

  Thina examined him. ‘A distal radius fracture,’ she said.

  I frowned at her.

  ‘A broken wrist, Sofia. You know this stuff. A break in the larger of the two
bones in his forearm. They seem to be aligned, so we can deal with it if you get your head into gear.’

  The old priest was ashen. Thina tried to take his attention away from the pain as she splinted his arm.

  ‘Any gossip from inside, Father? Do you know what the gunfire was about?’

  ‘Another soul gone to meet his maker. Someone was trying to escape.’

  I gripped the bedhead.

  ‘They didn’t make it, then?’ Thina asked casually.

  ‘Patrol caught him the other side of the fence. A guard shot at him, but another got caught in the crossfire. The inmate caught a graze, but the guard’s dead.’

  ‘Do you know who it was?’ Thina asked, still keeping her voice calm. ‘Where’s the inmate? If he’s injured, they should bring him in.’

  ‘No point, is there? He’ll be in solitary now and they’ll put him before the firing squad on the morrow. No getting away from that. Poor fool. May God save his sorry soul.’

  My knees buckled and I struggled to say upright. Thina pulled the screen around the priest and told him to try and rest.

  ‘They can’t shoot him, Thina,’ I hissed, as she pulled me out of earshot. ‘My God, what have we done?’ The panic was frothing up inside me. ‘How can we save him?’

  She took me by the shoulders and shook me. ‘Stop it, Sofia! Pull yourself together. He’s a grown man and he’s made his own decisions – and you’re no use to him in this state!’

  Although she spoke severely, I saw pity in her eyes, but then a spark of fear. I too would risk death if my relationship with Markos was revealed, and Thina and I would both face the firing squad if the truth about the colonel’s baby came out.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of coffee stashed,’ she said, her voice softening a little. ‘I’m going to make us a drink. We must calm down and try to work something out, all right? Hysterics won’t get us anywhere.’

  I watched her make the drinks, but my mind was on Markos, agonising over his fate. I turned to the window. The night was a black abyss staring back at me. Then, clutching at straws, it occurred to me that we didn’t know for sure that the man who had been shot was Markos. My man could be in the back of the flour truck right at that moment, heading for Piraeus and a ferry to Crete.

  My spirits rose. ‘Thina, perhaps it wasn’t Markos. Have you thought of that? He might not have been the only prisoner planning to escape tonight.’

  She passed me a tiny coffee cup and frowned, her drink halfway to her mouth.

  ‘Get that inside you while I talk to the priest.’

  ‘I’ll go!’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’re too emotional. Besides, we don’t know if he’s working for them or not. Think about it – who better to gather information for the junta than a priest? All those last words spoken in confidence. No, I don’t trust him. I’ll go.’

  She hurried across the ward and disappeared behind the screen.

  I glanced around the ward, checking everyone was asleep, and then moved closer to the priest’s bed. I found the chink in the screen’s fabric and peered through. The patient’s sad face was illuminated under the bed lamp. Thina had propped him up with extra pillows. She had a wonderful way with patients, her voice steady, authoritative yet sympathetic. I felt a tug of impatience as she made small talk, but still I listened eagerly to every word that passed between them.

  Thina was gaining the priest’s confidence by telling him why she was imprisoned. Her brother, a dissident, had disappeared and she had refused to give the junta information as to his whereabouts. She didn’t know where he was, but they refused to believe her.

  ‘May I ask what brought you here, Father?’ she asked.

  After a long silence, lost in his own thoughts, he said, ‘I made a mistake. I thought they would respect a man of God. I thought I was immune to their evil. I came to the prison of my own free will, to help the dying – to try and bring them a little peace in their last moments. The junta saw me as a communist sympathiser and decided I should stay.’ He pushed his sparse hair back. ‘They tried to turn me into an informer, but I refused. They beat me and threatened to kill me, but I have no fear of death. I’ve earned my place in Heaven. Eventually, they gave up.’

  ‘Do you know the man they caught trying to escape tonight?’

  ‘They call him Che Guevara on account of him looking like that poor devil from the Cuban revolution. Now he’ll end up in the same situation, poor soul.’

  I bit on my knuckles to stop myself crying out.

  ‘He’s had a terrible time of it,’ the priest went on. ‘They use him as an example to the other prisoners, so for all his fighting against the junta, in the end, most men see what punishment he takes and decide to give in. Not what he was suffering for, was it?’

  I crept back to the desk, tears on my face. They couldn’t take Markos away from me. Without him, without Zoë, I was nothing.

  The muffled voices from behind the screen continued, but I was lost in my own misery. I could think of nothing but my dearest love, the father of my child. The man who would face a firing squad unless a miracle happened.

  *

  I woke when a hand touched my shoulder. I saw Thina’s sorrowful face and the desolation in her eyes. I pressed my hands on my belly, slack and flabby now the fruit of my womb had left the prison with another woman. A spark of self-pity reared. What had I done to deserve all this? Everyone I loved seemed destined to face death. Why not me? It would be so simple to save someone’s medication, such a relief to fade into nothing. I wanted to die before Markos, to be waiting for him in some idyllic afterlife with my arms outstretched at the pearly gates.

  ‘You have to be strong,’ Thina whispered, as if reading my mind.

  ‘I’ve got no strength left in me. Why, Thina? Whose bastard plan is this – to cause so much pain in one lifetime – and for what purpose?’

  ‘Come on, let’s squeeze another coffee out of those grounds. I’ve got something to tell you.’

  *

  Markos’s trial was the following afternoon, but I knew the sentence and execution were already written. Thina made me take some pills before walking back to our room with me. Agapi returned just after us, dishevelled and smelling of sex.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, fighting sleep, exhausted. Agapi and Thina had their heads together, whispering, glancing at me.

  ‘For God’s sake, at least share what’s going on. Give me that much, please!’ I cried. ‘What do you know, Agapi? Tell me!’

  Honey turned in her bed, opened her eyes and sat up. ‘What’s happening?’

  Nobody answered.

  Agapi sighed and stared at me through her smudged mascara.

  ‘The guard told me that Despotakis himself is heading the trial, but they’ve hoisted the black flag over the exercise yard already. It’s a foregone conclusion.’

  ‘I want to kill Despotakis!’ I cried. ‘Can’t we do that, inject him with something lethal?’

  Honey swung her legs out of bed and blinked at me.

  ‘Don’t talk crazy,’ Thina said. ‘We’d all end up as target practice, and what good would that do?’ She sat next to me and slipped her arm around my shoulders. ‘Listen, Sofia, I had a long talk to the priest. He’s a good man. I told him you and Markos were engaged, nothing else, and I asked if he could marry you before . . . you know.’ She squeezed hard as the hopelessness of the situation overwhelmed me. Unable to speak, I nodded. ‘He said he’d sort something out for tomorrow afternoon, immediately after the trial. It’s all been arranged. Agapi used her charms on Markos’s guard. He’s agreed to bring Markos to the ward just long enough for the ceremony.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Sofia. There’s nothing else I can do.’

  *

  The patients of our small ward were hurriedly discharged, or moved into other wards. Together, my friends dressed me for my wedding. Agapi gave me her best dress, a long, cream lace gown with a scalloped neckline. I tried to concentrate on my wedding vows to Markos, but nothing
could take my mind away from the inevitable. Soon, Markos would be dead. The wedding ceremony itself was dangerous – if any of the other guards saw, save the one Agapi had persuaded to help us, then they would know what Markos and I were to each other. But my man was already doomed, and I did not care now if they killed me. However, my amazing friends were putting themselves at incredible risk, for my sake. Their loyalty and friendship filled my heart and uplifted me.

  Agapi applied my make-up and added a dab of perfume to my wrists. Honey managed to smuggle in two wine glasses and a posy of artificial flowers that started life as a table decoration in the officers’ mess. It was all ridiculous, and yet it made the day bearable.

  At four o’clock, my friends made me stand behind the screen in the corner of the ward. Holding the stupid flowers, I waited. The door creaked open. Determined to be strong for the man I loved, I took a deep breath and stepped out.

  Markos, unshaven, wearing a white shirt, stood next to the priest. I could not remember the last time I had seen him without his precious beret on. He dropped his head to one side and, though his hands shook, he reached out for mine and smiled. All the love he had for me shone from his brown eyes. I could barely stand for my grief and love of him, but I managed to walk to his side and passed the posy to Thina.

  The priest cleared his throat.

  ‘Do you, Markos Papas, take Sofia Bambaki to be your wife?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said, gazing into my eyes.

  ‘And do you, Sofia Bambaki, take Markos Papas to be your husband?’

  I swallowed a sob and whispered, ‘I do.’

  The priest delved into his pocket and produced a ring that appeared to be made of bone. He placed it on the open page of his prayer book, blessed it, and continued.