Greek Island Escape

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘Markos Papas, state your wedding vow to your new wife.’

  Markos turned to face me and took my hands in his. I could feel his gnarled and twisted fingers and longed to kiss them, to heal them.

  ‘I’ll always love you, Sofia,’ he whispered. ‘Be sure of that. Don’t ever forget me, my darling. When the sun comes up, say good morning and think of me. When you raise a glass, call my name – and, one day, find our precious child and tell her that I will always love her, too.’ He was silent for a second. ‘I know I have not been able to give you the life you longed for, and I regret that, but I have always loved you, more than anything else in all the world. In spirit, I’ll always be with you and our daughter. I swear this on my wedding oath.’

  ‘Sofia Papas, state your wedding vow to your new husband.’

  I lifted Markos’s broken hands and kissed them tenderly, then took a deep breath to steady my voice.

  ‘This is my oath to you, my beloved husband. Whatever I do, whatever I see, wherever life takes me, you will always be with me in my heart, Markos. I swear that I will try and find our child and tell her how you loved us both. No other man will ever share my love. I was always yours, and I always shall be.’

  ‘You may place the ring on Sofia’s finger,’ the priest said.

  Markos lifted the ring with his thumb and his little finger and awkwardly tried to slip it onto my hand. Everyone leaned in, willing it to fit, but it fell to the floor and broke.

  ‘Oh, sorry! Sorry!’ I cried, bending down to scoop it up.

  The ring had broken clean in two, and on examining it, I saw the words engraved on the inside: Life and Freedom. Markos took one half, Freedom, and I held onto his, Life.

  The priest blessed us, and then the guard escorted us next door, into the operating room. My mind spiralled. These seconds had to last forever; they were all we had. Our child was out there in the free world and my husband’s life was about to end. I had lost everything I loved – but now, just for now, we were together.

  ‘You have thirty minutes to say goodbye,’ the guard said, with a glance over his shoulder at Agapi. ‘I’ll be outside.’

  I had so much to say – a whole lifetime of words to squeeze into minutes. Yet I found myself unable to speak. At that moment, words didn’t matter; they were nothing but noise, and silence seemed more sacred.

  We held each other. ‘Markos, I wish—’

  He placed a finger on my lips. ‘Wishes are no use to us now. Let’s not waste our last moments. Kiss me hard, a kiss I’ll never forget, and I will take all your love with me into the ever-after. Tell my daughter about me, Sofia. Find her for me and perhaps, one day, bring her to my graveside to weep for her father.’

  ‘I don’t want you to go!’

  ‘Quiet now.’ He placed his mouth over mine.

  I opened his shirt, and my dress, and pressed my naked body against his. His heart beat against my breast, and our tears mingled as we made love with all the passion and tenderness time allowed.

  When that final knock sounded, Markos whispered, ‘Turn yourself away from me. I don’t want you to see me go.’ He took me by the shoulders and turned me around, so my back was to the door. From behind me, he whispered into my ear, ‘Remember this moment, Sofia. Know that I love you more than life. I will always be near, on the other side of the door, behind a tree, around the corner, somewhere just out of sight. If you need me, you’ll always find me in your heart.’

  I felt his sigh, warm on the back of my neck. I breathed in deeply, hoping to take some of his breath inside me, to keep alive forever. Then, I heard someone enter, a few quiet words, and the door closed.

  I was alone, and Markos was gone.

  *

  The whine of the old bus to the execution site filtered through the hospital window. I climbed on the stool and peered out. As it came level, I saw an arm come out of the back window, and Markos’s beret flew through the air as he slung it towards the hospital building, crying ‘Eleftheria!’ Freedom!

  I wanted so much in that second. I thought back on our many years together: the first time I had ever seen him – that schoolboy at the marble statue who offered me food; that proud face in the audience at so many of my concerts; that brave, brave man who had fought for a better world.

  And I thought of our daughter, Zoë Eleftheria, the beautiful child we had made together. A part of him that would live on.

  The beret landed on the barbed wire and hung there like a lost soul in purgatory, neither free nor imprisoned. My heart ached.

  When the bus had passed from view, and I knew I would never look upon him again, I stepped off the stool and pressed my back against the wall. My eyes, blinded by tears, fixed the ward clock as the second hand ticked towards the execution hour.

  Thina came over and tried to place her arms around me, but I shrank from her embrace.

  ‘Don’t touch me. Leave me alone with this moment. Let me have this pain, raw in my heart for the rest of my days!’

  I stood in solidarity, just as Markos would, straight and strong and proud of the life he’d led. Triumphant for all the poor souls he had saved. Rejoicing that Zoë would live on with his blood flowing through her veins, and his love in her heart.

  Thina stepped away, out of my line of vision.

  My concentration returned to the clock until the face of it was all I could see, and the sound of each tick all I could hear.

  The second hand passed the halfway mark and moved towards six o’clock. Each of my breaths was a deep, hard celebration of life, as I knew were Markos’s. We were one person as that hand hit the hour. Our souls united in the dark, to embrace one last time.

  Through the broken window, the sound of gunfire reverberating over the prison camp reached me. I fell to my knees, weeping. From that moment on, I was to live the rest of my life without the man I loved.

  *

  The following evening, Agapi used her charms once again and got me a pass out to visit the cemetery. I knelt at Markos’s freshly dug grave, my hands flat on earth that was still warm from the heat of the day.

  My heart, like our wedding ring, was broken in two. I rose to my feet and let my emotions take over. Facing the rising moon, I filled my lungs with what I imagined to be Markos’s last breath, then I sang at the top of my voice:

  My child, you were life’s sweet song,

  Though you were not with me for long.

  I glimpse your empty chair,

  Through tears, see you there,

  Lullabies are now your sweetest songs.

  Oh, lover, you are life’s sweet song,

  I’ll see you again before long.

  Angels, wings give you flight,

  Every star-spangled night.

  My love, you are life’s sweetest songs.

  They could shoot me. At that moment, I didn’t care.

  And then I thought of Zoë, a part of Markos who would go on to achieve great things. His love lived in her heart. His bravery and selflessness would give her the strength of spirit to help so many, and make the world a better place.

  Markos lived on in his daughter.

  CHAPTER 37

  ZOË

  Crete, present day.

  ‘COME ON, SLEEPYHEAD. Let’s go and get some breakfast,’ Zoë said. ‘Time for coffee and eggs on fresh bread at the harbour. Just like the old days. And then we’ll head over to the solicitor’s office to go over those documents they mentioned in the letter.’

  Megan mumbled something incoherent.

  ‘I’ll get the first shower then, while you wake up.’

  Soon, they were walking around the marina towards the harbour.

  ‘Tell me about Granny Anna, Mum,’ Megan said.

  Zoë smiled. ‘Granny Anna was an excellent mother to me, quite strict sometimes, but only in my best interests. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I was her third child. Her other two babies died before term.’

  ‘So that made her cherish you even more?’

  Zo
ë nodded. ‘She was married to a soldier, some sort of colonel in the Greek army. She never wanted to talk about my father. I sometimes wonder if theirs was an unhappy marriage. She said he was a good man, doing his duty for his country. He had a heart attack and died a few years after my birth.’

  ‘How awful.’

  ‘I never really knew him. I do have vague recollections of his return home for a few days, bringing me new dolls, and flowers and chocolates for Mama. But that’s it, really, and Mama said her photographs were lost when she moved.’

  Megan’s chin rested on her fists as she gazed at her mother. Zoë smiled.

  ‘I don’t remember much else about my childhood in Greece – except that I had a nanny that I adored for a while. She taught me to paint, always one picture for Mama and one for her. Once, she put blotting paper around the inside of a jam jar and we grew beans. I asked if she could put blotting paper on my bed, so I could grow faster.’ Zoë smiled. ‘We laughed and laughed, and then she started crying. She was always crying. I think she must have had great trouble in her life.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘We moved to England and I never saw her again. I often think about her, though. I called her Aunty Sofie, though she was no relation, just an old friend of Mama’s.’

  Zoë took Megan’s hand. ‘Greece was going through troubled times, both politically and financially, in the seventies. After Papa died, my mother managed to claim some sort of refugee status.’ She frowned, wondering if that was really possible. It didn’t sound right now that she said it out loud. ‘We moved to England so that I’d receive a better education.’

  ‘It’s such a pity you never got to know your father, Mum. It must have been quite hard for Granny Anna to bring you up as a single parent in those days.’

  ‘It probably was, but she always managed. She received financial help for my education right up until I finished university.’

  ‘What, from the army?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I suppose so. I never questioned it.’

  They walked along the promenade until they arrived at Zoë’s favourite taverna, near the marine museum.

  ‘Let’s sit here and eat breakfast together.’ Zoë smiled. ‘I dreamed about this moment so often while you were missing.’

  Megan glanced at her guiltily. ‘What do you want to do today?’

  ‘I’d like to take flowers to the cemetery. We could go together.’

  Megan nodded sadly. ‘Do you think she was happy, Mum?’

  Zoë nodded. ‘Isn’t it terrible that I never thought of that until after she died? She always seemed happy. Mama loved us all, didn’t she? She gave me the freedom to continue with my career, and she adored you and Josh.’

  The taverna owner came rushing out.

  ‘Ela! Welcome back, Kyria Zoë! Why you stay away so long? Where is Yiayá Anna?’ Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Megan. ‘No! I do not believe it. This koukla, this little doll, cannot be your daughter – but wait, yes, I see she has all the beauty of her mother! We must lock up our sons, those dark eyes will break many hearts!’ He turned to Zoë. ‘How did she grow up, yet you become no older? Praise the Blessed Virgin, it’s a miracle!’

  Zoë laughed. It seemed almost impossible that her dreams had really come true. Megan was here with her. As the clouds of the past months dissipated, she thought about Frank and Josh, and wished they were there too.

  Megan broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Can we go to Granny Anna’s cottage tomorrow? I got the bus to Kissamos with Gary and Jeff, and we all searched, but we couldn’t find the house.’

  Zoë nodded. ‘Of course. In fact, why don’t we go today? We can go to the solicitor’s tomorrow. I only need to collect some documents – Greek bureaucracy, I guess. I’m not looking forward to that, so let’s just go to Granny’s first.’

  ‘Great. Can we try Josh and Dad again? I can’t believe neither of them picked up yesterday.’

  Zoë nodded, and took out her phone. Truth be told, she was a little nervous about speaking to Frank. She hadn’t yet got up the courage to tell Megan that she and her father had split up. She could barely trust herself to speak to Frank without shouting at him, now that she knew he must have had an inkling of why Megan ran away.

  She tried Josh’s mobile, and Frank’s, but both went to voicemail again.

  An old woman, dressed in black, shuffled up to the table and smiled at them both. Zoë recognised her as the one on the ferry from Athens. Oddly pleased to see her again, she dipped into her purse and gave her a ten-euro note.

  The old woman tapped her heart and bowed. Their eyes met and Zoë felt an aching sadness for the woman, who placed another slip of paper on the table beside her.

  ‘I wonder what her story is,’ Zoë whispered, as she moved on to the next table.

  A draught caught the paper and blew it onto the quayside.

  ‘Poor old thing,’ she whispered as the breeze lifted the note into the harbour. ‘She seems so alone.’

  She watched the slip float for a moment, before it sank out of sight.

  CHAPTER 38

  SOFIA

  Crete, present day.

  I WANDERED AROUND THE QUAYSIDE tables, giving out slips of paper until I had to take the weight off my feet. From a pavement café I watched the woman who had generously given me ten euros. The girl opposite her must be her daughter. They were happy, excited; the mother took her daughter’s hand and kissed it. And though I was smiling, my emotions were tangled and my heart sore. If things had turned out differently, that could have been me and my daughter.

  My darling Markos was waiting for me in the afterlife; I felt it in my heart. Weary from the search, I longed to join him. My tears rose, and I felt them trickle down my cheeks.

  The café proprietor knew me and brought a Greek coffee and a thick slice of bread sprinkled with olive oil and oregano. When I tried to pay, he passed me a napkin and said, ‘Dry your tears, Yiayá, this one’s from me.’

  I bowed in thanks, then pulled the baby shawl from my bag and started crocheting. This month, surely, I would find my baby. She was here for the carnival; I felt it in my bones.

  Someone had left a local newspaper on the seat. I put my handicraft to one side and studied the tabloid, though I hardly understood what was going on in the world.

  The woman and her daughter were deep in conversation. The mother lifted her hand and ran it down her daughter’s hair in a gesture of affection. I remembered Markos doing the same in our last moments together and my heart squeezed.

  I miss you so much, Markos.

  And I miss you, my love.

  Bored with the news, I turned to the obituaries and memorial services. Anna Despotakis’s name leaped off the page. My heart pounded dangerously. Anna Despotakis, my old friend, guardian of my daughter, had died more than a month before.

  I took some calming breaths, but my tears returned as I recalled the events that had brought us together so many years ago. Such joy. Such heartbreak.

  For all these years I had searched Greece for Anna and Zoë. I wiped my eyes and returned my attention to the announcement; it contained a lawyer’s address and phone number. At last, I had discovered the linchpin to my past.

  I wrote a note for the proprietor of the café and he kindly phoned the lawyer, making an appointment for that afternoon.

  *

  On the other side of town, weary from the walk, I found the lawyer’s office. The heavy glass doors proved a challenge, pushing me back onto the pavement like the flippers of a pinball machine, just when I thought I was making headway. Eventually, after conquering the door, I faced steep marble steps.

  I filled my lungs, gripped the handrail and started up. One step at a time. Halfway to the top, thigh muscles I didn’t know I had protested. I ground to a halt, legs trembling, forehead greasy. Halfway up – halfway down – I turned and sat on the stair. Would I ever reach my goal? A young woman, skinny as a sparrow, flicked the entrance doors open and skipped
up the stairs in her short, tight skirt and spiky heels. I quashed a sudden temptation to stick my foot out.

  ‘You all right, Yiayá? Can I give you a hand?’

  I smiled, and struggled to my feet. With my arm looped into hers and my heart thumping, she whisked me up to the lawyer’s office.

  Relieved to find Anna’s old lawyer, Mr Rodakis, nodding off at his desk, I tapped on the wood to wake him and handed him a note I’d written earlier.

  He read it, then stared at me, clearly surprised by my state of shabbiness.

  ‘You are Sofia Bambaki?’

  I nodded, touched my mouth and made a sawing motion under my chin.

  ‘You can’t speak?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘You’ve come about Anna Despotakis and Zoë Eleftheria?’

  I had never wished I had my voice more than at that moment. Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. I balled my fists and thumped myself in the chest in an act of pure frustration.

  The lawyer was my age: a bespectacled man with a worried face. He called the woman who had helped me up the stairs and introduced her as his granddaughter, Mimi.

  ‘This is Sofia Bambaki,’ he explained. ‘A famous singer in my day, but now she can’t speak.’

  Mimi made a little bow, smiled kindly and shook my hand.

  ‘Sofia has been a client of mine since the seventies, but we lost touch when our office moved to Chania. Can you retrieve her file, and bring us coffee?’ He turned to me. ‘Sweet?’

  I nodded.

  ‘We tried to contact you when we moved,’ he said as the door closed, ‘but the telephone number you gave us was no longer in use. We wrote, but never received a reply.’

  I left home to search for my daughter, I wrote.

  ‘The money you set up for Zoë Despotakis’s education ran out, not long after she completed her university degree. She studied to become a lawyer herself, as it happens.’

  I filled up with pride, and my tears finally overflowed. With a kind smile, Mr Rodakis drew a box of tissues from his desk drawer and handed it over.

  Mimi returned with the coffees as I started writing another note. Mr Rodakis stopped me.