Greek Island Escape

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘So, my birth mother gave me away in order to protect me?’

  Mr Rodakis nodded. ‘The saddest thing is, it was Anna’s husband who ordered your real father to be executed.’

  Zoë felt her jaw drop.

  ‘You see, Anna’s husband was one of the junta colonels. He never knew the facts behind your birth either. He always thought you were his child.’

  ‘Excuse me – what was that you said?’ Megan asked. ‘The hunter colonels?’

  ‘Ah, no, not hunter – that’s just how it’s pronounced in Greek. The hated junta colonels.’

  ‘So that’s why the taverna owner in Kissamos was so aggressive?’ Megan asked. ‘Granny Anna was married to one of the junta colonels. It’s all beginning to make sense.’ She turned to Zoë. ‘You said Granny Anna never talked about your father, Mum, and didn’t have any photographs.’ She frowned for a moment. ‘Just a minute, was it called the Regime of the Colonels? Martial law, like? We did all this in history at school. They were sentenced to death, weren’t they, the colonels? Crimes against humanity?’

  Rodakis nodded. ‘You’re right, young lady. They all received the death sentence originally, but then it was commuted to life imprisonment.’ He turned to Zoë. ‘Anna Despotakis’s husband died of a heart attack after only six months in prison.’

  ‘I never knew any of this,’ Zoë said. ‘Mama just told me that my father was an officer in the army, and he died when I was little.’ She breathed out, still shaken. ‘What can you tell me about my biological mother? Do you have her name and address? Can I visit her?’

  Mr Rodakis shook his head again. ‘She’s from Athens, but she’s been roaming the streets for years, looking for you, thinking you still lived in Greece. Young people think she’s just a homeless old woman, but older folk know who she was. They say she’s lost her mind due to her tragic life.’

  The solicitor gazed at Zoë sadly. ‘Sofia Bambaki is unable to speak. She was once a celebrated singer, but her voice failed her. Life has been very hard on her. Her husband was killed by the pitiless regime, and I know her decision to give you up always pained her. After she was released from prison, I believe she did once manage to find you – but when she saw how happy you were with Anna, she made the biggest sacrifice anybody could, and decided to remain in the shadows of your life, helping you from a distance. Sofia became comparatively rich because her singing career took off again. She sent most of her money to Anna, through me, for your well-being. When you were little, Anna was persecuted for being the wife of a hated junta officer, and when she took you to England, Sofia and I both lost sight of her.’

  Zoë and Megan stared at each other.

  ‘These items,’ the solicitor continued, pulling a box from beneath his desk, ‘Sofia asked me to pass them on to you one day.’

  He pushed the box across his desk towards Zoë.

  ‘There’s a letter from your biological father in here. I took the liberty of translating it into English on the back. There are also some sentimental items that she wanted you to have.’

  The solicitor pinched the bridge of his nose.

  ‘I’m sorry to throw so much upon you at once. I know it is a lot to handle.’ He struggled to his feet and grasped his walking stick. ‘I am afraid I have another meeting now. Please get back to me if you need anything more.’

  ‘Wait! At least tell me their names,’ Zoë cried. ‘You said my mother was Sofia Bambaki – was that my father’s name? I know Greek women often keep their maiden names.’

  Rodakis nodded. ‘It’s all in the box, Mrs Johnson.’ He moved a step towards the door, then turned back. ‘Wait – there is one more thing. Anna bequeathed the cottage to her grandchildren. It belongs to your children now. You must come back and make arrangements for the transfer of deeds for the house in Kissamos.’

  *

  Outside the office, with the box under her arm, Zoë squeezed Megan’s hand.

  ‘What a day . . . Come on, let’s get back to our apartment and see what we’ve got here.’

  Megan frowned. ‘Are you sure you want to find out, Mum? I mean, the truth might be much worse that you imagine. If my grandfather was in prison, who knows what he might have done? Oh, Mum. Please tell me Granny Anna will always be your mama – she will, won’t she? No matter what. I loved her so much.’ Megan’s face scrunched up and suddenly she was in tears. ‘Why did I run away, Mum? If I hadn’t, she wouldn’t have left and we could have been with her when she died. I feel so awful about that. It’s no good being sorry – it’s too late to change anything, and I’ll regret it for as long as I live.’

  Zoë put her arm around her and pulled her close.

  ‘Of course she will always be my mother, and your Granny Anna,’ she said softly. ‘She was a wonderful, selfless person and I’ll always love her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to find out who these people were who gave me up. Sofia Bambaki has been searching for me for so long, and I know how hard that is.’

  Megan sniffed hard. ‘I can’t believe Granny Anna’s gone. I’ve been planning to come and see her for so long. I imagined collecting olives, making candied peel, learning to sew with her. I never thought, not for a moment. It just feels as though people like her live forever.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘On top of that, you and Dad separating. It’s such a shock. You seemed so happy together. I mean, you’re my parents, for God’s sake! Is this all down to me, causing everyone more stress than they can handle? I’ll never forgive myself, never. Poor Granny, and I never got a chance to tell her how much I loved her or say goodbye. I’m so sorry. I know I keep saying it, but I’m heartbroken, Mum.’

  Zoë struggled to stay in control of her emotions.

  ‘Darling, your granny knew how much you loved her. She loved you too, and she had faith in you. She kept telling me you’d come home one of these days. “Nothing will keep our Megan away from your shepherd’s pie for too long,” she would say to me when I got depressed.’

  Megan smiled through her tears, then pulled back and stared at her mother.

  ‘You got depressed?’

  ‘Well, a bit.’

  Zoë remembered the station platform, closed her eyes, tried to block out how close she’d come to taking that last step. Thank God for Dalip. She promised herself, when they got back to England, she would find him and thank him properly.

  ‘I wonder where Sofia Bambaki is now,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER 40

  SOFIA

  Korydallos Prison, Athens, 1972.

  AS I STOOD AT THE side of Markos’s grave, singing my heart out, I heard the prison patrol approach. Their heavy boots crunched a menacing rhythm in the dirt. The moon crept higher; its silvery light shimmered through the darkness towards me. I felt Markos reaching out from Heaven and sang the final lines with all the power I had.

  Angels, wings give you flight,

  Every star-spangled night.

  My love, you are life’s sweetest songs.

  I hung onto the last word, my face turned to the night sky, my feet planted firmly at my love’s graveside. There was no point trying to outrun a bullet. And even if there was, I had nowhere to go. I had no one left. They cuffed my hands and marched me back inside. I expected to be thrown into a solitary cell but instead I was trooped down a corridor of offices. A door was knocked, ‘Enter!’ called from inside, and I was thrust into a grand room.

  Behind the desk sat Colonel Despotakis.

  The colonel was working through a sheaf of papers, ticking boxes and scribbling notes in red ink. He glanced up, then back at his papers for a moment. Then, as if remembering something, his head jerked up.

  ‘Aren’t you the nurse that took care of my wife?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What in the name of God were you doing? You could have been shot!’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to escape. I only wanted to say goodbye to a dear friend, sir. He had been in the ward so many times. I had become rather attached to him.’

  �
��Where did you learn to sing like that? I could hear you in here.’

  ‘I was a singer, sir.’

  He stared at me; his brow furrowed. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Sofia Bambaki, sir.’

  ‘Sofia Bambaki – the Sofia Bambaki?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

  ‘My wife will be thrilled. She has all your records – wait till I tell her you delivered our child!’ For a moment, he appeared human. Then, his authority reared. ‘Why are you imprisoned here?’

  ‘They said my songs were subversive because they were sung by some of the communists, sir. But they were just songs and poems about the war, and love.’

  ‘Do you support the communists, Sofia Bambaki?’

  I thought of Markos and I wanted to say I’d support anyone who stood against you, Colonel Despotakis – but then I thought of Zoë, and freedom.

  ‘No, sir. I love my country with a passion.’

  He stared at me, tapping the ballpoint on his desk like a metronome.

  ‘May I speak, sir?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘How is your wife and your little baby, Zoë?’

  ‘You remember her name?’

  ‘They are both precious to me, sir. Zoë was my first delivery. I hope I might meet her again one day. And your wife was so brave – after everything – so I’m filled with the greatest admiration. I think about them all the time.’

  He lifted his hand and hooked his fingers towards himself.

  ‘Come forward. Sit down, Sofia.’

  I felt Markos guiding me, giving me strength. I wanted to cry his name as I stepped towards the chair.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Guard!’ he yelled, making me jump. ‘Take the cuffs off this woman,’ he ordered when the soldier appeared. ‘Do you know who this is?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Sofia Bambaki, one of Greece’s greatest singers.’

  When the guard had gone, he turned to me.

  ‘Look, Sofia Bambaki, I’m grateful for the way you took care of my wife. You didn’t have to stay with her day and night. I’m going to try and help you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘We use entertainers to lift the morale of the troops. You can star in the shows. Sing for the soldiers. Manage their spirits. Start here in Korydallos, then perform in barracks all over Greece.’

  I thought about my friends, Thina, Honey and Agapi. Could I do anything for them, help them in any way? They had supported me through my most difficult times.

  ‘Why are you hesitating?’ Despotakis asked abruptly.

  ‘I’m thinking about my friends, sir. I owe them a lot, it’s difficult to abandon them for my own good. If they hadn’t supported me the way they did, I couldn’t have given my undivided attention to your wife. They’re very loyal women, not criminals.’

  ‘Why in God’s name can’t people just be grateful for what they’re given?’ he muttered.

  Because as communists, they believe we’re all equal and have the same rights, I wanted to reply – but I bit my lip.

  After a long silence, he shouted ‘Guard!’ and I was escorted back to our cell.

  *

  In our room, after midnight, Honey yawned and flopped onto her bed.

  ‘I’ve got to be back in the kitchen in four hours. Go for it, Sofia. Don’t think about us – take the opportunity to get out of here. You’d be mad if you didn’t.’

  ‘I agree,’ Thina said. ‘It’s a chance to return to the outside world. You’ve got to take it, Sofia.’

  Agapi staggered in, smeared lipstick and messy hair.

  ‘I hate the bastards!’ she complained, peeling out of her close-fitting dress and leaving it like a puddle on the floor. ‘What’s going on? Have I missed something?’

  She threw herself on the bed.

  ‘Sofia has a chance to get out of here,’ Thina said, hanging up Agapi’s clothes. ‘You shouldn’t leave your frock on the floor, you’ll have roaches in it by morning.’

  ‘I’ve had roaches in it all night, dirty bastards!’ Agapi muttered. She turned to me. ‘I hope you’re not hesitating. Christ, I’d be out of here in a flash!’

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s my voice. If I go back to singing, I might destroy my fragile vocal cords permanently. I’m not just talking about my singing, but my actual voice would be lost forever.’

  ‘What? You’d be a mute?’ Agapi clutched her neck, looking horrified.

  Thina frowned. ‘Nicely said, Agapi.’

  I nodded. ‘Putting it bluntly, yes. I’m not sure I want to risk it.’

  *

  I woke to the sound of Thina’s voice.

  ‘Come on, Sofia, time to go.’

  A deep, dreamless sleep left me feeling heavy and cotton-mouthed. Agapi, dead to the world, muttered and tossed about, giggling and panting. Honey had gone already. I washed and dressed quickly, then left for the hospital with Thina. On the ground, outside our door, lay an unopened packet of cigarettes. I slipped them into my pocket.

  ‘Must be Agapi’s, I’ll give them to her later.’

  Unlike most inmates, because of our particular jobs in Korydallos, we were not locked into our room. However, we had to pass across the main yard and through one set of security gates to get to the hospital.

  The sun broke over the horizon as we left the building, throwing our long shadows across the concrete. For a moment, the grey drabness of Korydallos was painted with gold. The air felt cool with the freshness of dawn. Inspired, I wanted to stand in the middle of the exercise yard and sing. I thought of Markos. I had a reason to move on, to try and live, not because he had died, but because of a powerful feeling that I was living for both of us.

  *

  At noon, Thina was teaching me a new procedure. With a scalpel in my hand, I was about to lance an angry carbuncle on a guard’s posterior. My patient, on all fours on the bed, had his trousers around his knees, his bottom and the angry swelling close to my face. The neighbouring patients, both prisoners, were up on their elbows, looking at the guard’s arse and exchanging gleeful glances.

  A soldier barged into the ward and yelled ‘Sofia Bambaki!’ startling both me and my patient. He hunched and jerked back, straight onto the knife’s tip. Yellow pus squirted from the pierced carbuncle right into my face.

  Thina blew a raspberry into the palm of her hand and, with her shoulders jiggling, passed me a fistful of gauze. Both neighbouring patients collapsed onto their beds in stifled hysterics. The visiting soldier stopped dead, stared in horror at the tableau before him and pulled in his chin with disgust.

  ‘That’s sorted then. Clean yourself up,’ Thina ordered in a strangled voice. ‘I’ll take over.’

  The soldier followed me to the sink.

  ‘I have to escort you to the colonel’s office.’

  ‘Go for it,’ Thina said. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  As I left the ward, I bumped into the priest.

  ‘One moment,’ he said to the soldier. ‘I need to speak to the nurse about a private matter.’ He turned me away and spoke quietly. ‘I found this on the ground, after . . . He would want you to have it, to complete the circle of never-ending love.’

  He placed the other half of the wedding ring in my palm.

  I followed the soldier down the corridor and into Despotakis’s office, where he ordered me to sit opposite him at the desk.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Athens,’ Despotakis said. ‘They have agreed to put you on the “Morale Team”. This officer will escort you to your cell. Gather your belongings and go straight to the main gate. The rest of the team are in Patras. You will join them this afternoon. If you try to escape, you will be shot. If you should manage to escape, which is practically impossible, your friends will be lined up and executed. Do you understand?’

  I squeezed the broken ring. ‘Yes, sir.’

  The rest of the day rushed by. I never got the chance to say goodbye to my fri
ends. A guard escorted me to the gate. Once outside the wire fence, I stopped and looked back at the prison. Something caught my eye on the fence, and I realised it was Markos’s precious beret.

  I touched the guard’s arm. ‘Please, could I get that?’

  He frowned and shook his head.

  I no longer cared what happened to me. I could not leave Markos’s beret behind. ‘I’m begging you. It’s my husband’s hat. He was executed the day before yesterday. I have nothing from him. Please!’

  I delved into my apron pocket and thrust the cigarettes towards him.

  ‘Women!’ he muttered, snatching the packet of Camel. ‘Stay by my side.’

  We hurried to the fence, where he jumped up and caught the beret.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Now don’t give me any more trouble or you’ll be back inside.’

  I stuffed the beret inside the bib of my apron and, with my hand pressed against my chest, hurried along to the second gate. Once outside, the guard pulled the cigarettes from his pocket.

  ‘I’m going to have a smoke. Make one step in either direction and I will shoot you. Got it?’

  I nodded and watched him step towards the perimeter wall, out of sight of the inner guard.

  Flour-man Fannes was unloading his sacks. He ran an eye over my nurse’s uniform, then my face.

  ‘My God, it’s Sofia! Virgin Mary, we thought you were dead! Wait until I tell Zacharia – he’ll be ecstatic.’

  ‘How is he, Fannes?’ I asked quietly, swivelling my eyes towards the guard, who glared at me.

  Fannes frowned, then nodded. Lowering his voice, he replied.

  ‘Struggling on, baking his daily bread, sad that so many of his friends have gone. How’s Markos?’

  He glanced at the guard, clearly uncertain of whether it was safe to ask more.

  The question came suddenly and hit me so hard I couldn’t answer. I pulled the beret from behind my apron and held it to my face. My sorrow poured out in a torrent of tears.

  Fannes crossed himself and stared gloomily at the road.

  ‘May God forgive his sins,’ he muttered.