Cave of Silence

by Kostas Krommydas

  KOSTAS KROMMYDAS

  CAVE

  OF SILENCE

  Sponsored by

  REALIZE

  Via Donizetti 3, 22060 Figino Serenza (Como), Italy

  Phone: +39 0315481104

  To Marina and Vaia,

  for the horizons we explore together.

  To my father, for the worlds he has created through the stories he told me these past forty-five years.

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  “It takes a minute to have a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone. But it takes a lifetime to forget someone.”

  Oscar Wilde

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  Many thanks to Simone Arnaboldi,

  Errikos Tzavaras, Iris Gioti, Andreas Manolikakis,

  Lilia Dimaraki and Chrisovalanti Leftaki

  Contents

  * * *

  Contents

  Introduction

  Berlin, three months earlier

  My mother’s house, three months ago

  The Island, September 1938

  The Island, August 15, 1945

  The Island, November 10, 1940

  Macedonia, April 13, 1941

  The Island, August 1942

  The Island, November 1943

  The Island, Christmas 1944

  The Island, March 1945

  The Island, April 1945

  The Island, April 1945

  The Island, April 1945

  An hour earlier

  The Island, April 1945

  Berlin, earlier

  Thessaloniki, two months later

  Athens, final scene

  The Island, the following summer

  Note from the author

  About the author

  More Books

  Introduction

  * * *

  As much as I tried to free my hands, the thick ropes tying them to my back refused to budge. Through a slit in the torn fabric wrapped around my head, I could see the gathered people, their eyes filled with fear and hatred. Someone roughly tightened the cloth over my eyes. Everything drowned in darkness. Screams surrounded me. I felt the threatening crowd inch toward me. My heart pounded in my chest. My breath came out in shallow rasps. Thick beads of sweat trickled down my neck and back as I swayed my head in a desperate attempt to peer through the cloth. I struggled to move away from the approaching throng of people, but deep roots had grown from my feet, digging into the earth, pinning me to the ground. Gathering every remaining bit of my strength, I jerked my head upward. At last, the fabric slipped and I opened my eyes in horror, waking up.

  A gentle sea breeze brushed against my skin. I was dripping with sweat. The faint red light that tints the horizon to announce the coming day filtered into the room through narrow slits in the wooden shutters.

  I lay still for a few moments, waiting for my throbbing heart to slow down. The early colors of dawn played across the brightening sky. Once I could breathe normally again, I got up as softly as I could and stood at the balcony doors. The beauty unfolding before me soothed me. The mild breeze dried the moisture off my naked body.

  A sliver of a moon was still discernible, as if making a last stand against the arriving sun before slowly bowing out.

  Further out, a small boat was indolently entering the port, carving a white trail on the still surface of the water. To my right, the imposing masses that loomed unmoving, as if suspended from the sky with invisible thread, cast imposing dark shadows on the blue waters. One of the shadows looked almost human, a body that had lain down on the rocks a long time ago and become one with the boulder with the passage of time, its frozen space forever staring into the vastness of the universe.

  I always felt awed by these bizarre land sculptures, awed and irrationally afraid that they would suddenly come loose and crush everything beneath them.

  Fears do not fade with age after all. You always stumble upon them, inexplicably, as if someone has carved them inside you, deeply and irrevocably, to follow you and rise up even at the most wonderful moments of your life.

  Absorbed by my thoughts and the images of the waking day, I did not sense Anita rise and come toward me until she wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. I felt the heat of her naked body seep into mine and stepped back ever so softly to bridge any gap between our bodies. She hugged me tightly in response.

  We stood there silently, afraid that sound, any sound, would mar the perfection of that moment. Our heavy breaths were all that could be heard, her body perfectly fitted against mine.

  Turning to face her, I saw in her eyes that she had wanted to share with me the rising dawn. Spontaneously, our lips met and our hands reached out to explore every inch of flesh.

  Through half-opened eyes, I saw our figures against the early morning colors reflected in the mirror across the room. It was like a shifting painting, the shapes altering as our bodies moved, until the outline blurred into an indeterminate shape.

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  I was holding her so tightly her feet no longer touched the ground. Locked in my arms as she was, she wrapped her legs around my waist as if executing a dexterous dance move, seeking our absolute union.

  Untamed passion set the rhythm of our movements, while the first rays of sunlight peeked through the thin curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze.

  We stayed there kissing, breathless, waiting for the intensity of our feelings to subside, letting ourselves wallow in them.

  “Good morning,” I said, brushing away the long brown locks that fell softly in her eyes.

  Her smile lit up the room. “Good morning,” she replied softly.

  We gazed deeply into each other’s eyes and then burst out laughing, not knowing why, and not caring to find out. We just let ourselves sink into the unforced intimacy of the moment; kissing and teasing each other until a knock on the door sharply brought us back to reality.

  The crumpled sheets on the bed and our clothes flung across the whole room betrayed the magical night we had spent together. I caught a glimpse of the hotel telephone on the floor, the receiver off the hook.

  “What time is it?” she wondered and moved to pick up her phone from the bedside table. “Ten missed calls…Oh no, it’s already nine thirty,” she gasped and hurriedly wrapped herself in one of the loose sheets. “Who is it?” she asked looking at the door, although she already knew it could only be one person.

  “It’s me, Miss Hertz. Electra.”

  Anita cracked the door open ever so slightly to prevent the girl at the door from seeing me standing naked across the room and sheepishly greeted Electra.

  Electra was a production assistant, looking after the actors and in charge of their schedules. Short, sweet and slightly overweight, she pulled back the hair hanging down the unshaved half of her head. “Good morning, sorry to bother you, but I’ve been calling your room and your cell phone, and I realized you must have overslept, we are due on location at ten, and the monastery of Aghios Mámas is a bit far away,” she said in one breath.

  “I know Electra, I’m very sorry. I must have forgotten to set my alarm and the phone…I guess I did not hang up properly. I’ll be down in five minutes, okay?”

  “Yes, Miss Hertz. The others will have set off, but I’ll wait for you.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be as fast as I can. Again, I’m so sorry and please call me Anita, okay?”

  “Yes, of course, Miss Hertz...errr, Anita. Sorry,” Electra said and, before Anita had a chance to close the door, added in a louder voice, “Good morning, Mr. Voudouris. Have a nice day; I’ll let you know soon what time you’re due on set on Monday.”

  She walked off, leaving both of us with the same stunned expression on our faces. We were awa
re everyone knew about us, but not to the extent of knowing when and where we met. We were in the middle of shooting and had to be more careful. It did not matter that our lives seemed to be following the script we were filming, we had to be professional about it.

  Electra had just shattered the illusion of secrecy we were under up until that moment, although we both knew that whatever was happening between us would not affect our work. We were fully conscious that we were mixing work with pleasure and we were handling that in the best possible manner, as we had done from the first moment we’d met, at the screen test.

  On my side, I had been feeling lucky to have been cast in such a sought-after part. Now, simple as it sounds, happiness had been added to that heady mix despite the short amount of time that had elapsed; despite the fact that we were only just getting to know each other.

  She was already famous, mostly in Europe. Not even thirty yet, she had a career that anyone would envy, with parts in international films, awards, and acclaimed theater performances. I would have never imagined she would be so unaffected and approachable in person. Not a spectacular beauty, she had a unique, strange allure that won others over. Her eyes, the way she moved, her expression; everything about her was captivating.

  I watched her dash around the room getting ready and realized how much I wanted this relationship to last. Did she feel the same way about it?

  Putting an end to my musings, Anita came near me, a small smile on her face. “Just think what they must be saying about me. I’m late on set, I sleep with my co-star…” she said and kissed me goodbye.

  I took her hand, trying to keep her near me for another moment. “I don’t know how much sleep you’re getting…I’ve hardly gotten any,” I said teasingly, and then, in a more serious tone, “People may be talking but they stop when the camera starts rolling Anita. That says a lot about you. You are an amazing professional and perfect for this part. I’m so happy to be in this film with you, to be acting alongside you.”

  We gazed at each other, letting our eyes do all the talking and jumped at the sound of the ferry boat’s horn as it entered the port.

  “Isn’t that your ferry?” she asked.

  “Yes, I guess,” I hesitated, still caught up in the moment.

  “Then you’d better hurry or you’ll miss it.” She looked at me sweetly as she moved toward the door.

  “You’re right; I’d better get back to my room and pack. You know I would have loved to stay and spend these three days with you, right?” I asked as I walked her to the door.

  “I know, but I understand how important getting to that island is to you. First ever visit.”

  “Not exactly first visit…”

  “That time doesn’t count, nobody saw us,” she said, giving me another kiss and not seeming in any hurry to leave the room. “Anyway, it’s only three days, they’ll fly by, and we’ll be together again before you know it.”

  “I wish you could come with me. Maybe I should put this trip off and we could go together when filming is over,” I suggested, stroking her hair.

  “Don’t tempt me to say yes, when I know how much it means to you to get there now. I’ll be here, waiting for you. Go, find your answers and then we’ll go together and stay awhile. Promise, Dimitri? And we’ll go to Krifó and visit the Cave of Silence again.”

  “I promise,” I said, and kissed her, trying to hold on to the flavor of her lips for the coming separation.

  She took another look at the mess in the room and hesitated.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tidy up before I go... Maybe I’ll leave something for the cleaning lady to do, too,” I said and winked.

  She looked at me, eyes twinkling with laughter, picked up her bag and made her way to the stairs. I watched her walk away and felt our being apart, even for these few days, start to weigh upon me.

  As she arrived at the top of the landing, she turned toward me and, a shadow of worry fleeting across her face, said solemnly, “Dimitri, be careful!”

  That was the first time I had ever seen her worry. That same look had crossed my mother’s face when I had announced my intention to visit the island. She was adamant I should not go. When she failed to dissuade me, she made me swear not to tell anyone my grandfather’s name or the reason for my visit.

  I had taken it upon myself to carry out her brother’s last wish before he passed away. To have his body cremated in Bulgaria, as cremations in Greece were not possible, and scatter his ashes at his birthplace. He’d left the island as a young child and never been back; at least, that’s what he claimed. He wanted, even in this manner, to stay there forever. So, someone had to carry his ashes there. But neither my mother nor my two distant aunts had any wish to be involved in this. That had to mean something, but what? The reasons behind that reluctance remained unclear.

  Uncle Nikos lived in northern Greece, in Thessaloniki, and never had a family or any other close relations. He was a lonely and reclusive man with a wonderful voice; a gifted singer. When I used to ask him as a child how I could learn to sing like him, he used to laugh and say with a forlorn sigh, “When you drink from the spring at Mantani, at the top of the mountain on our island, you’ll sing beautifully too, Dimitri.” But when I would declare that as soon as I was old enough I would go to the island and drink the water, he would become solemn once again. He’d look me in the eyes and say, “No one from your mother’s family will ever return there.” Then his face would cloud over, belying that Uncle Nikos regretted the words he had just spoken.

  No one ever explained what those words really meant; not my father, who passed away fifteen years ago, nor my mother, who avoided the subject like the plague. All I knew was that she had left the island as a very young child with my uncle Nikos, just before the end of the Second World War. The Germans had just executed both my grandparents and others from their village. I was, as they never tired of telling me, the only male left on my mother’s side.

  So, when I got cast in this film, I took it as an omen, the shooting taking place in a location so close to the island. My three-day break, when I wouldn’t be needed on location, was a window of opportunity to carry out my mission. No one knew that the small metal box in my suitcase contained my uncle’s ashes. Not even Anita.

  My mind preoccupied with all these thoughts, I was staring blankly toward the landing where Anita had been standing minutes ago when I suddenly realized the cleaning lady had stepped into the corridor and now stood staring at me standing naked by the door, stunned.

  “I’m sorry,” I stuttered with a deep blush and closed the door.

  Berlin, three months earlier

  * * *

  Anita hurriedly zipped up the suitcase that was lying on the bed in her sparsely and tastefully decorated bedroom.

  One wall was mostly glass, a stunning view of the center of Berlin, which looked clean and orderly, as if it had just been built.

  On the wall facing the window stood a closet covered in mirrors that reflected the view, and the staircase that led to the floor below, a loft-like space that contained the living and kitchen area.

  Facing the bed, a collection of paintings and photos hung on the wall. A large black and white photo stood out among the other frames. It showed two women, smiling and holding a one-year-old baby, in what looked like an antique shop. The baby was Anita, and the two women her mother and grandmother.

  Script pages were scattered all across the room. She was hurriedly trying to gather the loose sheets in one pile when the phone rang. “Anita Hertz speaking,” and then, as if the line was bad, “Who is this? Mamá! I was just about to call you. Yes, almost ready…I have a taxi waiting downstairs. I’ll be over in twenty minutes… I have to hurry up. I hope Yiayia is up and I get to see her….Great!”

  Hanging up, her glance lingered over the photo for a moment and she smiled fondly. She hurriedly finished gathering the papers in a neat pile and, once order was restored, pressed the remote control button. The blinds in the bedroom and downstairs started to
noiselessly come down, plunging the apartment in a dark twilight.

  She picked up her suitcase and made her way to the living room, with its two comfortable, red, designer sofas and marble fireplace, the hearth now filled with candles as the weather was warmer at the end of spring.

  On the coffee table lay a dark metal tray filled with a collection of pebbles, which at first glance seemed to have been randomly put together. Upon closer inspection, the colors blended together to form an impressive abstract mosaic. A smaller suitcase and a laptop bag stood by the front door.

  Anita cast one last look over the room to make sure everything was okay and struggled to shuffle both suitcases out to the corridor. She set the burglar alarm, turned off the lights, and locked the front door.

  Downstairs, in the building’s lobby, the waiting driver quickly picked up her suitcases and carried them to the waiting car.

  “Vielen Dank,” she thanked the driver and then got in the back seat, registering the surprised and admiring glances the middle-aged driver was casting through the rear-view mirror before starting the engine.

  As soon as the taxi joined the evening traffic toward her mother’s house, Anita sank in the leather seats and looked out at the urban scenery flashing past her window. She had always been an observer; enjoyed taking in the landscape and people around her, no matter where she was. In all these years as an actress, the words of her teacher, the great Kurt Rainus, never left her. You become a better actor and a better person if you never stop observing in life and searching for the truth.

  The Memorial to the Murdered Jews in Europe came into view, its 2,711 concrete slabs, unmarked tombs arranged on a sloping field, casting a shadow of isolation, oppression, and menace on the visitors wandering through its maze of corridors.

  Anita, too, had felt awed and distressed whenever she had been there, especially at nighttime, chilled by the darkness cast by the slabs. She thought of them as human bodies lying still, frozen in times, silently screaming for justice beyond death.