All was quiet on the ferry. I was alone in the seating area. The TV, now muted, replayed images of the dying woman. Except, the images were uncensored this time around. You could clearly see the faces of the executioners, filled with hatred as they hurled their stones at the unfortunate victim. Even the children’s faces were distorted with malice as they struggled to pick up the heavy stones. Stone and hanging flesh became one until I couldn’t stand to watch any longer.
I got up and tried to turn it off, but to no avail. I picked up a bar stool and flung it at the TV. The glass shattered but the images still played on. The volume now came on at full blast; the woman’s screams as she howled in pain, the braying mob, the crack of the stones as they hit their target.
Strange music started playing in the background, a tragic soundtrack to the flickering pictures.
I tore the TV set from the wall and smashed it on the floor before the bar, leaving the entrails of naked cables hanging down from the wall. Finally, silence.
I was covered in cold sweat and could feel my drenched shirt sticking to my back. I headed to the exit and opened the door, stepped out onto the deck. I approached the railings and saw a rocky outcrop, an island close by. A house was burning on the barren hilltop, the dark smoke filling the sky.
I moved to the stern of the ship, which was tethered to the port in a dense fog that was slowly dispersing. The forlorn figures of passengers waiting at the quay started rising in the mist. They were dirty, their clothes and hands blood splattered, staring at me with naked hostility.
My heart beat faster and faster, a frenzied drumbeat of anxiety and fear. Paralyzed with terror, I wanted to run, but my feet were welded to the spot.
An old man stepped forward from the crowd. I took a closer look and started with surprise when I realized it was Thomas, slowly raising an accusing finger toward me. A woman dressed in black came to stand beside him, her white hair blowing in the wind.
I closed my eyes to shut out the scene before me.
A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped out of my skin.
“We’re arriving. Wake up, my friend!”
The few seconds it took to open my eyes felt like years. Relief flooded through me at the sight of Thanasis’ funny face. Just a nightmare, I told myself. Just a nightmare. The dream had been so vivid, so real, I still felt the acrid taste of fear in my mouth.
“Air-conditioning is not working. No wonder you’re drenched, my friend,” Thanasis said as he started clearing the tables around me.
I sat up, trying to collect myself. The warm smile of Thomas as he got up from his armchair helped push the dream further away. In my confused state, I thought about not getting off, staying on the ferry and going back. I turned to Thanasis who was stocking the fridge behind the bar and asked, as casually as I could, “How long before you return?”
“We stay on the island till Monday morning. If you feel like it, come to Lefkothea’s taverna tonight. Best food on the island, on me. It’s the panegyri of the Virgin Mary tomorrow, the island’s biggest festival. You shouldn’t miss that!” He turned away from the fridge and winked, waving two beer bottles at me to tempt me.
“Thanks, Thanasis! If I can make it, the treat will be on me,” I said and picked up my rucksack, a sweat stain marking the spot I had used as a pillow.
Thomas and the few passengers who were inside had started making their way to the exit as the ferry entered the harbor. I felt the floor shake as it dropped anchor. Well, this was it. I hastily took off my wet shirt and pulled a fresh t-shirt over my head, then headed for the exit.
“It was nice meeting you, Thanasis. Maybe we’ll catch up on the island.”
I liked him well enough, but I didn’t want to make any arrangements as a principle. I wanted to rest and find out where the spring at Mantani was, so I could carry out Uncle Nikos’ final wish. I hadn’t booked a place to stay. I’d been told that it would be easy to find a room when I got there, as the island was not very busy with tourists.
“Where are you staying?” Thanasis asked.
“I haven’t booked anything yet. Can you recommend a place?”
He came near me and lowered his voice, as if he was about to share something confidential. “They’re all more or less the same, but if you want peace and quiet go to the upper part of town and ask for Thekla’s. She has the nicest rooms and makes a great breakfast. You can walk there, but it’s best to rent a moped; easier to move around that way.”
I hadn’t driven a motorbike for a long time, but I liked his idea. It’d be convenient and a great way to tour the island.
I thanked Thanasis once more and stepped outside. For a second, the dream came back to haunt me. I half-expected to see the blood-stained mob waiting for me on the quay, burning houses in the background.
Instead, the most tranquil view was there to greet me. Three whitewashed churches perched on the hill tops, like lonely lookouts standing guard over the vast expanse of water before them. A Greek flag fluttered near one of them. The port was a cluster of square, low houses with a couple of taverns on the seafront, small wooden tables on the sand and fresh octopuses drying in a row. Further up the hill stood the hóra— the heart of the island; a traditional amphitheater of tiny houses built almost on top of each other in a maze of winding alleys and courtyards; a searing blaze of whiteness that almost burnt your retinas in the midday sun.
I blinked and moved toward the stairs to make my way down to the port when I felt my phone vibrate, its ring tone drowned by the disembarking cars and mopeds. Anita. I sprinted down the few remaining steps and across the quay trying to find a quiet spot where I would be heard. All in vain. “Hi, Anita…the line is awful… I just got here, I’ll call you back,” was all I had time to say before the line went dead. I tried to call her back, but failed to reach her. Maybe there was no phone signal at her end.
I let out a frustrated sigh and started to walk toward the few houses. Nearby, at the center of a small square, a war memorial caught my eye. A pile of stones was randomly placed around a small marble column, which read:
IN MEMORY OF THOSE WHO GAVE UP THEIR LIVES
JUSTLY OR UNJUSTLY
1940-1945
I looked around to see if there was anything else written that could shed some light on this curious inscription but found nothing. I dodged a swarm of local kids chasing a football around the square and fondly remembered my grazed knees, the battle scars of the local football matches of my childhood. Had Uncle Nikos also played here as a child?
I spotted the kafeneio nearby, a couple of tourists and a group of elderly locals sitting outside in the shade of a huge, red bougainvillea sipping Greek coffee out of tiny cups. The melody of a song drifted outside, a mournful voice singing an island tune I’d never heard before.
My beautiful island girl
Leaving these shores behind
Leaving me alone to wander
On a lonely isle…
The rest of the song was drowned out by the voice of Thomas, who stepped outside wiping his hands on an apron, a wide smile on his face. “Come on in, have a drink on us and rest. It’s my kafeneio.”
“Thank you, but I’m very tired. Let me go leave my things and I’ll come back later, if you’re still here. Do you know where Thekla’s rooms are?”
“If I know them, he asks! I worked the stone with my own hands,” he said and proudly extended his scarred and calloused palms.
I was startled by the movement. It brought back the scene from my dream, Thomas pointing an accusatory finger at me. Thankfully, Thomas did not see my start. He had turned back to toward the doorway and was calling someone.
“Sofia! My granddaughter Sofia will give you a lift on her moped. You shouldn’t be walking in this heat.”
“Thank you, but I’m going to rent a motorbike so I can move around freely.”
“How long are you staying here?”
“I’m leaving Monday morning.”
A young girl of around fifteen, tall and we
ll- built, came out at that point. She smiled and said hello, and before I had a chance to return her greeting, Thomas spoke. “Sofia will take you to Thekla’s and leave the motorbike there. You can return it on Monday. No use renting something just for a couple of days.”
I was left speechless by his kind offer, spoken in a manner that clearly indicated he would not be taking no for an answer. So, I nodded my acquiescence and followed the young girl to a nearby moped.
The scene had excited the curiosity of the locals, who had fallen silent and watched us with great interest. I got on, placed my bag between us and Sofia immediately set off along a road that ran parallel to the coast line. Her hair alternately stroked and whipped my face and I turned to face the sea whizzing past us. To our right was a sharp uphill turn, and Sofia shouted out “hold on” just as she stepped on the gas to climb the steep hill. Without her warning, I would have surely flown off. I gripped her shoulders and felt her stifle a giggle.
At the top of the hill, she turned down a narrow path, drove carefully down a step, and slowed down as she made her way through the labyrinth of white-washed island houses. At every doorway she greeted someone. This was a place where everyone knew the rest of the town. She turned her head toward me to ask what I now suspected was the local ice-breaker: “First time on our island?”
“Yes, first time,” I replied, distracted as I tried to balance my bag and stay on the bike.
In less than a minute she pulled up so sharply, I hit my jaw on her shoulder. She didn’t seem to mind and honked to announce our arrival.
We were at the back of a large house, outside a vast wooden double door framed by island stones. That must have been Thomas’ work, a fine example of island stone masonry; simple, unadorned, exquisitely showcasing the red bougainvillea that covered most of the house.
A plump woman dressed in a blue dress that matched the color of the sea, with a round, cheerful face, was making her way toward us. “Welcome, welcome to our island, come on in!”
She shook my hand, a strong manly handshake, and I was surprised at how rough her palm was. How unusual, I thought, then realized that no, of course women must be doing a lot of the rough work around here. She made to take my bag from the ground beside me, but I quickly picked it up and slung it over my shoulder. Still smiling, she turned toward Sofia. “Thank you, Sofia. You walk back down the steps. You granddad called and said you must pass by the house to pick up the sweets.”
“Yes, Mrs. Thekla…” Sofia hovered awkwardly for a moment, and then, summoning all her courage, turned toward me, shyly asking, “Can I have an autograph?”
“I see Thomas hasn’t wasted any time filling you in, has he?” I laughed. “Later, when I drop by the coffee shop.”
Sofia hovered, still uneasy but less shy.
“And a photo of the two of us?”
Thekla spoke before I could answer. “Come now Sofia, the man is tired. Let him catch his breath. Go now, or you’ll be late.”
Sofia sulked but nonetheless turned and started walking down the paved steps, following the pedestrian way back to the port. She barely had time to shout out a hasty “bye” and hear my thanks before she disappeared from view.
I pointed toward the motorbike. “Won’t it be in the way here?”
“Don’t worry about it. If it bothers anyone, they’ll move it out of the way. Come inside now and choose your room. What’s your name?”
“Dimitri,” I replied but I could see she was waiting for my last name. My mother’s voice rang in my ears at that moment, don’t tell anyone your grandfather’s name or that we come from the place. Just tell them your last name and nothing more.
“Dimitri Voudouris”
“Voudouris. Dimitri Voudouris.” She repeated my name frowning hard, as if trying to memorize it. I felt a pang of worry and looked at her quizzically. She smiled. “It’s for the guest register. I don’t want to ask for your passport now. You can give it to me later. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you my boy, but I don’t watch TV. No time.”
Now I laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Thekla! I don’t watch a lot of TV either, and as for being on it, that rarely happens. I wouldn’t expect anyone to recognize me.”
“That’s strange because you look familiar and it can’t be because I’ve seen you on TV. Have you been here before?”
Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have paid these questions any heed, but I was on my guard. I repeated the lie I’d told, Thomas that I’d been to the island once as a child but didn’t remember much.
We’d arrived at one of the rooms. As Thekla opened the door, I caught sight of the uninterrupted sea view below, a painting of different shades of blue as the sea met the sky and an airy, high-ceilinged room. Plainly decorated, dominated by a large bed in the center made with white linen, the mosquito net suspended from the ceiling pulled to one side of the bed. The walls were decorated with photos depicting the usual Greek landscapes. One photo stood out, being black and white and showing the island’s harbor. A lot of people had gathered on the quay, grouped together before some boats, smiling at the camera. The photo was inscribed ‘1938’. On the balcony, a small table and two chairs turned to face the Aegean, giving an almost aerial view of the landscape below, a feeling of being suspended in mid-air.
“I have two more free rooms you can look at, if you want. But I think this is the nicest.”
The room was perfect and I wanted to call Anita and have a bath and rest. So I hastily assured her that this would be fine.
“Good. You settle in and I’ll go make you something to eat, it’s nearly lunchtime. You must be hungry,” she said in a tone that forbade any objections.
Not that I intended to object. I’d had no breakfast, ferry food having a worse reputation than ferry coffee, and the mention of lunch made my stomach rumble.
I thanked her and flung my bag, which was starting to dig into my shoulder, on the floor.
“Come downstairs to the courtyard when you’re ready,” she smiled and quickly exited the room.
I stood on the balcony and tried to call Anita, but once again I could not get through, so I texted her instead. I’ve arrived, it’s beautiful, give me a call whenever you can. Then I remembered my mother, who I was sure would be getting worried by now.
“Hi, Mamá! Yes, I just got here. Everything is fine…everyone is hospitable…very friendly….no, I’ll do that tomorrow morning. I need to rest now…I’ll call you again tomorrow. Bye now…bye.”
She sounded calm, but I could sense her tension. I felt mildly annoyed with her and Uncle Nikos as I carefully unpacked the metal box and placed it on a small wooden table, shoving the rest of my clothes haphazardly into the closet. In the short while I’d been here everyone had been kind, friendly and seemed to genuinely like me. I could not believe that mentioning my grandfather’s name would change that.
I stepped back out onto the balcony to hang my drenched t-shirt and my mood lifted as I breathed in the sea air and took in the view. Determined to enjoy my stay and relax, I moved back in and stepped into the shower, my mind once again on the food that would soon be waiting for me downstairs.
The Island, September 1938
* * *
The port was busy. Any moment now, the tug boats would be arriving to ferry all the passengers waiting on the small quay to the big steamship waiting patiently in the middle of the bay.
A sharp whistle and a thick black plume of smoke from the ship’s funnel filled the air. That was the signal to hurry and the people moved en masse toward the three tugboats that were tethered to the quay and preparing to load. Goods first, passengers next. Rough sacks made of hemp, baskets, chickens, and goats, their feet bound together so they could not move, were all heaped together. Muscular workmen were picking up the goods, piling the tugboats high. Then the sailors took over, rowing the goods to the ship. Ropes would come down and heave the goods and animals on board, the sailors flinging the lighter objects expertly high up in the air where their crew
mates would catch them. Once empty, the tugboats would return as many times as necessary, and then the ship would depart.
Italian soldiers were overseeing proceedings, a soldier thoroughly checking some wooden boxes, their Greek owner watching him anxiously. Basket-laden donkeys added their hoarse cries to the bleating of the goats, the human voices, the sound of carts, and the regular whistles coming from the boat making it all a scene of lively chaos.
Amidst all that noise, the sound of hammering and sawing would occasionally burst out in a flurry. Work was being carried out on some of the port buildings. The Italian occupiers had been trying to repair many of the buildings by the port, adding their own architectural touches to some of the facades, such as the Governor’s headquarters and the closed market. In the midst of traditional, white-washed walls, island stone, and blue shutters, now sprang samples of contemporary Italian architecture.
Eleni and Manolis were walking side by side in front of one of those buildings, followed by Eleni’s father, captain-Andreas. All three were headed toward the port, captain-Andreas leading a donkey with a large brown suitcase strapped on its side.
As soon as they reached the edge of the quay, Eleni’s father unstrapped the suitcase and, with Manolis’ help, placed it on the ground. At that moment a loud voice was heard, calling everyone to gather together in front of the boats to have a group photo taken.
Everyone gathered at the designated spot where the camera had been set up. Manolis took Eleni’s hand and pulled her closer, putting his arm around her waist. She felt a frisson run through her and did not resist. Resting her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if wanting the moment to permeate her, to keep its memory within her forever. That was the first time their bodies were so close. They could feel each other’s breath. The heat of Manolis’ body warmed her and she wondered if he felt the same. What they had never managed to do in the few moments they had found themselves alone was happening now, in the midst of a crowd. Hidden among passengers and bystanders, they felt desire grow for the first time. That stolen moment did not last for more than a few seconds.
Cave of Silence Page 6
