Cave of Silence

by Kostas Krommydas

  “Oh, I didn’t come for the bill. I came to tell you there is a panegyri tomorrow.”

  “I’ve already been invited by everyone I’ve met so far. I really don’t think I could get out of that even if I wanted to,” I joked.

  She laughed, but her eyes were serious. “It’s not just a religious festival for us tomorrow. It’s not about the food and the dancing… it’s also the day when we remember all the people we lost during the war. Many bad things happened that day on this island. Some things have been forgotten, others never will.”

  A chill went down my spine. Unexpectedly, I was receiving my first bit of information of what had happened then. Would I ever be able to unravel the family mystery? I was getting ready to ask what she meant, but she’d already moved on.

  “Did you like the food?”

  “Yes, everything was great, thank you,” I replied almost apologetically. “Of course I’ll come tomorrow and, at some point, I’d like to hear about the island’s history. About what happened back then?”

  I must have sounded more intense than I intended to, for she looked at me as if she now regretted having mentioned the war. “Come now, son, you are here on holiday. I never should have said anything that might spoil it. Go take your walk now. You can meet my mother at the panegyri tomorrow. She lived through it all and remembers. Anyway, she is the one who gives the blessing at the panegyri every year. All I know is there’s no one worse than the Germans in this world.”

  I desperately wanted to tell her that I wanted to know right there and then, that this was a story that concerned me, my whole family. Only the promise I’d given my mother made me hold my tongue.

  Someone called Thekla from inside the house. Giving me a sweet smile, she walked off.

  I stood up and looked at the sea for a moment. Then I ran up to my room to pick up my camera, took one look at the moped and decided to walk to the port.

  I stepped out into the alley and started to walk down the steps that led to the port to the sound of my whirling thoughts and the incessant song of the countless cicadas. My life had taken many twists and turns lately. I felt things shifting inside me and it wasn’t just because of Anita. The past was being churned up and I suddenly felt a great sense of responsibility, being here on this island. I was the first member of my mother’s family to return to this place after whatever mysterious events had taken place. What they were I did not know yet, but I could sense that it was something that could shake my world.

  Walking to the port, my mind flitted between Anita and all the people I’d met since coming here. As if they were all part of the same story, a story which had started being written even before I was born, with a different cast of characters, but which was still being scripted up to and including this moment, dragging me into it.

  I paused frequently and took as many photos as I could. Not only did I want to capture the narrow street, the bursts of color from the potted plants that contrasted so brilliantly with the island whites and blues, I also wanted to carry back to my mother as much of the island as I could. I hoped that would bring her to the present in some way and that this, in turn, would help her make peace with the past. Once I knew what had happened, I would return to the island with Anita and tell her everything.

  Although I was seriously sleep deprived, the thought of staying in my room and catching up on the sleep I’d missed these last two weeks never crossed my mind. I wanted to see as much of the island as possible during my short stay. My plan was to visit the spring at Mantani the following day and go to the festival in the evening. Then, tour the island on the motorbike the day after. What I needed most at present, however, was to wind down and put my thoughts in order.

  I got lost on my way down a couple of times, but enjoyed my wandering through the cobbled streets, taking in everything along the way—geraniums, red bougainvilleas, old wooden doors, and hidden courtyards shaded by climbing vines; even a group of friendly black-clad old women sitting on the steps of a small house sipping coffee out of those tiny cups and posing coquettishly for my lens with wide, toothless grins. By the time I reached the port I felt happy and relaxed.

  The port was quiet. A few fishing boats dotted here and there, a couple of sailboats moored in the distance, and the ‘Titanic’, patiently waiting for Monday morning to depart. The booming buzz of the cicadas would occasionally get interrupted by the sound of a fishing boat making its way out to sea, an old moped or, rarely, the sound of a car.

  I stood once more before the memorial with the strange inscription and added a couple of photos to my collection. At the kafeneio near the memorial, a group of men sat drinking and chattering quietly. Thomas was one of them, and got up the moment he saw me. “Hello! Why are you on foot? Has anything happened to the moped?”

  “No, I just wanted to stretch my legs. If you need it, I can go back and fetch it.”

  “You’ll bring it back on Monday morning, Dimitri, as we agreed. Plenty of motorbikes for us to move around. Come join us now. Have you had something to eat?” he asked, gently tugging at my arm.

  “I’ve already eaten. Too much! Mrs. Thekla is an excellent cook, thank you.”

  “Oh, it’s a pleasure to have you here. I wish all of you working on that film had come over. It’s such a beautiful island, you should film here.”

  “I can see it’s beautiful but it’s not up to me, I’m afraid. I’ll let them know though. We should all come and visit.”

  Sofia and two of her friends appeared at the doorway, holding pen and paper. Smiling awkwardly, I signed my name for all three of them. I wasn’t actually used to it, still felt a bit embarrassed when it happened. The giggling teenagers insisted on having our photo taken.

  I had asked Thomas for a coffee and raised a quizzical eyebrow as he placed a small bottle filled with clear liquid, ice, water, and tall narrow glasses on the table before me.

  “Ouzo,” he said in a tone that meant ‘drink up’. “My cousin makes it. You’ve never tasted anything like it before. Have a drink and if you don’t like it Sofia will make you a coffee. But you must have a drink, no other way to welcome a stranger to our parts.”

  I smiled and filled everyone’s glass. No water, no ice, straight up. Then I raised my glass in salutation, clinked glasses with everyone else and took a sip. Thomas smiled.

  “Are you sure you are not from around here? Never seen an Athenian know how to serve and drink ouzo the right way before,” he teased but stared at me once he saw my frozen expression.

  I took another sip, wondering whether that was a random remark and I was once again being paranoid. Better laugh it off, I thought. “You never know, Thomas, I just might be,” I said jokingly.

  Everyone joined in as if that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

  “Don’t worry, even if you aren’t we’ll make sure you become a local. Plenty of pretty girls on the island,” someone added, sparking another round of laughter.

  “I think Dimitri is already taken,” winked Thomas. “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes—yes I am,” I replied, wondering whether there was anything about my life this man had not already guessed or overheard. I was now certain that he had not missed a word of my conversations with Thanasis on the journey over.

  The ouzo was starting to make my head spin and I put my glass down. I did not want to risk letting it affect me, for I was sure that in this pleasant, warm atmosphere I would let slip who I was and what I was really doing here. So I kept on raising my glass but only wetting my lips every time. The chit-chat continued as we spoke of the film and the island. Trying to sound as casual as possible, I asked, “They told me there is a spring up the mountain, I think it’s called Mantani. How can I get there? I heard the view is breathtaking.”

  An old man in a sailor’s white cap, replied, offering directions. “Mantani, yes, it’s very pretty. It’s a long hike on foot. You should take your bike. There are two ways to get there, the new road, which is tarred, or the old dirt road, which is prettier. If
you follow the stream on foot once you get there, you’ll get to Kryfó. Best beach on the island. Once you get to the beach, go into the Cave of Silence, really beautiful.”

  I smiled inwardly at the memories his last sentence awakened in me and thanked him. Thomas jumped in, offering to be my guide. I politely declined, saying I wanted to stop many times along the way to take photos and it was sure to be a long, tedious day for him. I offered to accompany him there on Sunday if he still fancied the outing.

  “Sunday, we’ll all be recovering from the festival,” he laughed. “Never mind, we’ll do it another time.”

  I felt a pang of guilt at my subterfuge, which contrasted sharply with his open, friendly disposition and was tempted to change my mind. Luckily, my phone rang at that moment. Unknown number. “Hello?” My face must have lit up at the sound of the voice at the other end because everyone looked at me, puzzled. “Anita! How are you? What happened?” I quickly got up and walked away from the table so I could speak to her without being overheard.

  I was so happy to finally hear her voice. She filled me in on the news and mentioned several times that she was now free until Monday. I glanced at the Titanic and cursed the shipping schedules which held me captive here until then. I told her how wonderful and friendly the island was, and promised her we would return on holiday once filming was done. Anita was then called off to do an interview and we hung up.

  I stared wistfully at the screen and looked up, realizing that I’d drifted toward the memorial while we spoke and was now sitting on the tiny marble wall that surrounded the randomly placed stones. I put my hand down to push myself up, as the wall was really very low and felt a sharp pang. A drop of blood dripped from my finger onto one of the sharp stones and I stared mesmerized as the red drop trickled down the stone, leaving a tiny mark.

  I looked up at the engraved column once again. IN MEMORY OF THOSE WHO GAVE UP THEIR LIVES JUSTLY OR UNJUSTLY. What could it mean, ‘unjustly’? Could it have anything to do with the events Thekla had alluded to?

  I felt tempted to go back to the table and find out more. One look at the men sitting around the small metal table getting merrier by the minute and I changed my mind. Why spoil everyone’s mood? I moved back to the table and joined them for one last drink.

  Having closely observed my phone call, they were full of teasing questions about the film and acting. Did we kiss for real? How could I possibly explain that kissing Anita was not just real, that it was so much more than that?

  Talk of the festival naturally led to talk of the occupation, though. I pricked up my ears and kept silent, but did not learn much more. Apparently, not much of the island had been left standing by the Nazis. The place became a ghost island for many years after the war, before locals returned and started to rebuild their lives.

  It was getting hotter and hotter as the day went on, so I decided to go for a swim. I got up and paid for everyone’s drink despite their protests and asked where the nearest beach was. Galazia Petra, they said; the blue stone, about ten minutes’ walk from the port, deserted at this time of year.

  I headed off in that direction, leaving the port behind. About ten minutes later I saw a small path to my left, gently sloping downwards, nearly obscured by thyme and rosemary bushes. I carefully walked down to be greeted by a small, secluded cove, empty but for a scraggly pine tree. I quickly undressed, hung my clothes on one of the lower branches, and ran into the clear, blue-green waters. I dived in and almost choked with laughter when I saw the large, gray-blue, flat stone which lay at the bottom of the sea floor.

  Drying off on the beach, I snapped a photo on my mobile and sent it to Anita. Then, I lay back on the sand and stared at the vast, cloudless sky.

  The Island, August 15, 1945

  * * *

  Eleni sat on a white sheet that had been spread over the sand. She was holding a thin square of wood on which a piece of paper had been carefully pinned. Color pencils were spread all around her. Every time she looked down to pick another pencil, she would pause and thoughtfully stare at the sea, trying to observe and capture all the shades of blue before her.

  The sun was about to leave the horizon and rise up high in the sky, its rays a silver trail slithering on the surface of the water to join Eleni’s feet on the shore. This was her first morning on the island after a two-year stay in Italy. It had been impossible to leave earlier and she had been forced to interrupt her studies as the gales of war swept across Europe: Poland, Norway, Denmark, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Italy were already in Hitler’s hands, and Mussolini had entered the fray to satiate his ambitious hunger. Anxious about the way events were unfolding, Eleni had returned to Greece as soon as she could.

  She seemed happy and relaxed now as she sat on the quiet shore, sketching the seascape and the figure of the man standing in the water, face turned toward the sun. She finished the sketch and made a quick note at the bottom of the paper: Galazia Petra, August 1945. She laid the piece of wood by her side, got up, and called out, “Done!”

  At this, the young man turned and started swimming to the shore. Eleni lifted up her skirt and waded into the water to meet him. He rose up and walked toward her, water streaming down his bare chest. When he reached Eleni, he took her hand and the couple walked back to the shore together.

  “How did I do?” Manolis asked. “Did I manage to stand still long enough?”

  Eleni laughed and picked up a towel. Wrapping it around his body in a hug, she looked up at him with a bright smile. “You did well. I hope you weren’t getting cold, I don’t want you falling ill on my first day back.”

  Manolis laughed and hugged her back. Then he picked up the piece of wood and gazed at the sketch admiringly. “It’s very pretty, Eleni.”

  “It’s nothing, just a very quick sketch…I didn’t want my model to freeze.”

  She took the towel from his hands and started drying his shoulders and back. Manolis let escape a sigh of pleasure and contentment. He’d missed her. They corresponded as often as they could, letters filled with passion and the love they felt for one another. It had given them a chance to talk, to get to know each other. Their bond had become the stronger for it, their separation and the distance between them bringing them closer together than before. Any awkwardness they felt when they first saw each other after two years apart dissipated almost immediately, and now, alone together for the first time, they felt at ease.

  Her father had hoped that their love would fade once they were apart. He liked Manolis well enough but had higher hopes for his daughter. He hoped she would marry someone educated, who could take her away from the island, give her a better life. Not become the miller’s wife. He had no idea that going away was what the young couple had been planning anyway. Eleni had not shared her hopes and dreams with her father, fearing that the prospect of her absence would break his heart. In any case, the world was changing and only fools made plans in such inauspicious times.

  Manolis turned around and gazed into Eleni’s eyes. He slowly took the towel from her hands and let it drop onto the sand. Reaching up to her face, he gently stroked her cheek and then hesitantly pulled her in for a kiss. Eleni blushed but did not resist. Their lips locked in a long tender kiss brimming with all those feelings that had flowed so frequently in their letters, but now shyness stopped them from putting into words.

  Eleni pulled away from Manolis and smiled awkwardly, then bent down and opened her bag. She took out a small box, tied with a thin black ribbon. Looking down, she handed it to Manolis, who took it and peered at it questioningly.

  “Open it,” she said.

  Manolis untied the ribbon and slowly lifted the cover. Removing the dark blue paper which protected the object in the box, he lifted out a small chain. At the end of the chain dangled a beautiful pocket watch. He put the watch in his palm and held it tightly there for a moment. “Thank you, it’s beautiful. You shouldn’t have spent your money on me, though.”

  “I bought this with my own money, Manolis, with mon
ey I earned when I worked for the painter I told you about. I’m glad you like it. Open the watch.”

  Manolis lifted the watch’s cover and looked at the watch face.

  “Not at the time,” Eleni laughed, “inside the lid”

  That’s when Manolis noticed the inscription.

  M+E

  FOREVER. TOGETHER.

  He stood there looking at the words for a moment, then bent down and picked up his trousers. From one of the pockets, he brought out a small, cloth purse.

  “My turn now… Open it.”

  Eleni stared at him, not understanding at first what he meant. She had not been expecting to receive a gift of any kind. Dumbfounded, she untied the strings and brought out a silver ring. A rose had been sculpted at the top of the wide silver band. She tried to find something to say, but felt choked and the words wouldn’t come out. Manolis placed a finger on her lips and took the ring in his other hand. Tenderly, he slid the silver band over her engagement finger, then lifted her face toward him. “It was my mother’s.”

  Tears of joy were now flowing freely down Eleni’s cheeks as Manolis pulled her in for another kiss. She responded, holding his face in her hands and kissing him back, passionately. Her hands gripped the back of his neck tightly as he kissed her eyes, her lips, her neck. His body was not completely dry and the salty water was now soaking Eleni’s dress. Eleni pulled him down on the sheet, her heart beating faster and faster as Manolis raised the hem of her dress and gently stroked her leg. This was the first man to have kissed her, touched her, the man she still loved and she felt ready to give herself to him. It was a moment they had both thought about during their long correspondence, had alluded to in the letters that had kept their passion alive and they both felt that the moment they had been yearning for had finally arrived. His hand exploring every inch of her body, her nails digging into his bare back, she held on to Manolis as if she never wanted to let go, as if all she ever wanted was to be one with the man she loved for all eternity. He started to unbutton the front of her dress. His lips moved from her lips to her neck, to her breasts, and she let out a soft moan. Any thoughts of what tradition expected, of what was considered proper, had vanished as they gave in to their desire to be together, two bodies about to meet, passionately and with the slight awkwardness of the first time.