She felt a pang of guilt as she recalled reassuring her daughter during the previous night’s brief call that everything was okay so as not to worry her.
Anita seemed to be having a wonderful time, sounding happier than she had done in years; sounding—Michaela smiled to herself at the thought—in love. Should she interrupt whatever was happening in her daughter’s life while it was still unclear how long Eleni would linger in this state? She didn’t want to burden her now. On the other hand, Anita had a right to know. She had to hear what the doctors would say and then decide.
She opened the message and saw the picture of a beach, a picture which looked strangely familiar. She tried to remember where she had seen the place, bringing the phone up for a closer look. Impossible to recall, she was too tired to think clearly anyway. She quickly texted her daughter: That’s a great photo…we miss you. We are at the hospital for some checks, but all is well. We both love you, take care.
Half a truth, the painless half. She took another look at the photo, still unable to place it. Taking a cup of coffee from Rina, she moved back into the hospital room and sat beside her mother. Her wrinkled face seemed at peace.
Michaela reflected gratefully on her mother’s strength, the courage she had shown as a young widow, running her own business and raising her only child at the same time. Michaela smiled fondly as she remembered all the time she spent as a child in the antique shop that had belonged to her father’s family, playing under coffee tables and pretending to help.
Even when times were hard, Eleni always remained calm, steady, a gentle woman made of steel. Whenever Anita, as a child, would knock something over in the shop, she would simply pick it up or calmly pick up the pieces and say that there are far more important things in life than lifeless objects. Thinking now of the man’s picture in the pocket watch, the man whose face graced countless sketches hidden in a trunk that had housed a box now standing locked on the living-room coffee table, Michaela wondered whether there was more to those words than the fond musings of a forgiving grandmother.
The Island, November 10, 1940
* * *
It was almost dark and the bitter northerly wind shook the branches of the olive tree just outside Manolis’ mill. A faint light shone through the small window, mingling with the flour dust inside the room to give the scene an ethereal, otherworldly air.
Seated on two large, round grinding stones, Manolis and Eleni were contemplating the flag stones on the floor, a heavy silence between them. He looked up first, reached across to Eleni and took her hand in his. Eleni looked up at him, her eyes moist. She was trying to be brave, to swallow her tears.
Manolis had just announced that he was leaving with a group of local boys to join the volunteer corps. They were heading to the Greek Albanian border to fight. Italy had declared war on Greece and he was eager to go; felt that it was his duty and the least he could do. An English vessel was due to pass by a nearby uninhabited islet early in the morning. It would collect the volunteers and transport them to Piraeus on the mainland.
He was sorry to leave her. He knew he might never see her again. She knew that too. That’s why she did not want to let him go. Eleni was afraid, afraid of losing Manolis, afraid of staying on the island. Relations between the two populations were becoming strained; the Italians were not so friendly anymore. Her father was ill, she had no other relatives, and, with Manolis gone, she would be on her own.
She had tried to explain all this to him, but his mind was made up. He told her that everyone had reasons to stay instead of going to fight. If they all did that then the Italians would conquer the rest of Greece and things would become even worse. At some point, the Germans might come. He couldn’t stay hidden out on the island, he had to do something for his country. He brought her hands up to his lips and kissed them. “I promise you, I’ll be back. Everything will be different then. We’ll be free, we’ll get married, and we’ll have a family. I just want you to wait for me. Nothing else… just wait for me to come back.”
Eleni wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “I’ll wait for you my whole life Manolis, so long as you come back…”
“I will come back, my love. I’ll come back. I swear it.”
It was the first time he’d called her my love. Eleni felt good hearing it from his lips and buried herself in his arms. He held her tightly, then gently pushed her back so he could see her face. Holding her gaze, he said, “Whatever the Italians say, you must deny that you know where I’ve gone. I don’t want you to suffer if they find out why I’ve left. Whatever you need, you ask Yiannis, my brother. He’ll look out for you. I’ll come back for you, Eleni, take you to the mainland where we can live freely. That, I promise.”
Eleni leaned toward Manolis and kissed him tenderly. The howling wind muffled the sound of the approaching footsteps, and they did not see the man looking in through the window. The sound of a fist on the door made them jump up with fright. Manolis quickly picked up a long piece of wood and approached the door to find out who the unexpected visitor was. Yiannis was supposed to meet him there, but much later. “Who is it?” he shouted without opening the door.
The sound of a hacking cough from behind the door was his only answer. Eleni realized it was her father and went to the door. There stood Captain- Andreas, his face indiscernible in the twilight, bent over, trying to make his coughing fit stop.
They both helped the old man inside and Manolis went to fetch some water. Taking a couple of breaths between coughs, he managed to drink some water and seemed to recover a little. He’d fallen ill during the summer and never seemed to fully recover. Winter had worsened his condition and the coughing fits were becoming more frequent and severe. Eleni was crouched by his side, gently stroking his back as the coughing became more subdued and he started to breathe normally again. He slowly raised his head and looked at Manolis. “I heard you are leaving Manolis, at dawn…”
No one other than Eleni and his brother knew about his imminent departure and the young man was stunned to hear those words. He looked questioningly at Eleni but she shook her head no, the information had not been passed on by her. Who then? Before he had a chance to ask, her father started to talk again, forming his words slowly and with great effort. “You are wondering how I know, right? If I weren’t an old man and ill, don’t you think I would be coming with you, my boy? What did you think? That we don’t all love our country too?”
“Captain-Andreas…” Manolis stuttered, but was silenced by Andreas’ raised hand.
“Go and God be with you. You’ll return. And when you do, Eleni will be here waiting for you and we’ll hold your wedding. I want to see my grandchildren before I die, Manolis.”
The young couple looked at him, unable to utter a word. Before they could recover from their surprise, the old man got up. Straightening his jacket, he approached the window and looked out at the moon, casting its glow over the sea. “The day your mother died, Eleni, I promised myself that I would raise you and you would have a better life. I wanted you to get an education, leave this place, move to Greece and live there freely, raise your family there. When, God willing, Manolis is back, you’ll pack up and leave this place. Unless this island is free by then. Only then can you stay here, if you want to. I want you to promise me that.”
“I promise, father,” Eleni replied, emotion choking her words. “And I also swear that you’ll come with us, wherever we go, if you want to.”
The hooves of a horse could now be heard pounding the ground outside, followed by Yiannis’ voice. He called for his brother to let him in, as he dismounted outside. Manolis went to the door and pulled it open. Yiannis walked in, followed by his son Nikos, who stood timidly by the open doorway, casting curious glances at Eleni. She smiled at him through her tears. Yiannis hid his surprise at seeing Andreas at the mill and spoke to Manolis. “It’s time to go.”
Eleni bowed her head, trying to stifle a sob. Her father put on his coat, walked up to Manolis, and gripped his arm. “
You take care, my boy. God be with you.” He then walked out, followed by Yiannis, who gave his son a nudge to step outside too.
The ten-year-old seemed confused, trying to figure out what was going on. He looked in through the half-open doorway and saw Manolis walk up to Eleni and gently lift her chin toward him. She was looking at him intently, unable to stop crying. Wanting to feel Manolis against her one last time, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. He hugged her back and stroked her hair, which shone in the moonlight coming through the window.
They kissed passionately, as sorrow, pain, love, longing and sadness all mingled into one strong emotion that passed like a current between them. For a moment, it was as if they were breathing through one another.
The wind had turned into a gale by now and Manolis, looking into Eleni’s eyes once more, removed a photo of the two of them at the port from the inside pocket of his jacket, kissed it before her and placed it back close to his heart. “I will always carry you with me, my love,” he said.
Eleni started crying once more. Manolis, trying to hide his emotions, turned away abruptly, took a cloth bag hanging from a nail on the wall, and walked out to join his brother without looking back. At the door, he put his arm around his nephew who had been gaping open-mouthed at the scene and gently pulled him toward the waiting horses.
Eleni’s father walked back into the mill and found her standing by the window, watching the departing riders. He went toward her and put his hand on her shoulder trying to comfort her. Eleni’s gaze remained fixed on the three shadowy figures on horseback, dimly lit by the silver moonlight and knew that this could be the last time she ever saw the man she loved.
»»»»»»»»»»»
After so many hours of sleep on the balcony and then my bed, and despite the early phone call with Anita, I felt truly rested. I had just finished my breakfast, made a couple of phone calls, and was getting ready to return to my room to pick up my rucksack and head for Mantani, when I saw Thekla carrying a small package wrapped in a red and white cloth.
“Home-baked bread and tomatoes,” she explained. “For later, when you get hungry,” she added and rushed off to serve the other guests who had arrived for that evening’s festival. Most of them had traveled on private boats from the neighboring islands and would spend the night here; after a night of feasting, nobody would be fit to sail back.
Back in my room, I carefully placed the box containing my uncle’s ashes into the rucksack, along with Thekla’s parcel. Hoisting it over my shoulders, I slung my camera around my neck and went out to find the motorbike. I wanted to scatter the ashes first. I felt that doing so would release me from a burden I was carrying and somehow release Uncle Nikos too.
I set off toward the port, intending to pass by and say hello to Thomas before heading to Mantani. As expected, I occasionally got lost in the narrow winding streets but found myself outside the kafeneio quicker than I expected. Perhaps I was starting to get to know the place after all.
I pulled up and looked inside, but other than Sofia and a couple of old men, no one else seemed to be around. Noticing me, Sofia hurried outside to greet me.
“Morning! Where is your grandfather?” I asked her as she approached.
“Good morning!” she smiled back at me. “He’s at our orchard; it’s not far from here. He’ll be back soon. Anything you want me to tell him?”
“No, Sofia, I just passed by to say hello. Maybe you could give me directions to Mantani?”
She turned to the right and pointed at a narrow alley. “If you go down this alley you’ll come across a dirt track after a while. Just take it and it will lead you straight to the spring. Be careful though, it’s a narrow path that passes under a big boulder at some point. Remember to duck,” she laughed, “you wouldn’t be the first one to come back with a headache.”
I thanked Sofia and set off, passing before the monument to the war dead. As I rode past it, I once again felt a chill go down my spine. My mood had been a rollercoaster of highs and lows ever since I had set foot on this island.
I had spoken to my mother briefly that morning and she was as anxious as ever, asking me to leave the island that very afternoon. But there was no ferry crossing that day and I was thinking of leaving the day after. I’d been told by Thekla that some of her guests would be returning to the nearby island on a yacht the following day and she could arrange for me to return with them. I was desperate to return to Anita, now that she also had some time off, and spend time with her. Just that thought lifted my mood and reminded me again how much I missed her.
As promised by Sofia, I found the dirt track at the end of the uphill alley, a very narrow path fringed by rocks on one side and small steep cliffs on the other. The view from up here was impressive, and I would regularly stop to take pictures of the port and the sea views beyond it.
It did not take too long to reach the point where the dirt track became even narrower. To the left, the overhanging rocks, suspended in mid-air, left a small, low opening. I slowed down, got off the motorbike, and started to slowly walk through the opening, keeping the engine on and guiding it beside me. It was so low I wondered how people rode through on horseback in the old days. They must have dismounted and continued on foot, just as I was doing now. My heart was beating fast, but I felt calmer than I expected. The memory of Anita and our afternoon in the Cave of Silence seemed to have dulled my fear of caves and tunnels.
Beyond the tunnel, the track widened once more and moved uphill even more steeply. I got on the bike again and picked up speed, now clearly headed toward the mountain top. I welcomed the wind against my face and the heady smell of thyme it carried with it. The landscape was getting greener, a clear sign that the spring was near.
A few minutes later, I pulled to an abrupt stop. Just ahead I could spot a small copse of low trees and grass, a clear sign of water in this scraggy landscape. I killed the engine and the silence was like a slap in the face. I could only hear the sound of trickling water. The sea and the surrounding islands, which stretched out to my right, seemed to be miles away. I walked to the thicket of trees and bushes, quietly, almost reverently.
The spring was easy enough to spot, the water spouting from a fountain made of stones that had been built up against the rock from which a constant stream seemed to flow. I dropped my rucksack on one of the stones and bent down to quench my thirst. I wet my face and my hair to wash off the dust and leaned back against the rocks, catching my breath.
For a moment I imagined my uncle at this place, sitting at this same spot so many years ago, taking in the same view, singing along with the others. He always seemed happy whenever he spoke of Mantani, the only times I ever saw him smile. This was the spot where women would come to wash their laundry, he’d say. The men would accompany them, keep them company, sing songs, and wait until the laundry was done to carry them back to town on horseback. The strange love he had for this place puzzled me; knowing the circumstances of his departure, I was surprised that he’d wanted to return here after his death.
The time had come to carry out his wishes. I took out the box and moved it toward the mouth of the spring. I felt a strange charge pass through me, like an electric surge, as I held it in my hands. I opened it carefully and started emptying the ashes. For a moment, the water clouded as the ashes landed on its surface, but started to clear up again as the flowing current carried them in the stream.
I was sure this was what my uncle had had in mind. The beauty of the moment, as I experienced it, was his parting gift to me. I thought that this is what I would like for myself too, when the time came. I did not like the idea of being buried in the ground.
The last of the ashes in the water, I rinsed out the box and placed it by the spring, feeling like I’d just accomplished a ritual, a ceremony that had to happen this way. I looked up to the sky to let Uncle Nikos know I’d done as he’d asked, and turned to leave.
A man’s voice, in the distance, sang the Nisiotissa, that song I had heard th
e previous day. I turned around, puzzled, trying to figure out where the singing was coming from. Thomas appeared from behind the low branches of a tree, astride a white horse.
I quickly shoved the box back in my rucksack and tried to act casual. He carried on singing as he approached, and only spoke to me once he’d dismounted right beside me. “Isn’t it a beautiful spot, Dimitri?”
Having kept the reason for my presence on the island a secret, I felt the fear my mother had passed on wake up inside me. I suddenly realized that ever since I had arrived, Thomas kept appearing before me, as if he knew something, as if he’d been watching my every move. Had he seen me scatter the ashes? I looked furtively toward the copse of trees he’d materialized from—too far away, probably not. So I calmly replied, “Even more beautiful than I expected. I’ve taken many photos…”
He smiled and bent down to drink from the spring. Then, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he looked at me sternly and said, “I know what you’re doing here.”
I felt the ground give way beneath my feet at that statement and the sudden appearance of three more men on horseback behind them, one of them holding a shotgun. I broke into a cold sweat, certain that they’d realized who I was, that I was just about to pay for the sins of my forefathers, whatever they may have been. I stood frozen to the spot, gaping at them.
Summoning whatever shreds of courage I had left, I turned back to Thomas keeping an eye out for the others, who had approached and were waiting to hear what we had to say. “What am I doing here?”
Thomas suddenly looked puzzled as he realized I was genuinely scared and said in a joking tone, “Stealing our water!” He laughed heartily at his joke. The three horsemen joined in, obviously used to his jests.
I felt my heart lurch back into my chest and tried to laugh along, to disguise my agitation. Before I had a chance to speak, he gave my shoulder a friendly punch and said, “Come, my lad, take a photo of us on our horses, here by the spring, with the sea behind us.”
Cave of Silence Page 10
