Cave of Silence

by Kostas Krommydas

  “How are you?” he asked anxiously. “Are you in pain?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Alexander, dear.”

  “I don’t know you… what am I doing here?”

  “What can you remember?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. She looked at him, disorientated, and gingerly touched her head. “I can’t remember anything. Why is my head bandaged?”

  “There is no time to explain. Listen to me, Eleni, we must leave now, or they will kill us both. I’ll explain everything later, but now you must trust me. Follow me. We have to hurry up!”

  He lifted her up to her feet. She was still dizzy and could not stand up properly. He put her arm around his shoulders and held her by the waist, dragging her to the path. She let herself be led away without resisting.

  They stopped at the well outside the mill, where he drew some water. Removing his scarf from around her head, he washed the wound. Cupping some water in his hands, he gave her a drink.

  All the while, Eleni looked at him with a vague sense that he was a familiar face, someone who could be trusted, but she was unable to remember who he was.

  Alexander took a few steps and she let out a cry of pain. She was having trouble stepping on her ankle.

  “Where are we going?” Eleni asked.

  “Somewhere far away.”

  She stopped walking, her body becoming a dead weight in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me who you are.”

  Alexander was at a loss. His life was already in danger if the Germans found out he was helping a wanted woman. Now, the locals were a threat too. The men who had betrayed Manolis had pointed their finger at Eleni, saying that she was the one who had betrayed him, using her ties to Achermann as further proof. He had no time to explain, to tell the truth. He also suspected that if she realized what had just happened, that her fiancé and her family were dead, she would choose to stay behind and die.

  “I’m your husband, Eleni. We must get home, quickly.” A volley of gunfire was heard from the port, dark clouds of smoke rising. Eleni was frightened and dug her nails into his shoulder. He lifted her up in both arms and started making his way down the hill, to the meeting point with the others.

  Neither one noticed the young girl who was watching them from further up the hill. She had paused and was staring at them. A roar of rage echoed down the slope, followed by these words: “Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!”

  A stone fell some feet behind them, then another, and another. Alexander stepped off the path and hid behind a rock. He pulled out his gun and looked up, ready to fire. No one was on the hill.

  Further up, a man had pinned Agathe to the ground, hissing at her to keep quiet, not to make herself and the fortunate few who had escaped a target.

  »»»»»»»»»»»

  A few hours later, Eleni, Alexander, and three other officers were sailing away, to surrender at a bigger island that was no longer under German rule.

  Behind them, the island was a dark, distant spot against the pink horizon. It was getting darker, a peaceful lull descending on the calm waters.

  The men were chatting at the back of the boat. Further up, Eleni stood at the prow, her head dressed in a bandage. Alexander’s doctor friend had taken care of her injury when they had met. She was still at a loss, unable to remember. She believed herself to be Alexander’s wife and had followed him meekly.

  In her mind, the last words she had heard in Greek before leaving the island still resonated: “traitor!” She could not understand why someone had shouted that. She was convinced, though, that she was in danger.

  The air was getting chilly. She put her hands in her pockets to keep warm. She felt the rustle of paper and something cold, metallic in one of them. She pulled out a photo and a pocket watch. She looked at the photo; a crowd of people at a port. In the dark, she was unable to see any of the faces clearly. She then looked at the watch, the dented cover. She pried it open and saw the photo of a man. She had no idea who he was. For the first time, she noticed the ring she was wearing, the small sculpted rose. A memory seemed to rise from the depths of her mind, but it sunk again before it had a chance to surface.

  »»»»»»»»»»»

  She heard approaching footsteps and hurriedly shoved everything back in her pocket, instinctively feeling that she must hide them.

  “Remember anything?” Alexander asked, putting his arms around her waist. She stepped away from his embrace. In the dark, her eyes sparkled. A name came to her, as if someone was whispering in her ear: ‘Manolis… Manolis…”

  The moon began to rise from the waters.

  »»»»»»»»»»»

  I dragged myself to the bedroom with great difficulty, feeling numb. Confusing thoughts swirled in my mind as I tried to understand if what was happening was real or a nightmare.

  When Anita had run out of the courtyard, I felt as if my insides had turned to ice. It was a familiar feeling; that was how I’d felt when my father had died.

  I walked up the stairs and hesitated before the bedroom door, fervently hoping against all reason that I would find Anita smiling inside; Anita telling me that it had all been a mistake; that she had been confused; that it was all a mix up; that her grandmother had not betrayed my great uncle; that her grandmother had not caused the massacre of innocent souls and run off with the German officer, her grandfather. If it was all true, who should I feel most sorry for? Anita or myself? We were like the two sides of the same ghoulish coin.

  I slowly opened the door and saw her sobbing, face down on the bed. I approached her cautiously, unsure of how to act.

  She felt my presence and turned to look at me with horror. I felt a great divide come between us. Instead of giving her a hug, like I normally would have, I sat on the couch and did not speak for a while. Taking a deep breath, I said that I was hoping it was all a big misunderstanding.

  “No, Dimitri, it’s not,” she sniffled. “I’m convinced that woman was my grandmother. My grandfather was called Alexander. I don’t even have the strength to call my mother and find out if she knows how the two met. But I will, soon.”

  “Before you call, we should re-examine this story. Maybe there is something we’re missing. You said your grandmother is Greek…”

  “All these years I’ve felt that she was hiding something,” she interrupted me. “She didn’t like talking about her past, always gave us vague answers. I could tell she was in pain. My grandfather died in Berlin, as did the rest of his family, when the Soviets bombed the city. My grandmother was the only one to survive. She inherited their shop. She is the sweetest person in the world. I can’t believe what they said about her. Something else must have happened, something no one knows about.”

  I tried to listen to her objectively, to weigh things up: on the one side, the undisputed facts and the accusations against her grandmother; on the other, Anita’s doubts and my love for her, which had transformed my life these past three months. I wanted to be impartial, unemotional, but it was impossible. “Anita, according to witnesses, that woman betrayed her fiancé and her countrymen. Because of her, my mother and her brother were orphaned and survived by pure chance. She ran away to save her own skin leaving everyone else to be slaughtered by the Nazis.”

  She looked at me in surprise. I did not realize how vehement my words were, how tinted with hatred, until they came out. I’d spoken as if I were certain of her grandmother’s guilt.

  She made no comment, just got up and started packing her bag. She went to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face and returned to pick up her luggage, then moved to the door.

  I made no move to stop her, feeling that whatever had held us together had now snapped.

  She paused at the door and turned toward me. “If the accusations are true, please tell your mother how deeply sorry I am for her family’s suffering. I wish there was something I could do to change things. However, I will try to hear my grandmother’s version of the story, as soon a
s she can speak to me. We still have to spend a few more days together because of work. What I want you to never forget is that from the moment I met you I felt that you were the one I had been waiting for all my life. I can’t believe that I met you so suddenly only to lose you so unexpectedly.”

  Her phone rang on the bedside table where she’d forgotten it in her haste. She crossed the room to pick it up and sighed when she saw the name that flashed on the screen. She answered in a melancholy voice, looking at me tearfully all the while. “Hello, mother… Yes, I can. What happened?”

  I saw her clench her jaws as she listened, then stifle a cry and bend over, sitting down on the floor abruptly. She spoke in German and rocked herself back and forth. I couldn’t understand what was happening.

  The phone lay beside her on the floor, the line dead. Once more, she burst into tears. I kneeled down beside her. “Who was it? What happened?”

  “My mother… the hospital…”

  “What did she say?”

  “My grandmother is dead.”

  Berlin, earlier

  * * *

  Michaela was still trying to recover from her mother’s revelation that she had been born on the island in the photo. For a moment she wondered whether her mother had lost her mind.

  The elderly woman was looking at the tablet screen nostalgically. She touched the screen as if wanting to feel the sand between her fingers and accidentally pressed the pointer and brought up another picture. The beach was replaced by a photo of Anita and Dimitri. It was taken at their first photo shoot, when Dimitri’s hair was longer.

  A glimmer of recognition flashed in Eleni’s eyes and a name escaped her lips: “Manolis!.”

  “Who is Manolis, mother?” Michaela jumped at the chance, feeling that this was her time to get some answers.

  Eleni’s fingers hovered over Dimitri’s face on the screen. “He looks like him so much… even their eyes are the same,” she murmured, lost in the depths of her mind. She suddenly noticed the woman in the picture and leaned her head back to get a better look. “Oh, it’s Anita? Who is the man with her, then?”

  Before answering, Michaela took out the pocket watch from her handbag and lifted the cover. “It’s Dimitri Voudouris, mother, her co-star. He looks like this man, doesn’t he? I guess this is Manolis.”

  Eleni took the watch and placed it against her heart, closing her eyes. For a moment it looked like she had fainted. Michaela touched her mother’s face trying to keep her alert. She was about to call a nurse, but Eleni half-opened her eyes and seemed to be recovering.

  “Mother, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Michaela.” She breathed deeply and looked at her daughter. “Sit down, next to me. There isn’t much time and you must know.” She looked at the photo of Dimitri and her granddaughter once more.

  Michaela sat down on the armchair beside her and took her hand.

  Rina entered the room with a vase filled with Michaela’s roses. She took one look at the two women and placed the flowers on the bedside table, then swiftly exited without uttering a word.

  As soon as the door had closed behind her, Eleni spoke. “I thought I was done with the past, but it seems like the past is not done with me. That young man looks a lot like the only man I ever loved. The resemblance, the photo… it’s too much of a coincidence, it’s not natural. It’s as if some higher power has placed him in Anita’s path to remind me of everything that happened then… But I’ll leave that part for later.” She paused to catch her breath, and then continued, her voice weaker. “I’ll tell you my story from the start, Michaela, and then you can share it with Anita when she returns. There is no reason to hide the truth about me any longer, even if I feel ashamed.”

  “You’ll tell her the story yourself, mother, when she returns.”

  Eleni paid no heed. Now that she had decided to speak, she seemed in a hurry to tell it all. “I was born on that island in 1920. I never knew my mother, she died in childbirth. I was an only child. My father raised me.

  “The Italians ruled our island before the war and we lived peacefully. As soon as I finished school, the Italian state gave me a scholarship and I left for Pisa, to study.

  “Manolis and I fell in love and it was destiny. He came and danced with me at a festival and we never left each other’s heart, even when he joined the army and was sent to the front; even after he died.

  “Just before the war broke out, I returned to the island and Manolis. That’s when I gave him this watch. He returned it to me on the day we parted forever.”

  Eleni continued her tale, in every detail. She spoke for long, without pause, tearful with emotion, smiling whenever she spoke of their love.

  “When Alexander found me, I was unconscious. When I recovered, I could not remember a thing. I did not know who I was, or what I was doing there. I still have the scar from the wound to my head.

  “Everyone was after us and when he told me he was my husband, I followed him. I can’t even remember how we ended up on the boat that carried us away. Random pieces of memory resurfaced, but nothing that could help me understand what had happened.

  “We arrived at our destination in the morning. Alexander thought that he and the other officers would be surrendering to the Allies, but he discovered a large stash of antiquities hidden on the boat. They had been stolen by the Germans from our islands. He argued with the others when he realized that what they had planned was a smuggling operation.

  “Others were waiting for us on the island and they transported us and the trunks to an airfield. I still remembered very little, mostly Manolis’ name. When we got on the plane I started to remember more. By the time we landed at another airport a few hours later, I’d remembered it all. I never found out where we landed. They unloaded the trunks there.

  “I knew who I was and what had happened. Not everything, though; I was unaware of the worst part. I wish I had never regained my memory and spent the rest of my life oblivious to the past.

  “When Alexander realized my memory had returned, he asked me to keep quiet. He was afraid they might kill us both. He had told the others that I was a German collaborator, that I was leaving with them to escape my countrymen’s reprisals. Of course, his friend, the doctor, was aware of his feelings for me.

  “When we got on another plane, Alexander told me what had happened while I lay unconscious outside the mill. Inside me, I prayed that the plane would crash and I would die. I did not want to live after what I’d learned.”

  Eleni described what had happened at the village square, Michaela listening, stunned. “Nikos and Maria… what happened to the children?” she asked anxiously.

  “Alexander did not know. I hope they lived.”

  Michaela was impressed by how her mother kept referring to her father as ‘Alexander’. Not once did she call him ‘your father’, as if she was detached from the fact that she had borne him a child.

  “I did not care about anything after that,” Eleni said, now showing signs of strain and fatigue. It was clear she would not be able to keep talking for much longer. She hugged the watch and summoned what little strength she had left, determined to finish what she’d started. “The Germans left the island the following day. The few surviving locals also left, and the place was deserted for years. When the island became inhabited again, I thought about returning there with you. Before doing so, I paid someone to go visit and find out what had happened after we had left. He confirmed what Alexander had told me, and then I discovered the worst part: everyone thought I was a traitor; that I had betrayed the man I was engaged to and run off with my German lover. I never dared return, I was afraid for my life.

  “Manolis never died for me. He lives every day, inside me. Not a day has passed that I have not thought of him. Even if I never said a word to you.”

  “What happened to my father?”

  “We arrived in Berlin, after a long, arduous journey. We went straight to the shop. Alexander hid me there. He asked me to be patient until the
end of the war, but I had already decided to end my life. I could not stand to live with all those memories. I could not stand to live without Manolis.

  I thank God every day that did not come to pass, for I never would have had you. When I was getting ready to hang myself, I heard a great explosion. The Soviets had begun bombing Berlin. I ran outside the shop and there, by the entrance, I saw Alexander sprawled on the pavement, dead. He had been on his way to meet me. I felt guilty about his death. When they asked me if he was my husband, I said yes. I still don’t know why. Maybe because he was the last friend I had.”

  “Mamá, I’m speechless. This is too much to take in all at once!”

  “I understand, Michaela, but I can’t keep any more secrets. Forgive me for keeping this from you my whole life. My end is near and I want you to know everything.

  “Chaos reigned around me, but I decided to live. So, I stayed at the shop. I only came out to eat at the soup kitchens. One day, I ran into the doctor, Alexander’s friend. He asked me what had happened, and I explained with the few words of German I had picked up. He arranged for me to get official papers as Alexander’s wife. So the store became mine. No relation of Alexander’s ever turned up. They had all perished in the war. Alexander was a good man and he loved me, I know that.”

  Eleni’s breathing became labored, she was now gasping for air. Her body started to shake. Michaela pressed the alarm button and a doctor ran into the room, a nurse at his heels. They asked her to step outside and bent over her mother. The last thing Michaela saw before the nurse drew the curtain around the bed was the doctor trying to resuscitate Eleni.

  A short while later they announced her death. As they wheeled Eleni’s lifeless body on a gurney, Michaela lifted the sheet and kissed her mother’s forehead. She watched them take her mother away down the corridor and into an elevator. When the doors to the elevator closed, she stepped back into the room swallowing her tears and pulled her phone out of her bag to call Anita.