Cave of Silence

by Kostas Krommydas

  Anita was flying back to Germany that evening. I badly needed to talk to her but my ego had stood in the way. I missed her but hid it well. I had let my anger at her grandmother take over all other emotions, even though reason shouted that Anita had nothing to do with this.

  Finally waking up to the fact that I could lose the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me in the storm of revelations that concerned other people, from another time, I decided to clear things up between us, even at the last moment. I wanted to find a way to erase the past. I had no memory of my grandfather or Manolis, and the initial feelings that had been stirred up when I’d learned their stories were now giving their place to what any stranger might feel when hearing a tragic tale.

  Late in the afternoon, a small wrap-up party was scheduled at the hotel, a chance for everyone to say goodbye. I planned to talk to her there and then. Take her in my arms and tell her I did not care about the past, I just wanted to be with her. Would I find the courage to do it? Would I finally be able to silence the voice that still whispered that Anita was the granddaughter of the woman responsible for everything my mother and uncle had suffered?

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  The scene had been set and they were calling my name. We were filming outside, by the sea. It was noon and the sun was burning hot. They were getting us ready at the opposite ends of the shore on purpose, to avoid the awkwardness that hovered between us.

  Anita was walking toward me wearing a large hat, which she removed when she was near me. She gave me a look full of anger. Why? Could she not understand that I was the injured party here?

  It didn’t take long to shoot the scene. We obviously both wanted for this to be over as soon as possible. We all packed up and I quickly downed a glass of the champagne someone had popped open to celebrate our last take. Then I quickly walked back to the hotel.

  I sat waiting for Anita in the lobby. She appeared a few minutes later but walked straight past me without uttering a single word and went up to her room. Feeling downcast by her behavior, I ordered a drink, although after everything that had happened during my drunken night at the festival I’d promised myself never to have more than one glass. I downed the whiskey in one shot and went to my room to change clothes.

  I returned to the lobby determined to speak to her. I would not let us part like this, not without confessing what I really felt. I was fed up with the past; I wanted to live in the present.

  The hotel lobby was crowded with cast members, crew, and producers. Electra was among them. As soon as she spotted me, she started to make her way through the crowd toward me. She wore a strange expression that made me feel a sense of foreboding. Something had happened and I hoped it had nothing to do with Anita.

  She came up to me and said, “Mr. Voudouris, Miss Hertz asked me to give you this.” She handed me a sealed envelope, my name handwritten on the back.

  “Why is she not giving me this? Where is she?”

  “She left with Mihalis for the airport a few minutes ago. She is catching an earlier flight.”

  My jaw dropped and I stared at her. She shifted uncomfortably and said, “If I may, I’d like to say how sorry I am about everything that happened. It’s a shame…” She turned and quickly walked off.

  I dashed out onto the street, pushing everyone out of my way. In the distance, I saw Mihalis’ speedboat move away. Anita stood at the back, looking in my direction. I could not make out her face but could sense that she was staring at me.

  I ran toward the sea, envelope still in my hand, and stood there watching her fade away. Once again, the void that I had been feeling inside grew and engulfed me.

  Thessaloniki, two months later

  * * *

  I unlocked the door to the apartment and was hit by an intense musty smell that escaped from the dark interior. I fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on, but the power had been cut. Minding my step, I made my way to the balcony doors and opened the blinds.

  It was nearly noon and the rays of the autumn sun sprang inside, lighting up the dusty interior. I waited for the soft sea breeze to blow away the stale air and stood at the balcony doors, watching the old port warehouses and the large cranes on the ships waiting to load their cargo.

  It was my first visit to Uncle Nikos’ home. Wandering from room to room I realized he had led an almost ascetic life. On a wall of his sparsely furnished living room hung an old map of the island. Beside the map stood a smaller frame—the ubiquitous photo of Eleni and Manolis at the port. I kept coming across that photo but I was surprised to see it here. How did it end up in Uncle Nikos’ hands? Another mystery.

  It seemed that the story had not yet reached the end.

  I had tried to contact Anita many times following my return to Athens, but to no avail. Those two months were the worst time of my life. I lost all interest in anything else. I turned down all interview requests and became a recluse. Everyone wanted to know the details of what had happened as the rumors spread. Luckily, the people who had been present on the island all knew how to keep a secret.

  I wondered whether Anita was also being pestered. I could sense that she was suffering too, but she kept a cold distance and refused to return my calls or reply to my emails. We only spoke through the producers on matters concerning the film. That’s why I was surprised to see her name flash on the phone screen the previous week. She was cool and collected, informing me of her mother’s wish to meet my mother, her first cousin. I had not been expecting that.

  The evening she had left for Berlin, I read the letter she had left me. It was the letter her grandmother had written, to be opened after her death.

  Eleni Dapakis’ story—the “missing part” as she referred to it in the opening lines—confirmed everything we had learned on the island. The story differed as far as her relationship to Ackermann and the circumstances of her flight were concerned. Eleni had been suffering from amnesia following a blow to the head and had followed the German Captain believing that she was his wife. By the time she recovered her memory she was already far away. When she later discovered that everyone thought she was a traitor she never returned.

  She went on to describe how she inherited the antique shop in Berlin and her struggles as a lone, pregnant woman in a war-torn city. I could not believe what was happening. Anita and I had met as two complete strangers. A few months later, we discover that our ancestors share a common past.

  My mother refused to believe it at first. She insisted Eleni must have made it up to salvage her reputation once the truth about her past came to light. I explained that Eleni had died oblivious to what had happened on the island. That she had written the letter years before. It took a lot of talking, but in the end, I persuaded her to meet Anita and her mother when they arrived in Athens the following week. I’m still not sure she was convinced; I think she accepted seeing how much I still loved Anita.

  In the meantime, Uncle Nikos’ will was read. Like his apartment, it was a sparsely worded document. He left me his apartment and what little money he had went to an orphanage. The last paragraph said that the “part that’s missing” can be found in his apartment. They had both chosen the exact same words to speak of that time period, the missing part of their lives.

  I would have come to Thessaloniki the following day, but the notary had misplaced the keys to the apartment. I came as soon as I received the keys, went straight to the apartment, and began my search for what I felt was the last piece of the puzzle.

  A small desk stood below the map of the island. I pulled up a chair and as soon as I sat down I saw the corner of a big yellow envelope sticking out of the middle drawer. I pulled it out and read: To Dimitri Voudouris and Maria Voudouris Reniotis. The Missing Part. To be opened after my death.

  I carefully tore the envelope open and extracted a leather-bound notebook that looked like a diary. I walked out to the balcony. The sounds of the city buzzed in the distance.

  I quickly flicked through the pages. Most of the book was
blank. I turned back to the first page and started to read his story.

  I imagine that the first one to read these words will be you, Dimitri; that’s why I’ll address myself to you.

  If you returned to the island to carry out my last wish you will have seen for yourself the beauty of the place where your mother and I were born.

  I feel at peace knowing that what is left of my body will travel from the source at Mantani through the island and out to sea. I hope you did as I asked.

  I don’t know what you found out about our past. When I visited I found everyone’s lips were tightly sealed. The shame over everything that happened is too great.

  I will write everything down and you can add it to what you may already know. What you will read here is the true story. It may resemble other versions that are being said, but this is what I lived and what I saw. Maybe you and my beloved sister can now understand why I kept to myself all these years.

  I stopped reading for a moment and watched a large ship approach the port. The first new piece of information was that my Uncle had returned to the island.

  I kept reading. What followed agreed with everything I had learned, and matched Eleni Dapakis’ version most closely.

  By the time I reached the last page, I was overcome with emotion. Now I realized how much Eleni and Manolis had loved one another; and how much my relationship to Anita resembled theirs in its intensity. I felt like Manolis in some way. He had spent all that time at the front longing for the moment he would see the woman he loved again. My battle had waged inside me, but I longed to see Anita in the same way.

  The most significant revelation, however, was the confirmation that Eleni had never betrayed them. I returned to the passage that described the events of that day and reread it, wanting to make sure I had understood it all.

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  …I did not stop running until I reached the jetty. I put my sister in a boat and rowed us away. I could hear the Germans screaming in the distance, hunting for us.

  The following day, the current washed us up on a shore. A young monk found us and took us to the monastery nearby. The Germans came and torched it to the ground, but we managed to run away and hide in the mountains. We were later sent to Athens—you know the story from then onward, Dimitri.

  I never managed to live with the guilt. So many women and children lost their lives because of me, because I struck that German to save Maria. As far as I know, my sister had a good life. That’s why I never said anything. I didn’t want Maria to feel any of the guilt that has been tormenting me since that day.

  When I visited the island I did not say who I really was. I asked around but managed to learn very little. I went everywhere: Kryfó, the ruins of the mill, Galazia Petra. I only revealed my identity to one man; the man I suspected was responsible for all those deaths. He confessed his deed, begged for my forgiveness. Does it surprise you that I gave it? After all, I was as much to blame as him. Anyway, none of it matters any longer. He has now passed away and it is time to bury the past once and for all.

  The day before I left, an old man told me a local story about a horse that would appear at Mantani and drink at the spring. The horse was looking for its master who’d been lost in the war, a black horse with a white mark on its forehead. Its description matched Karme, our horse. He also said that only a few had seen the horse in all these years—only those who were pure of heart. I went to Mantani three times, but did not see the horse.

  The story ended there, but there was a postscript on the following page:

  There is a notary’s card enclosed in the envelope. Contact him, hear him out, and then do as you think.

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  Just when I thought I had all the answers, more questions appeared. What could that postscript mean?

  I walked back into the apartment and pulled out the card. I read the address and was surprised to note that the offices were on the island. I picked up my phone and dialed the area code.

  Athens, final scene

  * * *

  Anita and her mother had landed in Athens the night before. When we’d spoken to set up the meeting I’d held back and said nothing about Uncle Nikos’ notebook. I felt like a child that could not wait to share a happy secret. My mother and I had agreed to share its contents when we met them and suggest we all visit the island together in the coming days, to set the record straight. If they declined, I was determined to go there myself. I wanted to fill the missing part.

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  The last scene was being filmed beneath the Acropolis and we all waited for Anita to arrive. She was running late but was on her way.

  I saw her walking toward us and felt an uncontrollable urge to run up to her, take her in my arms and tell her everything, right there and then. I did not want to lose another moment. I told myself to be patient.

  She stopped for a second as she walked past me and looked into my eyes. A woman around my mother’s age was walking behind her. She stopped and examined me, too. I smiled awkwardly at Michaela and nodded in greeting. Michaela returned the nod. Anita walked on, expressionless. She looked pale and drawn.

  She returned quickly from makeup and stood beside me. We did not exchange a single word other than the scripted dialogue. There was tension between us and she seemed out of sorts. My presence seemed to repulse her and I sensed she couldn’t wait to leave.

  Finally, it was all over and everyone broke into a round of applause. It was a wrap!

  We just looked at each other uncomfortably; two forlorn figures surrounded by a general sense of euphoria. No one came near us. They knew what had passed between us and left us alone.

  I took a step toward her. No reaction. I took another step. A spasm of disgust distorted her features, like she was just about to throw up. I was just about to speak to her when I saw her close her eyes and faint.

  I managed to catch her in my arms and gently lay her on the ground. I knelt by her side trying to revive her. Her mother quickly came toward us and everyone else gathered around.

  One of the bystanders, who had been watching us film, pushed his way through the throng saying he was a doctor. I moved aside and cradled her head in my lap. He quickly examined her and said she should be taken to the hospital. Her pulse was weak and erratic.

  I did not let go of her until we reached the hospital in the producer’s car and she was carried away on a stretcher. Her mother, visibly upset and worried, followed her into ER.

  I sat in the waiting area with Electra and some of the crew who had followed us in another car. I worried that I was the cause of her malaise. She felt so stressed in my presence that she had passed out. I did not know what else to think.

  The passing minutes felt like eons. I got up and walked down the corridor to where they had taken her. A nurse stepped out at that moment. “Congratulations,” she said and walked off, her shoes making squeaking noises on the hospital linoleum.

  I felt terrible. Even the nurse was being sarcastic, blaming me for Anita’s condition.

  Her mother appeared at the door with a frown on her face. She seemed pensive and said, “Go on in. She wants to see you,” in a laden monotone.

  I could not understand what was happening. I prayed all was well and stepped into the room.

  Anita seemed to have recovered some of her color and sat up on the bed. The doctor removed his latex gloves, threw them in a bin, and came to shake my hand. “Congratulations! Mrs. Hertz is about three months pregnant. She told me you are the father. We’ll run some more tests and then she is free to go. Make sure she gets plenty of rest in the coming days.”

  I don’t remember replying or seeing him leave the room. I was dumbstruck. Anita was looking at me expectantly, waiting for my reaction.

  I walked to her bedside and tenderly stroked her hair. A faint smile spread across her face.

  The Island, the following summer

  * * *

  In the Cave of Silence, no sound penetrated the th
ick rock to disturb the stillness inside.

  I entered the cave through the narrow opening and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, the strange shape of the rocks and the sleek surface of the small lake began to emerge.

  I lay down on the ground looking up at the spot where I’d scratched our names into the rock, next to the names of Eleni and Manolis. I tried to bring them to life in my mind, drawing on everything I now knew about them. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, afloat on a sea of thoughts and memories.

  There are moments in people’s lives when everything seems to be going according to plan, according to their desires. Then, something happens and it all comes tumbling down. It does not have to be a significant ‘something’; one small piece of information can change your course and everything you believed until that moment.

  That’s what had happened to me. The tragic story of my family, the incredible coincidences, and the twists of fate made me realize that, in the end, nothing is improbable. Now, deep inside me, I also knew that, whatever happened, nothing could ever diminish what I felt for Anita.

  I thought about how I had actually met her because of this strange chain of events in the past. If it were up to me, of course, I would never have let any of it happen. The way in which the past had come to light, however, made me think that there was some order, some purpose to it, at least as far as I was concerned. It had brought us together. It had led us to the same emotions, the same actions, the same places after all those years. We lived the love they had wanted to live but were never allowed to. We walked in their footsteps but arrived further ahead.

  Even the place where Anita had fallen pregnant was the same. Here, in the Cave of Silence, where her mother had been conceived back then. As if that event had determined what would follow in the future.