One Summer in Crete

by Nadia Marks

  15

  ‘You put me to shame!’ Calli called out the next day as her aunt opened the garden gate and came towards her. Despite the late night, Froso had got up at her usual hour and made her way to the early morning holy liturgy, as she did every Sunday.

  ‘Don’t be silly, my girl, you went to bed about the time I got up to go to church,’ her aunt laughed and pulled up a chair to join her. Calli was sitting under the olive trees drinking her first coffee of the day and musing over the previous night’s events.

  She had stayed up into the small hours at her cousin’s house, talking and drinking with them and their friends, including Michalis. The musicians had long gone to their beds taking their instruments with them, but Costis brought the CD player into the garden and the party continued. Calli liked all of her cousin’s friends and she willingly agreed to a suggestion that they should meet again the next day. Aside from Michalis and his friend Demitri, it was Katerina and Spyros, a newly married couple with no children as yet, who came up with the idea of a day trip. ‘Let’s take Calli somewhere in your car,’ Katerina proposed, looking pointedly at Michalis, knowing that he had a four-wheel drive and the largest car by far.

  ‘We can drive up to the hills, maybe up to my village,’ Michalis willingly offered, approving Katerina’s suggestion.

  ‘We did have a fine time, last night, didn’t we?’ Calli said to her aunt, who had joined her at the table.

  ‘You enjoyed yourself, eh?’ Froso asked with a mischievous little smile as she handed Calli some koliva wrapped in her white lace handkerchief.

  ‘I did!’ the young woman replied, reaching for the little bundle. ‘Was there a mnimosino, a memorial service, today?’ she asked as she started to unknot the handkerchief, eager to taste the contents. Froso knew how her niece loved this sweet concoction which was always offered to the congregation after a memorial service: the cooked wheat, pomegranate seeds, almonds, sugar, sesame seeds, raisins and cinnamon, which, although a mournful offering in memory of the dead, was also a delicacy for everyone to enjoy.

  ‘Yes, there is usually one most Sundays,’ she replied. ‘Today was for old Nicholas, God rest his soul.’

  ‘Oh, I remember him, he lived up the hill from here,’ Calli said, already tucking into the koliva.

  ‘So, you had fun last night, eh?’ Her aunt was eager to return to the subject of the previous night’s party.

  ‘I did!’ the young woman replied through a mouthful, ‘and how about you? Did you have a good time?’

  ‘Seeing you enjoying yourself was all the pleasure I needed,’ the older woman said, smiling, ‘and as I saw, you made quite an impact on the young men!’

  ‘Really?’ Calli looked up in surprise at her aunt. ‘What exactly did you see?’ she laughed.

  ‘I could see our Michalis was rather taken by you . . .’

  ‘Ah! Michalis!’ Calli said, taking another handful of koliva. ‘He’s really nice, I liked him.’

  ‘Me too, he’s a good boy. He comes to visit me sometimes and brings me olive oil,’ Froso said, a little smile playing on her lips. Calli was surprised by her aunt’s lighthearted comments, having always found her rather serious and earnest and not given to playfulness, but this Sunday morning she was in a lively mood.

  ‘He’s single, you know,’ Froso continued, smiling.

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ the young woman replied and burst out laughing. ‘Are you going to arrange a match for me by any chance?’ she said, trying without success to suppress her mirth.

  ‘You were always able to make me laugh,’ Froso said with a giggle, her own amusement evident on her face.

  ‘If the truth be known, Thia Froso, it is you that’s making me laugh,’ Calli said and leaned across to give her a tender kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I am so glad you came, my girl,’ she said, delighted with this display of tenderness from her niece and happy to finally have her all to herself for once. ‘Now tell me,’ she continued cheerfully to Calli before turning her head towards the kitchen, ‘what should I make for lunch?’

  ‘Oh no! No, Auntie! No lunch today,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m still full from last night and all that koliva – no room for lunch. Besides’ – she gave her aunt a playful look – ‘you might like to know that I’ve been invited by Michalis and his friends to spend the afternoon with them today.’

  As much as Froso would have enjoyed preparing lunch for Calli, since feeding her niece was one of the main ways that she could express her love for her, Calli managed to convince her aunt to forgo the ritual once again. She couldn’t think of anything less appealing than to sit down to another large meal, the past few days of feasting having exhausted her appetite.

  ‘They are not picking me up till three o’clock,’ Calli told her aunt cheerfully, ‘so let me look after you for once. You sit in the shade and I’ll make coffee for us. Maybe we can eat together later when I return. We’ll enjoy supper so much more then.’

  To Calli’s surprise and relief, Froso agreed, and to her further surprise nobody called unexpectedly to see them that morning either. Since everyone had already paid their respects to the newcomer over the last couple of days, they were now content to leave the two women alone to their Sunday.

  They had a blissfully quiet morning in the garden, aunt and niece relaxing in the shade on two old deckchairs that Froso kept in the outhouse, while the thyme-scented breeze that blew from the hills kept them from overheating, and the relentless song of the cicadas lulled them into a kind of doze. It was marvellous not to have to think or talk for a while but just to bask in the sleepiness and tranquillity of the hot day.

  Neither of them knew how long they lay there, but judging by how refreshed they both felt when returning to a state of wakefulness, it must have been some time.

  ‘Goodness me,’ Froso said, sitting up, ‘I have no idea how long I was asleep.’ She looked at Calli. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was relaxed enough to close my eyes under the tree . . . I don’t sleep so well these days.’

  ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ Calli replied, remembering that the last time she had fallen asleep al fresco was in the arms of a man on a white rock perched above the sea, having just made love. She really had been having the most extraordinary time of late, she thought. After more than ten years of her life when nothing too remarkable had occurred to change things, suddenly everything had happened at once, everything turned upside down with no sign or warning; yet she was feeling more alive, more vibrant, more present than she had felt during most of her adult life. Things always happen for a reason: Maya’s words floated into her mind. When her friend had told her so, she had resisted its validity, but now she was starting to believe it.

  Since weekends and especially Sundays were the only days of the week when the beaches were busy, it had been decided unanimously the night before to give the seaside a miss and instead head to the mountains, as Michalis had suggested, towards his family’s village. ‘Even the people in the hills run to the sea on a Sunday,’ they told her, ‘so we’ll have the place to ourselves.’

  Calli had never ventured into that region of the mountains before, or if her mother and father had taken her as a child she had no memory of it. The car followed narrow roads snaking precariously above steep ravines towards the mountains. After climbing the tortuous route for about forty minutes, at last they arrived at an almost deserted village. Michalis parked the car in the small piazza dominated by an ancient plane tree whose hollow trunk was sheltering a sleepy dog that had taken refuge in its coolness. They made their way to some chairs and tables belonging to the village kafenio and sat under the leafy branches that covered the entire square. It was a good thing she’d skipped lunch, Calli thought, because the tray of sweet delicacies and coffee ordered by her new friends in her honour and now being carried to the table could not be resisted.

  They spent the afternoon exploring the village, strolling through its streets paved with cobbles, before venturing into the
cool green shade of a fruit orchard where orange and lemon trees grew among fig, olive, pomegranate and medlar, all mixed together in perfect discord with each other.

  ‘My great-grandfather planted a few of these trees,’ Michalis told them, becoming animated, ‘and then, other members of my family added more.’ His eyes sparkled as he spoke and Calli found his passion both touching and appealing. ‘I remember when I was a child this orchard was the perfect playground for all of us kids in the village. If you like’ – Michalis turned to Calli – ‘next time, I’ll take you to one of my olive groves.’

  ‘I would like very much,’ she said and was conscious that she was blushing.

  Gradually, as the late afternoon turned to early evening, where day greets dusk and the cicadas’ song is temporarily replaced by the darting flight of birds preparing to roost for the night, the five friends decided it was time to return to the coast.

  ‘I have an early start tomorrow,’ Katerina said. ‘Maybe next time we can all go out on a Saturday.’

  ‘Next time,’ Michalis said, turning to Calli, ‘I will show you some beaches you never knew existed, and we can go to a small taverna I know in the hills that makes even better briam than your auntie.’

  I can’t wait, she thought to herself as she nodded her agreement.

  Michalis’s suggestion, which was noticeably directed at Calli, implying that his offer was for her alone, filled her with delight.

  Froso was sitting at the wooden table in the garden doing her embroidery, one of the neighbourhood cats curled at her feet, her brow furrowed. She looked deep in thought. The sound of Calli’s footsteps made her start.

  ‘Sorry to startle you, Auntie,’ the young woman said apologetically as she approached her.

  ‘It’s not you, my girl,’ Froso replied with a sigh, ‘it’s me . . .’ Embarrassed by her reaction, she added, ‘I was miles away.’

  ‘And where were you, Thia?’ Calli asked lightheartedly, drawing up a chair beside her to look at her.

  Froso put down her embroidery and turned to face her niece. The expression Calli saw in the older woman’s eyes was so unexpected, so haunting, that it caused her to reach for her hand.

  ‘What’s wrong, Thia?’ she asked, alarm in her voice.

  ‘Why, nothing,’ Froso’s reply came swiftly and with a sweeping gesture of her free hand banished the darkness that had clouded her gaze. ‘Nothing . . . nothing wrong, my girl,’ she repeated, trying to smile. ‘How was your trip?’ she hastened to add. ‘Did you have a good time?’

  ‘Yes, Auntie, it was wonderful,’ Calli replied in confusion.

  ‘Good!’ Froso said and stood up. ‘I’ll just go inside for a minute, then you must tell me all about it,’ and picking up her needlework she made her way towards the kitchen.

  Calli sat alone in the garden for a long moment, trying to decipher what had prompted her aunt’s dark mood, when she emerged into the yard holding a tray.

  ‘Don’t tell me you are still not hungry,’ Froso said, the gloomy cloud replaced by a smile, a plate of cheese, bread and a bottle of wine on the tray. ‘I suggest we have a little snack now and then I’ll make us something more for supper. What do you say?’

  ‘I say yes!’ Calli replied without hesitation and got up to help her.

  That evening, after the two women had finished their supper in the garden and the heat of the day had given way to cooler air from the sea, Thia Froso sat back in her chair, looked her niece in the eye and began to speak.

  ‘Since you spoke to me the other night, my darling girl, since you confided in me about all that you have suffered, I have thought of little else . . . You and I haven’t spent much time together over the years, despite my longing to do so, and I was touched and honoured that you chose to open up to me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know that my cousin Eleftheria mentioned that I have not been too well lately . . . I didn’t want to burden you with all of that, certainly not as soon as you arrived . . . but now I feel the time has come for me to talk to you.’

  ‘But you look so well, Thia.’ Calli reached for her aunt’s hand. ‘What exactly is wrong?’

  ‘I haven’t said anything to your mother either,’ Froso replied, holding her niece’s hand tightly. ‘When I was diagnosed with cancer the only thing that concerned me was that I might die without being given the chance to tell you and your mother everything that I needed to say, but I didn’t know how.’

  ‘People don’t have to die from cancer these days, Auntie,’ Calli interrupted her fervently. ‘There are many treatments for it, not like in the past.’

  ‘You can never be sure, my girl,’ Froso said calmly, ‘and then it might be too late . . .’

  Calli held her aunt’s hand more tightly now and waited for her to speak.

  ‘Perhaps . . .’ she hesitated, ‘all that I want to say should remain unsaid.’ She looked into Calli’s eyes, faltering a little before going on. ‘But . . .’ she continued, ‘lately I have been deeply troubled and the prospect of going to my grave without speaking to you and Eleni has been tormenting me.’

  ‘My mum will be here too, Auntie. I know she will come soon; the only reason she’s delayed is because of Dad’s twisted ankle,’ Calli reassured her. ‘Having that stupid fall has given him more trouble than expected. I’m sure he’ll be fine soon and she’ll be here in no time.’

  ‘I know, my girl, it couldn’t be helped. Your mother told me when she called . . . but you are here, that’s good enough for me and Eleni will soon come . . .’ She hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued. ‘After you spoke to me of your sorrow it made me want to speak, too. They say, and I don’t know if it’s true, that if we carry a heavy burden inside us it can be like a cancer which in the end will devour body and soul.’ Calli sat motionless, holding her aunt’s hand, eyes unblinking, waiting to hear more, not knowing what her maiden aunt could possibly be referring to. Long moments went by in silence. Froso took Calli’s hand in both of hers and held it, her eyes downcast, as she tried to summon the courage to begin.

  ‘My life hasn’t been as simple and straightforward as you might have thought . . .’ She looked up at the young woman’s face and fell silent again as if she was considering whether to go on. ‘I have had my share of pain,’ she finally said, her voice faint and sorrowful. ‘I, too, lost someone once.’

  Part Two

  1

  Crete, 1936–1950

  Calliope gave birth to her firstborn, a baby girl named Froso, in the depths of winter in 1936 while the highest peaks of the mountains were covered in snow and the sea battering the coast roared like an angry beast. Giving birth was no more difficult for her than if she were climbing a rock to pick wild sage and thyme, with little fuss and bother and hardly enough pain to remember. But she wasn’t to know that the pain she had escaped in bringing her baby girl into the world would be bestowed on her many times over later on in her life. ‘Next time I’ll give you a son,’ Calliope said to Nikiforos, her husband, when he peered with slight disappointment into the cradle. But even if baby Froso hadn’t been the boy her father had hoped for, she was growing up to be as strong and tough as any boy, despite her feminine good looks. As an infant she was healthy and robust, with a mop of hair black as jet and eyes to match, strong lungs and an equally strong grip. Calliope did eventually give her husband the son he desired to help him in the fields, drink raki with him when he grew up, and fight by his side when needed, as fighting was an essential part of life in Crete. The island had seen much of it over the centuries, from the Saracens to the Venetians, from the Ottoman Turks to the Germans in World War Two. Readiness to fight was as fundamental to Cretan men as passion, heroism and honour; it ran hot in their blood in equal measures.

  But although Calliope and Nikiforos Mavrantonis’s firstborn had been a daughter, she was the one who stood tall by her parents’ side, helping both mother and father in every way until the boy was old enough. Androulios was born long after Calliope had given up hope for another child.<
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  ‘I thought the Holy Virgin had turned a deaf ear to my prayers,’ she exclaimed after she discovered she was pregnant. ‘I lost count of how many candles I lit, begging her to grant me a boy.’

  ‘I don’t know how you know it’s going to be a boy, Mother,’ Froso said with irritation. She could never understand this obsession with sons. As far as she was concerned, most boys were a nuisance. A baby sister would have been more welcome.

  ‘Whatever it is, so long as it’s a healthy baby I’m happy,’ her mother replied, feeling a sense of shame for expressing her preference. ‘You are right, my girl,’ she hastened to add. ‘Look at you! I couldn’t be more proud to have a daughter such as you, as good as any son, and I would be more than happy if God granted me more daughters.’

  By the time Androulios was born Froso was eight and she took a loving maternal role towards her baby brother; by the time she was in her early teens, she was already blossoming into adulthood.

  ‘He is luckier than the luckiest, this baby,’ her mother would tell her as the young girl helped with taking care of her sibling. ‘He has two mothers to look after him.’

  By then Froso had stopped going to school, which she had attended for six years. A group of children would gather at the square where a bus would pick them up, take them to school in the nearest larger village in the hills and bring them home each day, until they completed their last and sixth year. Most of Froso’s childhood had been spent with World War Two raging in the background; then, after it ended at last, a bitter civil war broke out throughout the whole of Greece, prolonging any return to normal life.