One Summer in Crete

by Nadia Marks

  ‘Yes, I would.’ Her reply came quickly before her thoughts turned to Froso. ‘Can I call you when I know what my aunt is doing?’

  When Calli returned to the house her aunt was not there, but she hadn’t left a note this time. She bathed and dressed, hoping that by then Froso would have returned, but as there was no sign of her she made her way to Costis’s house to see Chrysanthi. She knew her cousin would be at work, but she hoped his wife might be there and perhaps she might have an inkling about past family dramas; if Costis knew anything it was certain that Chrysanthi would know too. She found the young woman cooking in the kitchen and delighted to see her.

  ‘Honestly,’ Chrysanthi told Calli, placing two cups of coffee, bread, honey, and some cheese on the table for them, ‘if I’m not at the school teaching, I’m here working in the house. It never stops for us women, does it?’ Even when complaining, Calli thought, her cousin’s wife did it with good humour. She found talking with Chrysanthi as easy as chatting with her friend Josie back home; she was funny and open, and in the course of their conversation Calli tried subtly to establish if the young woman had any knowledge of what had happened years ago in her husband’s family. But it soon became obvious that she knew nothing.

  What Chrysanthi did want to discuss more than anything and with intense interest was how Calli was getting on with Michalis.

  ‘As soon as I met you, I knew you two would be a good match.’ She smiled broadly.

  ‘I didn’t realize people are still into matchmaking around here,’ Calli laughed.

  ‘Of course!’ Chrysanthi laughed in return. ‘It has never stopped! How else are people going to meet if their friends don’t give them a helping hand?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Calli replied wistfully. ‘In England we all rely too much on internet dating these days.’

  ‘So, tell me! How did you both get on with each other? Did you like him?’

  ‘Yes, I did . . . I do like him . . .’ Calli smiled at Chrysanthi’s persistence. ‘But I can’t answer for him.’

  Michalis and Costis had known each other for many years and Chrysanthi was always keeping an eye out for a suitable match for her husband’s favourite friend and her son’s godfather.

  He was a very thoughtful person, she told Calli; if she ever needed advice, it was to Michalis that she would turn. He was well read and had more books than anyone she knew, being a teacher she respected that.

  ‘And he is a good musician, and good-looking,’ Chrysanthi enthused. ‘He plays the Cretan harp like an angel, and the violin like the devil!’ she laughed. Although he had had several love affairs in the past that she knew of from Costis, she continued, there was only one girl, an Athenian, who had come to live with him in the village for a year or so.

  ‘She was nice enough,’ Chrysanthi went on, ‘we all thought they’d get married – you know, in these parts people eventually marry, especially if they want to have children. But apparently she didn’t like living in Crete. She missed the big city, so she left.’

  Calli sat absorbing this information about Michalis, which she hadn’t asked for but was pleased to receive. Neither of them had as yet spoken much about their past and this spared her from the need to delve with inquisitive questions.

  ‘He is the only one of Costis’s friends who is still single, and as far as I’m concerned, he is the best of them all,’ Chrysanthi concluded. ‘Time he found a wife . . .’

  ‘You’d better start looking harder for him then,’ Calli giggled, reflecting that nothing changed in these parts, whichever generation you belonged to. Hadn’t it been just the same when, before she met James, all the women in the village were for ever trying to marry her off, and then afterwards urging the two of them to have a baby? In those days their persistence had seemed tiresome and irritating; now she found the warmth and sense of community comforting and touching. Hadn’t she learned the same in Ikaria too, that this sense of belonging, this taking care of one another, even if intrusive at times, was the very factor that kept the people of that island contented and living for so long into old age? This close-knit village community might seem a contradiction of the life she had led in London, but she was beginning to wonder if this could be a preferable way to live.

  Calli and Chrysanthi sat in the kitchen chatting cheerfully for some time, comfortable in each other’s company, until thoughts of her aunt began to trouble her. Where could she have gone so early in the morning? There had been no mention of a visit to the doctor or any other appointment, and given the state they had both been in when they left each other the night before, she was concerned. But her worries were needless, for on her return Calli found Froso sitting at the table under the two olive trees with her embroidery as before, a cup of coffee and a glass of water by her side.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said, looking up from her needlework as if it was Calli who had gone missing. ‘I was concerned . . . you disappeared so early.’

  ‘And I was worried for you, you disappeared even earlier,’ the young woman retorted. ‘I couldn’t find you anywhere.’

  ‘No matter!’ Froso replied. ‘We’re both here now.’ She hesitated. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Too many memories . . . I went to see old Pavlis, I haven’t visited him since you arrived.’

  Calli pulled up a chair and sat next to her aunt. ‘Kosmas’s brother?’ she exclaimed, surprise rising in her voice. ‘Where does he live?’ she asked again, examining her aunt for signs of distress, and reached for her hand.

  ‘At the edge of the village. I must take you to him some time . . .’

  ‘How is he? Is he all right?’

  ‘He is very old and almost blind now, but yes . . . he is all right.’ Froso took in a deep breath and patted the back of Calli’s hand.

  ‘It’s so terribly sad and painful for you . . .’ Calli stopped and looked at her aunt. ‘I don’t know how you managed all these years, I couldn’t sleep last night with all you told me.’

  ‘I know, my darling girl,’ she let out a mournful sigh, ‘why do you think I never spoke of these things before? They are too . . .’ her voice trailed off, she looked at her niece and started to say something, then stopped.

  ‘What, Auntie? What?’ Calli asked.

  ‘They are too hard to even think about,’ the older woman said sadly.

  6

  ‘Oh, my dear Thia Froso,’ Calli said. She stood up to wrap her arms around her aunt’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. ‘I have thought of little else since our talk last night.’ She observed her aunt, trying to gauge her emotional state and how she might respond to Calli’s questions. There was so much she wanted to know but she didn’t know how to begin or what to ask first. ‘Could you bear to talk some more?’ the young woman finally said.

  ‘I have started, and I shall continue,’ she replied. ‘You must know everything, but it will take time. I need to pace myself because the memories are too painful.’

  Froso had buried it all so deep and for so long that revisiting the past and bringing everything to the surface was reawakening her trauma after all these years. ‘I will tell you more, my girl, but only after I have had time to gather myself. Perhaps later . . . tomorrow, or in a few days . . . then we might talk some more, I don’t know, but now I need a break from the memories.’

  ‘Just tell me this, Auntie,’ the young woman enquired hesitantly. ‘Does anyone else know about what happened? Does my mother know any of this? Was she ever told?’

  ‘No, my girl.’ Froso’s eyes clouded over. ‘No . . . she was never told, why would we tell such terrible things to a child? How can such unspeakable things be spoken to someone so young . . . But yes, some of the village elders knew.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘Most are gone now apart from Pavlis . . . He’s been a comfort to me over the years, we’ve supported each other.’ She fell silent and looked away. Calli sat mutely holding her aunt’s hand, not knowing what to say next. ‘Kosmas was mourned by old and young alike . . .’ she finally whispered and close
d her eyes.

  Nothing more was said for a long time; the two women sat silently holding each other’s hands in the shade of the olive trees, both lost in their own thoughts: Froso in her mournful memories and Calli in confused speculation about what would come next.

  The late morning heat was becoming uncomfortable and Calli’s sleepless night and early morning start were beginning to take their toll on her. Finally, her aunt stood up and announced she was going to have a rest.

  ‘I imagine you must feel the same.’ She looked back at her niece as she made her way wearily towards the kitchen door. Calli followed suit, relieved that Froso had not suggested a lavish lunch as usual. The bread, honey and mizithra that Chrysanthi had given her earlier was enough for both breakfast and lunch.

  Once again Calli found herself lying on her bed reflecting on what might happen in her aunt’s next instalment. She had meant to switch her mobile to silent while asleep but was glad that she had forgotten, for otherwise she would have missed Michalis’s call.

  ‘I’m coming your way for some work,’ he said. ‘I wondered if you’ll be free a little later?’ He sounded uncertain. ‘Have you found out about your thia Froso . . . will you be spending the evening with her?’

  She was torn between on the one hand wanting to see him and on the other, not wanting to cause a break in her aunt’s story if she was ready to continue. She swung her bare legs out of bed and stood on the cool marble floor for a moment, savouring the refreshing sensation before slipping on her sandals to go downstairs and look for her aunt. She found her in the kitchen, brewing some mountain tea.

  ‘I heard your phone ring,’ she said, turning round. ‘The telephones you young people have these days keep you in touch with everyone, no matter where you are, eh?’

  ‘True, Thia – it’s good and bad at the same time,’ Calli replied. ‘Sometimes it’s nice to be cut off from everyone but, alas, there is no escape.’

  ‘Was that your mother who called?’ She looked at Calli expectantly. ‘Do you know when she is coming?’

  ‘As soon as they’re back from the Lake District. She didn’t want to leave Dad with his twisted ankle after his fall but she’s coming really soon, I promise.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking . . . there are things I need to tell you both, together,’ her aunt said, sitting down heavily at the table, her limbs suddenly seeming weightier than before.

  Although Froso had told Calli earlier that, now she had started, she would continue her story, she was also anxious about saying more without her sister present. She had never intended to reveal so much without her and now she had clearly decided that Eleni must be there too; she couldn’t bear going over everything again, that would be too much for her.

  As it became obvious that Froso was no longer in the mood to tell her more, Calli’s thoughts turned to the phone call.

  ‘It was Michalis who rang earlier, Thia. He is coming this way and wanted to know if I’d like to go for a drive.’ She looked at her aunt, waiting for her response.

  ‘And you must go!’ Froso replied at once. ‘You’ve heard enough miserable things from me for now; go and enjoy yourself, my girl.’

  Her earlier conversation with Chrysanthi had whetted Calli’s appetite to find out more about this man who had captured her interest. If he thought she was a mixture of Western sophistication and Mediterranean warmth, she found him straightforward and unpretentious. His evident love of the land, his passion for his olive groves, was touching. Calli’s journey towards meeting people who followed paths different from those familiar to her up until then was apparently continuing.

  ‘Since it’s still early, I’d like to show you one of my olive groves,’ Michalis told her as they made their way once again towards the hills in his four-wheel drive. The higher the climb, the sweeter the scent of the air that blew through the open window. She greedily inhaled it and the oxygen which filled her lungs seemed to revive her. The mountain air had an almost purifying effect; it felt as if she was being purged of the distressing story of her aunt’s past which during the course of the day had been returning to haunt her.

  ‘This particular olive grove,’ Michalis explained after he had parked the car on a steep hill by the side of the road, ‘has some of my oldest trees, because it was the one that my great-grandfather had started. He owned a little patch of earth, and at first he planted twenty olive trees, then my grandfather planted another twenty and after him my father extended it further. And now it’s up to me and my brother!’ He made a sweeping gesture across the plantation.

  As they walked and talked between the rows of trees Calli could see through their silvery branches the blue sea shimmering in the distance. ‘My grandfather always said that the winds that blow from north Africa make the Cretan soil rich and fertile,’ Michalis went on, his voice wistful and proud. ‘That’s why our olive trees grow so well and healthily. We have been cultivating and producing olive oil in Crete since the Minoan times and that’s why our oil is the best in the world,’ he boasted again. His enthusiasm was as evident as his undisguised love for his island and his pride in his trees; she really liked that about him. How endearing, she thought, was this passion of his for the earth and all that it sustained, and how much more human, more real his attitude now seemed than the acquisitive ambitions she had known in her city life.

  ‘By late October, November, we will start the harvesting of the olives,’ Michalis started to explain, pointing out the budding fruit on the trees. ‘For the bigger groves we do have some relatively high-tech equipment but for this one we all get together, young and old, and enjoy harvesting the old-fashioned way.’

  Calli remembered as a child hearing her mother and grandmother recalling the olive harvest. They would describe to her and her brother how it was when everyone gathered in the autumn to turn the harvest event into a celebration. Their accounts of hitting the trees with sticks to shake down the berries, and the stories of donkeys and mules being loaded with sacks of olives to be carried down to the coast on their backs, sounded more exciting than anything the two children could imagine, so that they begged to be allowed to take part in it.

  ‘You’ll have to wait till you are both older and don’t have to go to school any longer before you can come and help your grandfather,’ Eleni would tell them when they pestered her to bring them to Crete for the harvest. But inevitably, as is always the way, once they were old enough to participate, they both lost interest; there was always some other activity far more pressing to do with their time which took priority in their teenage years and later in their adult lives.

  ‘My whole family and all our friends take part in the harvesting – you should join us some time,’ Michalis said as they stood under one of the oldest trees. ‘Stay till November,’ he said softly and moved a little closer. The air smelled of honey and as he talked his olive-black eyes were smiling at her again.

  ‘I will,’ she said and thought of nothing that she would like to do more.

  While he spoke, he reached and placed his palm on the trunk of the old tree; his hand lingered there for a moment and then patted the gnarled wood with such tenderness that Calli fancied it was a person he was touching so lovingly. She found this simple gesture of his so moving that a lump rose to her throat. She looked at Michalis’s kind face and was seized by an almost overwhelming urge to talk to him, to unburden herself of the revelations she had learned over the last few days, and even to tell him about her own life, about the sadness of her own recent experience. But it was clear that what she had been told by her aunt was a private matter, a secret, which for whatever reason had been guarded for decades. Even if she was brimming with her new knowledge, ready to burst with the need to divulge it to a sympathetic ear, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  ‘Thirsty?’ he asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts and reaching for her hand. She gave it willingly and followed him out of the grove towards the car. ‘I know of a nice little kafenio in the village up the hill,’ he said, putti
ng the car into gear. ‘It’s not far, an old relative of my mother’s lives there.’

  As always in those parts the narrow road snaked tortuously up the hill, and with every hairpin bend the car teetered alarmingly close to the edge, giving Calli a clear view of gullies, ravines, gorges and hollowed-out rocks below. She was familiar with these mountainous landscapes which had never made her nervous, yet for the first time they seemed to her to take on a sinister character.

  ‘The terrain looks so menacing down there.’ She turned to Michalis.

  ‘They say that thieves and bandits would often take refuge in those caves, and during wartime it was a place to hide from the enemy . . .’

  As she peered down through the open window a sense of dread engulfed her, and she fancied that any one of those caves she now saw could have been the doomed lovers’ hiding place. ‘These caves had many uses in the past,’ Michalis continued without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Not so long ago, when lovers eloped, it was down in those caves that they ran to hide,’ he added, causing her to catch her breath.

  As he parked in the village square, again, just as earlier in the car, Calli was filled with a sense of foreboding. This place reminded her too much of that other village that figured in her aunt’s story, the one they called the upper village. She had heard so much about it; now apparently here it was, complete with bus stop and schoolhouse. Although seventy-odd years had passed she thought she recognized it from Froso’s descriptions. How could she be sure that she was not mistaken? Her suspicion could have easily been the result of her over-active imagination and the effect the drive had had on her. Yet as they walked down the street and approached the kafenio, Calli felt a gloom descending.

  ‘Do you mind if we don’t stay here?’ she asked Michalis, feeling foolish for asking the question.