Aphrodite's Smile

by Stuart Harrison

  In all of the journals my father frequently mentioned the old man who had crewed for him. Normally he was referred to by just the letter G, but I remembered then that his name was Gregory. During the last few years, my father had been unable to dive himself, and Gregory it seemed could only manage one a day, but when I took down the last journal covering the previous summer I saw that my father had hired a foreign student to help. It meant that rather than search for odd days at a time, they had concentrated their efforts over several blocks lasting a week or so. Nevertheless the final entry made in September revealed that as usual nothing had been found. I put the last journal back with the others in the order they belonged.

  The chart with its visual record of years of dogged fruitless searching graphically seemed to sum my father up. He had spent years looking for the wreck of a World War Two ship because it contained a worthless statue which he wanted to return to the people of Ithaca. At the same time he’d searched for a lost temple, a discovery that would have restored his reputation and made his name around the world. And yet he had never displayed the same kind of doggedness and determination where I was concerned. His efforts were for the attention of others. It seemed to me that I had never had my fair share of the man, that he had kept the best of himself for his work, for the past, for the people of Ithaca and even for Irene. For anything in fact but me.

  Fuck him, I thought angrily and I turned and went back on deck.

  EIGHT

  Irene had roasted a leg of lamb, which she served with side-dishes of butter beans cooked in a tomato sauce and boiled greens dressed with oil and lemon. We ate on the terrace with the lights of Vathy below us. Alex was wearing a simple white dress which contrasted with her tan and the mesmerising colour of her eyes. I kept thinking about the incident between us that afternoon, the sudden look of confusion which I saw in her expression. Now and then our eyes met across the table and I felt my pulse quicken.

  The conversation over dinner tripped from one subject to another without mention of Alex’s grandmother or the war. Irene asked Alex about her job as a teacher at a private school for expatriate Europeans in London, and in turn she told us stories about her own family and what it had been like growing up on Ithaca. The food was excellent and between us we drank several bottles of wine.

  After our main course Irene brought out dessert. ‘It is called galactoboureko,’ she announced.

  It was very good. Some kind of custard in a filo pastry case topped with sweet honey. Later over coffee which we drank with glasses of peach brandy, Irene finally broached the subject of Alex’s grandmother.

  ‘What do you know about why she left the island, Alex?’ she asked.

  ‘Not very much actually. I know that she was involved with a German soldier during the war, and that when she left she was pregnant with my mother but that’s about it.’

  ‘Your grandmother never spoke about it?’

  ‘Not until she became ill. I know it sounds strange but it was something that was never discussed when I was growing up. I always thought my grandfather had died when he was young, but I can never remember anybody saying so directly. He was simply never mentioned.’

  ‘And your mother? Did your grandmother never speak to her about what happened?’

  ‘Only once. My mother wanted to know about her father. Until then Nana had never talked about the war, but I suppose she decided my mother was entitled to know the truth. She told her that during the war she was raped. Obviously my mother didn’t pursue it after that.’

  ‘I see. And yet you wish to?’

  ‘I’m not sure Nana told my mother the full truth,’ Alex said. ‘When she was dying she talked about the German soldier who she had known. She said that she fell in love with him. The way she talked it was as if she still felt the same way even after all this time. I don’t see how that could be if he had raped her.’

  Irene sighed. ‘I do not think that I can answer that question. Perhaps only your grandmother knew the truth. But certainly it is not what I have always understood.’

  Alex glanced at me and then said to Irene, ‘No matter what the truth is I want to know.’

  Irene saw then that nothing would dissuade her, and finally she agreed to tell what she knew.

  The Germans arrived in Greece in 1941, after the Italians who came before them. On Ithaca there was a small garrison based in Vathy. It was not an important posting, perhaps twenty soldiers commanded by a young officer called Hauptmann Stefan Hassel. He would have been in his late-twenties. Not much more than a boy. The men he commanded were mostly very young, or too old to be of much use on the front line.

  Relations between the German soldiers and the islanders were friendly. At least as much as circumstances would allow. There were few of the restrictions which existed on Kephalonia or Corfu. The people had enough to eat and the restrictions on their movements were not too rigorously enforced. There were no instances of men being beaten or women raped, nor any of the other atrocities that were common during the occupation in other parts of Greece. This was due partly to the fact that on Ithaca the Resistance was not very active, at least to begin with, and so the potential for friction was lessened. Mainly the Resistance provided food and other supplies to groups on Kephalonia.

  The relationship between the islanders and the German soldiers remained, however, one of conqueror and the conquered. Though on the surface, the atmosphere was generally good, the true nature of the situation sat ever present in people’s minds. Nevertheless it is true that things were much better on Ithaca than in other places. The Germans were a long way from home and they were lonely. The posting they had been assigned was not arduous. Under such circumstances people began, if not to forget their differences, at least to put them aside. The soldiers wished to be seen as friends and not the enemy. It was not their fault that they had been sent there. Gradually they sought acceptance from the islanders. Rules were relaxed and in return for the co-operation of the people the soldiers tried to make life seem as normal as possible. For a while it seemed as if the war didn’t exist on Ithaca.

  It was soon clear to everyone that the young German Hauptmann in charge of the garrison was in love with Julia Zannas. He had first seen her in the marketplace in Vathy where every week she went with her father to sell the produce which they grew on the patch of land they owned in a village in the north of the island. Julia was a beautiful girl. Her long hair was thick, the colour of honey shot through with sunlight. Her eyes were wide, a startling shade of green, like the silvery underside of the leaves of the olive trees which grew on the hillside above the village. When Hauptmann Hassel passed by the makeshift stall she and her father had set up in the square by the waterfront, he paused to examine the vegetables laid out in shallow boxes. As he picked up the ripe tomatoes his eyes were on Julia. He spoke to her but she did not understand. Once or twice when he wasn’t looking, she gazed at him with interest, this tall, fair-haired foreigner with his pale blue eyes. After that he came every week and he always bought a box of whatever she had to sell.

  After a month, Hassel arrived in the village of Exoghi, driven in the open-top armoured car he used to patrol the island. People came out of their houses, curious to see what the commander of the German garrison was doing in their village. It transpired that he was considering posting two men outside Exoghi on the cliff high above Polis Bay. From there they would be able to monitor the comings and goings of boats in the channel between Ithaca and Kephalonia a few miles distant. The villagers wondered what Hassel expected his men would see, since the only boats were those which belonged to the fishermen and, though they occasionally carried supplies to the Resistance on Kephalonia, they did so only at night. The supplies were carried overland along trails known only to the islanders themselves, over the hills and mountains through the thick holm oak and stands of cypress to isolated coves where the boats waited.

  The young Hauptmann made a great show out of touring the village. He stopped at the house of the Zannas family to r
equest a drink, and in exchange he offered Julia’s father a cigarette from a packet in his tunic pocket. He stayed for half an hour asking questions about the Zannas’s land, showing great interest in the affairs of the family. If he saw Julia through the window as she worked in the garden he did not show it. When he stood to leave he put his packet of cigarettes on the table insisting that Julia’s father should keep them.

  After that, Hassel visited Exoghi often, though he never did post any men on the cliff. Every time he came he would call on the Zannas family and would sit with Julia’s father outside beneath the grapevine. He would be offered a cup of wine and the two men would talk, though since Hassel knew only a few words of Greek and Julia’s father knew no German at all their conversation was limited. Eventually they began teaching each other the rudiments of their respective languages. In time Hassel began to pick up a smattering of Greek, though Julia’s father was less proficient at learning German and soon gave up the attempt altogether.

  All the time as Hassel sat outside on the small terrace his eyes wandered ceaselessly back and forth among the olive trees on the hillside. Outwardly he was polite and well mannered. He always arrived looking as though he had brushed down his uniform and wiped the dust from his boots. He never came without bringing some gift of food or wine or a bolt of cloth he had managed to find somewhere, and these he would present to Julia’s mother with great courteousness, though he was careful not to give so much that his gifts might arouse feelings of jealousy or suspicion among the other villagers.

  He was attentive as Julia’s father taught him new words and phrases, though it was clear that at least part of his mind was elsewhere. Only when he spied Julia did his demeanour change. His eyes would shine with a fervent light, following her every movement with a yearning hunger.

  The Zannas family were aware of the true reason for Hassel’s frequent visits. Julia’s father was angry, and since he couldn’t make his anger known to Hassel himself he made sure that his family understood his feelings. Julia was his only daughter. He knew with the mix of a father’s pain and pride that she was extraordinary. She attracted the interest of young men from all over the island and one day she would marry one of them, and though the dowry she would take with her would not be large, he was determined that she would be married well. In addition to being his daughter, she carried his hopes for an improvement in the circumstances of the family.

  Nevertheless, the German Hauptmann had to be handled carefully. He must not be encouraged and yet care had to be taken to ensure that he did not feel that his attentions were spurned. The gifts he brought were useful. But more than this, Julia’s father had to consider the people of the island who were aware that they were lucky to have Hassel as the commander of the occupying force. Nothing must be done to jeopardise the fine balance of their relationship with the German soldiers.

  Julia was constantly reminded of her part in all of this. She must be pleasant to Hassel when he came to the market. She must speak to him politely, but she must not do or say anything that could be misconstrued. She must greet him if she saw him when he came to visit the house, but she must never linger. Above all, should she by chance encounter Hassel when she was on the hill above the village tending the goats or else on the road as she walked to Stavros to fetch something for her mother, she must never be alone with him for longer than it takes to exchange pleasantries. Julia listened to all of this and she did as she was told. She knew that people were gossiping about the Hauptmann’s visits to the house but, so long as she did as her father instructed, they could find no fault with her.

  Every week when she went to church she knelt before the icon of the Holy Virgin and prayed for her help and guidance, and every evening before bed she would also pray. She would think of the young Hauptmann’s attempts to speak her language when he came to the market. She smiled at his broken Greek and thought his eyes were like no blue that she had seen before. She imagined they were like the sky viewed through a layer of ice on a clear day, but when he smiled they were full of tenderness and sometimes she could see in them that he was lonely. He was separate from the men under his command. Too young, she thought, for the responsibility he bore. She saw the way he looked at her and after a while she didn’t mind. She found herself thinking about him. His teeth were white, his face had become tanned and his hair bleached by the sun. He was unlike anybody she had ever known.

  One morning Julia was collecting shellfish from the rocks along the edge of the bay when she heard the sound of a vehicle and knew it was Hassel’s. Shading her eyes with her hand she saw it turn the corner at the bottom of the long hill which led to the village and she guessed that he had been to her house. She had been out all morning, however. She experienced a tug of disappointment that she had missed him. As his car drove along the track above the beach she had a sudden impulse to wave her arms to attract his attention. She could see him behind the wheel. He wasn’t wearing his uniform cap and his hair was startlingly fair in the glare of the sun.

  As she watched, the car slowed and then stopped. Hassel got out and clambered down to the beach where he sat on a rock and smoked a cigarette while he looked out across the water. It was almost midday and the sun was directly overhead. The white pebbles on the beach were almost painful to look at, the water flashed and glittered. The bay was deserted. A single boat was pulled up beyond the water’s edge, a net spread out beside it to dry. The distance was too great for Julia to see Hassel’s expression, but she formed the impression that he was thinking of her. He looked so alone as he sat there. She wondered who he talked to at night.

  She wanted to go to him and talk to him, to sit with him for a time. She wondered what it would feel like to be alone with him, and from there her thoughts wandered and she began to imagine what it would be like to put her hand against his face and feel his skin. She imagined it would not be as coarse as her father’s. She pictured his smile and before she knew it she was imagining placing her mouth on his. All at once she rose, shocked at her own thoughts, colour rising into her cheeks, her heart pounding. She hurried towards the path which led back up the hill. What would her parents say if they knew she had entertained such shocking ideas? She began to pray to the Holy Virgin, asking for her forgiveness. A little way up the path she paused to look back. Hauptmann Hassel was on his feet, staring up at her. Their eyes met for several seconds and then Julia turned and fled.

  A few weeks later men came to the house one evening. Julia and her brother were sent to bed, but she heard their voices late into the night. Once one which she recognised as her father’s cried out in a mixture of pain and anger. The following evening after they had eaten supper and she had helped her mother clear away, Julia’s father told her to sit down at the table. When he spoke he could not meet her eyes.

  ‘Tomorrow, when the German Hauptmann comes here, I want you to take him for a walk.’

  ‘A walk?’ she echoed, not comprehending his meaning. ‘Where to?’

  ‘It does not matter. Show him the view from higher up the hill,’ her father said. He sounded angry, though she did not know why. She understood that her father meant for her to be alone with the Hauptmann. She had never been alone with any man before, except her father and the priest. She glanced at her mother for help but she was busy in the kitchen, her eyes determinedly downcast.

  Her father looked her directly in the eye at last. ‘You know he likes you, my angel? You must encourage him. Let him think that you return his feelings. When he comes here, take him for walks, spend time with him.’ Her father gripped her hand, his expression almost fierce. She didn’t understand it. His eyes flashed anger but also he seemed to be in pain. ‘You are my daughter and you are Greek. Never let him touch you. Never let him lay a hand on you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she answered, bewildered that he should even ask. ‘But why am I to do this?’

  ‘Because it is important, my angel. If it were not I would not ask this of you. Just remember that you are m
y daughter,’ he added again sternly.

  She did not know what he meant. Of course she was his daughter. How could she forget?

  The Hauptmann did not come for two days. She was working in the garden when she heard his car coming up the hill and then her father appeared. He seemed anxious. For the past few days he had barely spoken to her, and at night he often went out and came home very late. Julia sometimes caught her mother looking at her strangely too. She would murmur endearments and stroke her hair as Julia sat at the table.

  As usual her father and the Hauptmann sat outside beneath the grapevine and Julia’s mother brought them wine. Hassel gave her a gift of a piece of ham, bowing stiffly from the waist. Then he sat down and offered Julia’s father a cigarette. They talked a little, but her father seemed ill at ease. When he had smoked his cigarette he got to his feet and, apologising, told the Hauptmann that he had just remembered something he must do. Hassel began to get up too but her father insisted he stay and finish his wine. At the same time he looked towards the trees on the hill where Julia was hiding and, taking her cue, she started walking down towards the house.

  Hassel didn’t even see her father leave. He stared at her the way a starving man might look on a meal another is eating, the agony of the unattainable in his eyes. Beneath the intensity of his gaze Julia felt heat rise into her cheeks. She was conscious of every move she made. Her stomach clenched and her heart began to beat faster. When she was close, Hassel realised that her father had gone and he rose.