We all nodded, and while we waited silently I wondered how the papas could possibly help, and how we could begin to search for this notebook unless we started with Dimitris’s old house and pulled it apart. We waited for about 20 minutes. I had butterflies in my stomach. Polly had gone off to pick oranges. Leonidas was nervously flicking through messages on his phone. We were about to go looking for Dimitris when we saw him rounding the corner of the church with the old papas in tow, one hand tucked into the side of his robe, the other tugging at his long grey beard. He looked faintly biblical. Angus and I were sitting on the wooden bench and Polly rejoined us.
Dimitris’s face was long and drawn, as if set for bad news, but then it suddenly brightened and he burst into his most American drawl of the day. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he said. “The notebook was inside the box when it was placed in the ossuary. Just as well I had a hunch to find Papa Theodoros. He has just told me that a few years ago the church elders decided to make an extra shelf on each wall to store the boxes, as many of them had been lying on the floor crammed together. Some had spilled over. Everything was taken out and Papa Theodoros supervised the return of all the boxes. He was intrigued by one old box with a single name ‘Kostas’, which was most irregular in our way of doing things. And the date, from the war years. He was curious and decided to open it and see what was inside. Lying on top of the remains was a linen pouch with a notebook inside. He opened it and guessing it was written in English, a language he doesn’t speak, he decided to keep it in the church, in a safe place, in case someone came one day to claim it.”
There was a collective cry of excitement. I could sense Angus’s mood soar like an eagle.
“Where is it?” asked Leonidas.
“Right here, folks!” said Dimitris, with a wide smile.
The papas produced the pouch from where he was hiding it in the fold of his robe, as if he wanted to surprise us. Angus leapt to his feet and took it from him, thanking him in Greek. The pouch was yellow with age and embroidered with flowers and a ‘K’ on the flap. Dimitris explained that his mother must have made it specially. Angus opened it and pulled out a notebook about six inches square with a black leather cover, a bit scuffed with age but otherwise not in bad condition, which didn’t square with Panayiotis’s comment that the notebook had been ruined. Perhaps Dimitris’s memory of his father’s exact words had let him down.
Angus stood back a little way from us, as if to seize a private space in which to open the book, which he did slowly, with trembling hands. I don’t think I had ever felt such a sense of taut expectation before. I felt almost physically sick, and afraid. Angus didn’t say anything. He was staring at the title page, as if in a trance.
“What is it, Angus?” said Polly softly.
Angus looked up. He had tears in his eyes. “It has an inscription on the first page: Kieran McKnight, Royal Army Service Corps, 1940.”
“Oh, my God!” said Polly, putting her palms on her cheeks.
I felt my legs tremble. I couldn’t speak. None of us did. We just stood and watched as Angus glanced quickly through the notebook. His eyes were still wet with tears, but there was a smile of joy too.
“It’s amazing! It’s got notes, drawings. Better than we could ever have hoped for,” he said.
He came over to me and put the notebook in my hands. “Bronte, my love, we found him, at last!” Then he hugged me as everyone looked on. I fought with a trembling lower lip. I glanced at Polly and saw her eyes fill with tears. I looked away. If I cried now, I might never stop.
I sat down on a wooden bench, with Angus beside me, and everyone crowded around us as I opened the notebook. The pages were marked and water-stained at the edges, probably from being hidden in the cave. But they were perfectly legible for something that had been buried underground for nearly 10 years. I flipped through the pages quickly, wishing I were alone somewhere and could pore over them, but there would be time enough to read it properly and come to terms with the enormity of this special day. The sight of Kieran’s writings, his sketches, meant that for the first time he wasn’t just a ghost in our lives. He was right here!
The papas approached and said something to Angus and me. He looked rather serious. Polly translated for us. “Papa Theodoros says he apologises that when he found the book he never thought to show it to someone then, someone who knew English. Perhaps the owner’s family could have been traced sooner.”
“Polly, please tell the papas not to feel bad,” I told her. “We are here now. Tell him that fate brought us to Platanos in the end, and we are very grateful for his help.”
“Well said, Bronte,” said Leonidas.
“Aye, and more than just fate, Bronte. Thank you too for believing in a daft old man and his crazy ideas, and thanks to the rest of you, my friends. This day wouldn’t have happened without you all,” said Angus. Everyone was beaming with satisfaction. It was a feast day for Saint Dimitrios that no-one would forget in a hurry.
But it fell to Leonidas to remind us of something less cheerful. “Angus, Bronte. Do you want to see Kieran’s remains before we go? Or would you rather wait?”
We decided it was probably the right time and so, after much joy and excitement, we followed Leonidas into the ossuary and I engaged in one of the strangest and saddest rituals of my life. Having heard Dimitris’s account of Kieran’s short time in Platanos, and the shooting, gazing at this jumble of pale bones made it seem bewilderingly real. The skull sat on top, almost pristine and fresh, apart from the smashed forehead from the bullet. None of it seemed to have any link to the dark-haired young man whose picture I’d kept on my chest of drawers in Marathousa. The rest of the bones were concertinaed into the small space below, the sum total of Kieran’s life. It was enough. I couldn’t look any more. I believed I was up to this, but now I knew I was not. And a dozen other anxieties came rushing up, like a flock of birds scared into sudden flight.
I ran outside, heading to the back of church and around the corner, where there was a quiet garden and a raised stone wall at the perimeter, with a small spring outlet dripping into a marble bowl, similar to the others in the village. A few tall trees overhung it. It was out of sight of the ossuary at least. A narrow banquette had been created on one side of the spring outlet and I sat down and gave vent to the tears that had been building up – for a long time. This anguish was not how I had envisaged closure to be, but also what I didn’t expect was the sudden redemption that came with it for everything negative that had swirled around the whole of my family for decades.
I don’t know how long I sat there sobbing, but eventually I saw Leonidas striding towards me. He was the last person I wanted to see right now. I wanted to feel tired and shattered – alone. He sat beside me and put a hand on my shoulder with a firmness that brooked no objections.
“Are you all right, Bronte? I did warn you it would be a difficult experience.”
I couldn’t speak. I blew my nose and wiped my puffy eyes on my handkerchief. He said something in Greek and though I didn’t understand it, I felt a little better, as if I’d gleaned something soothing by osmosis. Finally I got a grip. “You were right. It was difficult. An odd day: pain and joy, all mixed up. Too much!” I squeaked.
“Quite an experience for all of us, and for me as well, for many reasons,” he said, shaking his head, but I didn’t think to ask what he meant. “The papas has said a prayer for Kieran in the ossuary and we will leave the box there for now, until you both decide what to do with it. The others have gone back to the pantopoleio in the plateia. I think we should leave soon. Angus has had a very stressful day. I worry about him.”
And I did too. I wiped at my tears and took a deep breath. I felt much calmer now. Leonidas had taken off his jacket and his white shirt sleeves were rolled up. He looked more like a doctor now than at any other time I’d seen him. I was glad of it. We stood up to go.
“Thank you, Leonidas, for being here today. For all your help. We owe you a great deal,” I said, with a gus
h of gratitude. I put my arms around him, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. How safe I felt then! Yet, I couldn’t stop my mind from trailing back to that day on the Kitries beach, that small flash of near-lovemaking that tormented me, even now. I kept my arms around him and caught the lemony aroma of his aftershave, the smell of his hair. He responded after a moment with an avuncular rub of my back.
He put his hand on my arm firmly. “Come with me,” he said, pulling me away from the banquette. My mind soared stupidly and illogically with possibilities, until he led me over to the water tap. He turned it on and retrieved a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket. He wet it under the tap. With one hand on my shoulder, he wiped my face gently with the other, around my eyes and over my cheeks, gathering up the mascara smudges. I felt slightly ridiculous, and yet there was a pleasing kind of intimacy in it, the sweep of his hand over my face, the attention his eyes gave to the task, his warm breath on my skin. Then it was over and he popped the handkerchief back in his pocket.
“That’s better,” he said, giving my forehead a quick, light kiss, as if I were a troubled child, which is how I felt.
Despite all the things I wanted to say about why he should terminate his exit plan with Phaedra and not let his head rule his heart, nothing came out. And it was all too late, anyway.
When we got to the plateia we found the others sitting at the metal tables again, but this time drinking ouzo with Dimitris, the guest of honour, celebrating his name day properly. It seemed like an impromptu party. Pavlos was there as well, drinking and smoking. When he saw us, he got up to fetch more ouzos. Leonidas declined, but I didn’t. I definitely needed a drink. Angus was still clutching the notebook, wrapped in its pouch again. He patted the empty chair beside him and when I sat down he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “The last bit was too much for you, eh? Too much for me as well. My ticker’s still doing a cha-cha.”
Everyone wanted to chatter about the day, but Leonidas seemed pensive, as he had been all day. I caught his eye and he smiled, then looked away. Dimitris had also been thoughtful. I sensed that something was bothering him. Finally, after he’d drunk all his ouzo, he told us what it was.
“You know, folks, I was looking at the notebook earlier and it’s hard to explain the feeling. The last time I saw it in 1941, I couldn’t understand a word. Now that I can, it’s heart-breaking to discover what torment poor Kostas, or Kieran rather, went through while he was hiding out. But one thing about the notebook doesn’t seem quite right. It’s in pretty neat condition, which makes me think my father couldn’t possibly have buried it on the hillside with Kieran like he said. And I have to say, I didn’t see that part of the burial where he placed the body in the grave. I was the lookout, after all. So I reckon my father must have hidden the book in a safe place for years, without telling us, and then put it in the reliquary later on. But why did he do that?”
We all looked at him blankly.
“I mean, why didn’t he just hang on to it and give it to me when I came back from the civil war? He knew I always wanted it keep it. Why did he say he put it in the reliquary because it was in such a deteriorated state? It doesn’t make sense and it raises a whole heap of issues here, but most of all, if we had kept hold of the notebook, we could have traced Kieran one day to his British regiment − and Angus and Bronte would have known the whole story years ago. Their lives would have been very different, I imagine,” he said.
No-one spoke at first. We hadn’t even considered this fact. It had been too tormenting a day.
“I see what you mean. Yes it’s odd,” said Angus. “But your father must have had his reasons, Dimitri. And don’t forget he risked his life to help Kieran. So it’s not for us to question what he did or didn’t do.”
“Well, I guess you’re right,” said Dimitris, not looking very convinced.
“The thing is, the notebook survived. And we’ve found it. The story had a good ending,” said Angus, patting him on the arm.
“Yeah, sure did, folks! And the timing was right in the end because I don’t think I’ll make it back to Platanos again, not in this life,” Dimitris said, with a wan smile.
We made light of his fears, wishing him ‘many years’. I took a photo at that point of everyone sitting outside the pantopoleio. I knew it would become one of the most memorable of my life and would take its place beside the other pictures I’d accumulated on this Greek trip.
After a short while, however, our party seemed to run out of steam. We had all grown weary from the day’s excitement. I caught Leonidas’s eye and he seemed lost in thought. I guessed he was keen to get going. Even the papas was leaving now. We saw his black form swishing through the plateia, having locked the church. He waved as he went towards the road, where his car was parked. I fancied as he passed that a strong slipstream of air followed him, with a crackling undercurrent, like hundreds of autumn leaves whipped up in the wind. Or perhaps it was the aftermath of Saint Dimitrios, galloping homeward on his russet-coloured horse. I fancied I could see his curly hair and blue cape billowing out behind. Was this one of his more miraculous days?
After our morning of excitement and revelation in the mountains, Marathousa seemed to crouch in front of us, earth-bound and stolid, not its usual place of bright vistas and wind-raked olive groves. As soon as the car stopped outside Villa Anemos, we all dispersed, back to normality. Polly was to drive Dimitris back to his Kalamata hotel. Leonidas said a quick farewell to everyone. But Polly, even now, seemed determined not to let him go without some probing. She asked if he was going to Koroni now to spend time with his girlfriend and her family.
“No, I am leaving for Athens this afternoon. I have an old friend there, also called Dimitris, celebrating today and I will visit him. And I want to see Apollo, my son, who I have not seen for a while.”
Polly’s eyebrows flickered slightly with interest, in my direction.
Chapter 23
Hearts of fire
Later that afternoon, Angus and I had a light meal. I had planned a siesta as I was exhausted, but Angus said he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep. He wanted to read the notebook properly on his own before giving it to me. I lay on my bed a while, my head buzzing from the day’s events. I finally fell into a restless sleep and was woken a few hours later by Angus shaking me by the shoulder.
“Bronte, wake up, love!”
“What is it?” I said, trying to rouse myself.
“I’m not feeling well,” he said, touching his heart.
“Oh, no!”
“I read the notebook and then lay down, thinking I might get some shut-eye. But I’ve had some pain in my chest. I’ve used my angina spray. It took a few doses to shift the pains, but I’m still not feeling great.”
I wasn’t surprised, after the day we’d had. He looked pale and sweaty.
“You shouldn’t have read the notebook so soon.”
“It didn’t take long to read, but I admit it upset me a bit. Och, it’s tormenting how he died alone up on that ridge. You’ll see when you read it.”
“Right,” I said, jumping out of bed. “This time we’re going straight to the hospital.”
I considered calling Leonidas for advice, but there wasn’t time. Then I remembered he would be in Athens.
“Go and get ready. I’ll drive,” I said.
His eyes widened with horror. “You’ve never driven here. It takes a while to get used to it … not to mention the roads.”
“So, I’ll get some practice in, won’t I?”
Angus looked paler still. “That will really bring on a coronary.”
I shrugged. “Pack a bag in case they keep you in.”
He went downstairs to get ready. I got dressed quickly. My stomach felt queasy. I was filled with apprehension. This was not meant to happen. I rushed into the kitchen, to the drawer where Angus kept his pills, and dumped a load of them in my bag. We needed to move fast. I started to worry about the drive to the hospital. What was I thinking? I found Angus in the sitt
ing room with a small bag at his feet, chewing the end of his thumb.
“Where are your car keys?” I asked.
“You won’t need them now. I’ve got another driver for the hospital.”
“How did you swing that?” I said, with great relief.
“I just rang Miltiades in the taverna. He said he would drive us down. He always told me to call him if ever I had a problem.”
“That’s nice. I was happy to drive though,” I said, lying.
“No, Bronte. Trust me. You wouldn’t want to do that.”
Minutes later I heard Miltiades’ car pull up in front of the house. We dived into it, Angus in front, me behind, with nothing as sensible as a working seatbelt, of course. Miltiades tore off down the road like a racehorse at the starters’ gate and pretty much kept the pace all the way down the hillside, screaming around hairpin bends, accelerating more on the straight bits, shouting at other drivers.
As we got into the city, I called Polly. Her phone rang for a while before she answered it, sounding sleepy, as if she’d just woken from a siesta. She promised to be at the hospital as soon as she could. I felt better knowing she’d be there.
At the hospital, Miltiades ushered us quickly into A&E. Nothing seemed to faze him and at the reception desk he took charge, gabbling on with the young girl manning the counter, who wrote out a few details about Angus and his condition before asking us to sit in the crowded waiting room.
“I hope Angus gets seen pretty soon,” I said to Miltiades.
He clamped a big, strong hand on my arm. “You don’t worry now, Bronte. I told them it’s the heart. Kirios Angoose has pains. He needs attention right away. They will call him soon. You will see, Bronte mou.” My Bronte.
Not long after we arrived, Polly turned up, rushing into the waiting room, her dark hair tied back. She looked out of breath. “Oh, Angus! How are you, my dear?” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
“I’m fine at the moment, Polly. Chest pains earlier. Best to get it checked.”
A Saint for the Summer Page 25
