I recalled the victorious crash when he slammed his opponent’s tiles onto the tin tabletop. We women, crocheting in the street, would raise our heads and nod to each other knowingly. ‘Kondulakis is winning!’ It made me proud.
I never entered the kafenion, a place reserved for men. I would peer through the door, make a ‘dinner’s ready’ sign by moving my hands towards my mouth, crab-like. Pensioners in rickety chairs circled the challengers. Vassili always shooed me away, refusing to be told what to do. Nevertheless, his belly got the better of him and, when the game finished, he came home manly and triumphant.
Tears trickled down my face. The comforting arm of Andreas fell over my shoulders. We sat in silence, in the dark, each with our thoughts, coming to terms with the situation.
The memory of life before the war heartened me. My despair lifted a little. I stood, ready to start my journey back down the hill.
‘Wait, Kiriea, I’ll bring my dog in. He’ll bark if he sees you out there.’
The shepherd fumbled around his feet, which he could hardly reach because of the size of his belly. He pulled off a boot and then a sock, replaced the boot, took a rope from the wall and crept outside.
After a few minutes, he returned with his dog, a beast of a black Alsatian with the sock over its muzzle and the rope around its neck. The creature yanked on the makeshift lead, resisting the drag indoors. I glanced at the olive sacks. My sleeping boys were as safe as they could be.
It must have been near midnight. The moon, full last night, would be almost as bright tonight. I had to be quick.
After spending so much time in the dark, my sight had adjusted well. I crept down the hill, racing between trees for cover, and then standing still, straining my ears for any sound of movement. About halfway down, I threw myself against a stout carob trunk. A large tree mouse leapt from one of the branches, then a polecat bounded into the clearing, pounced and clamped the rodent in its jaws. The polecat’s victim made a high-pitched squeal into death. I caught a flash of white face with glinting coal black eyes from the polecat before it sped into the parched vegetation. I waited until the rustle of dried thistles had faded.
Fear bubbled inside me, my heart thudding in the silence. Barely perceptible noises seemed to come from all directions. I couldn’t get a fix on the source of any one sound. What if soldiers surrounded me? Perhaps troops hid in the undergrowth, waiting for the likes of me creeping about in the dark?
I thought of my precious children and leaned against the carob trunk until the natural sounds of the night returned. I hitched my skirt and raced to the next tree. Each footstep seemed loud enough to wake all Crete. The moon made her appearance and I studied the hillside below, searching for the unmistakable shape of the old fig. Before I spotted it, I heard the snoring of our goat.
‘Na . . . na . . .’ I called, softly, not wanting her to kick up a fuss if startled. I recognised a shuffle and a double thump as she got to her feet and, following the noise with my eyes, I picked out the tree.
My plan to collect the goat, the axe, and the food parcel, proved difficult. The burned flesh of my hands had dried. They were so stiff and painful I couldn’t close them over the axe handle, so I used my teeth and forearms to unknot the bundle from the hatchet.
Eventually, I struggled up the hill. The goat’s leading rope was tied around my waist, and a sling containing the food over my good shoulder. It took much longer than I had expected.
Andreas waited in the doorway, his face anxious in the moonlight. Inside, the Alsatian whimpered.
‘Take the goat to the back patch,’ he whispered.
I slipped out of the blanket and dropped it where I stood, finding great relief in being told what to do. Andreas fetched the dog and tied it to a sapling, and then he took the bundle of food into the hovel. My boys were awake and hungry. I guessed the time to be near two in the morning. We closed the door and lit a candle.
‘Kiriea, you must take care of your hands. If they get bad, the black rot – think, what use is a mother with no hands? Here, clean them with this.’ He opened a filthy bottle and poured some yellowish water into the enamel bowl.
I understood his meaning. Gangrene, or worse, leprosy, which would have me shipped to the local colony on the other side of the island for the rest of my life. I would never see my family again.
‘What is this?’ I asked.
‘Chamomile. Clean your burns, let them dry without touching anything, and then apply this honey. It’s going to sting, but that’s the purity. It will keep your hands supple and stop the flesh from cracking.’ He gave me an equally dirty stone pot with barely an inch of honey in the bottom.
‘Mama, my knees hurt,’ Matthia said, pushing for attention. I bathed his knees and glanced sideways at the shepherd. The big man smiled. All the terrible things people said about this malodorous giant, yet I wondered how many of them would give the remains of their honey to a stranger in wartime.
‘Thank you, Andreas. I’ll never forget your kindness.’
How we ate! The four of us stuffed as much food inside ourselves as possible. Andreas fed me chunks of meat. He softened half of the rusks with a little water and then sprinkled olive oil, oregano and salt over them. That simple meal was a banquet. Andreas belched with enormous gusto and my boys, full of admiration, tried to do the same.
We laughed so hard I had to hush everyone. The shepherd lit a fire and brewed coffee made from roasted acorns. It tasted good, not exactly like the real thing, but still bitter and strong and near enough to be enjoyable. He sweetened it with black syrup derived from boiled carob beans.
Surprised that Andreas knew so much about living in the wild, I realised that I could learn a lot from him. I paid attention while he explained how to make flat bread from acorn flour.
‘In the summer,’ he told me, ‘I take the sheep up to the plateau and live there all season without supplies. If you know how, it’s not difficult.’
Stavro and Matthia gazed at him with open admiration and when he said, ‘I need to piss’, my sons looked at each other, nodded, and stood either side of him in the doorway. I blew out the candle and sat on the banquette watching the backs of the three, silhouetted by the moonlight, pissing into the night.
The boys, with their heads turned up to Andreas, copied every grunt and shake. Then the shepherd spun around, bent over, and farted noisily into the darkness. My sons caught a whiff and with a ‘Phaw!’ and ‘Yuck!’ they were back at my side – my dear children. That silly hour strengthened all four of us.
‘Andreas, how do you stay so big and strong in these hard times?’ I asked.
‘I eat carobs and acorns every day,’ he said. ‘They keep my belly full and stop the hunger pains.’ He scratched his armpit vigorously, then his head. ‘They’re free food, and if these things are good enough for pigs and rabbits, they’ll do for me.’ He opened the door and peered up at the moon. ‘Kiriea, if you want to get the remains of your belongings, you only have a few hours before first light.’
‘I don’t think I can manage it, Andreas. I need to rest before we go up the mountain.’
He grunted. ‘I’ll bring the olive sacks in for my bed. You squeeze on the banquette with your boys and I will sleep on the floor.’
We settled down quickly, bolted the door and blew out the candle. Soon, judging by the sound of their breathing, they were all asleep. I lay in the dark and tried to make a plan. How could we survive on the mountain with so little? Perhaps if we could find an old shepherd’s shelter, or even a cave, but we couldn’t go too far up because there were only pine trees on the higher slopes, and then nothing but rock. We needed carobs, acorns, figs and mulberries, herbage for the goat and water for us.
Thinking of water, I longed to wash my body. The village spring waited for me, about a hundred and fifty metres uphill. Dare I go and bathe? A metal bucket stood in the corner of the room, it would only take twenty minutes or so; nobody would miss me.
Chapter 14
; I HELD MY BREATH, slid off the banquette and made a big stride over the shepherd, asleep on the floor. Just as I straddled his huge body, he reached out and clasped my ankle firmly.
‘Where are you going, woman?’ he whispered.
‘I need to wash, Andreas.’
‘Be still; wait until you are further up the mountain.’
‘Please, I can’t delay any longer. You see the Nazis, they didn’t only kill my baby yesterday morning, they got me too. I lowered my voice to hardly a whisper. ‘One of them dishonoured me, right after they murdered poor little Petro. My boys have no idea. I feel so filthy, Andreas, I have to wash away the Nazi stench.’
He released my ankle. I completed my stride and stood between him and the door. He pushed himself onto his elbows and, in the dark, I sensed his eyes on me.
‘How can you clean yourself with those burned hands? You have to keep them dry.’
He seemed to hesitate before he spoke again. ‘I have a well under this floor. If you let me, I’ll help you.’ A moment of silence passed between us. I analysed his motives and I guess he realised my suspicion. ‘Trust me; I’m honourable, Kiriea.’
I remembered the gossip about him, but then for some obscure reason, I became calm and almost serene. Perhaps a spirit inspired me and guided me to do the right thing by Andreas without my understanding, morals, or judgement. ‘I would be embarrassed, I don’t know if I could,’ I said.
‘Kiriea, I am a simple person, a man of nature and not educated like you, but my word is true. You can depend on it.’
I thought for a moment. If I didn’t wash my personal parts, I would almost certainly suffer from debilitating infection. I needed to be strong for my boys and the ordeal that lay ahead. ‘Thank you, Andreas. I know, at least I hope, you’ll treat me with respect.’
The shepherd opened the door. Moonlight flooded into the room. He pulled an old woven rug away from the corner of the floor and lifted a couple of planks. Then he took a coil of rope from the wall, tied the rope to a bucket that had stood in the corner, and dropped it into the well. A minute later, he had filled the enamel jug and bowl. ‘Wait while I take them around the back,’ he whispered.
I hesitated again and glanced at the sleep-soft faces of my boys who trusted me to keep them safe. Andreas returned and refilled the bucket. He threw a couple of sacks over his shoulder and told me to follow him. Behind the house, he spread one sack and hooked the other onto a nail in the wall.
‘Wait,’ he whispered, and then he reached into the low hanging branches of a nearby olive tree. He came back with a tin bath, a sea sponge, and a block of soap. ‘Do you trust me, Kiriea? I will be like a brother to you, I swear.’
‘I have faith in you, Andreas, thank you for your kindness.’
‘Then stand in the bath.’ He took off my shoes and then my apron and top clothes. I saw his passive face become puffy in the moonlight, his eyelids drooped softly and his mouth slackened. The breath caught in his throat and I understood the look of want that every woman recognises.
A spark of fear flared inside me. How stupid were these actions of mine? What possessed me? Attempting to obliterate one disgusting episode by almost encouraging another had to be madness. Trying to convince myself that, despite everything, I remained in control. Endeavouring to prove that all men weren’t the same.
When he reached my undergarments, he stopped, soaped the sponge and said, ‘Kiriea Maria, I must tell you, until I saw those poor hanging women, I had not seen a naked female. Thank you for having faith in me, but I confess I’m burning with desire to hold you against my body, to know what it’s like to have a real woman in my arms. I have never before . . .’
‘Hold me now, Andreas, I’ll not deny you that experience, but I can’t give you more, do you understand? I am trusting you, Andreas.’
He bit his lip, dropped the sponge, threw off his sheepskin tunic and wrapped me in his arms. I listened to his soft moan, strangely confident with his promise as he lifted me off my feet and rocked me. His hands slipped down, cupped my bottom, and he crushed me against his massive body. He covered the top of my head with his bearded chin. With my ear pressed against the thin fabric covering his chest, I heard his big heart hammering.
‘Why did God make man so wicked?’ he asked, his voice thick with desire. His manhood swelled and grew against my belly.
‘Remember your promise, Andreas? I trust you’re strong enough to keep your word.’
‘Virgin Mary . . . forgive me, Kiriea Maria.’
I glanced around anxiously, vulnerable, in my undergarments.
Andreas, shy and innocent in his way, took a deep breath and then removed the last of my clothing. With surprising tenderness in his big calloused hands, he soaped my body. In a state of wonderment, and inquisitiveness, he washed every inch of me, as a new mother would bath her baby. I admit I found a little, inexplicable, pleasure in satisfying his curiosity.
When I lifted my arms so he could wash beneath them, he gasped and stepped back, gazing at my white breasts and then at my entire body in the moonlight.
‘Madam, forgive me for looking, but I have never imagined such beauty . . . Adam must have been alone for a long time, while God created woman. The Almighty made such a thing of perfection,’ he said.
When I squatted and parted my knees so he could clean my privates, he screwed his eyes and turned his head away. He thrust the sponge between my legs, nearly pushing me off my feet.
‘Andreas, please,’ I whispered. ‘You may look. I trust you, and I’d rather you used your hand. These hidden parts of me are tender and sensitive, especially after all that has happened. The rough sponge hurts too much.’
He took a shaky breath, sat on his haunches and washed my most intimate parts. His eyes flicked up to meet mine. ‘Tell me if I cause you pain, Kiriea, I’ll try to be gentle.’
The shepherd was a gentleman, in every sense of the word.
He dried me with the olive sack, dressed me, and then bowed slightly, thanking me for my trust. We returned to the room and he patted the sacks spread on the floor.
‘Rest here, Kiriea, next to me. I will keep you safe.’
I lay beside him, my head on his big arm. Feeling protected and secure, I fell into a deep sleep. In the night, I had a strange dream about the old midwife and the young woman hanging from the tree. I saw Andreas cut them down, wash them, and then take their hands to lead them along the pathway to heaven.
Great rumbling snores coming from the shepherd woke me, the vision still vivid in my head. The warm room was stuffy and hummed with body odour. I pulled myself up and opened the door a crack, to let in a little fresh air. Dawn light sliced across the floor.
‘Get up, everybody, it’s morning!’ I said.
We scrambled to gather our bits and pieces together. Andreas let the dog off his rope for a runabout. I thanked him for his help. Our eyes met and for a moment we shared something special that will always stay with me. Sweet and honourable Andreas.
‘Go straight up, Kiriea Maria. You’ll find an old ruin with no windows and the door has gone, but it has a roof. Rest there, out of the sun and, tonight, continue up the track. Once you are higher than Simi, pull right a little. There is an archaeological site with a long-drop waterfall, dry now, but it’s easy to spot the smooth plunge of the rock face. There is a cave to the left. Look for flocks of small birds flying close to the ground and follow their direction, they usually lead to water. If I can, I’ll bring your bundle up in a couple of days.’
Andreas, the praiseworthy shepherd that kept me safe. Who else could have cleansed me of the Nazi’s atrocity and enabled me to relax into deep sleep.
I kissed his hairy cheek tenderly. ‘One day soon, when this war is over, I want you to come to my home and play tavli with Vassili. Will you do that, Andreas?’ I wanted him to realise how much he had restored my sanity, but there seemed no words to explain.
Our eyes met and, holding my gaze, he considered for a moment before making th
e down-sideways nod. ‘And if you’ll pardon me, I’ll beat the malákas!’
My boys grinned at him, loving the sound of his swearing. His countenance relaxed a little and his rough hand came to my face and stilled. His eyes covered my body and then pierced mine. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice soft and sincere. The dog barked, and barked again. His smile fell away, replaced by a flash of fear. ‘Go now, hurry!’
We scooted around the back of the house, collected the goat and started up the slope, quickly and quietly, trying to keep under cover. Just before we pushed into the dense thicket, I swear I felt a tap on my shoulder. There was nobody behind me, of course, but I peered down to the ramshackle cottage that had kept us safe overnight. Andreas stood on the spot where he had washed me. Too far away for me to make out his eyes, but I knew they met mine. The enormous shaggy man, as noble yet humble as his largest ram, stared up at me and nodded his hairy head. A great surge of sadness rushed through me as I understood, at that moment, my dream had been a vision. He intended to go and cut down the hanging women.
Would I ever see the big shepherd again? I didn’t think so.
I found it almost impossible to turn away and break the thread between us.
‘Mama . . .’ Stavro said, pulling me back to the urgency of our situation. He sniffed, and I sensed his distress.
‘Are you all right, son?’
The boy turned to me, his face pale. He worried his lip, glanced at Matthia and then at me. ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he whispered, his voice catching.
Oh, the poor child, what had he seen? Perhaps he came out of the room while Andreas washed me? How would a seven-year-old interpret such a scene? Because of the darkness, I wouldn’t have known he was there.
‘Matthia, take the goat up ahead,’ I said quietly, sick and ashamed of not being more cautious. I watched them go, afraid the cantankerous creature would drag Matthia off his feet again. When he had moved out of earshot, I asked Stavro, ‘What do you mean, about last night? Tell me, son.’
‘You know, when Andreas told you about Kiriea Kiriaki . . .’ Tears broke free and rolled down his face. ‘I thought I had dreamt it when I woke up later, like I’d had a nightmare or something, but you were gone so long. I really feared the German soldiers had got you too and torn your clothes off and hung you from a tree.’ He wrapped his arms about my waist and squeezed hard. ‘Mama, I’m so ashamed. When I believed you were dead, I nearly cried in front of the shepherd . . .’
Island of Secrets Page 14
