Secrets Under the Sun

by Nadia Marks

*

  ‘It’s been a while since I came to see you,’ he had told her, sitting awkwardly at the edge of an armchair, ‘and there is something I want to discuss with you.’ He looked nervous.

  ‘Yes?’ Anita replied. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well …’ he started; she could smell tobacco and alcohol on his breath. ‘Well, you see,’ he continued, clearing his throat, ‘Petros has been offered a passage to England with a possibility of a job and he thinks there might be a position for me too in the same firm. It’s a good opportunity.’

  ‘England …’ Anita said, trying to sound indifferent while feeling a rush of blood rise to her head as fury overtook her. Her anti-colonial feelings were still latent; independence from the British was still in its infancy, it was barely two years since the island had got its independence, and it would take time for rebel blood to cool down. Nonetheless she said nothing. She nodded, bit her tongue, wore a frozen smile on her face and pretended she was taking an interest in what he was saying.

  ‘Well … perhaps, as you say,’ she replied, ‘it is a good opportunity.’ She had to keep a cool head; this was the chance she had been waiting for. If he left, divorce would be so much simpler.

  ‘Well … in any case … I’ve made up my mind to accept and leave with Petros,’ he said quickly and stood up. ‘But I wanted to let you know.’

  *

  Katerina walked into the saloni holding the tea tray to find mother and daughter sitting side by side uncharacteristically cheerful. Anita looked up, a smile brightening her face; Katerina hadn’t seen her like that for the longest time.

  ‘I am obviously missing something good,’ she said and put the tray on the side table. ‘Will you tell me so I can smile too?’

  ‘With pleasure …’ Anita began.

  Katerina listened transfixed, her hands folded in her lap, her brain working overtime. All of a sudden she leapt up, nearly knocking over the teapot.

  ‘I knew it!’ she cried, hoping she hadn’t woken the children and making the other two women jump. ‘I knew it,’ she hissed under her breath this time.

  The suspicions she had been harbouring for so long about Petros had now been confirmed for her.

  ‘But I had no proof, you see, just my own misgivings,’ she started to explain. ‘The only person I discussed it with was the padre and we agreed that since I had no evidence I should wait and see, and now I SEE!’ she said, raising her voice again. ‘This is all the proof I need.’

  After independence, it was commonly known that many collaborators who had not already been disposed of by their own people for betraying the freedom movement were being offered the chance of a new life in England by way of repayment for their services, and apparently Petros was now about to claim his reward. Even if they had no proof, it became clear to all three women that Costas too was being rewarded for whatever part he had played as a possible informer.

  ‘I knew that man was a snake! We should thank the Lord and the Panayia they are both leaving … they deserve each other,’ Katerina said, and got up to pour the tea.

  Larnaka, 2010

  Anita looked at Adonis long and hard. ‘When you were growing up we led you to believe that your father … I mean Costas, was dead. We didn’t know what else to tell you. We despised him so much we wanted to forget all about him.’

  ‘And is he dead?’ Adonis asked.

  ‘I don’t know … most probably drank himself to death,’ Anita replied with an expression of disdain at the memory.

  ‘Did he ever try to come back?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We never heard from him again, nor did we want to. He might still be in England but I neither know nor care.’

  ‘But did you divorce him? I do hope so!’ Eleni added, looking alarmed.

  ‘Well, because we married in the Catholic Church, there were complications. But it didn’t matter; he was as pleased to be gone as we were to see him go.’ Anita laughed drily. ‘Knowing him he probably married again in England, making himself a bigamist … In any case, if he had tried to come back he would have had to deal with my mother.’ She chuckled again. ‘He wouldn’t have dared, and as you know your grandmother lived well into her nineties!’

  ‘It’s so ironic,’ Adonis said, looking around at the others, ‘I grew up knowing my father wasn’t worth knowing, and now I find …’ he took in a deep breath and stood up, ‘that the exact opposite was true of my real father.’

  Anita stood up too, and going over to Adonis took him in her arms. ‘I wish it could have been different for you, my son.’ She cupped his face in both hands and kissed his forehead. ‘I wish it could have been different for all of you …’ She looked at the girls. ‘I wish life had been simpler for all of us, but it wasn’t.’ Weary and visibly upset, Anita sat down again. ‘But we made the best of what we had,’ she said, wiping her eyes and looking at the three tear-streaked-faces, ‘and what we had was love! I hope you can all say that you lived in a house of women who loved you, and be able to forgive the mistakes we made.’ With that, all three of them reached across the table and took Anita’s hands in theirs. They stayed holding on to her for a long while.

  They had all been sitting in the kitchen listening to the old woman for almost three hours. They’d been oblivious to how much time had passed, their late hearty breakfast had kept hunger at bay and none of them realized it was well past lunch.

  ‘Shall I make some tea?’ Marianna looked around the table.

  ‘Forget tea,’ Adonis replied, ‘I think what we need is food and a glass of wine,’ and jumping off his chair, he made for the door. ‘A walk on the beach and lunch at Stephano’s will do us good.’ He stopped and turned to look at the three women standing in the kitchen. A surge of love and tenderness washed over him. How lucky we all are still to have each other, he thought. Yes, the revelations of the last couple of days had been shattering and profound, and he wished some events had been handled differently. But there was nothing he could do about that now. They had to come to terms with what they had learned, and not assign blame to anyone. What had been done was done with the best intentions and with love. These three women and himself were all that was left of the family he cherished. Katerina had gone, but her legacy remained. He carried her genes and those of his father; he was living testimony of their lives and their love.

  Stephano’s fish restaurant down by the shore was another favourite haunt of Adonis and Robert when they were in town. As soon as the proprietor saw them he made his way to their table with a bottle of wine and glasses.

  ‘May her memory be eternal,’ Stephanos told them, as he filled their glasses. ‘Katerina was a good woman, we will drink to her memory.’ And so they did, not just with one bottle but two, or maybe three. They drank chilled white wine from the vineyards of Aphrodite and ate freshly cooked succulent red mullet, with chunky fried potatoes just like Katerina used to make, and the sea breeze and the sound of the lapping waves gradually began to soothe their souls.

  After the table had been cleared and the coffee had arrived, Anita delved into her bag and took out three envelopes.

  ‘Now my children,’ she said, ‘there is one last thing. When Katerina was in hospital she gave me these for you.’ She handed out the envelopes. ‘Each one contains a letter.’

  All three wanted to tear open the envelopes as soon as she handed them over, then and there in the fish restaurant, but they restrained themselves until they arrived home. It was a stiflingly hot afternoon and the walk back from the restaurant had never seemed longer. They sat in the saloni, across from each other on separate armchairs, with the blinds drawn to keep out the raging afternoon sun, and the overhead fan turned to full speed though it only circulated hot air. Then they opened their envelopes. As Adonis pulled out his letter, another little bundle fell out on his lap. They started to read silently, each lost in Katerina’s final words to them.

  Larnaka, 2010

  Adonis, my beloved son!

  I have called you ‘my son’ many a time but y
ou never knew that I spoke the truth. Now you know. You are truly my child, my flesh and blood, my one and only son, and I have loved you and cherished you every day of your existence since the blessed day I gave birth to you. I only hope you have felt that bond flow from me to you. You cannot imagine how often I longed to hear you calling me Mama instead of dear Anita … But if she hadn’t adopted you, you would have been taken away from me and I would have brought shame to myself and to those around me. The secret of your birth is the only regret I have in my life but my compensation was to see you growing up so close to my heart. I did the best I could to give you what I thought you needed in your life. We have lived together as one family with so much affection and tenderness pouring your way. I believe that you and I have had a relationship as close as any mother and child could have, and you have always rewarded me as a son rewards his mother. For that I thank you, and God, with all my heart.

  There have been many times when I wished I could have told you the truth, but it could not be. Now I want you always to carry the knowledge that you are the son of a great man. My life has been blessed and enriched by the gift of love your father gave me, and you, my son, have been the most precious gift of all. The secret of your birth was the burden I carried all through my life. My regret and sadness was not only that I couldn’t openly acknowledge that which was true, that I couldn’t shout it from the rooftops, be openly proud that you were mine, but also that your father never knew. He went through life blind to the fact that he had a son. A son that any father would be proud to call his own. I am now carrying that regret to my grave. I had no other choice. Your father was no ordinary man, Adonis mou, I had no right to come between him and his God. Perhaps I chose wrongly but I did what I thought was best for all of us at the time. Having you has given me the greatest happiness and you were the most enriching experience of my life.

  As my illness progressed Anita was adamant that you should know the truth about your birth. I must admit that I was less willing, perhaps through cowardice, but as it is also Anita’s secret, not only my own, I have now agreed.

  Another reason for my reluctance was that I did not want to disturb the lifetime of stability that had been maintained since your adoption with the secret of your birth kept hidden. I thought, wrongly perhaps, that you might reject me if you found out the truth. I couldn’t bear that. Perhaps it was also wrong of me not to tell you myself face to face; but by the time Anita convinced me to do so it was too late and you are so far away, my son. I am writing this letter while I still have some strength. Anita told me she will speak to you and the girls herself. She will explain, and I hope when you find out about your past you will not think unkindly of me and perhaps even understand.

  You have grown into the most wonderful man and you, my son, have been loved not only by me but by four other marvellous women. Your grandmother Olga adored you, Anita has loved you as your legal mother, and you have been hero-worshipped by your ‘sisters’. I am certain you have always felt that bond between us all.

  I am as proud as any mother can be about her child and I have much to be proud of. I have loved you with all my heart and soul and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me for leaving it so late to tell you the truth.

  I send you my blessings, my boy,

  Your loving

  Mama

  After he finished reading her letter Adonis looked down at the little bundle of papers tied together with a faded yellow ribbon on his lap. With trembling fingers, he untied the ribbon and picked up the first letter. Holding the pale blue paper fine as a butterfly’s wings he started to read the words written in faint blue ink.

  My dearest Katerina,

  The words I want to write to you, I cannot; the feelings I want to express to you, I must not; therefore I will speak of everyday things to you.

  I was delighted to hear your news and to learn that dear Anita is doing well in her pregnancy. I pray every day for her. I was also glad to hear that you find Vienna to your liking. You describe the city so vividly that I am able to visualize the places you speak of. I have taken a book on the history of the city out of the library and while I read your letters I look for the buildings you describe. I have also started listening to Mozart in the evenings when I am alone. The music is uplifting and helps to raise me out of my melancholy …

  Adonis read on. There were six or seven of these letters written to Katerina when she was in Vienna, and then at the bottom of the pile there were as many again written to her from Rome. These were slightly shorter but still tender and caring. None of the letters were long and all were written on the same fine airmail paper. Adonis folded them carefully and replaced the yellow ribbon as before. He sat for a long while holding them, knowing that he would be reading them all again, many times over.

  The bible that Padre Bernardino had given him before he left Cyprus and these letters, Adonis realized, were to be the only mementoes he would ever have from his father.

  Larnaka, 2010

  Eleni, my darling girl,

  You are the daughter I never had, and I have loved you as such. After your mama, my dear Sonia, died so tragically I vowed to take care of you and love you as much as I did Adonis. I pledged to look after you and make sure no harm ever came to you. Both you and Adonis were my joy and gave meaning to my life. Later on, when Marianna joined us the three of you brought me an abundance of happiness.

  By now you will have heard from Anita many things that you had no idea about. I hope and pray that the mature woman that you have grown into will understand and forgive anything you deemed our wrongdoing. I am proud and humbled by all your achievements, Eleni mou; I had no education beyond the elementary school but I have lived to see you, my little one, blossom into a clever girl with achievements beyond anyone’s imagining. A teacher, no less! But what am I saying? A university professor, a great academic! You are an anthropologist, my girl, so I hope you of all people will be able to understand all that you have learned from Anita. Over the decades, your aunt, your mother, your grandmother, great-grandmother and I have gone through a great deal. Much was good and some painful but on the whole, we survived the perils of life together. I salute you, Eleni – you come from a family of great women. Go through life being proud of who you are and remember the long line of wonderful strong females you are descended from.

  Your loving

  Tante

  Larnaka, 2010

  My darling Marianna,

  You are my alter ego. I have taken you into my heart, my girl; I rescued you as I was once rescued. I promised to protect and nurture you as I was once protected and nurtured. Under the roof of the Linser women, and away from the poisonous life of your early years you have grown and flourished and found a loving family as I did all those years ago.

  The three of you have been my beloved children and you have given me much joy. I die a happy woman knowing that you, Eleni, and Adonis are as close and as loving to each other as any three siblings, just as I have been with my dear Anita and Sonia. You will always have each other.

  I am more proud of you than you can ever know. You came from nothing but have made much of yourself and your life and have become the independent young woman that you are.

  I have loved you with all my heart, Marianna mou, but none of this would have happened if it weren’t for the woman who did all that for me, and more. Olga Linser and her heart of gold gave us both the opportunity to become the women we are. Having said that, many people get a helping hand to better themselves, yet they don’t always achieve it. You have succeeded because of your strength of character, your intelligence and determination.

  Be proud, be noble, and always remember the women who shaped both of our futures; we owe them much.

  Your loving

  Tante

  20

  It was Robert who first put the idea into Adonis’s head.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be great to go and see where you were born?’ he asked when they spoke later that evening after Adonis had read Ka
terina’s letter. ‘Vienna is not so far from Cyprus,’ he continued, encouraging Adonis. ‘You’re in Europe – now’s the time!’

  ‘I will if you come with us,’ Adonis replied, knowing that Robert wouldn’t refuse, and immediately started googling flights and hotels in Vienna on his iPad to show Eleni and Marianna.

  ‘Could it possibly be that the apartment block where they lived has been turned into a hotel?’ he asked the girls after one hotel in particular caught his eye. ‘Maybe there’s more than one Grashofgasse,’ he wondered, scrolling through the website with the girls.

  ‘I guess we’ll find out when we get there,’ Eleni replied, peering over his shoulder at the screen.

  They arrived in Vienna in brilliant sunshine, having never expected to find it so vibrant, light and hot. Stories of cold winter days had led them to believe that Vienna’s skies were grey and dull instead of the cloudless blue they now encountered.

  In the taxi from the airport they entered a city as beautiful as its legendary Empress Sissi, familiar to them from Grandmother Olga’s stories and from a Hollywood film made about her life.

  ‘I want to go to Sissi’s palace,’ Marianna had told them on the plane, leafing through her Guide to Vienna, which Anita had slipped into her bag before they left.

  ‘And you won’t be going alone,’ Adonis replied. ‘I’m right there with you!’

  Sissi’s celebrated beauty had held a childhood fascination for all three.

  ‘Me too!’ added Eleni, remembering how the two girls had often competed to be Sissi during their dressing-up sessions. Secretly Adonis wouldn’t have minded being her either, but thought better of it and kept faithful to his priestly robes.

  They met Robert at the hotel a day later.

  ‘This will make up for missing the funeral,’ he’d said, after booking his flight.

  ‘I wish Simon was free to join us,’ Eleni moped, ‘then it would have been perfect.’

  The Hotel Karntnerhof on Grashofgasse was at the end of a cul-de-sac in the heart of Vienna, but to their disappointment it was not what they had anticipated. The building had clearly not originally been built as an apartment block and later converted into a hotel as the address had led them to hope. It was a baroque-style palazzo, opulent and charming, probably built some 150 years before as the family home of a Viennese aristocrat. Adjoining the hotel, at the end of the cul-de-sac stood an impressive eighteenth-century bastion adorned with twenty-first-century graffiti.