The Girl Under the Olive Tree

by Leah Fleming

  It was hard for Yolanda to sleep with a lifetime of news spinning round in her head. Penny had taken the account of Bruce’s death without tears. She always did put a brave face on her sorrow. To have Penny back in her life was such an unexpected gift. She was right, they were two of a kind, having been through so much together and apart.

  She hadn’t admitted to the real reason she had gone in search of Andreas or Penny in Chania, and all that followed. To do that she must face one of her own dark secrets in the fight for survival, one only Andreas knew. She’d not mentioned Stavros or those last terrible months of occupation.

  September 1944

  The bitterness grew in Yolanda’s heart from exhaustion and fury as she tried to put back the destruction of the farm and the crops. Clearing debris was backbreaking with little help. They repaired the stone house as best they could and she filled the room with flowers to take away the smell of those thieves and looters.

  Andreas came and went, and the coolness between them grew. She wanted to reach out to him but, surrounded by comrades in arms, he was too busy to take much notice of her signals. The andartes also came and went for fresh supplies of clothing and food but it was dangerous for any of them to be seen out in the open now.

  There were rewards of big bags of rice for information leading to the capture of Kapetan Cyclops and his bandits. There was such hunger, and villagers might be tempted.

  The late summer heat lingered, crops withered early, but Yolanda dug deep into her reserves of grief and determination to keep them fed and watered, often carrying water on her back if they were in an arid rocky hideout.

  She felt she was being punished for doubting the loyalty of one of Andreas’ men and for bringing the enemy to their door to search for her.

  Now she kept her own counsel as Stavros returned from Chania. He looked surprised to see her, eyeing her as if she was a bad smell. In turn, she stood, arms folded, hardly acknowledging his heroic return. But she did question him about the fate of the Jews and prisoners in Agia.

  He shrugged. ‘They went away in trucks. I was lucky to escape. A guard was bribed and, when they were loading us up, he pulled me out of sight.’

  Yolanda was not convinced. Why had he come back? Was he biding his time before betraying them? It had happened before, but to prove it was another matter. He knew who she was. Had he betrayed her too? Would the German soldiers come back for her? It felt as if her whole world were falling apart, wondering just who she could trust and who was watching their comings and goings.

  Then one morning two scruffy men appeared at the door begging for food; miserable, filthy, foreign strangers. She’d been warned about deserters and she was glad Adonis and Dimitra were now back home so she was not alone with them.

  ‘We are soldiers . . . Germany is finished, no good . . . we will fight with you now,’ they stuttered.

  Yolanda was careful to give nothing away. She fed them, as was the custom when strangers came to the door, sat them down with the last of the rough wine. One boy was from Yugoslavia, the other from Romania, or so they said. They wanted to go home. ‘We make no more war with friends.’

  The andartes had gathered up a few genuine deserters over the past months. They were useful with information and, of course, speaking German. They were known to the loyal policemen, who would use them to check out any other deserters. This way they’d picked up spies posing as deserters and shot them.

  Adonis wasn’t fit to take them up to a rendezvous to pass them over so Yolanda said she would run, herself, to Andreas’ camp and warn them to expect new arrivals. They wouldn’t be allowed near their base camp.

  It was another hard trek, making the usual detours and false doglegs just in case she was being followed. It was noon by the time she found Andreas, sitting round a fire, roasting hares.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with them,’ she explained. ‘They say they want to fight. They have very little Greek.’

  ‘Come sit, eat. You did right to warn us. Take them to the old cave on the high rocks and we’ll check them out there. Can you do this? Are you strong enough?’

  It was the first time her husband had enquired after her health, the first time he’d shown appreciation of all her efforts. She sped back downhill with wings on her feet and, under cover of darkness, with the shepherd Taki pointing a rifle behind them, she escorted them back up to the cliff top. The strangers, cheered by wine and cheese, whistled and chattered along the track, unconcerned about being guarded.

  Andreas, Stavros and two other men were waiting to greet them with slaps on the back. ‘You are good men, come join us.’ They’d done this many times before.

  Yolanda was happy to be spending the night with her husband, alone for the first time in weeks. That vixen Anna, who’d ogled him in her kitchen, had disgraced herself by running off with one of his men, against all the rules and custom. They would be hunted down and punished. Yolanda slept with Andreas under his blanket and he reached out for her with desire, making her weep with relief to feel wanted again.

  Stavros offered to keep guard on the two deserters as they slept in the cave under guard. A lookout sat up all night watching for any movement that might mean betrayal, but there was none.

  In the morning a strange thing happened. The two men emerged silent and sullen, not wanting to talk, gabbling among themselves in German, thinking no one else would understand them. ‘We go back now, no stay here. It is dangerous . . .’ They looked frightened.

  Andreas, sensing something had altered, had them tied up. ‘You’ve seen our faces, you’ve seen this place. We can’t let you go now. Stavros, what did you tell them?’

  He shrugged. ‘They are spies. They should be shot.’

  ‘Why?’ Yolanda snapped. ‘Why do you say that?’ She sensed they were just two lost boys in need of direction.

  ‘You can’t trust men who desert their units. They can turn coat again.’ He was staring at the strangers with contempt.

  Then one of the men screamed, ‘No kill, no kill . . . kill him. He is spy, he is bad man. I see him. You are all spies come to trap us, to kill us . . .’ He was shaking with terror. ‘He come and tell us go back or he will kill us. We are traitors to the Reich, he said.’

  Stavros pulled out his gun to shoot the boy but Andreas stayed his arm. ‘Why is he saying this? He has never met you before, or has he?’

  ‘He speaks good German,’ the other boy shouted. ‘He is German spy. You are all his friends. You are spies.’

  Stavros wrenched his arm free and shot the boy, and then turned his gun on Andreas for a second. ‘They lie, these peasants always lie to save their skins. They talk rubbish. I am one of you. Have I not served you well?’

  Yolanda rushed to the injured man to stem the blood flowing from his chest. ‘What did I tell you, Andreas? The boy is speaking the truth. Can’t you see he threatened them? They are terrified.’

  ‘Don’t listen to a Jew, they lie. She should be with the rest of her kind. She knows nothing.’

  ‘Don’t speak of my wife like that. It was you who told me she was dead. Why did you escape that hellhole and no one else did, unless . . .’

  Stavros pointed the gun again at Andreas. The other men stood in shock, fishing for their knives. ‘You are making a big mistake. It is I who have kept you safe all these months. If it was not for me giving false information, you would be dead long ago. I admire your stand for freedom.’ Stavros stepped back, ready to spray his bullets across the men. ‘I am no traitor. I have always worked for the freedom of the Greek national people. Can’t you see the threat coming? The communists are taking over, allies of Russia are all around us. We nationalists must stick together.’

  ‘So it was you I saw, signalling to the patrol, the day Panayotis died,’ Yolanda shouted.

  ‘I give them a little and take a lot. You have to understand, it is for the best.’

  Andreas lurched forward. ‘How could I have been such an idiot? No, it was you who made me doubt my wife’s
good instinct, you insulted her people. Was it you who sent the beasts to our door, ransacked our home and desecrated our land. Why?’

  Stavros backed again and snarled like a cornered rat. ‘Why, you stupid fools? You can’t beat the might of the master race. You island fools think you can resist without punishment, hide English soldiers without punishment, kill good men before they even land without punishment, and then you shelter these scum of the earth, deserters, give them food and arms against their own comrades. What I do is for the good of the Greek nation. I will not see our country brought down by Russian bears. I was keeping you all safe. You have to understand that.’ He was waving the gun in Andreas’ face.

  Andreas stood firm, his cheeks twitching with rage. ‘What I see are good men dead because of you, men tortured, deported, executed. We will take you before the court. We do not shoot before we are sure of our facts.’ Andreas stood firm. ‘Give me your gun.’

  Stavros spat on the ground, then dropped the pistol. ‘Do what you like, you are all dead men. It is only a matter of time before they come for you. They know exactly where you are – the tracks to base camp are easy to search – and when they find you they’ll take her and send her to the death camps with all the rest.’

  Yolanda heard all this as she finished the tourniquet round the boy’s shoulder. The shot had missed his lungs and heart. He would live, but her own anger erupted into a blaze of fury at all the treachery of this loud-mouthed fascist. She saw his pistol, dropped on the ground. Kneeling up from her crouched position, she grabbed it, as if to finish off a mad dog, and shot Stavros in each leg, one bullet for each parent.

  He staggered backwards in shock. ‘Stop that witch!’ He was edging slowly towards the rocks as his legs collapsed under him, kneeling as if in prayer. No one spoke, no one helped him as he shuffled back from Yolanda’s gun, losing his balance, toppling backwards to the edge of the rock face. He looked down and then up in horror. Yolanda stood above him.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ she screamed. His face was filled with horror at the chasm below him and the look of revenge on her face as she nudged him with his own gun. He was helpless, crippled by pain but he cried out, ‘Stop her madness!’

  The men closed in on him, forcing him back until he keeled over the edge, his scream echoing around the rocks. Then there was silence.

  Yolanda allowed herself a brief smile as she threw down the gun. ‘What? Did you think I’d wait for him to talk himself out of this? His kind gave my family no quarter. Take me home, Andreas.’

  2001

  ‘How did I do that to a man in cold blood? I think his bones are out there still, unburied and unmourned. I forgot my vows, Penny. I did what I did and I’ve wondered all my life whether I did right. My work was to save lives, not to takeany.’

  They were walking across the fields, checking the young stock as she told her secret, hidden for so long.

  ‘It was the uniform and the brainwashing that created such monsters,’ Penny replied. ‘I hope I’d have had the courage to do the same.’

  ‘But what if he wasn’t a traitor but just a nationalist? Did I tell you that he recognized you from that wedding photo? He kept asking questions about you.’

  Penny nodded. ‘He was a fascist when I met him, an ardent convert. We went out together for a little time in Athens but I couldn’t stand his views. I think he was a menace. I did catch a glimpse of him but I don’t think he recognized me then. I ran away to warn Bruce but no one believed me either. I’m glad you told me. I did wonder what happened to him. How did Andreas react to being betrayed?’

  ‘He was shocked and he looked at me with different eyes after that, with respect. They all looked at me with respect,’ Yolanda chuckled. ‘Especially when I had a knife in my hand.’ Her dark eyes sparkled at the retelling of such a drama. ‘We began again and it was good between us.’

  ‘Did they come for him?’

  ‘No, of course not, we were never troubled again. The enemy were too busy saving their own skins. But after the war there were recriminations and many partisans were executed by makeshift courts. We had such a short time in peace.

  ‘Andreas went back to the Red Cross and helped with its relief programmes. I never nursed again. How could I when I’d killed a man? But I worked with him, distributing food aid. The Red Cross ships came into the harbour late in’44. They saved many lives with food shelters and medical supplies.

  ‘When I think about that time now, I feel good that I fought back. I didn’t stand back and leave it to others to do the dirty work,’ she sighed. ‘That’s what I think now but it’s not what I felt then. Time changes everything.’

  It was strange waking up in Sarika’s villa, with its cool marbled tiles, pretty white-lace cotton drapes, heavy dark furniture and the icon of the Virgin and Child in the corner. I could hear the chatter outside from daybreak. Everyone makes the most of the cool summer morning in Crete.

  I lay back, thinking how easily I could’ve gone home without ever knowing Yolanda was alive. It felt like a dream, and the fact she’d sat with Bruce until the end was a such a comfort to know. If I’d not gone to the cemetery and seen the grave, or to the synagogue . . . It didn’t bear thinking about, and now we were going to find old Clarence. I’d thought about the tree only a few days before, wondering if it’d gone for firewood by now.

  I had decided in the small hours to change my scheduled flight, put it back for a week. Lois wouldn’t mind. There was only the dog to return to and he was safe with the kennels.

  How could I leave when we’re just getting to know each other again? Life had been tough for my friend, widowed young, but there was a bond between her and her family, with respect for each other. Women were always at the centre of such tight knit Greek families, in the background, but holding real power, and Sarika was growing just the same with her own children.

  Nothing was too much trouble for my comfort: how rich a welcome I’d been given. I could hear their loud voices echoing around Sarika’s house as I sat on the balcony of my bedroom, staring out at the grandeur of their hillside surroundings and Yolanda’s beautiful garden next door. I heard the tinkle of the sheep bells on the wind and drank in the morning scents on the air.

  As I dressed I wondered just what this day would bring. I must ask Lois to pack my suitcase when she called later.

  We ate a breakfast of white figs and fresh yogurt with coffee, and when Lois and Alex arrived I told them my change of plan. This led to a flurry of phone calls and Mack promised to set all the new arrangements in motion for me. We set off in convoy down the track, winding down a side lane, cutting across the hills until I totally lost my bearings. Then after fifteen minutes we came to the old villa, which had scaffolding all round it.

  ‘They say a Greek footballer has bought it for his family,’ said Sarika.

  ‘No, it is a politician,’ argued Yolanda. ‘Only they have the money.’

  ‘Everything’s changed since we’re in Europe, grants, new roads, tourism, so many concrete lorries on the road. Where will it end?’ Sarika shouted in perfect English.

  ‘What happened to Ike and Katrina?’ I asked.

  ‘They went back to America. It was hard after the war and people took sides. Ike took his family back and rented out the land. Then the plants climbed over the house to strangle it,’ Yolanda said.

  We parked round the back. No one was working on site, and, apart from the scaffolding, nothing had changed. I could feel myself tensing up. Would the old olive tree still be standing? There were wire fences everywhere. The land was partitioned into sections, some cleared with sheep grazing, others wild and left to run riot, but the olive grove looked as it always had, pruned, tended and the blossom still on the branches.

  ‘Can we go in without permission?’ I asked.

  ‘Poof ! No one here to see us,’ Yolanda dismissed with a wave of her hand. ‘Now where is this tree you give name to? You English are so sentimental . . .’

  Lois was laughing. ‘S
he still drives a car called Mabel, won’t change it for a new model.’

  ‘When Mabel retires so will I. She’s been a good friend.’ I found my pace quickening, trying to recall how far from the house I used to sit with the children for a peck of peace in that noisy household. Then I recalled how we hid Bluey and his band of brothers not far from the tree.

  ‘There was an ancient chamber, a hole in the ground somewhere close to the tree, I’m sure.’

  Alex was racing round. ‘Is this it?’ He was pointing to a squat trunk, the size of a beer barrel, with swirling bark. ‘It’s the fattest one, Aunt Pen.’

  I stood eyeing it up. ‘So it is. I didn’t think it could last so long.’

  ‘The olive is the most ancient of trees. They can last for thousands of years. It has one deep root sunk into the earth but to fruit well they must be pruned hard, and this one has, but I see no face in it,’ Yolanda laughed.

  ‘I sat here many times and thought of home far away, and it was here that Bruce and I, we talked, and you know . . . But a box? Where would you hide a box? The ground is solid as rock, years of soil and leaves. I don’t think we’ll find anything here,’ I sighed. ‘Tell Lois what Bruce said to you.’

  Yolanda repeated the story of the box and Clarence, and something about a hole. ‘He was very confused but he called your name. Why are you smiling at such sad things?’ she said.

  ‘I was thinking of Bluey and the boys, hiding in the chamber. What if he meant the hole near Clarence, the escape hole? When patrols came by, the escapers ran for the hole in the olive grove. It was where Ike hid his oil and grain; no one knew it was there. They said it was haunted by ancient spirits. It was the perfect hiding place. It’s not far from here.’

  ‘Is this an ancient burial site?’ Lois asked, but no one answered. ‘If there is one burial chamber there will be others. How exciting.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Sarika replied. ‘No one wants to find such stuff on their land. The government will want to buy the land and dig on it.’