When the Cypress Whispers

by Yvette Manessis Corporon

  “Welcome to Erikousa. I hope you will come to love our island as much as we do.” Yianni spoke directly to Stephen and in perfect English.

  “You speak English?” Stephen scanned Yianni head to toe. With his deep tan and frayed denim shorts, he wore the appearance of a man who spent his life on the open sea, not in a classroom learning proper English.

  “Yes, I speak English.” Yianni sipped his coffee. “I studied at Athens University before continuing my degree at Columbia.”

  “I didn’t know that. You never said you lived in New York.” Daphne stepped forward. She thought she had learned so much about him on their trip to Kerkyra. Now, once again, she felt she knew nothing.

  “Yes. The classics. I was going to be a great professor, you know.” He laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, the laugh of a man trying to convince himself as much as the others. This time Daphne had no trouble reading Yianni. She could see the longing in his eyes, hear the disillusionment in the crack of his voice. Everything about this man was so foreign, yet so familiar.

  “My plan was to come back to Athens and to open the minds of the younger generation to the lessons of our ancestors.” Yianni laughed at how ambitious it all sounded, how futile. “But things didn’t work out as planned. I studied at Columbia but left after a year.” He looked from Daphne to Stephen. “Ivy League life was not for me. I prefer the simplicity of life here. I was like a fish out of water. A bad pun, I know.” There was that laugh again. “But it is the truth.”

  “When were you there—when were you in New York, I mean? You could have gotten in touch with me, Yia-yia could have told you how.” Daphne surprised herself with the sincerity of her words.

  “It was years ago, Daphne. That was before I met your yia-yia, before I came to this island. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

  “That’s too bad. We could have met each other a lifetime ago, as you said.” It was Daphne’s turn to laugh now, thinking how nice it would have been to have had some link to Erikousa back home in New York. Daphne always felt like she straddled two worlds, her Greek life and her American life. She had always wished there were a way to bridge the gap between the two. But once Mama and Baba died, there was nothing or no one to share her Greek self with; it was as if part of her identity had died along with her parents.

  “Yes, it is too bad. I might have given New York another try had we met back then. Maybe I would have stayed longer, had reason to try harder. Things might have been different,” Yianni replied, never taking his eyes off of Daphne.

  “Well, it is beautiful. Amazing though, don’t you think that in this day and age things can still stay so old-fashioned”—Stephen glanced around at the sloped and cracked patio, past the gate to the dirt path in front of the house—“so unchanged.”

  “This place is unlike any other, and so are its people.” Yianni tugged at his beard. “But don’t be fooled by our outward simplicity, my new American friend. There are many layers to the people of this island, and many incredible things here besides the sea and its natural beauty.”

  Yianni took his hand from Yia-yia’s shoulder and leaned forward to grab Evie as she chased the chick across the patio. He plucked the little girl up and tossed her into the air, her laughter dancing across the treetops and across the island like a tender melody carried on the evening breeze. Yianni planted a gentle kiss on Evie’s head before setting her down again. The little girl stood there for a moment, looking up at Yianni, her cheeks red from laughter, her eyes glistening with mischief. She reached her little hand up and tickled Yianni’s belly with her tiny fingertips and was rewarded with a deep belly laugh. Evie stuck her tongue out at him and ran away, her giggles trailing behind like ribbons in the wind.

  Perhaps this is one of the magical things Yianni was talking about, Daphne thought as she watched Evie skip away. Daphne had never seen her little girl so at ease with a man before. Having grown up without a father, she wasn’t used to having men around; in fact, she was still getting used to Stephen.

  “Well, I guess I’m just a New Yorker, like my fiancée, right, Daphne?” Stephen pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. It was an unusual gesture from a man who rarely indulged in public displays of anything. This fact was not lost on Daphne.

  “Well, then, my congratulations again for the happy couple. It seems you were meant for each other.” He put his cap on his head, pulling the brim down so the black pools of his eyes were now shaded, almost obscured. “So, as I said, we may be simple people, but we are generous. What little we have, we share.” Yianni lifted the bucket from the floor and dumped its contents on the patio. “I know the bride likes sea urchins. Consider this a wedding gift.” About two dozen black and brown sea urchins spilled across the patio, the spiky creatures rolling in every direction along the uneven surface.

  “Kali nichta—good to meet you, Stephen. I hope you enjoy your visit with us.” Yianni kissed Yia-yia good-bye and tipped his hat to Popi and Daphne. He opened the gate and was hurtling down the stairs before the last of the sea urchins had settled into place.

  As one of the urchins stopped at her feet, Daphne bent to pick it up. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe she was just tired. But whatever the reason, Daphne was a bit more careless than usual when she bent down to pick up the black spiked ball at her feet. She cupped her fingers around the barbs and pressed on the sea urchin just a little harder than she should. She flinched as the spike penetrated her skin, a tiny red drop of blood emerging where it had broken through. Daphne brought her finger to her mouth and sucked until the blood disappeared in her mouth, the copper taste spilling across her tongue as she watched the gate slam shut.

  Twenty-seven

  Daphne and Yia-yia sat and clapped in time to the strumming of the bouzouki that blared from the cassette recorder in the kitchen.

  “Opa, Evie.” Daphne beamed as she watched her little girl dance in time to the music.

  “Bravo, koukla mou. Bravo, Evie,” Yia-yia said as Evie twirled round and round, her pink nightgown filling with air as if it were a balloon.

  “She likes a good party, just like her Thea Popi.” Daphne giggled. It was no secret that even in their colorful extended family, Popi stood out as the most fun-loving of all.

  And in fact that evening was no different. Even after a full day of festivities, dining, drinking, and gossiping with everyone who had come to welcome Stephen to Erikousa, Popi was still not content to call it a night. Popi suggested that she escort Stephen back to the hotel so Daphne could finish cleaning up and put Evie to bed. At first, Daphne resisted. After all, Stephen was her fiancé, and she knew he was already annoyed by the fact that she would not be staying at the hotel with him, that she instead chose to follow the island’s strict moral code. But in the end, Stephen didn’t seem to mind at all. He had been getting into the island spirit, first with several bottles of Mythos, then with the chilled shots of ouzo Popi insisted were yet another island tradition they must indulge in. In the end, all it took was Popi’s promise that she would reveal the deepest, darkest, and most embarrassing secrets of Daphne’s childhood once they reached the bar at the hotel. Stephen then kissed Evie, Yia-yia, and Daphne good night before linking arms with Popi for the dark walk back to the hotel.

  “This is nice.” Yia-yia put her hand on Daphne’s knee while they continued to watch Evie dance. “I love having you here, having you both here. Even if it’s for just a short while.”

  Evie bounced over to Yia-yia and gave her great-grandmother a hug. She lingered for a moment, just long enough for Yia-yia to feel the warmth of Evie’s soft cheek against her own. But then, just as the next song began, Evie sprang back into position, ready for their final recital of the evening. On tiptoes this time, hands held high above her head, she danced between her mother and great-grandmother as the music blanketed the night like a luxurious cashmere shawl.

  When her dance was finished, Evie again went to Yia-yia’s side and gave her a hug. Yia-yia held tight this time, stroking Evie’s hair as s
he leaned in and softly sang to her.

  I love you like no other . . .

  I have no gifts to shower upon you

  No gold or jewels or riches

  But still, I give you all I have

  And that, my sweet child, is all my love

  I promise you this,

  You will always have my love

  When the song was finished, Evie kissed the tip of Yia-yia’s nose and went off to play with her kitten.

  “Koukla mou”—Yia-yia smiled at Daphne—“always remember me when you hear that song.” Yia-yia lifted her hands to her chest and folded her spindly fingers over her heart. “Your mother and I would sing it to you over and over again as we watched you sleeping in your cradle, right here, where you are sitting now. We would stay here for hours, Daphne, just watching you breathe, just thanking the heavens for your perfection and praying to the agios that he walk beside you and keep you safe.”

  The olive and cypress trees around them vibrated in a subtle breeze. As their soft hum filled the air, Yia-yia spoke again. “Daphne mou, I will always sing for you. Even when you can’t hear me, even in your new life so many miles away from me, I know that I will always be there for you, singing those words for you, reminding you that you are loved.”

  “I know that, Yia-yia. I’ve always known that.” And she had. In a life filled with loss, Yia-yia had remained Daphne’s one constant. Her rock. Yia-yia had always been the one person Daphne knew would love her unconditionally and completely.

  With her wedding just days away, this was supposed to be a time of bliss for Daphne. But as happy as she was counting down the days until she and Stephen would become man and wife, along with the building excitement of each passing day came something Daphne hadn’t anticipated: a sense of melancholy. As the wedding approached, so did the reality that Daphne would soon be leaving the island to begin her new life—a life of luxury, financial security, and seemingly everything else she had struggled and prayed for through all the long, lonely years since Alex died. But in all the excitement of planning for the future, there was one thing Daphne had never stopped to think about. The beginning of a new life meant the end of another.

  Twenty-eight

  “Mommy, can I ask you something?” Evie climbed across the bed on all fours before yanking down the sheet and plopping her head on the pillow. She didn’t pull the covers up over her body, just lay there, straight and still, her slender tanned limbs naked to the night air.

  Daphne leaned forward and pulled the sheet to Evie’s chest. “Yes, honey. You can ask me anything.”

  “Can I bring my chick back to New York, Mommy?”

  “No, honey, you can’t. Our building doesn’t allow baby chicks.”

  Evie wrinkled her nose. “Well, can we just stay here, then? I don’t want to leave her. Her name is Sunshine, you know, because she’s yellow like the sun.”

  “I’m sorry, honey—we’re going to have to go back home, and Sunshine will need to stay here.”

  “Mommy, can I ask you something else?”

  “Of course, honey.” Daphne fluffed the pillow beneath Evie’s head.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Jack and Yia-yia and Erikousa? Why didn’t you ever tell me that it was so much fun here?” Evie waved her arms and legs across the bed as if the white cotton sheet were freshly fallen snow and she were making a snow angel.

  “But honey, I did tell you.” Daphne pushed a curl away from Evie’s face. “I did, remember. I told you all about Yia-yia and why we were coming here, so she could be at the wedding. Remember, honey?” She sat on the edge of the bed beside Evie, right where the angel’s wings would have been.

  Evie sat up in bed. “But you didn’t tell me how much fun it was here, how great everyone here is. Even when I don’t understand what they’re saying, they’re still really funny.”

  “Yes, honey. They are really funny.”

  “I wish we could come here all the time.”

  “I know, honey, I do too. I’m really happy we came. And we’ll come back again.” She leaned in and kissed Evie’s little pink lips. “Good night, Evie.”

  “Mommy.”

  “Yes, Evie.”

  “There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

  “Yes, honey. What is it?”

  “You had a lot of fun here when you were a little girl, right?”

  Daphne thought back to the happiest times of her childhood. Evie was right, they had all taken place right here. “Yes, Evie, I had the most fun of my life here.”

  “But I don’t understand, then, Mommy. You are always telling me to share my toys, that nice girls share. Why didn’t you share this place with me?” Evie yawned, staring up at her mother, waiting for an answer, unaware of the magnitude of her words. “I really wish you had shared this with me.”

  Speechless, Daphne bit her lip. She winced at the pain but bit down harder still, teeth cutting into soft flesh. The pain was sharp and stinging, but no match for the pain Evie’s words had caused.

  “Good night, Mommy. I’m really tired.” Evie rolled over on her side and was asleep instantly.

  As Daphne stood up to leave the room, she glanced back at the sleeping child. Yes, Evie had been right. It seemed Yia-yia wasn’t the only one in the family with secrets; Daphne had kept a few of her own.

  “THAT WAS QUICK.” YIA-YIA HANDED Daphne a glass of homemade wine as she sat down.

  “She was exhausted. It was a long, busy day.” Daphne lifted the glass to her lips. The wine was perfect, slightly sweet and chilled. As she took her first sips, Daphne decided not to trouble Yia-yia with the details of Evie’s indictment. She knew Yia-yia would be thrilled to hear how much Evie loved it here, but the rest of the conversation was something better left for mother and daughter to sort out. Yia-yia and Daphne had enough sorting out to do themselves.

  “You must be tired too.” Yia-yia nodded. “And what about your young man? Do you think Popi is still keeping him prisoner at the bar?”

  “No, she probably dumped him in favor of a German tourist.”

  “Or Italian.” Yia-yia smiled, her silver tooth glistening with saliva and firelight.

  “This is my favorite time of day.” Daphne brought the cool glass to her cheek, an instant respite from the warm night. “It always has been, you know. Even when I was a little girl, I loved nothing more than having you all to myself at night. Just the two of us and the fire and the breeze and your stories.”

  “You are wrong, Daphne mou. It’s never just the two of us, my dear love. It never has been.” She pulled her shawl tighter. Although the night air was thick and warm without the usual refreshing evening breeze, Yia-yia was chilled. She inched closer to the fire.

  “What do you mean?” There was no one else there, just Evie inside curled up in her bed and Daphne and Yia-yia here, side by side by the fire. “There’s no one else here.” Daphne looked around just to be certain.

  Yia-yia smiled as if she could somehow see the invisible guests that she spoke of. “Generations of our family, Daphne mou. They are all here. This is their home, and they have never left, just as I will never leave. They are all still here, all the women who have come before us, who guide us. We are not the first who know what it is to grieve, to have our men snatched away by Hades’ dark grip. We are not the first to wonder and ask how we will find the strength to care for the children left behind. But they know, Daphne mou. They know what it is to love a man, to love a child, to love another. And they are here to guide us when we don’t have the strength left to do so ourselves.”

  Daphne sipped her wine and glanced again around the empty patio, trying in vain to imagine the women Yia-yia had so vividly described. But it was no use. That was all right for now, at least for tonight. On this night, Daphne had another story in mind.

  “Tell me what happened, Yia-yia.” She pulled her chair closer. “Yia-yia, tell me the story, the story of you and Dora.”

  Yia-yia closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sea
breeze, as if summoning her memories from the evening air. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to be in Kerkyra that day,” Yia-yia began, her hands resting flat on her lap. “I rarely went to the main island back then. Why would I need to? I had no money to buy things with, no husband to shop for. Your papou had been missing for several months at that point, and I knew in my bones that he was dead.

  “I had a small baby, your mother, God rest her soul.” Yia-yia paused a moment, making the sign of the cross, and continued with her story. “Food was scarce back then—we had barely enough to survive. I was terrified that we would starve. There was a war going on around us, Daphne, and as much as the islanders take care of one another, help one another, our friends and family had barely enough to feed their own children—I could not ask them to feed us as well. To make the trip to Kerkyra, I left your mother with my thea for the day, and I traded eggs for the kaiki ride, since I had no money to pay. Your papou left behind many debts when we lost him, and I knew he owed money to the tailor in Corfu. He had told me what a kind and generous man this tailor was, how he had made Papou a new shirt for Easter and told him to pay when he could. I knew I needed to go to him, to thank this man for his kindness and try to repay the debt the only way I could, with eggs and olive oil. The night before the trip, the agios came to me in a dream. He called to me, Daphne. He spoke to me. It had been a long time since I had prayed at the agios’s side, so I went. I went straight from the port to the church and I knelt beside him that morning and prayed he would protect us, help me find a way to survive with no money and no husband. And then I lit a candle and left the church, walking back through the old city to the Jewish quarter and the tailor’s shop, having faith that my prayers would somehow be answered.”

  Yia-yia stopped once again. Her breath was rapid and shallow. As she spoke, it was as if each word was siphoning the energy from her frail body. But that didn’t stop her. She breathed deeply this time and waited, as if her beloved island breeze could breathe new life into her. She began again, her voice stronger this time.