Kapelis- The Hatmaker

by Andreas Kappa

  Aspros said, ‘I know, Andreas. Do not worry if you find me guilty of the charges. I know you will apply the law correctly. It is what it is.’

  Andreas said to Aspros, ‘Dear friend, I have made a beautiful fisherman’s cap for you for luck in your case. I want you to swear on our children and our long friendship that you will always wear this cap and always keep it near you when you are not wearing it until you close your eyes.’

  Aspros agreed to always keep his word to his friend. Aspros had nine children and was always trying to keep them fed.

  Andreas then looked at the prosecution case very carefully. The charges were that Aspros had committed larceny with nine counts of the charge.

  The evidence was from the owner of the orchard. He alleged that he was in his house when he saw Aspros taking nine oranges which were his, and the police who found the nine oranges on the dinner table at Aspros’s home. The nine counts represented each of the oranges.

  The penalty for larceny was monetary compensation for the oranges and one month in jail for each charge. Aspros was not involved in EAM, nor was he a fighter during the war. He was a simple peasant. He was, however, unsympathetic to the king, and he was a democrat.

  The trial was heard by Andreas as the prosecution led their case. Andreas asked the owner if he wore glasses and if he had his glasses on that day, as he was quite a distance from Aspros.

  He agreed he wore glasses and did not have them on at the time. He also agreed that there was a thoroughfare outside his orchard used by the public. Finally, he agreed that when he saw Aspros with the oranges, they were in a basket and that the oranges may have fallen on to the roadway from hanging branches when Aspros picked them up.

  The prosecutor at this stage of the trial was agitated.

  Andreas said to the prosecutor, ‘Bring your next witness.’

  The police officer was called to give evidence.

  Andreas asked him, ‘When you went to Aspros’s house and observed the oranges, what state were they in?’

  The police officer said, ‘A bit battered, slightly rotting, and losing their colour.’

  Andreas said, ‘Like oranges that had fallen off the tree for some time?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the police officer.

  ‘I see,’ said Andreas.

  Andreas said, ‘Is that your case, Prosecutor?’

  The prosecutor said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have any witnesses, Aspros?’ demanded Andreas.

  ‘Yes, I do. Our village priest, Father Tsarouhis,’ said Aspros. ‘And then I will give evidence.’

  ‘Father,’ said Andreas, ‘what did you see on the day Aspros took the oranges?’

  Father Tsarouhis said, ‘I was walking along the roadway to reach the village, and I saw several oranges that had fallen off the trees on the roadway far beyond the fence of the owner.’

  Andreas said, ‘Thank you, Father.’

  Aspros then gave evidence and repeated what the priest had said and finally said, ‘I only took nine to give to each of my children, but there were many more on the road.’

  Andreas then said to the prosecutor, ‘The criminal code says that it is a complete defence to larceny if fruit is left on a public road by the owner and not claimed within a reasonable time. Do you agree that Aspros should be found not guilty?’

  The prosecutor replied in an annoyed voice, ‘You are the law here, not me.’

  That remark brought a chill to Andreas’s spine. Andreas knew he had been set up.

  The next morning at 6 a.m., there was a thunderous knock on Andreas’s door. The knock woke the entire family. Two police officers were present with an inspector from Patras. They were Hittes, black cap fascist policemen similar to the German Gestapo.

  Andreas was arrested without charge and taken by police truck to the police station at Aegion, which had a cell with iron bars at the rear. Andreas was placed in the smallest cell.

  At the police station, the police took out their batons and took Andreas to a holding cell at the rear of the police station. They beat him to a pulp, concentrating the beatings mainly under his feet so he could not walk.

  The inspector was the leader of the Hittes in the Peloponnese. He came in after the beatings had finished. Andreas knew him as Peter Andropoulos from Akrata. A black-souled, wicked, money-hungry man known as ‘the poison dwarf’. He said, ‘You are a traitor and collaborator of EAM.’

  Andreas denied the allegations that he was a traitor and a collaborator.

  The inspector said, ‘Why did you not convict Aspros?’

  Andreas said, ‘Because he was innocent.’

  The Inspector said, ‘Then you are guilty of not complying with the royal orders-in-council. Do you have the orders with you?’

  Andreas said, ‘No, I left them at the village. Anyway, the orders were illegal.’

  The inspector said, ‘Do you want to make it worse for yourself with an answer like that?’

  Andreas immediately went silent and awaited his fate. He was then kept in the waiting cells.

  Each day around ten o’clock, two police officers would enter Andreas’s cell and beat him mercilessly for hours. They would hit him around the head and neck one day, around the spine and stomach the next. The most painful beating Andreas endured was to his ankles and under his feet; he could not walk afterwards.

  After a week of these vicious attacks, the judge from Patras whom he knew from their monthly meetings attended to Andreas in the cell.

  He said, ‘We cannot find the proclamation in your village after an extensive search. Where is it?’

  Andreas said, ‘I don’t know.’

  The judge said, ‘I don’t believe you, but in any event, you knew what it said.’

  Andreas said, ‘Yes, I did, and it was illegal, unconstitutional, and of no legal force or effect.’

  The judge said, ‘Is that your defence?’

  ‘Yes. I do not depart from that position. This is an attempt to pervert the course of justice.’

  The judge said, ‘Very well. Your defence is rejected and dismissed. I find you summarily guilty of the offence of failing to obey the royal orders-in-council. How say you as to punishment?’

  Andreas said in boiling anger, ‘Plato said, “Man hangs man so never worry about a snake bite.” Hang me.’

  The judge was furious. ‘I will do one better than that. You are sentenced to five years’ hard labour on the island of Makronisos as a communist and traitor of Greece.’

  Andreas said, ‘So be it.’

  The judge then went on further to say, ‘Inspector, you are to open a fakelo [a file] and register Andreas Kapelis and his entire family of Vrostena as communists, anti-monarchists, and traitors of the state of Greece. That fakelo will remain in the civic registry until that order is dissolved by the king himself or his successors. The file is to be opened instanter this day. I order the immediate transportation of Andreas to Makronisos without notification to his family until my further orders.’

  The inspector did precisely what the judge ordered him to do. Andreas was then taken from the cell to a police truck and placed in the small cell in manacles on his feet and handcuffs on his hands.

  He held his head downward at the ground in shame—not for himself, but for his country, which had now punished him.

  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  MAKRONISOS, 1947

  It was now October 1947, and the cold was beginning to sweep across Greece. It took two days of fractured travel to reach the peninsula of Sounio.

  Andreas was not fed and given little water during the transportation. As the weather was getting colder, he was given nothing but his own clothes to keep warm.

  The civil war between the democrats and the monarchists was taking its toll on Greece. There were many casualties of Greeks fighting Greeks, and it did not seem to end.

&nbs
p; Makronisos was where many people who had fought to liberate Greece from the Germans during World War II met their fate at the hands of their countrymen—tortured and killed because of their political beliefs.

  The men who lived and died there were the first victims of the Civil War. It was really the equivalent of Alcatraz.

  Andreas was transported to the island by boat. He was one of many who had paid a horrific personal price for being a patriot.

  The plan from the king was to rehabilitate these ‘bad’ Greeks into model citizens. Even though they had previously participated in the national resistance against the German occupation, they were now considered traitors and enemies of the state.

  Their rehabilitation was called the baptistery of Siloam and consisted of torture, living in tents in extreme hot or cold weather, hunger and thirst, solitary confinement, threats, and brainwashing.

  When their spirit was broken, they could sign a declaration admitting wrongdoing and asking for forgiveness. They were then sent to the front lines to fight against their comrades.

  Those who refused to sign were tried in a tribunal court, executed by firing squad, or locked up in the military prison of Makronisos. The clear majority of prisoners were left on the island to be tortured and abused.

  Andreas refused to sign any declaration and fight against his compatriots in EAM. He was beaten and tortured, yet his spirit remained intact.

  After three months on the island, he heard a familiar voice. The voice was that of Father Tsarouhis, who had given evidence in the prosecution against Aspros. The friends embraced.

  Father Tsarouhis said to Andreas, ‘Do not worry. God is great. Keep your faith. There will be change. I was tried by the tribunal as giving false evidence to support an acquittal in Aspros’s case and taken to Patras, beaten and ill treated, and then transported here to be with you, the ‘corrupt’ judicial officer.’

  The friends laughed. Tsarouhis had been given a three-year hard-labour sentence for giving false evidence.

  Andreas said to the priest, ‘The saddest thing about this island is that the most beautiful Helen of Troy sought refuge here when the Trojan War commenced.’

  Psychological and physical torture was inflicted on the men almost on a daily basis. The priest suffered less, as the guards respected his station in life and feared for their souls in the afterlife. They had to fend for themselves for food, like crabs, fish, rodents, and badgers. They ate wild grass when it was available for some vegetables.

  The ELAS fighters were now allied with the Communist Party (KKE) of Greece and had formed the Democratic Army of Greece (DSE) to take control of the government and expel the king to form a democratically elected government.

  Many thousands of children and people were displaced or executed in fierce fighting between the factions.

  Andreas and the priest were prohibited from sending communication to their family, and none was received because their families did not where they were.

  The guerillas fighting against the government forces were collectively known as Adartes.

  During the civil war, more than twenty-five thousand children, most with parents in the DSE, were also placed in thirty ‘child towns’ under the immediate control of Queen Frederika of Greece, something especially emphasised as abhorrent by the communists.

  By the end of September 1949, the main body of the DSE was battle worn and defeated. Other older combatants—alongside injured fighters, women, and children—were relocated to European socialist states.

  On 16 October 1949, Zachariadis announced a ‘ceasefire to prevent the complete annihilation of Greece’. The ceasefire marked the end of the Greek Civil War.

  Andreas and Father Tsarouhis had been on Makronisos for over two years and closer to almost three years. They were paper-thin physically.

  The guard came up to them one evening and said, ‘The minister of interiors has directed the release of all prisoners on Makronisos. We will arrange your transport from the island and then transport you back to your villages. You traitors should know that whilst you have been here in Makronisos, almost one hundred thousand ELAS fighters and communist sympathizers able to serve in DSE ranks have been imprisoned, exiled, or executed. There is nothing left of ELAS. Go back to your homes and keep your tongues in your heads.’

  Andreas and the priest were downhearted with the news and knew that the Kingdom of Greece prevailed.

  Andreas travelled in an open truck with the priest back home to Vrostena with other men travelling to their villages in the Peloponnese.

  They both felt lighthearted and relieved they were going home.

  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  VROSTENA, 1949–1960

  When Andreas entered his home, Ourania wept like a child.

  He also noticed that his seven beautiful children had grown up. Kostas was now almost twenty and was a handsome young man. His other sons had grown, and his daughters were little angels.

  Ourania said, ‘We thought you were dead. Kalapaseas had advised us you were convicted of treason but could say no more about where you were or if you were alive or dead. All he said was that if you were dead, the body would have been returned home.’

  Andreas said, ‘I know.’

  Ourania said, ‘You look awful and so very thin and pale. Rest, and I will make you a meal.’

  Andreas rested and fell asleep.

  The next day, Andreas said to his eldest child, Kostas, ‘What are you doing with your life?’

  Kostas said, ‘I am here in the village, being an agrarian. I finished school here in the village and went to high school in Akrata, and when I asked to finish my schooling in Patras, I was advised I was the son of a communist and could not proceed any further in my education. I am thinking of going to Athens to work or, if that fails, to travel overseas as a migrant to Canada, United States, or Australia.’

  Andreas was shattered. His actions as a father were devastating to his family. The beatings and the torture he endured were minimal compared to the punishment he had inadvertently inflicted on his loved ones.

  Ourania cried in the background.

  Yiannis was two years younger than Kostas and an A grade student like himself. Yiannis told him the same story.

  There had been political prohibition on his beloved sons advancing in their education.

  Achilleas had just been advised of the same position by the Department of Education in Athens. Achilleas had set his mind on being a music teacher.

  The entire family then tended to their crops, tobacco, olive trees, cherries, and grapes to eke out a living.

  The legacy of the civil war appeared in the village. There were the democrats, who were regarded as communists, and the monarchists.

  There was no choice, if you were against the king, and despite what political beliefs you held, you were a communist.

  The rupture was so great that the village now had two coffee lounges, rather than one unified coffee lounge, to cater to opposing camps.

  Andreas was very sad that this had happened. Where would it end?

  Andreas had lost his appointment as a judge. He was no longer the mayor of the village. All his titles were gone. He had ruined his children’s education.

  But he and his family were lucky to be alive.

  As his sadness grew, he became more introverted and introspective in all his actions. He thought much and said little. His greatest evil was that for all his education and experience, he was now a peasant.

  Kostas did what he had promised and left for Athens. He struggled to find work for two reasons. First, work was scarce in Athens after both World War II and the civil war. Second, if he applied for any employment remotely associated with the government or banks, he was told there was a fakelo (a file) that stated that he was the son of a communist and traitor.

  Finally, in 1953 Kostas signed himself up to join the immig
ration policy of Australia on a work visa. He was given fifty Australian pounds as an emigrant as part of a start-up programme.

  Kostas returned to the village to bid his family farewell. He kissed and embraced his brothers and sisters. He gave a deep hug and many kisses to his mother. He left Andreas for last.

  Andreas was sitting on a wicker chair on the veranda, looking in the distance towards the Corinthian Sea.

  Kostas said, ‘Farewell, dear Father, I will miss you.’

  Andreas kissed his son on the lips only once and said, ‘You have my eternal blessing, and please climb up the mountain.’

  Kostas’s eyes welled up as he left for Athens.

  Andreas showed no emotion. He did not move from his seat. He did not eat that night. He went to bed and slept.

  The next day, when the children left the house and Ourania was tending to the animals, leaving the house empty, he took a photograph of his son Kostas hanging on the wall and placed it on his heart.

  He put his head in his lap and cried and wept until his eyes were bloodshot with tears. His emotions were uncontrollable with heartache and sorrow. When would he ever see his child again?

  When the family returned, he had made sure he had cleansed his face and wiped away the tears. He sat at the table that was almost silent.

  The family continued without Kostas in their daily chores.

  Kostas arrived in Australia after a month-long journey by ship in 1953. The ship was almost full with Greek migrants, some Italians, and a few Egyptians with Greek roots.

  When Kostas arrived in Australia, he could not speak a word of English. He secured a job with a Greek restaurateur who operated a Greek restaurant in the city of Sydney in New South Wales. He wrote often to the family back in the village and sent money to his family to support them.

  Andreas would sit on the veranda every day, and when the family left, he would weep with many, many tears rolling down his cheeks. His heart was heavy and broken.