‘What’s the matter?’ asked Katarides.
His son hesitated before he admitted. ‘Lice.’
‘Lice . . .’ Katarides looked pained. ‘My poor boy.’
‘It’s nothing. You get used to it,’ Andreas lied. ‘The soup is good. Tastes all the better for the meal being eaten out here. Just like things used to be.’ His gaze shifted to the plates and glasses at the far end of the table. ‘Well, almost.’
Katarides shrugged. ‘Our diet is a little simpler these days but the company is as good as ever.’ He reached forward and poured them all a glass of water and raised his. ‘
Eviva
.’
‘
Eviva
,’ the others responded warmly and Andreas exchanged a fond smile with Eleni as they drank the toast.
Andreas had been existing on a diet of rock bread and gruel for the last few weeks, eating his meals outside the cave, and had grown a little unaccustomed to the comforts of eating at home. So he gulped down his soup and used the last of his bread to mop up the inside of the bowl before he sat back with a smile of contentment.
‘You approve of my cooking, then?’ Eleni teased.
‘It is an improvement on the fare offered by Yannis, yes.’
‘Pah, that fool will never make anyone a good wife.’
‘And you would?’ Andreas raised a brow. ‘I fear your work for the resistance might have spoiled your domestic skills. Perhaps spoiled you as a wife.’
Eleni’s expression became serious. ‘I have as much right to defend my country as anyone else. I can fight the enemy just as well as any man.’
‘I meant no offence!’ Andreas chuckled. ‘Seriously, Eleni. I respect your courage and your convictions with every fibre of my being.’
She raised her spoon and jabbed it in his direction. ‘Be sure that you do, Andreas Katarides, or I will make you suffer.’
He held up his hands in surrender and then leant back in his chair and watched her finish her soup. At the head of the table Katarides lowered his spoon and smiled fondly.
‘So, when are you two going to get married, eh?’
There was a difficult pause while Andreas and Eleni stared at Katarides and then glanced across the table at each other self-consciously.
‘Married?’ Eleni repeated with a shocked expression. ‘Me marry your lice-ridden lout of a son. I think you must be joking. Nothing could be further from my mind.’
‘Not while the war lasts, perhaps,’ Katarides replied. ‘But afterwards?’
‘There may be no afterwards,’ Andreas said quietly. ‘Best not to even contemplate such things until it is safe to do so, even if there was a chance that Eleni would accept such a proposal.’
‘I think she might. If you asked her.’
Andreas looked away from them both, fixing his gaze on the flag above the prefecture. ‘I would have no right to ask at present.’
‘And what about me?’ Eleni cut in. ‘Have I no say?’
‘Of course,’ said Katarides. ‘Only I venture to suspect that your heart has already spoken for you in this matter, if I have read the symptoms right over the time I have known you, my girl.’
‘I am not a girl.’
‘You are not any longer.’ Katarides bowed his head. ‘I apologise. You are a woman, and Andreas is now a man, and I am wise enough to see that there is a bond between you that is more than just friendship. Am I wrong? . . . No, I thought not. And yes, my son, now is not the time to be married, but love does not choose its moment. It brooks no interference from the world, come any catastrophe. Life is too brief a thing not to seize upon love when you find it. I learned that from the short time I had with your mother. If you love each other, then accept it, while you can . . .’
Andreas could not bring himself to look at Eleni for fear of revealing how his father’s words had touched him. He leaned forward to refill his glass and take a sip before he made himself laugh.
‘The poet in you has not died after all. But, Father, leave love poetry to others. You are better than that.’
Katarides tipped his head slightly to the side. ‘It is an emotion I am unfamiliar with on paper, I grant you. But I have lived long enough to know the signs. And I hope to live long enough to be proved right.’
‘I’ll clear this away,’ said Eleni, rising from her chair. ‘Best not let the Italians know you’ve had company.’
Briskly loading the tray she picked it up and headed towards the door leading back into the servants’ quarters. Andreas watched her go, and Katarides, in turn, watched his son’s expression and smiled knowingly.
Later, after night had fallen, they sat inside Katarides’s room, lit by a kerosene lamp. They had made small talk for a while, avoiding the subject that had abruptly ended the meal. Then, when Katarides had grown weary and closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep, the other two sat in silence, not wishing to disturb him, and the only sounds were the steady tick of a clock and the shrilling of cicadas outside.
Andreas stared at his father’s hands and was struck by a sudden, vivid memory from his childhood when he and his father had attended church and he had tripped and hurt his head at the entrance to the church. His father had picked him up and comforted him and held his hand through the service. Andreas clearly remembered the warmth of his father’s flesh and the way he had gently stroked his small knuckles with his thumb and soothed his feelings. The same hands had often dressed him in the absence of his mother, helped him trace his letters, braced him as he learned to ride his first bicycle, showed him how to sail, fish. The same hands that had once tripped lightly across the keys of the piano in the library of his house, or hovered, pen clasped, poised above a sheet of foolscap as he composed his poems in his study.
Once the same hand had struck him in punishment after Andreas had returned home a day late from a boating trip to Meganissi and he and his friends had been forced by bad weather to stay on the island overnight. His father had feared him lost and the same hand that had beat him for taking a foolish risk had later the same day stroked his cheek and hair with relief. It was peculiar, Andreas reflected, how little he had noticed his father’s hands as he had grown into manhood. How little they had had to do with him since he had taken his own place in the world.
Now, he looked at them again. Frail and bony, with pronounced folds of flesh disfiguring their once graceful lines. He reached out and eased his fingers round his father’s palm and felt the cool tremor of the pulse under his skin. His hand seemed so fragile and Andreas felt a terrible grief welling up inside him over the realisation that he had taken so much for granted. His father had felt like a permanent feature of his life, a strong thread running right through every moment of his youth. And now his strength was fading and one day he would be gone and after that there would be only the pain of an unbearable absence.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Eleni whispered. ‘The Italians may be back soon. You have to be gone by then.’
‘What about you?’
‘They’re used to seeing me here.’
Andreas stared at her. ‘Will you be safe with them?’
‘Because they are Italians, or because they are men?’ Her lips parted in a brief smile. ‘They haven’t laid a hand on me so far. They’d regret it if they ever tried. I’ll be fine. But you must go.’
He nodded and gently released his father’s hand before standing up. Sleep had eased some of the concern from the older man’s face and he looked younger and at peace. Andreas kissed him lightly on the forehead and straightened up with a self-conscious glance at Eleni, but saw that she was smiling again.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ she muttered as she stood and eased the creases out of her skirt. ‘It just pleases me that you can show your feelings.’
He stared at her and then moved towards the door.
They walked out into the corridor and quietly made their way into the hall. Eleni eased the door open and Andreas stepped over the threshold. It was dark outside, save for the faint loom of the lights of Lefkada and the stars. A moon was rising over the mountains and there would soon be enough illumination for Andreas to pick his way through the mountains to the cave even though he would be fortunate to reach it before daybreak.
He paused and stared at Eleni, and then drew her into his arms and kissed her head. She felt hot breath on her neck and the warmth of his embrace and closed her eyes in sudden bliss as she pressed her face into his sheepskin jacket, unoffended by its smell. They stood that way for a moment and then she sensed him easing away from her and looked up into his face. But before he could kiss her Eleni pushed him away.
‘Go . . .’
Andreas made to protest but she pressed her fingers against his lips and pleaded. ‘Please go.’
He nodded, turned and strode away, over the drive towards the gates and out of sight. Eleni waited a moment longer and then closed the door and quietly returned to the servants’ quarters.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Norwich, 2013
‘What happened afterwards?’ Anna asked as she glanced towards the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was past midday. Her train left at two and she knew she must pack and make her farewells before then.
‘Afterwards?’ The old lady frowned.
‘When Andreas took charge of the resistance.’
‘He did many things but he never managed that. The other
kapetans
guarded command of their bands jealously. Andreas had to spend much of his time smoothing over their differences and talking them into joining his fight. Sometimes they refused, but most of the time they were content to cooperate, under his orders. As long as he kept them supplied with weapons. And while the British received reports of the resistance on Lefkada they were content to drop supplies once a month or so. Only once did we get into difficulties. A bad Greek took a bribe from the enemy and told them how he had overheard details of one drop. The Italians were there waiting for us. But being Italians, they could not keep their mouths shut and we heard them long before we blundered into their trap and slipped away. We lost the weapons but we did not lose any of the men. The traitor was dealt with later on.’
Anna paused. ‘Dealt with? Murdered?’
‘Executed. When his identity was discovered he was taken from his home and brought to the cave. Andreas shot him and we left the body on the road outside Nidhri. No one betrayed us again after that.’
Eleni saw the look of anguish in her granddaughter’s face and continued in a gentle tone. ‘We were at war, my dear. In war there are only two sides. Yours, and the enemy’s.’
‘But there were civilians,’ Anna protested. ‘There are always civilians.’
‘Not on Lefkas. Not in Greece, and not, I think, in any country invaded by the fascists. That was how it was. The Italians and the Germans were our enemy and we were theirs, regardless of whether we fought in uniforms or not. A funny thing that. We were Greeks, we were fighting for the freedom of our country but because we lacked a uniform our enemies were entitled to shoot us down as criminals and call us terrorists . . . War destroys even common sense.
Eleni’s head drooped and her chin trembled a moment before she sniffed and looked up sharply. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being an old fool. Forgive me.’
‘It’s all right, Yiayia. It’s me, I’m sorry. I should not have opened old wounds.’
‘Sometimes you have to . . . Or we forget those we loved, and then they are truly dead. Gone forever. Anyway, enough of that.’ She looked up. ‘What more did you want to know today?’
Anna sensed her grandmother’s weariness and decided that their conversation must stop soon, but there was a question that she wanted an answer to before she left for home.
‘Did Katarides die?’
‘We all die eventually.’
Anna winced. ‘I know that, Yiayia, thank you. I meant did he die soon after Andreas had visited him? You made it sound like he was very ill.’
‘He was. Poor man. But, no, he did not die then. In fact, seeing Andreas again seemed to lift his spirits. He recovered enough to start tending his garden and reading his books. He even tried to write again. Though I don’t know if he ever finished anything. I never had the chance to find out.’
‘Why?’
Eleni shook her head. ‘Another time, my girl. We’ve been talking all morning and I am tired.’
‘But I will be going home soon, Yiayia. Can we not talk for just a little longer? I need to know more.’
‘I dare say. But not today,’ Eleni said wearily. ‘It has been good to discuss the past with you. But there are some things that I cannot easily bring myself to speak of . . .’ The old woman’s expression twisted in a painful grimace for an instant and Anna leaned forward anxiously.
‘What is it?’
‘Not now.’
‘You can tell me,’ Anna coaxed gently. ‘Perhaps it will help.’
‘Nothing can help. Not with such memories, my dear Anna. That is why I have something for you.’ She reached a trembling hand towards the side table and moved aside a magazine to reveal an envelope. She hesitated a moment before she picked it up and handed it to Anna. ‘There. I’ve tried to set down what I can remember, up to the point I left the island. But I was not well then, too ill to think straight . . . When you read this maybe you will understand. Only then can we talk.’ She smiled weakly. ‘It will give you a reason to come back, and we won’t have to wait so long before you do, eh?’ Her lips stretched in a teasing smile.
‘Now that’s unfair.’
‘You sound just like you did when you were a child. The answer then is the same as it is now. Sometimes life is unfair. And sometimes an old lady needs to use whatever she has to coax her family to come and see her.’
Anna made a cross face and then leaned across to kiss her on the cheek. ‘And now you sound like the same person who used to tease me when I was a child. I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can, and not just because I need to know all the details of the rest of your story.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. But you must get ready to go.’
Anna smiled and rose to leave the room. She paused at the door and Eleni waved her out impatiently. The sound of running water came from the kitchen and Anna joined her mother who had just finished washing up the mugs and bowls from breakfast. Marita looked up as she folded the tea towel over the steel bar in front of the cooker and saw the envelope. ‘What’s that?’
‘Something she gave me to read.’
‘Oh?’
Anna stroked her thumb along the back of the envelope. ‘I don’t know what it is yet.’
There was a brief silence before Marita spoke again. ‘When you do, maybe you will share it with me. Now, I have to go out soon. I need some books for my course. If you want to save the taxi fare I can give you a lift to the station. It’ll mean waiting a bit for your train.’
‘Thanks. I don’t mind. I’ll get a drink and read the paper. Give me five minutes to pack my bag.’
Twenty minutes later they were stuck in traffic on the ring road. An ambulance had raced by in a blur of yellow and white with flashing lights several minutes earlier and ahead the vehicles slowed and stopped. A light rain began to fall and Marita flicked on the wipers and turned on the air conditioning to stop the windows steaming up.
‘It’s been good to see you again.’
‘You too, Mum.’ Anna tipped her head to the side to see if she could see any sign of movement further down the road. ‘I should come up more often really.’
‘Yes. You should.’
Anna glanced across and noticed the set of her mother’s lips. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing . . . It’s just that I see so little of you these days. To be honest, I miss you. My little girl,’ Marita mused. ‘And there’s your grandmother. I hate to say it but I fear she won’t be with us for much longer.’
‘That’s a bit morbid.’
‘It’s the truth. All our days are measured, and she has less than most. It’s a small miracle that she has lived so long. She’s the last of her family from the generation that lived through the war. The rest died years ago. She reckons that they never really got over the winters when they were starved in Greece. I don’t suppose it does anyone any good to endure that. So I would take advantage of the time she has left if I were you. Come up and see us a little more frequently, eh?’
‘I’ll do my best, Mum. But I’ve got my own life to live. A hectic life at that.’
Marita hesitated before giving a nod and muttering, ‘Of course. But give it some thought. You seem to have enjoyed her company well enough this weekend.’
‘It’s the first time I’ve heard the story of her youth. It’s quite something. I never realised how involved she was with the resistance.’
‘She rarely spoke to me about that. You’ve been lucky.’
‘I know. I’ve made mental notes but I want to get the whole thing down as soon as I can. I think it’s important that we save the stories of people’s lives.’
‘Oh yes. Oral histories and all that.’ Marita drummed her fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. ‘But perhaps you should take what she knows with a pinch of salt. She’s getting old. Her memory is failing. Why, only last week she forgot my name, even who I was for a moment. That kind of thing has been happening more frequently of late. Memory is a fragile thing. And sometimes it is not as accurate as it once was.’
Anna stared out through the gap in the condensation where the blowers had cleared the windscreen. ‘That’s a bit worrying. But Yiayia seems pretty sound of mind to me.’
‘I dare say. But how can you know what is and what isn’t accurate? Maybe that’s the problem with memories. Every time we go back and tell the story of our past we aren’t just opening a window into the past. Perhaps we’re making that memory anew, and shaping it according to whatever is happening to us here and now. If that’s the case, then what makes oral histories any different to any other kind of story?’
Anna shot her a concerned look. ‘I think you’re wrong about her. I believe every word.’
The cars ahead of them began to ripple forwards and Marita shifted the gearstick into first and waited for her chance to get moving. The rain started in earnest and drummed off the roof of the car as they continued along the inner ring road to the rail station. Ten minutes later Marita drew up outside the entrance and Anna nimbly climbed out and retrieved her overnight bag from the rear seat.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Marita leaned down so she could see her daughter’s face. ‘Remember what I said, come and see us more often.’
‘I will. Promise.’
Anna closed the rear door, hefted her bag and glanced to her left before crossing to the entrance and into the station. She looked back to wave to her mother but the car was already gone. A quick glance at the information screen showed that the train was on time, though there was still over forty minutes before it departed, so she went into the café and ordered a cappuccino and muffin and sat in a faded but comfortable bucket armchair and took out her iPad. For a while she added to the notes she was preparing for Dieter. All the time she was conscious of the envelope in her bag and wondered what further secrets it contained. When she had finished, she turned the iPad off and went to catch the train. Settled into her seat she felt the jolt as it eased into motion. There were few other passengers in the coach and she had a table to herself. As the train pulled out of Norwich, Anna at last took out the envelope, broke the seal and took out a thin, folded sheaf of papers covered in straggling handwriting. She flattened them out on the table and began to read.