Nicolai's Daughters (25 page)

“We looked at each other,” the old woman said. “He shook his head, told me with his eyes to get home, leave him alone. Before I could do anything, a soldier came around the corner of the house and before Nicolai could run away, he'd caught him by his shirt. The mud made a sucking sound as it freed his feet. I will never forget that sound. Even if I live one hundred years. The soldier pushed him forward. Nicolai stumbled. The soldier caught him and carried him along. A door creaked open. He was in the barn. I snuck into one of the stalls. They didn't hear me. There was moonlight coming through a small opening near the ceiling. I saw everything.

“The soldier pushed Nicolai onto his hands and knees and dragged his pants down. He must have felt the tear of skin, a sharp pain or something threw him forward. He turned, saw the man's long, thin fingers holding his hips. He tried to pull himself away, but the German held him, thrusting himself harder into Nicolai. I closed my eyes. I didn't know such things could happen. I didn't know anything. My jaw hurt. I didn't realize how tight I held it. All I could hear was my grinding teeth and a few gasped breaths from that German.

“When I opened my eyes again, I saw the man pulling his trousers back on. Nicolai was curled up on the barn floor, covering his head with his hands.

“‘It's not the end of the world,' the soldier said, in perfect Greek. The enemy knew our language. We were lost.

“Nicolai didn't move. I couldn't move.

“‘I want to show you something. A boy like you will find it interesting.' The man pulled him to his feet, asked him if he wanted a cigarette.

“Nicolai shook his head, buttoned his fly.

“The man deposited a couple of cigarettes and a lighter in Nicolai's shirt pocket. ‘Maybe later, hey?' He tousled Nicolai's hair. ‘Come. You'll learn.' The man pointed to a heap of dirt in one of the stalls. ‘Just dig a little with your hands. It's fun. You'll see. It's like you're looking for buried treasure.'

“Nicolai stood still. I could smell it now. I couldn't before. Or maybe I did, but I was too afraid to notice at first. It was worse than any other barn I'd been in. How could that man stand it? I wanted to throw up and I knew Nicolai thought the same thing. He wouldn't though. He wouldn't give that German pig the satisfaction.

“‘No?' The man put his arm around Nicolai's shoulders. He pushed the dirt away with his foot.

“I saw the bloodied face of the farmer who used to live in the house. A delicate, mud-caked hand lay on his shrunken cheek as though caressing his face. The farmer's wife maybe or his son. I put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't leave Nicolai behind.

“The man held Nicolai by the shoulder. ‘You do what you're told, and this doesn't need to happen to you. Don't go thinking you are like those independence fighters you Greeks are so proud of. This is a different time. We are different conquerors. You are not them. Remember.' He ran his fingers through Nicolai's hair. ‘I will take care of things.'

“Nicolai looked the soldier in the eye. ‘And my family?'

“‘Your family, friends, everyone will be safe.' He snickered then. ‘And to think, our commandant thinks this is the most dangerous centre of resistance, a place that must be wiped out. You don't look too dangerous to me.'

“I ran home as fast as I could,” the old woman said. “I waited for him. His lip was bleeding, his shirt and pants were dirty. I pretended I didn't know. I had a few candies he'd stolen from them before. I tried to give them to him. He yelled at me, told me to leave him alone. He'd never done that before. We were best friends.” Her eyes were dry.

The old woman leaned into the counter. “He went out every night after that and brought us cans of meat, many different things. We never talked like we used to. He thought he'd saved us. He was so young, so proud. When they came to the door and dragged us to the school, he still believed. I remember his smile. He trusted them.

“Nicolai stood in line with the rest of the men. The women and young girls were in another line. They were being herded into the school along with some of the younger boys. He heard the question being asked of the boys in front, nodded to me and mouthed, ‘It's okay.'

“‘How old?' one German asked.

The soldier from the barn pulled him aside before Nicolai could answer the question. ‘I'll take him.' He pushed Nicolai into the gymnasium. ‘I keep my promises.'

“The gymnasium was full of women and children. We all wondered what would happen next, but no one was brave enough to ask. Except Nicolai, of course. He went looking for the man he knew. One of the soldiers pushed him back in the room, snickered at him. ‘You should be with the rest of them. Not here with the women and babies.'

“‘Let me go with the men,' Nicolai said.

“‘This is the place for boys,' the solider said. ‘Your place.'

“His mother and sister held him back, told him to stay with them. ‘You are the man of the house now,' his mother said in a tone I'd never heard before. ‘We need you.'

“‘Maybe I can find out what's going on.'

“‘I can't lose you too,' his mother said.

“The doors were locked. He pushed himself out of his mother's arms. He ran to the window along with the others. The men were marched up Kappi hill, the Germans beside them pushing them on with their rifles. He told me that he should be with them. He was old enough. He could do any work the men could do. At the top of the hill, they disappeared.

“We heard popping sounds, over and over again, but we didn't know what they were. I saw Nicolai kneel down beside his mother and pat his sister's head. ‘We're going to be fine.'

“I smelled the smoke, but didn't think anything of it right away. Maybe they were burning some trees. I didn't know.

“Then a woman screamed. ‘They are burning us alive.'

“Some of the mothers huddled around their children, covered their faces with anything they could find. Others kicked and scratched at the door.

“Nicolai threw himself against the door until it gave way. We saw the flames eating the walls of the school. We all ran out and into the fields. The two German soldiers left to guard us ran off in the direction of the forest. No one chased after them. The stronger women helped the ones with children on their hips, the young boys helped the older women climb up the hill to find the men. The fields were vacant.

“Nicolai ran ahead. I could see him pumping his arms. How his lungs must have ached.

“He reached the top of the hill before any of us. When we made it up the hill ourselves we saw the lifeless, twisted bodies lying across the backside of the hill. Blood seeped into the cracks in the ground like rainwater.

“I was separated from my mother and my father was among these men on the ground. I didn't know what to do so I followed Nicolai. I couldn't look at those dead faces around me. He searched through the bodies, stepped on a hand. He made the sign of the cross. All the women were wailing. I don't know how he did it, but he seemed to ignore them. He found his father leaning against a tree, a gaping hole in his chest, his eyes open. He held him close, rocked him back and forth as you would a baby.

“His mother and sister found him like that and knelt down beside him. His mother moaned and crossed herself. His sister stared, her eyes blank and tearless.

“‘Why did you hold me back? I could have stopped them,' he shouted at his mother. He stood up and pushed her away.

“She fell. His sister helped her up.

“‘I could have helped.' As he paced, he punched his legs with his fists. His mother's hair was grey at the temples, her face without colour. He kept hurling insults. She refused to turn her eyes away or let go of his sister's hand. He slapped his mother. Others pulled him away, beat at him with their hands. He wouldn't stop. He fought them until his fists were bloody and he was out of breath. On her hands and knees, his mother pleaded with them to leave him alone. Blood dried on her lip. He pulled himself off the ground, spit at all of us and ran down the hill.

“I never saw him again,” the old woman said. She wiped her forehead with a hanky. “His mother died a few months later. His sister disappeared. The rest of us were too busy burying our dead.”

Alexia felt dizzy. She swallowed hard to keep everything inside.

“We found that German too. The one who hurt Nicolai. Dead in one of our fields, stabbed to death with a pitchfork. Someone got him maybe before he got back to the rest of his group of murderers. We don't know where they all went. They disappeared as fast as they came to our village.” The old woman swiped her shawl over the counter. Dirt fell to the floor at Alexia's feet.

My grandfather, Alexia thought.

“It comes back every day,” the old woman said. “The smell of the mud of so many graves, which we dug with our hands. This is in my nose even up to today. I hear women and children screaming and crying when there are none around. They took our husbands, fathers and brothers, and they left us without compassion. Our village changed. Now, we keep to ourselves. Don't help each other, like before. We are not the same.”

Alexia stared at the woman. She couldn't think of anything to say.

Zoë stood beside her grandmother, an arm around her shoulders.

“Your father was here many years ago,” the old woman said.

“When?”

“I don't remember. But I spoke to him in the museum. And his sister was here before him. You look like them.”

“Did you tell him about my grandfather?”

“He didn't ask. I didn't tell.”

“And my aunt. Did you tell her?”

“She wanted to know,” the woman said. “She came back over and over, but I never told her the whole story. Not like I told you. She put two and two together. I know, because she hasn't visited me in a very long time.”

The woman shook her head. “War does many things. One day, it stops. But what it leaves never does. It stays like a disease with no cure.” She placed her hand on Alexia's shoulder. “This is not a way to live. At some point, we have to forgive. It is the only way to survive.”

Alexia heard children shouting and laughing outside and looked around. A man peered through the window, his nose squashed against the glass. The camera around his neck swung back and forth, thudding against the window. Zoë and her grandmother turned. The tourist moved back quickly. He walked away.

Alexia had felt on the verge of throwing up the entire time the old woman had been telling her story, and when she got to the moped, she couldn't keep it down. She wiped her mouth with her father's old handkerchief and leaned against the moped for a long time to settle her stomach. She gazed at the looming cross on the hill and shook her head, trying to separate the image of her father from the image of her grandfather in Christina's photo albums from the image of her great-grandfather in the museum. So much sadness. So many sacrifices. All for what? She didn't know.

Alexia kicked the stand and started the moped. The motor wheezed as she took the corners. She'd thought getting at the truth would help, but she didn't feel any better. This was worse than those stupid rumours about her grandfather lying about his age. Gossip was easier to live with. That's why her aunts spent their time doing it. Christina knew the truth, but didn't tell anyone. She'd held onto this secret for God knows how long. Maybe that was her way of sparing the rest of them.

The breeze smacked Alexia in the face, kept her focused on the road. What good would it do to tell them this stuff? It had nothing to do with Theodora. It explained a lot about why Christina was so secretive, why her aunts were afraid that good things never lasted, but it didn't tell her anything more about Theodora or her father. Maybe there was no more.

1986

Nicolai eyed Achilles.

“So you're sticking around,” Achilles said. He sat across from Nicolai, rocking back on the chair's hind legs. Stop already, Nicolai wanted to say. The creaking sound continued. Was he that oblivious? Achilles smiled innocently. You can't fool me. You know exactly what you're doing, Nicolai thought. And you know it's bugging me.

Nicolai looked down at the hardcover book in his lap. The glossy pictures were meant to persuade tourists of the wonders of Greece. A few pages were torn out. He flipped through what was there, tried to ignore the noise and imagine the kind of Greece captured in the pictures. It wasn't the Greece he'd grown up in, but it was the one he'd somehow remembered after he moved to Canada. He covered his ear by putting his head against his hand.

Achilles's chair came down with a bump. He grinned at both Nicolai and the young secretary behind the front desk. “I'm a kid at heart,” he said.

“Not sure I should be partnering with you,” Nicolai said.

“Who will guide you through, make sure no one cheats you?”

“I want to be involved in every aspect.” Nicolai put the book down and turned to catch Achilles's eye. “We understand each other. Yes?”

Leaning back in his chair, Achilles teetered against the wall. “You say this because you have a woman and everything is rosy like Easter Sunday. But not every day is Easter. One day you will return to Canada and where will that leave poor Achilles?”

“I have no plans.” Nicolai picked up the book and put it down again. There was nothing in the book that interested him.

They left the lawyer's office after signing the papers. The stretch of land on the beach was now his. Nicolai had put down the money. Achilles agreed to raise the money for any future development. Once he had it, Achilles would steer the development of the land. Nicolai would oversee the project. It felt good to have work again.

“The only money I make is the little I get from my father when I help him on the farm,” Achilles said. “But I have some very good friends who believe in this.”

“I'm counting on it.”

“This land will pass down to your daughter one day. She will come back to Greece and enjoy the investment you made. You will see.”

“I doubt it.”

“We can't predict the future,” Achilles said. “Let's celebrate what we have.”

“I should get back.”

“I don't see a ring through your nose. Does she have that much power over you? It's only been a few weeks.”

There was that silly grin again, that oh, come on, let's-go-have-some-fun grin, the same one that had talked Nicolai into staying late after school to play basketball when he was a kid. Nicolai could still feel his father's belt across his backside. There was always trouble when you got involved with Achilles. But what the hell. What did he have to lose? Nicolai would always own a small part of Greece even if Achilles never came up with other investors and the development didn't take place.

Nicolai bought a bottle of cheap champagne, a package of plastic cups and a case of beer. They parked on Nicolai's narrow strip of beachfront, cracked open the champagne, finished it quickly and started on the beer.

“People will come here for their evening stroll,” Achilles said. “They will buy a coffee or a beer and watch the sunset. Young people will dance until morning.”

“Let's hope.”

The beach was deserted. A small wave kicked up onto the shore. When it subsided, a light film of slime coated the rocks. Nicolai tried to imagine the boardwalk, the restaurants and cafés they planned, the string of lights weaving from one place to the other, the people pouring out from the open doors. Another wave hit, spraying his windshield.

“We're two men in our prime. We don't need hope. We have what we need,” Achilles said. He tapped Nicolai's head. “We have our brains.” He pounded his own chest with a closed fist. “And we have passion and strength.”

They finished the beer as the sky turned pink. Lights flickered on the opposite shore and Nicolai fell asleep. Achilles was talking about the type of light standards he wanted along the promenade. “What do you think?” Achilles asked.

Nicolai's head flopped back against the headrest. “I can't right now.”

Nicolai pushed the hand away. “Let me sleep,” he said. He tried to turn, but felt trapped. He leaned back and fell asleep. The hand prodded him again.

“You're in for it now,” Achilles said.

Nicolai sat up and hit his chest against the steering wheel.

“She won't be happy.” Achilles grinned.

Condensation had built up on the inside of the windshield. Nicolai flicked on his wipers. The dewy film remained. He wiped it off with his shirtsleeve. It felt cold against his skin. He heard the waves crashing against the shore, but could no longer see the beach in the dark.

“No one tells me what to do,” Nicolai said.

“Women want someone they can rely on.” Achilles sighed. “They like dependability. I know.”

So he was late. We were celebrating. He would explain what happened. Dimitria would understand or she wouldn't. That was up to her. He wasn't going to sweat it.

The sun peeked out from behind the motel in Aigio. Nicolai parked the car. He leaned his head against the headrest. Did he really want to go inside? He came to Greece to get away. How had he fallen back into so much responsibility: a piece of land, Dimitria? My fault, he thought. I let it happen. I should have left Dimitria alone, told her that after Sara there wouldn't be anyone else. It was true. He should tell Dimitria again. Remind her. Convince her that this couldn't be anything more than what it was. Temporary. He had told her. And she heard him, too. “Time will pass, you will see,” she said. A million years could go by. Nothing would change. He knew that. And he had to think of Alexia, too. No one would replace her mother. He wouldn't allow it.

Dimitria stepped out the front door of their room, her easel under one arm and a suitcase in the other. He watched her struggle with the door. The easel dropped to the ground. She threw her suitcase down and kicked it. She pulled the door shut behind her and looked around to see if anyone was looking.

Nicolai thought about ducking.

They stared at each other. Neither smiled. Several seconds passed. Go, he told himself. Try to explain.

He got out of the car. “Where are you going?” he said, walking towards her.

“What do you care?” She grabbed the suitcase and jammed the easel under her arm. She walked past the front of the building, out of the parking lot and onto the main street, clearly headed to the bus stop a block away.

He should let her go. It would be better for her that way. Instead, he took a deep breath and followed.

He caught up with her, put his hand on her shoulder. Maybe if he explained, she'd understand. And that would be better for both of them. “What's going on?”

She picked up her pace, ignoring him.

“I guess you're mad.” He walked beside her, keeping up. She didn't turn to look at him. Finally, he stepped in front of her. “Let me take this,” he said and reached for her suitcase. She pulled it away.

“What's with you?” he asked.

“If things are going to be this way, I'd rather be alone,” Dimitria said. She dropped her suitcase and held the easel against her chest.

“You know what Achilles is like. You know him better than I do.”

“Are you going to throw that in my face for the rest of our lives?”

The copper in her eyes had turned fiery and challenging.

“I'm sorry. Achilles wanted to celebrate. I went. I didn't think I'd be out that long.” Nicolai stroked her face. “That's all I meant.”

She tilted away, hugged the easel tighter. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“No, I'm still here,” he said. He put his arm around her shoulders.

She shrugged it away.

“I don't know what you want from me,” he said.

“Respect what we have. This is important.”

“I can't give anyone very much.” He lowered his eyes, shuffled. He couldn't help himself.

“Then why are we here?” She held his chin up with her finger. Their eyes met.

“I don't know the answer to that.” They felt like the most honest words he'd ever said. He grabbed her suitcase. “Let's go home.”

“I won't be treated badly,” she said. “Not by you or anyone.”

“I know.”

A smile skipped through her eyes, stayed fixed on her lips. It was proud and smug as if she'd won a long-fought debate. She passed him her easel. “Take this, too.”

Nicolai and Achilles met at the café every day over the next two weeks to lay out plans for the boardwalk. They interviewed architects and builders. “I don't know why we're doing this,” Nicolai said after they finished speaking to a father and son construction team. “We don't have all the money we need.”

“It's coming,” Achilles said. He sipped his coffee, scanning a magazine.

“I'm not going further into debt,” Nicolai said. They sat in a café in Diakofto.

“Take a look at these lights,” Achilles said and pointed to three ornate light standards in the magazine. “Nice?”

“I was thinking of more rustic lights, more typical of the islands or Plaka. Strings of lights, nothing fancy.”

“The ocean can be hard on things.”

Nicolai looked at the picture again and shook his head. “They look like they're out of the streets of London. That's not what we want.”

“Our small place in this world could use a little class,” Achilles said, leaning back in his chair. He grinned as he turned the pages, nodding to himself.

Nicolai squeezed Achilles's forearm. “Listen. We're not buying anything until more investors come on board. Understand?”

Achilles flipped another page. “Suit yourself.”

“You think otherwise?”

Achilles put the magazine down, scooted his chair a little closer.

Shit, Nicolai thought. Here comes another sales pitch.

“If we do some things now, we will be ready when the money comes.” The smell of coffee was stagnant on his breath. “Can you advance the money yourself to get us started so we're not waiting for something to happen?”

Nicolai edged his chair back. “Not a good idea.”

“Take a risk for once in your life,” Achilles said. “It won't kill you.”

Nicolai stood to leave. He walked towards the door. A hand touched his arm. He turned.

“Come sit with us, Nicky.” Katarina sat across from Christina who was warming her hands around a cup of coffee and staring out the window. Katarina pointed to the empty chair at the table.

“I really can't,” he said.

“You can spend time with him and not with us?” Christina asked.

“
Ella, paidi mou
,” Katarina said. “We are family.”

Her clothes hung on her as if from a hanger. He hated himself for making Katarina worry. Whenever she couldn't cope, she'd stop eating. She'd done it since she was a child. They all teased her about it, scolded her for it, but she wouldn't stop. “I can't bring it to my mouth. I can't,” she'd say.

Maybe he should sit down. They were his sisters. He could talk to them. He'd always been able to before. Why not now? Try, he told himself. Just try.

“That man will cheat you out of everything,” Christina said. She had their father's stern, unforgiving stare.

“As if my family is any better,” he said.

“Our father is right,” Christina said. “You've lost your head.”

“He doesn't know anything.”

“Let's sit and talk, Nicky,” Katarina said. “Please.” She held onto his arm. Her long fingers were like talons.

He needed a new beginning. “It's too late.” He walked back to where Achilles sat. “Set up a time with the bank,” he said. “Let's get this thing rolling.”

He walked into the motel room, threw his briefcase on the kitchen table. Dimitria rinsed out her cup, put it on the counter and turned. “Your daughter called,” she said. “She sounds like a nice little girl. Very smart.”

“What?” Nicolai tried not to shout.

“We had a chat.” Dimitria leaned against the counter.

“What did you tell her?” He stood in front of her, held her shoulders.

She pulled away. “Nicolai, you're hurting me.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I guess you don't trust me to know what to say?”

“It's too soon to say anything,” he said and grabbed one of the chairs. He sat down. “Don't you understand?” She's just a little girl, my little girl, he thought. I don't want to tell her about all of this. You. The family. This stupid boardwalk project. Greece. It's too much for her to understand. She's never going to forgive me.

Dimitria rubbed his back. “I said I was a friend.” She kissed the top of his head. “You have to tell her when you are ready.”

“Yes.” He shut his eyes tight. Thank God, he said to himself. Thank God.

“Why don't you call her?”

“Not right now. She's probably in school. Maybe tomorrow.”

She grabbed his arms, pulling him up. She held him close and stroked his back. He was tired. Just so tired. Her hair smelled of jasmine. A trace of cooking grease mingled with the scent. He moved his face slightly, but didn't pull away.

Nicolai listened to the phone ring, hoping no one was home. He hadn't spoken to Alexia since she'd talked to Dimitria. How was he going to explain? Maybe he could avoid talking about his living arrangements altogether. The phone rang a sixth, then a seventh time.

“Hello,” she said.

“Um, Alexia?”

“Daddy,” she said, elongating the
y
.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you there by yourself?” He paced back and forth in the short space the telephone cord allowed him.