The summer of secrets, p.12
The Summer of Secrets, page 12
George must have been about four years old and no longer regarded as a baby. Mamá and María were feeding the infants, as they did from morning until night. The two men, Babá and Uncle Kuríllos, relaxed before the fire, drinking raki, as both grandmothers sat on the chest with their handiwork.
He can see the scene so clearly and even smell the chicken soup in the cauldron.
CHAPTER 16
GEORGE
Castellorizo, Greece, 1941
SOFIA GAVE YOUNG GEORGE A cup of warm milk. ‘You drink that up like a good boy, then off to bed.’
He didn’t want to go to bed, to be up there all alone, waiting for the Bamboulas – the Bogeyman – to find him. Nobody would listen, they all said, ‘Don’t be silly, of course there isn’t a Bamboulas,’ but he knew there was. Sometimes he hid under the bed, but it was too dusty there. Other times he pulled the sheet over his head, but it got so hot that the horrid monster would surely hear his breathing and hear his thumping heart. This indescribable fear filled the boy with panic as soon as he was alone in the bed, so each night, he lay awake, staring into the dark, terrified!
While the grown-ups in the big room were having a big discussion, little George ducked into his special hiding place, behind the carpet loom. Imagine his surprise, then, to see a man sprawled along the narrow space. The stranger had the biggest bump on his head. They stared at each other, then the man put his finger across his lips, telling him to be quiet. He didn’t look well, but he was going to have a magnificent scab on his head, which would be the envy of every boy on the island. Still, George knew it must hurt even more than his own knees when he fell off the wall. He offered the man his milk and to his surprise, he took it and drank it all down. With great relief, George noticed the man was a soldier. No Bogeyman would come near if there was a soldier in the house, everyone knew that. On a mission to keep the soldier behind the carpet, George put his own finger across his lips, at which he saw the glimmer of a smile come from the soldier. He took his cup back, stepped out and asked Mamá for more milk.
‘Oh, you good boy! Here you are,’ she said. ‘Once you’ve drunk it, straight up to bed with you, Georgikie.’
This, George’s first exercise in subterfuge, went well. He pretended to sip the milk, peering from under his long lashes. When unobserved, he slipped behind the carpet again and gave the soldier his drink. To his delight, the soldier saluted him. He would sleep easy with a real soldier in the house. Tired now, he was eager for bed. Leaving the drink with his warrior friend, he slipped back into the room and climbed the stairs.
*
Sudden hammering on the front door made everyone jump. Two of the little ones woke with a fright and started bawling at the top of their lungs. The hammering started again.
‘Kuríllos!’ an angry voice shouted.
Uncle Kuríllos leapt from his fireside seat and dived behind the carpet. Babá got up, opened the door and saw Simonos and two British soldiers with faces like thunder.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ he asked the soldiers.
Simonos replied, ‘They want to know where Kuríllos is. They’ve paid him for a sheep and he left with the money but didn’t come back with the sheep.’
‘He’s not here. If you ask me, he’s probably halfway between here and Turkey sharing a small boat with a couple of sheep right now. Be patient.’
‘We’re going to search the house!’ the soldier bellowed and Simonos translated.
‘Are you mad?’ Babá shouted at them. ‘There are too many people in this house, most of them women and children, each with the cry of a thousand cats!’
The two grandmothers, seated on the dowry chest, started screeching at the soldiers, beating their breasts and shaking their fists. Fevzi and Zafiro also started to holler and several of the youngsters scrambled out of bed and hugged Babá’s and Mamá’s knees. The noise was so great, the soldiers had to step away from the door to have a conversation. Eventually, they spoke to Simonos and he translated.
‘Tell Kuríllos to return with the sheep as soon as possible. Do you have any food for our soldiers?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Babá said. ‘Please, enjoy these with our compliments. It’s a local delicacy.’ He lifted the cactus pads out of the hearth. ‘Very nutritious!’ he said with gusto, giving Simonos a warning glance as he handed them over.
The soldiers and the fisherman turned and left. Babá stood for a moment, watching the three lead their long shadows down to the harbour. He closed the door and dropped the bar over the receivers on the inside.
The grandmothers got back to their crocheting and Mamá, María and Sofía settled all the children back to sleep.
Babá called, ‘You can come out now, you whore of the devil!’
Sofía grinned at María.
Kuríllos stuck his head out from behind the carpet. ‘Have they gone?’ Babá nodded. ‘Then look what I found,’ Kuríllos said, stepping out sideways from between the carpet and the back wall. He had the soldier’s arm up his back and his other hand over the commando’s mouth. Sofía yelped when she saw the caked blood all over the boy’s head and the right shoulder of his uniform.
Babá got to his feet. ‘Is he armed?’
‘I’m not armed,’ the boy said in Greek, pulling back from Kuríllos’s hand and reaching for his shoulder. ‘You’re hurting me!’
‘You speak Greek?’ Kuríllos asked.
‘My mother’s Greek. I’m on your side. Please, I need some water.’
‘How old are you?’ Babá asked.
‘Eighteen. Water, please?’
‘Babá, give the boy some water!’ Mamá ordered. At that moment the boy stumbled forward and collapsed. ‘The poor child, now look what you’ve done! Bring him over to the bed and let me have a look at that wound on his head. He’s so pale, seems to have lost a lot of blood. He must have been there since yesterday evening!’
Sophia gulped. ‘I did that. This is my fault. Tell me he’s not dead?’
‘Bring him a cup of water,’ Mamá repeated. ‘And fetch me a dish of brine and a sponge so I can clean this wound up.’ Sofía stared. ‘This week!’ Mamá cried.
Soon the soldier’s eyes opened and he stared about, clearly confused. ‘Where am I?’ he asked in English.
‘Speak Greek,’ Mamá said. Zafiro started yelling again. Mamá huffed and passed the water and sponge to Sofía. ‘Here, clean that blood off him so we can see how deep the wound is and get him to drink some water before he passes out again.’ She picked Zafiro up and rocked him back to sleep.
*
The next morning – refreshed after twelve straight hours of sleep – George hurried down and slipped behind the carpet loom. The gap was empty, only his cup on the floor confirmed it had not been a dream. It had to be magic! Perhaps the soldier had actually come out of the carpet to save him from the Bogeyman. He stepped around to the front of the vertical loom and peered at all the figures, the trees, animals and people woven into the family story.
‘Georgikie, what are you doing?’ Sofía asked.
‘Where’s the soldier?’ he said. ‘The one that comes out of the carpet and frightens the Bogeyman away.’
Sofía stared at him for a moment, then pulled him to her. She hugged him and kissed his sleep-warmed cheeks. ‘Ah, that soldier,’ she said humouring him. ‘He’s still there in the skeins of thread, but today he is going to start making an appearance in the carpet. All right, little man?’
George was quite happy with this explanation. So long as the soldier was somewhere in the house, he would be safe. He peered at the skeins of wool in the basket at the side of the carpet. There, he saw the brown of the soldier’s uniform, the pink of his pale face and the red that would tell of the blood that covered half of his short hair and some of his shoulder. He stood tall and saluted the basket.
*
Sofía watched the children out on the patio while María and Mamá checked on the stills in the distillery.
She thought about the soldier and all that had happened the previous evening. Once the stranger was cleaned and watered and all the youngsters were settled, the house became quiet.
‘I must report to my station,’ he said.
‘What’s your name, boy?’ Kuríllos asked. ‘And how did you manage to get yourself knocked out by a useless girl?’
‘Jamie Peters, sir. I was exhausted, walking and climbing through the night. Hiding from the Italians. I must have fallen asleep in the building behind here. The ship dropped us off, you see, but I’ve lost track of how long ago. Me and another soldier rowed ashore at the other end of the island, on a reconnoitre. We were supposed to map the land then meet the troops at somewhere called Punta Nifti, but we became separated . . . lost; no roads and pitch black. Not what we expected. What’s happened, do you know? Was it a success? Do the allies rule the island now?’
‘Bedlam, chaos, that’s what happened,’ Babá said. ‘There’s about 200 of your lot here now, but they’ve no food or water and they’re only just managing to hold on. You better eat with us before you go down there to report in, Jamie Peters.’
The cauldron of marrowbone soup had more lemon and rice in it. Mamá ladled a bowlful and placed it on the table. ‘There, get yourself on the outside of that and you’ll feel better.’
When the soldier had eaten, Mamá passed Sofía a basket. ‘Show the soldier where the headquarters are and collect some fresh cactus pads from behind the chapel while you’re out. And don’t speak to any boys!’ She turned to the soldier. ‘Can I trust you with my daughter, young man?’
‘Of course. I’ll be the ultimate gentleman.’
‘You’d better be, or I’ll break both your legs before I kill you myself!’ Babá threatened.
Sofía, shocked to be let out, alone, with a man, stared at her mother for a moment and caught a look she didn’t quite understand.
Once outside, she led the soldier around the outskirts of town. There was so much she wanted to talk about, to ask about the war, yet words eluded her until eventually she blurted, ‘I’m sorry I hit you! It’s just that you gave me such a fright. The hours since have been like a terrible nightmare.’ Once she had managed to get the words out, Sofía was so emotional she just wanted to cry. Severely disappointed with herself, she glanced up to meet his eyes, hoping he would understand the horror of that moment when she had thought the worst. ‘You can’t imagine how awful it is to think you might have killed somebody.’ Trying to swallow her distress, she stared at the ground.
He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face until she met his eyes again. ‘I’m a soldier. I think about those I may have killed every day.’
‘Of course, you do,’ she whispered. ‘Silly me. That must be difficult.’
‘Don’t worry about it, I forgive you, it’s forgotten already.’
So many new emotions rushed into Sofía’s head, she gulped, struggling to speak. He took his hand away and they continued to walk. ‘How come you were behind the carpet loom?’ she asked.
‘I was just leaving when I saw you and another woman coming towards me. I didn’t know which side you were on, so I ducked back inside and went to leave by the other door, but it led into the house. I’ve never seen so many children in all my life and they were making a terrific noise. Anyway, I decided to hide behind the carpet but I guess I passed out again. You know the rest.’
‘Wait, I have to collect some cactus pads. We’ve got no bread.’ She thrust the oversized wicker trug at him then pulled a pruning saw and a piece of oilcloth out of it.
After all the rain of previous weeks, the pads were fat, bright green and long as her forearm. She threw the cloth over one particularly healthy-looking pad and hung on to it as she sawed through the joint. A sudden blast of machine gun fire made her jump as the cactus pad broke away. She lost her grip; such was its weight. The soldier dropped the basket and grabbed the pad just below the cloth with both hands.
‘Gosh, it’s much heavier that it looks, miss.’ He placed it into the basket.
Sofía rolled her eyes. ‘Now you’ve got spines in your hands!’ She took hold of them and peered closely. They were strong hands with out the scars of a labourer. A little tremor of unexpected pleasure quivered through her. So this was what it was like to hold a man’s hand. Sweet sensations made her cheeks tingle. She looked up into his eyes again. His face was gaunt and pale and dried blood marked the wound on his head. She put her fingertips to the injury.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she said. ‘How can I make amends?’
His eyes sparkled, then, as a mischievous smile appeared. ‘Well . . .’
She blushed again and returned her attention to his hands. ‘It’s not the small spines, they can be removed, it’s the golden tufts that the spines grow out of that will drive you mad in an hour’s time.’ She looked up, right into his eyes again. Suddenly awkward, her face was surely burning now. Another machine gun fired nearer the port, making her drop his hands.
He studied his palms. ‘Really, don’t worry, it’s just a few prickles. I didn’t realise how heavy they were. Here . . .’ He took the saw and cut down another three, stacking them in her basket. ‘Can you manage them, they’re quite a weight?’
‘Yes, don’t worry, but your hands . . . you must run hot candlewax on them, then peel it off when it’s set. It’ll pull the fine spines out.’ She glanced around, apprehensive.
‘Don’t worry, miss. Look, you’d better get off the street, it sounds like there’re skirmishes going on. It’s too dangerous.’ He plucked a hibiscus from a shrub growing against the church and quickly tucked it behind her ear. ‘I have to report in. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow? What’s your name?’
Sofía lifted her hand to the blossom, her eyes wide with surprise. What did he say? Would he see her tomorrow? How could she know? She shrugged. ‘I’m Sofía. Will you get into trouble? You can kiss me if you want. I’ve never kissed a boy before.’
‘I don’t want your father coming after me with a gun.’ He grinned, eyes sparkling again as he slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her to him.
‘He’ll never know, unless you tell him.’
Jamie dropped his head to one side, then the other, studying her face as if he were an artist.
Sofía was afraid; perhaps she wasn’t beautiful enough. She stood on tiptoe, closed her eyes and tilted her face to meet his. His breath caressed her eyelids and cheeks as he moved closer, then his arms pulled her more firmly against him. Their bodies were hard against each other, his mouth over hers. He made a soft moan, rather like a cat purring, the thrilling sound made her toes curl and her body melt against his. Wonderful feelings exploded inside her for a few glorious seconds. Once he had broken away, she kept her eyes closed for a moment and smiled as the happy occasion settled in her memory. He smelled of myrtle, musk and warm chicken soup. The scents would be associated with her first kiss for the rest of her life.
‘I must go,’ he whispered, then made a casual salute before he turned towards the port.
‘Goodbye, Jamie Peters,’ she whispered, hoping he would not get into trouble. As she stood watching him, he turned and waved just before disappearing around a corner.
‘Goodbye, beautiful Sofía!’
Oh!
An ear-bursting explosion went off. Her heart leapt, she whimpered, grabbed the heavy basket and hurried towards home. Despite the danger, she could not drag her thoughts away from the soldier and found herself bubbling with joy. Her heart beat a little faster and she had a strong feeling that she stood on the verge of adventure.
She threw herself into the house and dropped the cumbersome basket. Mamá and Babá stared at her.
‘Why is your face so red and why is there a flower behind your ear? He didn’t touch you, did he?’ Babá demanded.
‘Babá! What a terrible thing to say!’ Sofía cried, terribly afraid there was some secret way her parents could tell. ‘The basket’s heavy and there are guns going off everywhere. I ran for my life.’
Babá frowned at her. ‘If he touched you I’ll cut his bits off and stuff them down his throat before I kill him. Are you sure, Sofía?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ She sighed dramatically and used the oilcloth to lift the cactus pads onto the grill under the cauldron. The tufts of spines burned off in a flurry of sparks, as if celebrating her personal excitement, then the pads roasted to a delicious, nutritious pulp.
*
The next day started like any other, except that Sofía was terribly tired and completely in love. It seemed she had tossed and turned all night, dreaming of Jamie Peters and her first kiss.
A British officer came knocking on the door wanting to know if they had a Greek flag. Nobody would admit they had, so a British soldier hurriedly hoisted his union flag over the Customs House. Word spread quickly and in a magical moment – for the first time in anyone’s memory – Greek men and women came out of their houses, stood proudly together and sang their national anthem. The ‘Hymn to Liberty’ rang out over the town – over the whole island – without fear of punishment. The all-important lines were chanted with vigour and the utmost reverence. Most importantly, they sang the beautifully poetic words in their own Greek language, which brought heartfelt tears to the eyes of every local man and woman on Castellorizo.
I shall always recognise you (Liberty)
By the fearsome sword you hold,
As the Earth with searching vision
You survey with spirit bold.
From the Greeks of old whose dying
Brought to life a spirit free,
Now with ancient valour rising,
Let’s hail you, our Liberty!
