The summer of secrets, p.29
The Summer of Secrets, page 29
‘Ah, sorry, I forget that you don’t know? It’s about the fire,’ he says.
Olivia sighs. ‘There it is again, the fire that I don’t know about. Promise you’ll tell me later. But please explain – why are they going into the church?’
‘They are lighting a candle for every person they lost.’
She mutters, thinking aloud. ‘But dozens of people have . . . surely, it’s not possible that . . .’ She links his arm and walks back to the table with him. His white tee is drying rapidly in the sun.
‘And the boogie board?’ she asks.
‘Ah, a long story involving me, a plank and a submarine,’ he says. ‘I will get to tell you, don’t worry.’
Dino and a few other men come over. They shake his hand and slap each other on the back like brothers.
‘Those days, my friend,’ Dino says. ‘They never leave us, do they?’ He pinches the bridge of his nose and stares at the water.
Uncle lowers his eyes sadly. ‘Lest we forget, they say. But how can we forget?’
‘My father still talks about that night, it’s so fresh in his mind.’
‘Your father – you mean my friend Demetriou – is still alive? I thought . . .’
Dino smiles softly. ‘He’s still alive, but very frail. Would you like to see him?’
‘But of course. Can we eat together this evening?’
‘He will like that. He’s in a wheelchair, but I have an old table I cut to fit. I’ll bring it down. He hasn’t been out of his room for a year.’
George’s eyes fill. ‘So there’s no chance of getting him into the boat tomorrow morning?’
‘I doubt it, but I’ll think it over and see if I can come up with something.’
George turns to his great-niece. ‘Right, enough of this nonsense, my dear girl. A short sleep for me and then we’ll meet with the young man and his lawyer.’
*
By the time George gets to his room, his clothes are almost dry. More exhausted than he will admit, even to himself, he eases down onto the bed and closes his eyes. The little pantomime earlier woke a bunch of memories. The boogie board pressing against his belly felt just like the shelf of wood that saved his life, so long ago. It has all come back so vividly. Poor, dear Rosa.
He tries to relax, let it go, remember how happy they all were, standing on the quayside at Port Said. With nothing but joy in their hearts, they had stared at the great ship that would take them home, the Empire Patrol. He thinks about Olivia, surprised to realise she knows nothing of the fire. He must tell her . . . but he is afraid. The one thing that might tear his heart asunder would be to recollect the events of that trip home.
CHAPTER 38
MAMÁ
Aboard HMS Empire Patrol, 1945
EVENTUALLY, THE KONSTANTINIDIS FAMILY BOARDED, found their bales of clothes and goods and settled in a corner of D deck, in the centre of the ship. They made claim to the area by spreading their belongings about. Once they were all together, they went up top to enjoy the fresh air. Mamá commented to one of the UNRRA women on a distinct smell of petrol below, but was assured it would disperse once they were underway.
Uncle Kuríllos claimed the ship had transported tanks of fuel and it took some time for the stink to go. ‘Just remember, thanks to this old ship, we’ll all be home soon,’ he said.
The doctor, who was travelling back to Castellorizo with them, found Mamá. ‘I have a cabin for your grandson with the bad chest, your elderly mother and your daughter – María, isn’t it? It’s next to the medical room, so I can keep an eye on this young man.’ He ruffled Panayiotis’s hair. ‘A big sea’s forecast, so your grandmother will be more secure in a smaller space.’
*
At daybreak on 29 September, Mamá and Sofía checked the children, then Sofía took her book up to the top deck and watched the urgency surrounding a ship preparing to depart. She made notes on what people wore, the weather, the atmosphere of excitement. When word spread that they were about to toss the warps, everyone hurried up top to wave Port Said goodbye.
‘Look, look!’ George cried, pointing at a submarine. ‘What’s that? It looks like one of Uncle’s big cigar tubes.’
Mamá laughed, happy beyond words. ‘It’s an underwater ship.’
‘Nooo, a ship can’t go under water, Mamá!’ George cried. ‘It would sink!’
‘It certainly can, young man,’ a Greek-speaking sailor interrupted. ‘That’s HMS Spark, one of the finest submarines in the British navy.’
‘Wow! Did you hear that, Mamá?’
‘I did. Now come on, let’s wave at all the soldiers, Georgikie.’
With whistles and hooters sounding, HMS Empire Patrol slid away from the quayside. All the refugees cheered. Mamá felt an old hand slide into hers and was surprised to see tears in Megáli Yiayá’s eyes when she looked around.
‘Are you all right, my dear old mother?’ she asked softly.
Megáli Yiayá squeezed her hand. ‘I can’t believe we’re going home, child,’ she said. ‘I feel Mikró Yiayá is with us in spirit and now I can die happy on my own soil.’
Sofía, standing between Mamá and little George, breathed a great sigh. ‘We’re truly on our way back to Castellorizo. The next time we meet land, Georgikie, it will be in our own harbour.’
She turned to Mamá. ‘I’m pleased María has a private cabin next to the medical centre, Mamá, and I think Megáli Yiayá will be better off there too.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The doctor has told me he will give her a strong sleeping pill to make her more comfortable. María can keep a close eye on young Panayiotis and his bronchitis, too.’
Mamá nodded. ‘I’m going down to finish getting the little ones changed. I know it’s early, but I’m longing for a few hours’ sleep, it was such a long night.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Sofía said. ‘I’m just completing my notes.’
When she returned to help Mamá with the children, Sofía found them all laughing hysterically.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
Rosa answered. ‘Uncle Kuríllos helped to get the little ones ready while we were up top and now Bebe has her dress on back to front and her shoes on the wrong feet.’
Athena and Katina, ten and eleven, were hugging each other in a dramatic fit of giggles. ‘Men!’ the inseparable pair exclaimed together. ‘They’re all useless.’
This was one of Mamá’s favourite sayings, but it sounded much funnier coming from the youngsters. Athena and Katina were so alike with their brown curly hair and short thumbs, people often thought they were twins.
Bebe, caught up in the hilarity of it all, blew a noisy raspberry into the palm of her hand.
The boys deliberately mistook the noise, pointing at Bebe and crying, ‘Phew, phwah, she blew a bottom cough! Stinky-pinky!’
Sofía and Mamá exchanged a grin at the madness of their family. Everyone seemed over-excited at the prospect of going home. She noticed the UNRRA nurse dishing out beakers of warm milk for the children and babies. ‘Settle down now, there’s milk and biscuits for all those who behave themselves. Come on, head up, arms folded. No talking until you’ve finished eating and drinking.’
The boys performed silly antics, trying to eat and drink with their arms folded, while everyone else giggled.
María appeared. ‘Panayiotis was awake most of the night, coughing. Poor little man. I’m exhausted. He’s asleep now so if everything’s all right down here, I’m going to catch some sleep.’
‘Everything’s fine, María,’ Mamá said. ‘Get some rest while you can. There’s a lifeboat drill at ten thirty. Is my mother all right?’ María nodded and blinked slowly. Poor girl, Mamá thought, she’s worn out.
María appeared for the lifeboat drill and explained that Megáli Yiayá was fast asleep and Panayiotis wasn’t well enough to attend. By eleven o’clock the drill was over, but the sea had taken on a heavy swell and soon most of the refugees were suffering from sickness and didn’t want lunch. The crew rolled barrels onto each deck for those who had to throw up, then spent their time swabbing areas after those who didn’t make it to the barrels.
The Empire Patrol ploughed into steadily increasing seas. The captain announced a fire drill for the early afternoon. Everyone groaned.
‘Let’s remember, we’ll soon be home,’ Mamá said. ‘And at least the very young don’t seem to be affected by the sea. Will you keep an eye on everyone, Kuríllos, while I go and check on Panayiotis, María and my mother?’
‘The only eye I’ve got,’ Kuríllos said and laughed.
*
Mamá passed the UNRRA nurse on the stairs. The woman was coming to D deck with warm milk and biscuits instead of lunch. Nobody had the stomach for food.
Bad luck to pass on the stairs, Mamá thought, glad war was over and there was no chance of a torpedo or bomb, in which case she’d be blaming herself forever for tempting fate. After finding the three occupants of cabin 26 asleep, she returned to D deck where the nurse called, ‘For those who can’t face the milk, there’ll be warm water with a little milk of magnesia shortly, to settle your stomachs.’
Sofía was not badly affected by mal de mare and Rosa and her dance friend were not ill at all. They decided to put on a little show for their captive audience to take their minds off the turmoil. ‘Rosa, put your shoes on. If you get a steel splinter in your foot, it could travel to your brain – and then what?’
‘She’ll have to walk around for the rest of her life with a spike sticking up from her head,’ Zafiro said. ‘Like a unicorn!’
‘Ha-ha, don’t worry, Mamá,’ George cried much to the delight of Fevzi and Zafiro. ‘It’s never going to find her brains; she hasn’t got any!’ He poked the side of his head with his forefinger.
Rosa stuck her tongue out and with her thumbs in her ears she wiggled her fingers at Zafiro – then turned to Mamá. ‘My shoes are too tight now, I’ve grown out of them. A ballerina has to take very good care of her feet, you know, so I try to go barefoot as much as possible.’
‘Poor girl.’ Mamá remembered the little money she had left from Loulouthi’s gravestone. ‘I’ll get you a pair of new shoes as soon as we get home, that’s a promise.’
Like a true ballerina, toes out and arms held in an oval shape before her, Rosa ran gracefully to Mamá and threw her arms around her neck. ‘I love you so much! Now, are you ready, shall we begin?’
Mamá smiled proudly and nodded. Rosa made a low, dramatic curtsey to a young man who folded a square of shiny Izal toilet-paper over a comb. His friend had a pair of spoons which he clattered across his fingers and up and down his thighs and arms when Rosa said, ‘Maestro?’
The boys made a fine noise as they played a recognisable rendition of ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’, while the girls performed a mix of ballet and jive, much to the entertainment of D deck. Even the sailors came in to watch. Mamá was so proud of her granddaughter she had to blink back tears. She swore to herself she’d ask Mustafa to find Rosa a new pair of ballet shoes.
Everyone clapped and cheered and Uncle Kuríllos used his finger and thumb to make great ear-splitting whistles. The boys stared at him in admiration. Rosa flushed with delight, her eyes sparkling as she lived her dream. Some of the sailors threw small coins, which the girls raced to pick. Then they held hands and took a low bow together.
Tears now trickled down Mamá’s cheeks. At that moment, she felt all the trouble and strife in her life had been purely to arrive at this place in time. After seeing such a performance come from her granddaughter, she would die happy.
Katina and Athena said they were going to see if their mother wanted some milk.
Uncle Kuríllos whispered into Zafiro’s ear, after which the boy called to Rosa, ‘Here, I’m going to be your manager. Thirty per cent, all right!’ He held out an open hand.
‘Go away, silly boy!’ Rosa cried, understanding the situation and squinting a warning at her uncle. ‘I’m saving for ballet school. One day I’ll dance with Margot Fonteyn before kings and queens. You just watch me.’
‘Oh yes, well—’ Before Zafiro could say more, a heart-stopping scream ended the teasing. Everyone held their breath in a fight-or-flight moment. Nurse put down the pitcher of milk and, followed by several others, hurried to the staircase.
‘Fire!’ the nurse cried. ‘Everybody up top!’
Over 300 refugees on D deck stopped talking and stared at her for a second. An almighty rush for the stairs followed.
Mamá and Uncle Kuríllos exchanged a glance, picked up the youngest two, Evdokia and Mikali, and called for Sofía, Ayeleen and Rosa to gather the rest. Sofía snatched her rope-rig for keeping the children together and glanced around furtively to see the family made their way to the stairs.
‘Sofía, bring everyone up top!’ Kuríllos called. ‘Stay together, now!’
‘I can’t find Katina and Athena,’ Sofía said.
As the crush moved towards the staircase on D deck, they were all choking on the dense smoke that billowed down from C deck. With absolute horror, they wondered if they could pass. Then Sofía gasped as a shocking scream sounded from above. On and on it went, but the worst was, both Sofía and Mamá recognised the agonised the voice of María.
‘Help me!’
*
Still clutching two-year-old Evdokia, Mamá bustled her way through the crush on the stairs and screeched, ‘María! Oh my God, that’s my María. Let me through!’ Then, looking back at the turn in the stairwell, she shrieked, ‘Sofía, Kuríllos, take care of everybody. I’m going to María.’
The moment she reached C deck she saw the UNRRA nurse dragging María towards the dining room. María was only recognisable by her half-burned clothes and voice. Her arms, legs and face were a mass of huge, water-filled yellow blisters.
‘María! María!’ Mamá cried, passing Evdokia to a neighbour. ‘Give her to a Konstantinidis!’ She begged. ‘I must find my mother and my grandson, Panayiotis!’
Evdokia held her arms out stiffly, screeching, ‘Yiayá! I want my Yiayá!’ and viciously kicking the poor recipient as she was carried away.
Mamá took hold of María’s legs and together with the nurse, carried her into the dining room. As the nurse put butter on María’s burns, Mamá asked, ‘Where’s my mother, the old lady? And my grandson, Panayiotis?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The room was ablaze when I heard this one. She was in the corridor, her clothes and hair on fire, screaming hysterically, so I pushed her up to B deck, but she collapsed before I could treat her.’
‘She’s María, my daughter,’ Mamá said.
‘Wait, she’s gone into shock, I don’t know what to do. Let me think,’ the nurse said. ‘I remember . . . We must raise her legs a little and loosen her clothing. Pass me those cushions in the corner.’ Mamá did. ‘Look, there’s nothing you can do here,’ the nurse said. ‘I swear I’ll do everything I can for her. Go up top and find your mother and grandson . . . and please, get everyone to put on their lifebelts.’
Mamá wanted to kiss María, hold her close and tell her everything would be all right. Her unconscious daughter looked so terrible, her hair gone and her skin raw. Mamá’s heart squeezed. She’d buried Mikró Yiayá and Loulouthi, she didn’t want to bury her first child as well. After thanking the nurse, she hurried into the corridor where two men with fireman’s hoses almost knocked her over.
‘Go up top, lady! Put your lifebelt on!’ they shouted, eyes red-rimmed and squinting through the smoke.
‘Did you see anyone else in there? A boy, two little girls and an old lady.’
‘The boy has some burns, but someone’s taken him upstairs. The woman saved him, but she’s in a bad way.’
‘And the others?’
He shrugged. ‘Nobody could survive that.’ He nodded towards cabin 26.
*
The refugees continued to surge upward. Only one more flight of stairs to the open deck, but where was her mother and Panayiotis? Was María so badly burned because she was trying to get her son and her grandmother out of the cabin? Mamá, almost mad with anguish, feared the very old and the very young were still in there, alone, fighting the flames. She pushed against the tide of refugees, desperate to get down to C deck.
The refugees were panic-stricken. ‘The boilers will explode!’ a male voice exclaimed. ‘We’ll be trapped and drowned in the sinking ship!’
Everyone pushed, a woman fell on the stairs, screamed as others trampled over her. The smoke and heat increased, then flames cracked through a plywood wall just as a burning beam fell across the stairwell. Everyone screamed and backed away but clothing and hair caught fire and it was only the quick thinking of a crew member with a hose that saved them. While dousing the medical room, he heard their screams and turned his hose onto the burning passengers. Everyone changed direction and raced up the corridor to the bow of the ship.
*
Cabin 26, where Megáli Yiayá, María and Panayiotis had slept was in a short blind corridor now engulfed in flames. Fire leapt out of the door and up the walls. Three spent fire extinguishers rolled about in the corridor as the ship rocked and pitched. The two men with hoses tried to douse fresh flames that licked the low ceiling, but all seemed futile. The inferno roared. Mamá prayed to God her family had escaped that hell-hole.
Everyone ran along the main corridor, hoping to find another staircase to the front of the ship, but they were out of luck. Someone noticed a hatchway and ladder that took sailors to the top deck. They could only go one at a time and though they hurried up the rungs to gulp blessed fresh air at the top, the fire approached screaming people at the rear. Old people found it difficult, but they managed, slowly, slowly to get up to the open deck.
Mamá realised the ship’s engines had stopped. Flames were roaring up in the middle of the Empire Patrol and blowing straight towards them, but then the ship turned, so the wind was hitting the side of the vessel, rather than blowing the fire towards the front. Realising her feet were getting hot, she looked down to see flames break through part of the deck. Some people rushed to the lifeboats and scrambled in, many without a lifebelt. While they were attempting to launch themselves, ropes caught fire and one boat broke free of its rigging and fell from a great height into the sea. Mamá couldn’t see what happened to the occupants. She stared around for her family. There must have been 200 people at the bow of the boat, most were women and children. Smoke was coming up through the floor now. If the wooden deck burned through they would all drop into the inferno below. Some men with children in their arms had the idea to leap overboard.
