Cave of Silence

by Kostas Krommydas

  A distant voice calling out Manolis’ name made them jump. They pulled hurriedly apart, Eleni fumbling to button up her dress with shaky fingers. Manolis stood up and scanned the beach trying to see where the voice was coming from. Up on the hill, his brother Yianni appeared. As soon as he spotted the young couple, he hurried toward them, a deep frown on his face which glistened with sweat.

  “Bad news,” he sputtered, trying to catch his breath. “I went to the headquarters to pick up the two bushels of corn to be milled. You remember the order, right? I walked in but no one was around. I found them all in a room, listening to the radio officer who was talking with the Italian command on Rhodes. From what I gathered, a ship had been sunk…a Greek ship, the Elli. At the port of Tinos. On purpose. They torpedoed it and it sunk. But that wasn’t all…”

  “What else did you hear?” Manolis asked and gripped Eleni’s hand.

  “They received an order from Rhodes for the whole army to be on standby. I stood in the corridor, and as they were leaving the room I heard the corporal say, La guerra è in arrivo, preparatevi miei soldati.”

  Manolis still looked at him uncomprehendingly. He heard Eleni’s soft voice translate the Italian words out loud, as much to let them sink in as to help Manolis understand. “War is coming, my soldiers, prepare.”

  All three stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Only the waves carried on their soft song, crashing onto the shore, unaware and indifferent to the fact that life on the island was about to change.

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  I returned late from my swim and sat on the balcony of my rented room to enjoy the peace and beauty of the landscape before me. It was nearly dark and I could feel my eyes getting heavier with fatigue. I was sure I would not be able to stay up for much longer.

  The swim at Galazia Petra had relaxed me and my legs ached from all the walking. I did not want to get up, but had to because I wanted to call Anita and my phone was inside the room, charging.

  Lethargically, I got up and went to get it from inside. I dialed Anita’s room but there was no reply. I called reception and found out that she was still giving an interview. I left a message asking her to call me as soon as she was done.

  Then, I sank back into my chair, facing the setting sun and enjoying the brilliant streaks of color running across the sky. It was a perfect harmony of sight and feeling, one of those moments when you feel at one with the world. Seagulls flew noisily over the rooftops, black shapes against the darkening sky. All that was missing to make this idyllic picture complete was Anita. No matter what you achieve or are given in life, it’s worthless if you don’t have someone to share it with.

  In the distance, the lights of a passing cruise ship glimmered, lit up like an incongruous Christmas tree. I smiled, comparing it to the Titanic and my journey over, and started thinking about all the people I had met on my trip and on the island in just one day. Then I thought about my mother and uncle crossing those same waters on a tiny boat, a fourteen-year-old boy with a toddler in his care, and how scary it must have been. I felt a pang of compassion for poor Uncle Nikos and once again determined to carry out his last wish first thing the following morning.

  I wondered whether I should visit their village, perched higher up on the hill above the town. I understood that not much had been left standing after the war. The village was now a small collection of newly-built houses and crumbling walls, the last silent remnants of the houses that used to be there and the lives that had filled them.

  Perhaps my short stay would be better spent trying to find out what had happened instead. I felt at ease here, the locals seemed to like me and I could sense that, with a little bit of probing, they would be happy to open up and share their stories with me. Or so said my rational, adult self. The little boy inside me still felt that he should heed his mother’s warnings.

  I sighed as I realized that all those years of half-spoken words tinged with fear and the implied threat that something terrible might happen should any of us ever return still lived inside me and held me captive, unable to act as freely as I would like. With these thoughts churning through my mind and the soft breeze blowing down the mountain, I felt my eyes getting heavier and heavier and I drifted off to sleep, lulled by the distant melody of the familiar island song and a mechanical buzzing sound.

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  Anita had just finished giving her interview and was chatting with the director in the hotel lobby, along with another ten actors who had smaller parts in the film. Most of the extras were locals, a choice made by the director who liked the thought of using them to give the film more authenticity.

  Electra approached Anita as discreetly as she could, trying to keep out of the way of the photographer who was still snapping away and not to bump into any of the curious people who were milling about. She was carrying a small box, which she promptly handed to Anita. “I’ve replaced your old SIM card, but you’ll need to charge it. Most of your contacts are saved but the photos are gone, I’m afraid,” she said apologetically.

  Anita felt a pang of disappointment. All her photos of Dimitri were gone. She tried not to let it show as she thanked Electra for all the trouble she had gone to, and asked her if she could go find Mihalis for her.

  As Electra bounced off to fetch him, a small cheeky smile lit up her face, like a child that had just discovered a hidden stash of sweets. She quickly took leave of the others, thanked the photographer, and headed to the reception area. The receptionist handed over the message asking her to call Dimitri and impatience mingled with joy inside her. She wanted so much to finally be alone and talk to him. All day they’d barely managed to exchange more than a few words. But she needed to call her mother first and tell her she was well, worried that maybe they had been trying to reach her while her phone was not working. She was sorry that she had not been able to talk to her grandmother for days and worried that the elderly woman might have taken a turn for the worse.

  As she made to go to her room, a hand gently touched her shoulder, trying to get her attention. She turned and came face to face with Mihalis’ strong features, his distinctive mustache and the twinkling eyes that made him appear younger than his sixty years. Tall and lean, he seemed like a guardian angel to her at that moment.

  “You were looking for me, Anita?” he asked.

  “Yes. I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything you want, just ask away.”

  “Remember when you took us across to the other island? That nice beach? The Cave of Silence?”

  “Of course I do. Would you like me to take you back there?”

  “Well,” Anita gave a naughty little laugh, “not exactly.” She lowered her voice and started explaining her plan.

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  Back in her room, her phone now charged, Anita switched it on. The first message to come up was the photo Dimitri had sent from Galazia Petra. Her heart beating faster, she dialed his number impatiently. No answer. Maybe he was out.

  She lay down on her bed and exhaled deeply, the events of the day and Dimitri’s absence making her feel out of sorts. Turning to her side, she noticed a small white envelope addressed to her standing on the bedside table. She opened it carefully and took out the piece of paper folded inside.

  Whatever happens, always remember that the days I have spent with you have been the best days of my life. It hasn’t been five minutes since you left this room and I miss you already.

  She held the piece of paper and reread it as if she couldn’t quite believe what it said. That was exactly how she had felt after saying goodbye to him that morning. Except Dimitri seemed to somehow have the courage, the strength to own up to those feelings, to put them into words and share them with her.

  She quickly picked up the phone and dialed again—still no answer. She started to worry a little and felt frustrated that she didn’t know where he was staying. Maybe Electra knew, but she felt uncomfortable asking.

  She’
d been puzzled by Dimitri’s trip, by the urgency she could detect in his voice whenever he talked of going there and which he couldn’t hide no matter how casually he tried to speak of his impending visit. Perhaps it was nothing, she told herself; some unfinished family business, paperwork, who knew? He was probably out and had forgotten to take his phone with him. She’d take a shower, call her mother, and try again later.

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  Eleni was sleeping on her bed, her face the color of wax in the street light streaming through the curtains. The wind outside was making the shutters rattle. The moving branches cast eerie shadows on the walls.

  Suddenly, the old woman’s eyes opened wide, as if waking up from a bad dream. They darted around the room searching for something and came to rest on the framed photo of the crowded port. Her breathing was coming hard and fast, making a faint whistling sound that roused Michaela who had been slumbering in the armchair near the bed.

  “Mamá! Are you alright?” she asked anxiously, trying to raise the old woman’s head on an extra pillow to ease her breathing. Rina, hearing movement in the room, ran inside to help her, turning on the bedside lamp. They raised the pillows behind her and Eleni seemed to breathe more easily.

  “Water, please,” the old woman whispered hoarsely.

  Rina quickly brought the glass of water that stood on the bedside table to Eleni’s lips, who managed to take a couple of sips through the straw. Exhausted by the effort, she sank back into the pillows. Summoning all her strength, she looked at Michaela and said with a newfound determination, “I need to talk to you.”

  Michaela glanced at Rina, who took the hint and swiftly left the bedroom. She then turned to her mother, astonished at this sudden flash of lucidity, so rare these days. She sat on the edge of the bed beside her, worried, her curiosity piqued. “Tell me Mamá, what is it? What’s happening?

  “Is Anita back? Is she okay?”

  “Not yet, but she will be back in a few days. She is well, though. We’ll call her in the morning and you can speak with her, she’s been missing you too.”

  “Time is running out, you must learn the truth…”

  Michaela stared at her mother unable to utter a word. She was trying to figure out whether her mother was really lucid or had now drifted off into a parallel world and was rambling.

  “Tell me, Mamá. I’m here…I’m listening”

  Eleni went quiet for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts and trying to overcome some lingering hesitation. She seemed to fight off any last doubts, regained her strength, and continued. “Upstairs, in the attic, is my trunk. Open it. Under all the papers, you’ll find a wooden box. It says Galazia Petra on it. It’s locked. Bring it to me, Michaela. Now.”

  Michaela wondered whether she should calm the agitated woman down and put all of this off for the following morning. What if her mother never regained this kind of lucidity, though? She looked at her watch. Midnight. She would do as her mother asked.

  She called Rina back into the room to stay with Eleni and then almost ran up the stairs to the small attic.

  It had been such a long time since she’d last been up here. This had been her favorite room as a little girl. She used to spend time with her mother up in the attic, listening to a wonderful story about a prince on a black, not white, horse; a horse with a white heart-shaped mark on its forehead. The prince had been forced to leave his girl behind one day and did not return for years. And she waited for him, in a castle at the top of a hill, on a warm, sunny island. Whenever she got to the end of the story, when the prince returned and married the girl he loved, tears would fill Eleni’s eyes. Whenever Michaela would ask her why she cried at such a happy ending, Eleni would tell her that those were tears of joy. But Michaela knew, could tell that her mother’s eyes were sad. The sadness never went away, even as the years went by and the story was passed on to Anita, who would sit on her grandmother’s knees enraptured, listening to the story of the prince. Except Anita would weep with her grandmother, not quite knowing why, all the while reassuring her grandmother that her own prince would come on a black horse too and they would all be invited to the wedding.

  Michaela looked around the attic, lost in the memories of her childhood. It had been a magical place, this attic with its wooden puppets hanging from the ceiling, Eleni’s unfinished paintings on the walls, among them a painting of the fairy-tale prince astride his black horse at the top of a hill, looking at the sea.

  She spotted the trunk sitting below the two small round windows at the far end of the room. She sat beside it, removed the old quilts and blankets that kept it almost hidden from view, and opened it. She carefully removed sheet after sheet of her mother’s discarded sketches, all of the same face. She held one close to her eyes. Why did the man seem familiar? Her mind raced, trying to recall where she had seen his face before. She felt her heart stop for a second when she realized that this was the man in the pocket watch. She set the sketch aside and started to fumble beneath the remaining papers with greater urgency, her fingers looking for the wooden box. It did not take long. She pulled it out, scattering pieces of paper all around her. She’d never seen it before. At least now she could be certain her mother was lucid, the box was not the confused ramblings of a fading mind.

  Michaela quickly brushed the dust off the top of the lid and could just about make out a small colored sketch: a man standing in the sea, looking at the rising sun. Galazia Petra, read a note in her mother’s hand at the bottom of the sketch. She tried to open the box and then remembered that it was locked.

  In a hurry now, not wanting to waste another second of whatever precious time was left, Michaela picked up the box and ran down the stairs. As she crossed the living room she heard Rina cry out in an alarmed voice, “Quickly, call the doctor! Call an ambulance, now!”

  The doctor’s recommendation was that Eleni be moved to the hospital immediately. It would be the only way to keep her alive and, hopefully, regain her consciousness at some point.

  Tears streaming down her face, Michaela felt torn. She had promised her mother that she would not be hospitalized, that she would die in her own home. Now that the moment had come, she did not know if she had the strength to carry out her mother’s wishes, knowing that this would precipitate her death. She also thought of Anita, how devastated she would be if her grandmother died while she was away, unable to see her one last time, to be near her at the very end. “To the hospital,” she said.

  She looked down at her hands and realized that she was still holding the box. As the ambulance men walked in carrying a stretcher, she placed it on the coffee table and wondered what it was that her mother had so urgently needed to tell her earlier in the evening.

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  I opened my eyes as a hot ray of sun hit my face. My hands instinctively felt for Anita’s body beside me on the bed and then I remembered where I was. I looked down and saw that I was still dressed. I must have walked into the room at some point during the night after falling asleep on the balcony and got into bed. I had barely had any sleep for days on end and exhaustion and sleep-deprivation had finally caught up, plunging me into a comatose slumber.

  I looked at the open balcony doors and saw that my mobile was still outside on the coffee table. I got up and went to pick it up. Four missed calls, all from Anita. How could I have missed them? I cursed myself when I saw I had left it on vibrate. I looked at the time; too early to call, better text her.

  The building was silent, a sure sign that everyone was still asleep at this early hour. The sound of the phone ringing startled me. Anita! I loved hearing the drowsiness in her voice as she explained that she’d just been woken up by my message. We spoke for a long time, not even thinking about going back to sleep.

  She told me about a monastery she’d visited and the car accident that followed and I told her about my journey over. Without even realizing how, I told her about the real reason behind my visit. That I was here to carry out my uncle’s dying wish a
nd scatter his ashes on his favorite spot on the island.

  She seemed puzzled, so I then had to explain that my mother’s family came from this island but that no one had ever returned. I could guess all the unanswered questions this piece of information would raise, but she was discreet enough not to ask anything. I hoped she didn’t think that I was trying to hide anything from her and felt reassured when I heard her say that she found it touching that my uncle wanted his island to be his final resting place and that I was going to carry out that wish.

  I quickly changed the topic, talking about the festival and how much I missed her. She said she loved the picture I had taken at Galazia Petra and was going to send it to her family in Berlin.

  The hours passed by quickly, seamlessly, as we talked and talked, as if we had been apart for more than a day and had to make up for lost time. By the time we hung up the sun was blazing in the clear blue sky and my stomach had started to rumble. I remembered Thekla’s delicious breakfast and the smell of coffee being served in the courtyard lured me downstairs to join the other guests.

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  Her face covered by an oxygen mask, Eleni lay immobile on the hospital bed, eyes closed. All that could be heard was the beeping of the heart monitors by her bedside.

  Michaela, dark circles under her eyes and a worn look on her face, kept watch by her mother’s bedside, holding the old woman’s hand tenderly in her palm. At the sound of a beep coming from her handbag, Michaela got up, careful not to disturb the drip attached to her mother’s arm. She took her phone out and stepped into the corridor. It was a message from Anita, photo attached.