For a moment he pictured himself running forward to seize her in his arms and give her the kiss that would restore her to life. What he was seeing could not be real. It could not have happened. Only a moment before, she had been breathing. He had seen her. That motionless body lying in the street could not be Anna’s. It could not.
Manolis retreated a few metres from the scene and for a moment, in a dark doorway, found himself gasping for breath. Sobs now convulsed him, his whole body heaving and shuddering. The cacophony that had resumed in the village was more than enough to cover the noises he made, sounds that were more animal than human.
Crouched down, he buried his head deep in his hands. When he eventually looked up, he saw Anna’s body being carefully wrapped in the blanket and carried away. He was numb. With loss, with grief, with shock. Unused to any such emotions, all he registered was a feeling of icy coldness from his head to his feet.
A nip of raki warmed him a little, but he still shivered violently as if it was a cold December dawn. He did not know how long he remained concealed in the shadows, waiting for the streets to empty.
When he was certain that no one would see him, he emerged from his doorway hiding place and began to walk. Against his better judgement, he paused to survey the space where Anna had been laid out. There was nothing there now. Not a trace of blood, not a mark in the dust. The merry flags that hung between the trees seemed to mock him. The tables were still in place, strewn with the debris of the evening.
It must have seemed disrespectful to clear them so soon after such a terrible event, but in due course the men and women of the village would be stirring themselves to get up and set everything straight.
The sun was just coming up now, and in a shaft of low light, something glinted. Manolis took a few steps forward, glancing behind him to make sure that nobody was about. Then he stooped down. There, unmistakable on the cobbles, was an earring. It was one of a pair that he had given Anna on her saint’s day a few years ago. They had bright aquamarine stones in an ornate pendulum setting, and although they were worth less than any jewellery she had ever received from Andreas, she had been thrilled with them and wore them on special occasions.
He picked it up and quickly put it in his trouser pocket before hurrying to his truck, parked some way up the road. He had a plan now.
As he drove up the hill towards his home, he could not stop himself thinking of Anna’s final moments. Only God and Andreas knew what she had said, but there was no doubt in his mind that he, Manolis, had been the subject. He was the reason that Anna had died and now he had to live without her. The anguish was unbearable.
Although he had not pulled the trigger, he felt responsible, the one to blame. He would not be the one put on trial, but he knew that rumours spread like hill fires in a drought. Suddenly he felt sympathy for those who had left Spinalonga the previous day. Like them, he would always carry a stigma.
The life he had enjoyed in Elounda was over.
Back in his house, he ran upstairs, threw a few clothes into a bag, and then paused for a second, remembering a roll of drachmas tucked into his top drawer. Taking a final look at his bedroom, he caught sight of two framed photographs sitting on a shelf. He ran his fingernail round the seal on the back of one, pulled out the faded image of his parents and dropped it on top of his bag. Next to it was a baptism photograph: Andreas, Anna in the middle, holding Sofia, and himself. He tore it out of the frame and slid it into his shirt pocket.
Moments after Manolis left his house, a truck came from the other direction. It was Antonis.
The night before, it was he who had led the search party to find Andreas. Antonis still held close the memories of his years as an andarte captain and readily commanded the respect of his contemporaries. He also knew the places where men hid and how to find them. He had split the group of six into three pairs and sent each in a different direction. The men were all young and fast, and within ten minutes they had closed the circle and found their man.
Andreas was cowering in the doorway of the church, still holding the pistol in his hand, but he looked more likely to turn it on himself than use it against anyone else. He was curled into a foetal position, shaking and terrified, and immediately responded to Antonis’s command to put down the gun. He willingly allowed two men to lead him back towards the village square.
It was Antonis who picked up the weapon. For a moment he contemplated firing it into Andreas’s back as he was escorted away. But death would be no punishment for a man who had murdered his own wife in cold blood. Antonis hated his boss. This past decade he had resented the man he worked for, not for a single day forgetting that Andreas Vandoulakis had stolen the woman he loved.
Anna had been part of his life for as long as he could remember. Their families had been interconnected and they had seen each other almost every day from childhood through to adolescence. While he was fighting in the resistance, he found himself thinking of her endlessly, spurred to acts of courage not only by patriotism but by the hope that she might admire him when he returned. Each night, as he laid his head on stony ground, he imagined the moment when Anna would learn of his selfless bravery. He returned bruised in body and mind, and at the gléndi to celebrate the return of all those who had taken part in the resistance against the Germans, he finally held her in his arms. The pair of them had crept away from the party in Plaka to steal their first kiss.
On that same night, Andreas Vandoulakis had appeared in the village. If he was looking for the most beautiful woman in Elounda, he had come to the right place. Anna was there, flushed and beautiful from the dancing and from the touch of Antonis’s lips.
The situation had been further exacerbated by Andreas’s order to Antonis the following day to take a letter to Anna. Antonis could not refuse, even though he knew that he was hastening the end of his own chances with her. With the exception of Fotini, who was sworn to secrecy, he had never mentioned to another soul the way his hopes had been raised and dashed. It would only deepen his humiliation.
Andreas had been Antonis’s boss then, and more than a decade later, he still was. There were few better places to work. The Vandoulakis estate paid well and it caused him no difficulty to take his salary from a man he resented. He enjoyed the physical demands of working with the land, spending all day with men he had known since boyhood, and the company of Manolis, who was now his best friend, someone who had brought so much life and gaiety to their small society. But his anger towards Andreas Vandoulakis had never gone away, and he sensed that Anna knew this. Occasionally when the workers were invited to the boss’s house to celebrate the end of the grape harvest or the making of the raki, Anna would be there, and Antonis had enjoyed seeing her discomfort at his presence.
Anna had known that Antonis had never married. For years Fotini had been doing her best to matchmake her brother with friends and cousins of friends. He was extremely good-looking, with chiselled cheekbones and long lashes around unfathomably dark eyes. Potential matches were even impressed by the scar from the German bullet that had grazed his neck during the occupation. All of them found this war hero attractive physically, but there was something that deterred them: his gruff manner, and perhaps his honesty too. He did not conceal his lack of interest and made it very clear that marriage was the last thing on his mind. Most of these girls did not have time to waste so quickly gave up on him.
‘Come on, Antonis. There are plenty of women around who want a husband. And need one,’ Fotini would say.
‘Well I don’t need a wife,’ he would retort.
He tolerated and was sometimes amused by his sister’s efforts, but they both knew that there was nobody in Plaka or in any of the villages around to match Anna.
‘You need to stop being so fussy!’ were Fotini’s usual words to end the conversation.
That morning, after a few snatched hours of sleep, Antonis had woken up with one thought in his head: he had not seen Manolis at all the previous evening. His friend had said that he was goin
g to the celebration in Plaka and it seemed strange that he had not been there with the rest. It was unlike him to miss such an event.
After they had handed Andreas over to the authorities and Antonis had made a call to Alexandros Vandoulakis to tell him that his son had been arrested, the men of the search party had sat in the bar until the early hours of the morning, speculating over what had happened. Now, the words of one of the men suddenly came back to him:
‘Hope he didn’t kill his cousin too.’
They had seemed absurd at the time, but now they nagged him. He would go immediately to Manolis’s place and check on him.
Manolis’s truck was not there, so clearly he was out. Antonis tried the latch and the door opened.
He had never been inside the house before so had no idea what kind of state his friend normally lived in, but he was unsurprised to see the messy kitchen with its crumbs strewn across the table and an open bottle of wine, half empty. The state of the bedroom upstairs was more revealing. It looked ransacked, with clothes pulled from the wardrobe left lying on the bed and all the drawers open and empty.
Antonis approached the chest of drawers and picked up a frame that had been put face down on the surface. It was empty, the photograph removed, and it was the same for another. The blank frames were like darkened windows. It was clear that Manolis had gone.
Antonis sat for a moment on the edge of the unmade bed. The notion that Andreas had killed Manolis did not appear to be correct, but he now accepted that Manolis’s disappearances at midday had probably been to see Anna. He had always hoped that their liaison was nothing more than a rumour, but he had known Anna long enough to realise that she was perfectly capable of behaving this way.
Shortly afterwards, he left the house and drove to Plaka. He did not recognise what he was feeling, but realised that it was not grief for Anna. It was almost as if a burden had been removed from him. There was no one to mock him now. Perhaps his pride could finally mend.
Manolis had driven down the long hill towards the main road to Iraklion. With virtually everything he owned on the seat beside him, he suddenly thought of his precious lyra. It was still hanging on the wall of the kafeneío. It had been his constant companion for so many years and his most beloved possession, and when he reached the junction where he might have turned left to reach Plaka, he hesitated. Perhaps he would go and retrieve it.
On every level the idea was absurd, and with reluctance, he dismissed it. His priority now was to catch a boat.
The ferry for Athens left Iraklion in the early afternoon, and it was already ten. He put his foot down on the accelerator and took the bends like a man with nothing to lose.
Chapter Five
MANOLIS CAUGHT THE ferry with just a moment to spare, having dumped his truck in an alleyway. He left the key in the ignition. Someone could help themselves to it. He did not care who.
The boat was very crowded, with many people returning to Athens after a few days on Crete for the August holiday. Manolis noticed a group of former leprosy patients. He was now familiar enough with such disfigurements. He knew that they would have been in Plaka the previous night and would have been witnesses to what happened.
Among the group were Papadimitriou, the former island leader, Solomonides, the editor of the newspaper, and Kouris, the engineer. They sat in a huddle talking quietly as if trying not to be noticed. All of them had been instrumental in transforming Spinalonga into a thriving community. Now they were returning to Athens to try and resume the careers at which they had excelled almost two decades before. It was obvious that other passengers on the ferry were keeping clear of them, as though there was an invisible barrier around them.
Manolis spent most of the passage on deck. He had not slept for more than twenty-four hours, but he wanted to think, and the fresh air and the throb of the engine helped keep him awake. Anna was constantly on his mind, in every breath, in every thought.
His time in Elounda had been the longest he had spent in one place during his adult life. Anna had held him there, a willing captive. He did not care what happened next. It had simply been instinct to flee.
The ferry stopped at several small islands on its journey north, and a handful of new passengers shuffled on at each one. Some waited on deck to wave goodbye to people, but the smell of diesel was overpowering and eventually drove most of them inside. Manolis remained alone, staring down at the rolling waves as the day turned to night. The sky was black and the waves were dark. They were one vast continuous expanse. Beneath him was a void that seemed to be inviting him in. Nobody would see, nobody would know. He would simply slip beneath the surface. Now that Anna had gone, he would be a loss to no one. Perhaps Antonis and their paréa, their gang, would miss him. But not for long.
At that moment, he saw a slight glow on the horizon. A chink in the blackness. The chink grew and began to let in the light, and after a while the light glowed orange.
Day was breaking. Slowly and surely, the flat line of the sea’s surface was replaced by the contours and shadows of land. As the boat made its steady progress north, the irregular shapes of Attica’s mountains began to emerge through the early-morning haze, and eventually the grand buildings on the seafront came into view. Piraeus was close to the city of Athens, but had its own identity.
A while later, the huge vessel was steered into port. There were thirty minutes of intense activity and noise: the roar of the engine going into reverse, the deafening grinding sound of the anchor chain being lowered, shouts, instructions, swearing. There was a sense of panic and urgency, but this was just another day’s work for the men running this way and that bearing ropes as thick as their arms.
A crowd of people waited for the boat to dock, and Manolis observed that many passengers were now on deck waving enthusiastically to friends and family below.
It reminded him that there would be no one to greet him. Nobody even knew his name here. It was six years since he had left the mainland for Crete. He had fallen under the spell of the island’s exceptional beauty, enjoying everything it gave him, from mountains to plateaus to crystal seas. During that period, he had not hankered after his former, more urban existence, and was more than satisfied by the limited social life of Elounda. He had only visited Iraklion, the capital city, a handful of times, and then it was just when Andreas sent him on errands.
The thriving and bustling city of Piraeus was spread out before him now, teeming with activity and probably opportunities too. He would think about his plans later, but for now, weak with fatigue, he just needed somewhere to lay his head.
It would be easy to find somewhere to stay. As well as those greeting loved ones, there were others who stood ready to ensnare the disembarking passengers, holding up clumsily written notices: Rooms for Rent; Lodgings for Ladies Only; Pension – Clean Sheets!
Manolis tried to bargain with one or two of them, but they would not budge on price. He knew how many notes he had in his pocket and had a strict limit.
Knowing that the best way to negotiate was to feign disinterest, he began to walk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that a woman had fallen into step with him. She had red-tinted hair and reeked of cheap perfume and hair lacquer, but there was something about her that he liked. In her younger years she would have been his type, with her full lips and rouge overenthusiastically applied.
‘If you want an easy-going landlady,’ she said cheerfully, as though they had already started a conversation, ‘that’s me.’
‘Are you close to the docks?’ he asked.
‘Couldn’t be closer,’ she laughed, revealing a missing tooth. ‘Unless you were on board ship.’
‘How much is it?’ enquired Manolis casually.
‘Four hundred and eighty a week,’ she answered. It sounded as if she had just made up a figure.
Manolis did not respond but continued to walk with her along the waterfront. He would need to see the place before he agreed.
It was already midday when they finally reached the
woman’s pension, but in the dim light, he noted a well-kept entrance and a vase of silk flowers on a table in the hallway. It seemed clean enough too.
A girl hurried past them on her way out.
‘See you later, Theía,’ she said in a sing-song voice.
‘That’s Elli,’ said the landlady. ‘My niece.’
Manolis registered long dark hair and a waif-like frame.
‘She works at that grand zacharoplasteío on the seafront,’ added the woman proudly, referring to a huge pastry shop that Manolis had noticed when he walked by.
This girl, with her pale pink complexion, even looked as if she was made from sugar, he reflected.
The landlady took a bunch of keys from her pocket and jangled them.
‘What’s your lucky number, agápi mou?’ she asked.
Since childhood, Manolis had always felt that good fortune watched over him. But today, he no longer believed it. Luck had deserted him and its loss made him feel empty.
‘Well, if you can’t think of one,’ said the landlady cheerily, ‘we’ll put you in Room 9. It’s a nice one. View of the alleyway. And close to the bathroom. I think you’ll be happy.’
Anna had been born on the ninth of the month. It would have been the number he chose.
Another woman passed them on the stairs.
‘Kalispéra, Kyría Agathi,’ she said breathlessly, giving Manolis a cursory glance before continuing on her way.
‘We have one or two like her here,’ whispered the landlady when she was out of earshot. ‘But they don’t bring rough types back. And they mostly only work in the day. So don’t worry, it’s quiet at night.’
It was what Manolis would have expected for the price, and he had no objections. In the past, he had spent plenty of time in the company of prostitutes and did not doubt he would do so again.
The landlady unlocked a door at the end of the corridor and threw it open. The mattress was covered in stained ticking and there was a blanket hanging over the bedstead. In the corner stood a dark mahogany chest of drawers, and a jug and basin sat on the floor beneath the window. There was a broken wooden chair. It was just a place to throw some clothes. Manolis had stayed in many places worse than this, and it was no more spartan than his home in Elounda, even if his bedroom there had been bigger. He did not seek luxury.
One August Night Page 5