Those Who Are Loved

by Victoria Hislop

  A few metres from the exit, one of the soldiers put his hands on her shoulders. He spoke quietly, his face so close to hers that their lips could almost have touched. It was intimate. She felt violated even before anything had taken place.

  ‘You can save yourself,’ he said. The soldier was not much older than her, but his teeth were rotten and black and his breath smelled like excrement. She almost gagged with revulsion.

  ‘If you want, you can save yourself,’ he murmured again.

  Themis said nothing. Clearly her silence annoyed him.

  ‘Tell me that you don’t wish to die. Tell me that you will sign,’ he said, so quietly but so close she could feel his hot breath on her lips.

  ‘Say that you will sign!’ screamed the second guard, leaning in to intimidate her further. ‘Just sign! Then our work is done.’

  Themis contemplated the idea just for a moment. It would mean a return in shame to Athens, to face Thanasis (perhaps even Margarita, who knew?). It would be a denial of all her beliefs, a betrayal of so many people she had fought with. There would be the reading out of her ‘dílosi metanoías’, the statement of repentance, in the same church where she had understood charmolýpi for the first time. The public humiliation of the pointing finger, the scornful glance, the gloating of neighbours whom she knew to have been collaborators. No, it was a form of suicide, the abnegation of her ‘self’. How would she ever face Tasos or Panos when she saw them again?

  All of this filled her with greater fear than the soldiers who intimidated her now. She must stay strong. The nicotine on the soldier’s breath filled her mouth and bile rose up from the pit of her belly. Suddenly she was heaving and vomiting, and the two soldiers were turning away in disgust. She crouched down on the ground and wretched until her stomach was dry.

  ‘Get the bitch up,’ one soldier ordered the other.

  Themis was pulled to her feet and whipped several times across her back. Before roughly pushing her back into the tent, one of the soldiers sadistically twisted her arms behind her back until she thought they would come out of their sockets.

  Guiltily she watched as they pulled another woman from her bed and then listened in terror to the screams that came from outside. The woman was being raped, and Themis knew it could have been her.

  Eventually Themis’ ‘substitute’ was dragged back, unconscious, and dropped unceremoniously on to her bed. Several of the other women tended to her as she came round, screaming in pain from the cigarette burns that covered her face and neck. They dabbed gently but uselessly at the wounds but when morning came it was clear that the scars would disfigure her for ever.

  The soldiers were finding the strength of the female will to be greater than their determination to make them sign and their frustration only made them crueller.

  For several weeks, no one in Themis’ tent had signed. It gave them a reputation, and the soldiers adopted new tactics. Punishment was no longer a terror saved for the night and they were often subjected to daytime beatings. Themis’ skin was sun-darkened but there were many patches further blackened by bruising. To try to break them, the guards picked people out for solitary confinement. Themis was one such victim and she endured three days and nights shut in a damp and lightless cave. Bread was thrown in once a day but with no way of calculating the passage of time, she often ate it too quickly and then had nothing. These were the hours of her deepest misery and despair.

  One day, when it seemed only moments since they had gone to bed, they were woken by shouts.

  ‘Get up, you stubborn whores. Outside. Now.’

  The sun had not risen and the stars were still visible as they stumbled into the early morning. Though it was April, there was still a chill in the early morning and their thin clothes were no protection against the elements.

  This was something new. They were used to sudden awakening and bullying at all times of day, but now they were being marched at speed towards an unfamiliar part of the island, far from the tented areas to a place where no one would hear or see what they were subjected to.

  After a forty-minute hike, they reached an area of scrubland. The sun had risen and Themis looked around her and up at the blue sky. Nothing had yet happened.

  They were all standing in a huddle and the soldier in charge directed them to stand apart.

  ‘Like this!’ he said, demonstrating what he wanted them to do. ‘Arms out!’

  When the women did not respond, he shouted: ‘Aeroplane!’

  They were all obliged to stand in the same ludicrous position. They were being tortured for their beliefs on an invisible cross.

  After a while, numbness set in and Themis experienced a temporary loss of pain. Other women had fallen to the ground, fainting from the unseasonal heat and exhaustion. When they came round, they had to resume the position. A few of them sobbed, but their crying was without weeping. Dehydration had robbed them of their tears. Nothing moistened their eyes or their throats.

  They stood like this, with the sun soaring higher and higher into the sky and, when most of the women had dropped to the ground, the verbal bullying began once again. The soldier screamed to be heard above the buzzing of a thousand flies that swarmed over the carcass of an animal rotting nearby.

  ‘You can stand, each day, for a week, a month, a year, like this,’ he said, smirking. ‘We don’t mind. We’re happy for you to expand our air force.’

  He paused for a moment to acknowledge the titters of appreciation from other soldiers standing around and, pleased with his attempt at humour, he was encouraged to continue.

  ‘The Americans have given us a helping hand but we could always do with some reinforcements.’

  All the soldiers were laughing and jeering now.

  The position the women were obliged to adopt was calculated to make them look ridiculous, but it was to their bodies and spirits that the real damage had been done. Several lay still in the dust and those who had any strength helped the fallen. Very slowly, when they were allowed, they all staggered back to the camp. There was no natural water supply on Makronisos and when one of the women noticed a trough left for the goats, she ran towards it, dropped to her knees, and plunged her face into the fetid, tepid water. Themis followed and drank thirstily, scooping the water into her mouth as if it was the sweetest wine. All the others waited patiently for their turn and the soldiers did not intervene. They stood at a distance, smoking and chatting to each other as if their job was done.

  Even now, no one in the group had signed the dílosi and the guards took it as a personal failing that the women continued to resist. It would be a triumph if even one of them gave in. The guards’ strategy was simple. That night and for several days they were not fed.

  Everyone in the tent was now sick. Many had dysentery, four were taken from the island with suspected tuberculosis and several had developed sepsis from untreated sores. The soldiers were sadistic but they did not want to risk their own health and for a while left the women to die or to recover.

  Themis was in a state of delirium for several days following the hours of intense humiliation in the sun. Nevertheless, she was forced outside and pushed with a rifle between her shoulder blades to the daily parade.

  ‘If you can walk, you can attend,’ said the soldier, jabbing his gun into her spine.

  She almost fainted on the path to the theatre but was held up by two solicitous women, one on either side. It was only with their kindness that she got there and once they had gently lowered her into one of the stone seats they moved away. Such kind deeds could be punished.

  The dust was stirred up that evening by a strong wind and Themis looked downwards to prevent it from going into her eyes. Even so, the grit seemed to burrow its way beneath her lashes.

  She heard the beat of soldiers’ feet on the stony ground and, peering through half-open eyes, she saw the dim outline of men filing past. These were the soldiers who the previous day had signed the dílosi. It was a triumph for those in charge of them. Ten all at once.
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  God knows what they were subjected to, thought Themis. They were being fêted with almost religious fervour.

  A priest stood with a line of officers. He was chanting.

  ‘It’s like a baptism,’ said one of the other women under her breath.

  ‘They’re being rebaptised,’ said another. ‘Reborn. Purified.’

  Themis closed her eyes. It disturbed her to imagine how these good communist soldiers had compromised themselves, but worse still was to witness the gloating of those who had bullied them into it. These soldiers, who had signed dílosis themselves, now led the celebration for the latest ‘conversions’. Their leader was preparing to speak.

  ‘Think what they’ll get back home,’ said her neighbour.

  ‘A good meal,’ replied her other neighbour, talking across Themis, ‘and a warm shower, and a comfortable bed, and clean clothes and . . .’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said the first firmly. ‘They’ll find scorn. Derision.’

  It was true that the repenters would face humiliation from those on both sides when their declarations were made public. Nevertheless, Themis suddenly felt a pang of envy that they would soon be home and away from this hell. For a moment she was lost in reverie.

  Then she heard a voice. Just four words were enough for her to recognise the cultured intonation.

  ‘You have saved yourselves.’

  She knew the timbre of that educated accent so well, the way certain words were emphasised.

  ‘You have changed your path,’ he continued. ‘You are redeemed, to live once again as full citizens of Greece.’

  Tasos? Was it really him? She had heard that heat stroke could give you delusions and, with the setting sun behind him, Themis could see only a silhouette. She desperately wanted to be wrong.

  The sun went down rapidly now and as it did his image became clearer. She blinked with disbelief. It really was Tasos, standing there with a mocking smile. It was many months since she had seen him and although, in that time, many of the women around her had changed beyond recognition, he seemed not to have altered by even one curl.

  Themis’ heart was beating hard, the shock all the greater given that he must have been the chief protagonist in obtaining dílosis from the men that stood before him.

  Drowning in a confusion of passion and rationality, she called out his name.

  ‘Tasos . . . Tasos!’

  Nobody, including Makris, responded. On Makronisos everyone knew him as Makris and the new ‘converts’ and all the guards turned to look at her. It was audacious behaviour to draw attention to yourself in this way.

  The women on either side of Themis urged her to be quiet.

  Everyone was looking at her, except for the man she loved. He carried on with his speech, apparently oblivious.

  ‘And now, before you leave this place, it is your duty to make your fellow Greeks see the light, as you have done. Your mission now is to save as you have been saved.’

  There were murmurs of discontent. These men had been expecting immediate liberation but this was not to be.

  Makris spoke with quasi-religious zeal but his audience was now distracted by Themis, who had called out again. As soon as he finished, the guards marshalled the new converts and got them out of the theatre, to vacate it for the next part of the parade. Only then did Makris have a clear line of sight towards Themis. He turned his gaze on her.

  Themis met his eyes with her own and saw nothing but a vacuum of non-recognition. The face was the same but there was nothing in his expression to suggest that she was anything other than a stranger.

  The same fathomless eyes that she had loved so much now filled her with fear. They were as dark as hell, as cold and empty as the cave where she had been sent for solitary confinement. She could do nothing but watch with disillusion and grief as the man she loved turned away. Something had been stripped out of him and, as she stared at his retreating back, she felt something had been torn from her too.

  Everyone was looking at her now. A few of the guards were laughing and pointing. The women around Themis looked embarrassed for her, but angry too. This loss of control would undoubtedly have repercussions, possibly for all of them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  BACK IN THE tent, Themis was oblivious to everything and everyone. She lay on her mat, her eyes closed to the world. She did not even weep. Her ideals were one thing, but she realised that hope of a joyous reunion with Tasos had been what really sustained her. Now this was gone.

  The rest were outside to collect their evening ration of bread but an overwhelming nausea had killed her appetite. She was sick with sadness and sunstroke.

  Suddenly a commotion disturbed her reverie. The authorities on Makronisos liked to have an excuse for both mass as well as individual punishment and had seized on Themis’ undisciplined behaviour with vindictive enthusiasm.

  The women were all coming back into the tent now, talking in high voices, some of them shouting and protesting. She opened her eyes and realised they had all gathered around her bed. Feebly, she tried to sit up.

  ‘You!’ one of the toughest women in their group said, leaning down and jabbing her finger towards Themis. ‘You! This is all because of you!’

  ‘Yes, it’s your fault. Entirely your fault.’

  ‘There’s no food. Not a crust between us.’

  ‘And it’s because of you.’

  All the camaraderie and the mutual support between the women had evaporated. They would happily have found a way of physically punishing her if they could but their sharp tongues were enough for now.

  In the moment when Themis had been vainly calling out Tasos’ name, they had swiftly drawn the conclusion that the two had been lovers. It was common knowledge that this was against all the rules of the party, a sin against the beliefs and practices of the army.

  Several of the women, hungry and angry, began to taunt her.

  ‘So he’s forgotten you, has he?’

  ‘Shame! Shame on you, you little slut.’

  The abuse continued until the women got bored and went to lie down on their own mats. Hunger kept most of them awake. It was a terrible night for them all.

  As the days passed, Themis realised that many of the women no longer spoke to her and that even the most sympathetic had become enemies.

  The memory of Tasos’ blank stare haunted her and she told herself that he must have been brutalised to have gone through such a transformation. As tears began to soak her blanket she thought of the times they had made love. This was the image she would try to keep in her mind.

  In the following days the prisoners were assigned to what was described as a special building project. The regime on Makronisos had decided that they should construct a model of the Parthenon. It was the true symbol of their patrída and, by building it, the wayward detainees of the island would recognise where their loyalties lay. The carrying of heavy stones from one end of the island to the other would remind them of their duty.

  The midday temperatures of late April were intense and sweat poured down Themis’ back as she trekked up and down with her burden. Like several others, she had found a spare piece of cloth from the embroidery box to cover her head but was told to remove it.

  The same day on which she placed her first stone on this parody of the Parthenon, Themis suddenly found herself doubled up with pain. Incapable of walking, she clutched her stomach in agony.

  One of the few women who still spoke to Themis was permitted to help her back to the tent.

  There were always several women in the tent who had been allowed to remain there in the day, either because they were disabled from a severe beating or were feverish and suffering from an as yet undiagnosed disease.

  Like all the other women, Themis’ bones protruded from her shoulders, hips and knees. There were no mirrors but her ‘reflection’ was provided by her fellow captives and she imagined herself the same emaciated shape. Sometimes she ran her hands across her joints feeling them become progres
sively sharper.

  That night she lay on her back clutching her abdomen. Perhaps if she put some pressure on it, it might give some relief. As she pressed the epicentre of discomfort, she noticed it was more rounded than normal and she remembered from the famine of 1941 that starvation could cause a stomach to bloat.

  Then she felt something else. Through her cramps, she could feel something strange and unfamiliar. She lay there keeping her hand in the same position. It happened again a few moments later, the same stirring from inside her. Surely, it could not be. There it was again, the unfamiliar movement from within her belly. With a mixture of shock and pleasure, she knew that what she was experiencing was new life.

  Charmolýpi, she thought, doubling up with pain but simultaneously feeling an intensity of joy that had been absent for so long.

  After an hour or so, the cramps seemed to lessen and the thrill of her discovery to increase. Lying there, afraid that if she moved the pain would return, she tapped her fingers against her thigh and tried to count. How many months had passed since Tasos had made love to her. Seven? Eight? She had long since lost track of days and weeks. There had been nothing to measure them against, nothing to count them for.

  She could tell no one of her suspicion. This most precious secret must be kept to herself. Only a few days ago, she had watched as a woman was stripped of her newborn because she would not sign a dílosi. The baby had arrived on Makronisos along with its mother and the scene of anguish haunted Themis deeply. She recalled with profound guilt that she had once separated mothers from their children and such acts weighed more heavily on her conscience than ever. Even as the grief-stricken woman was given a final chance to keep her daughter, she had not signed. She had placed her commitment to her beliefs above all maternal instinct.

  Becoming a parent was something Themis had never imagined. It seemed impossible that another life was growing within her after all the hardship that her body had been subjected to in past months. Another human being had been sharing and enduring it all.