‘Nothing will ever extinguish my fury,’ she said. ‘No one was punished for those deaths, Themis. And people who collaborated with the Nazis still walk the streets of Greece. But I found a way, Themis.’
In answer to Themis’ quizzical look, she continued, ‘I joined the fight. I signed up to the communist army so that I could take revenge. And that is exactly what I have done. It was the only way I could get any justice for my loved ones. For each one of my family members, I have taken the life of someone on the right.’
The communists had a reputation for brutality, which she had witnessed herself, but Aliki had not seemed like someone capable of ruthlessness.
‘An eye for an eye,’ Aliki muttered, preoccupied now with the lines she was tracing on a fresh sheet of paper.
Themis silently counted. Aliki must have killed at least eight people. She knew she had at least as much blood on her own hands, but this woman’s actions had been very well calculated.
A few minutes passed before Themis broke the silence.
‘What are you drawing?’ she asked.
‘You,’ smiled Aliki. ‘You look so . . . fecund, so full, so beautiful.’
Themis felt herself flush at Aliki’s words. Beauty had never bothered her. Margarita was ‘the beautiful one’, not her. She had always been ‘the clever one’.
Aliki worked quickly as the light faded. The charcoal made soft sounds and Themis smiled as Aliki continually glanced from the paper to her face and back again. Her head was slightly tilted to one side and her brow was furrowed with concentration. Within ten minutes she had finished her task and held it at arm’s length to compare the likeness.
Themis could tell that she was pleased.
‘You’ll remember this moment,’ said Aliki. ‘It won’t come again.’
Themis reached out to take the portrait, wondering what she had meant. She almost gasped when she saw the expression that Aliki had captured. It was a look of profound contentment and peace. For the past few minutes this was exactly what she had felt.
It was not long before she understood the ephemerality that Aliki had referred to and wanted to capture.
The sense of stillness came to an end later that night. At around two in the morning and without warning, Themis’ waters broke, soaking her clothes and her straw mattress. Nothing had prepared her for the pains of labour that immediately followed. No woman had warned her that they would make her wish for the relief of death.
Nothing to which she had been subjected in these past months could compare. She had been beaten on the soles of her feet, had her back shredded with a whip and soldiers had stubbed their cigarettes out on her breasts – but this was different. This was relentless. For hours she screamed. Throughout the night, two women held her hands, one on each side, and a third mopped her brow. Others sat close to comfort her. From time to time she was aware of Aliki’s voice and then it faded. All she could hear at times were her own deep, primeval groans.
The guards kept well away. They had seen and heard a woman in the throes of childbirth before and it repulsed them to listen. They went far enough away to be out of earshot. For them it was a night off. They would go down to the seashore to drink tsípouro and later on would raid a tent in a different part of the island.
As it was getting light, the pains increased and one of the women told Themis to push. As her body was being rent in two, she screamed one last time. Everything in the tent went still. How could such agony bring life into being?
Then suddenly there was a breath of silence before the breath of life and the scream of the newly born.
Themis lay still. Two women efficiently busied themselves with the afterbirth, another cleaned the baby and, within moments, Themis cradled him in her arms.
The pains came back from time to time, but she was anaesthetised by the outpouring of love she felt for the tiny human being.
Aliki was by her side, showing her how to breastfeed, stroking her head, offering words of encouragement, bringing her an infusion made with oregano that she had gathered that day.
‘It’s almost biblical,’ smiled Aliki, looking at the queue of women wanting to see the baby. ‘Though a stable would have been cleaner.’
The arrival of new life was rare on Trikeri. Some who still retained their religious faith stood by and crossed themselves, muttering prayers and giving the baby a blessing from God. Others just wanted to get close, to see something small and perfect, who against all odds had come into the world. One woman had found a tiny fragment of smooth blue glass on the beach that day and had saved it. It was the closest thing anyone might find to a matóchandro, the blue-eye bead protecting newborns from the evil eye. She pressed it into Themis’ hand.
Themis was already fretting about his arrival in this cruel world. Until now, he had not heard or seen or felt anything except for a warm dark sea but from this moment he would have to face it all. Themis looked at his perfect hands, his long fingers and his tiny feet and marvelled at the fully formed nails. Gingerly she touched his head, feeling the pulsating softness at the top of his skull, and was filled with terror as she contemplated his vulnerability. She had understood the notion of dying for a cause (the possibility of it had been ever-present for years now) but this seemed nothing now. To protect this baby, she would lay down her life a thousand times.
She fed him, laid him on her chest and then slept for an hour. Later on that morning, some of the women who had their own small children brought them to see the baby. One of them reached out and touched him with a timid forefinger, uncertain what to do but aware that the arrival of another small creature was something good. None of them remembered anything but this life in captivity, a place where smiles were rare and hunger constant. Themis was touched by their interest and the way in which their expressions seemed to brighten when they saw her child.
These children were innocent, their ‘crimes’ non-existent and they had no sense of what their mothers were keeping them from. With the signing of her name, a woman would gain not just her own but her child’s liberty too. As Themis knew, the ramifications of such an act were many.
A less welcome visitor was one of the guards who came to note down that a child had been born and to whom.
One of the accusations hurled by the guards was that they were not natural women. They were an aberration, sacrificing their offspring for their own misguided beliefs, making political prisoners out of their progeny. This singled them out for particularly harsh treatment. The children themselves were not always spared. They were beaten by the guards if they misbehaved.
‘You are not worthy of any kindness,’ the mothers were told by a visiting official, not long after Themis’ labour. ‘And if you want to be treated like men, we will punish you like men.’
To instil the greatest possible fear into all of the women, they sometimes randomly picked on one of them and hanged her. One morning the mother of a child was taken to the gallows. By evening, seven women had signed a dílosi and the following day they left on a small boat: seven women and eight children, the eighth being the child of the executed, who would be taken to one of Queen Frederika’s camps.
Aliki stayed by Themis’ side, holding the baby whenever Themis needed her to. Most of the time, the little one was strapped to her chest so she could more easily gather firewood, pick hórta and carry supplies from the seashore, all of which were duties she was still expected to perform. Sometimes the pair of them would sit in the olive grove, hiding for as long as they could just in order to rest.
Within his first two weeks, the baby had been exposed to enough dirt and bacteria to endanger the health of a grown man. He had been a normal weight when he was born, with his little stomach as round as a ball, and a good layer of fat on his thighs. Now all this had gone. And however much time he spent on the breast, he did not gain any weight.
‘Do you think he’s ill?’ Themis asked Aliki tearfully. ‘I don’t think he’s growing.’
It was obvious that the child was losing m
any grams a day and his crying was almost constant.
Aliki knew that something had to be done.
‘Perhaps it’s your milk,’ she replied, her words almost drowned by the baby’s lusty cries. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to produce enough. This terrible diet, the salty air, lack of water. All of those things together . . .’
After a short while at Themis’ breast, the child slept. He was exhausted by his own protests, the frustrations that he could not articulate, the hunger that he could not satisfy. His energy was spent for now.
Aliki was compelled to tell Themis something that she had not intended to share. The baby’s cries had stirred a visceral response in her.
‘Themis . . . I think I could help feed your baby.’
‘But . . . how?’
‘I’ve helped several women in this way. I had a baby too, you see . . .’
‘Aliki,’ breathed Themis. ‘What happened?’
Themis could read the pain in her friend’s expression but had to wait until she was composed enough to answer.
‘He was born here. I would say that I went through much less to bring my baby into the world than you did with yours,’ she said, trying to smile.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Themis, who assumed that the baby must have died.
Realising what she was thinking, Aliki corrected her.
‘No, no! It’s not what you think. He was healthy and strong. There were dozens of babies and small children here then but the guards used them mercilessly, even more so than now. Every day, they threatened to take them away if we didn’t sign.’
Aliki paused for a moment. The baby was waking up again. Both women knew that he would soon be demanding nourishment that Themis could not provide.
‘One day they actually took two little girls away from their mother. You can’t imagine how terrible it was. The poor woman found a way to take her own life.’
Themis listened, rocking her baby as she did so.
‘After that the rest of us were given a final warning and many began to sign. I wanted to hold out, though, because I was still sure that we were going to win. Zachariadis hadn’t announced the ceasefire then.
‘You’ve seen how determined and cruel these people are, Themis. They started threatening to take children away and put them in one of the Queen’s camps. Then one of the women here, a prisoner, started talking about Frederika. She told us that she was good-hearted and that the children would be safe and well educated. Lots of others believed it because they wanted to. It meant that they could hold on to their principles and have their children safe at the same time.’
‘But, Aliki!’ exclaimed Themis. ‘That woman! Why would anyone want her to bring up their child? She’s a fascist!’
‘I know that, Themis. A child would be safe in body, but not in mind. And I was not the only one who thought like this. There was a mother, Anna, who confided in me that she would sign the dílosi to liberate herself and her little girl, but then she would try to escape to Albania. She said she would take my baby too. Both of us wanted our children to grow up as communists so we agreed that this would be the best plan. And when we were all liberated, I would find her.’
Themis could see that Aliki’s eyes were welling up and put an arm around her. A few moments later she continued.
‘So four of the women, including Anna, signed, and just as the guards had said, they were allowed to leave the following morning. Four women and five children. Of course they have no way of communicating with us, so I don’t know what’s happened to my child. I just hope he is safely out of Greece. It’s nearly eight months ago but already it feels like years. I don’t even know exactly how he would look now. Babies change so quickly . . .’
Themis watched helplessly as the face of this strong, self-assured woman crumpled like a leaf. It was Aliki’s turn to weep.
There was a moment of strained silence that was soon broken by the baby’s crying.
Themis tried to put him to her breast but he moved his head to one side and continued to scream. Instinctively she held him out to Aliki, who lifted her shirt to let him suckle. The effect was instant. Suddenly the baby was calm, satisfied by the milk that flowed from the other woman’s breast.
The women smiled at each other.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Themis. ‘I could feel his desperation.’
‘I’m sure you will be able to feed him again soon. But at least I can help for now. The others I’ve fed were soon back at their mother’s breast.’
Aliki closed her eyes. Themis knew what might be going through her mind.
‘Perhaps someone else is feeding my son now. Who knows?’
The days went by and the women stayed close to each other, Themis with the now fast-growing baby strapped to her and Aliki by her side, always ready to suckle him when he was hungry.
One evening, Aliki showed Themis a drawing of her own child. She must have done it while he was sleeping.
‘He’s so handsome,’ exclaimed Themis. ‘Look at his dark curls.’
The child had a mass of curly hair with long lashes, full cheeks and dimples.
‘He’s eight months there. I did it some while before he left.’
Themis could see that the words were almost too hard for her to say.
‘We all think our own children are the most beautiful on this earth,’ replied Aliki. ‘To me, he was a little god.’
Themis handed back the drawing, Aliki refolded it and slid it beneath her mattress.
The cruel life of Trikeri continued. The food was foul, the punishments were relentless, the beatings continued in hidden places. There were still thousands on the island and hundreds of children, but with no rations allocated for offspring, there was a constant shortage of food. Small boys especially whined with hunger.
‘The little one manages now,’ said Themis. ‘But things will change when he is old enough for solid food.’
‘Perhaps you will both be gone by then,’ replied Aliki sadly. She had made the ultimate sacrifice herself, letting her child go, but she did not blame those who chose to sign. She admitted, if only to herself, that she had moments of great regret.
‘I will never sign,’ said Themis flatly. ‘And I will never allow them to take away my child either.’
Aliki, wanting to change the subject, raised a new question.
‘We call him “to mikró”, “the little one”,’ she said. ‘But he will need a name soon, won’t he? He’s growing so fast now!’
‘You’re right,’ said Themis. ‘I suppose it should be his grandfather’s, but I don’t know what that is, at least on his father’s side.’
Aliki looked mildly surprised. Themis had not yet been ready to share her own story.
‘And on your side?’
‘My father is Pavlos. I can’t use that because of the King. What was . . . is the name of your son?’
‘Nikos. After my father. I didn’t know the name of his paternal grandfather either.’
‘Oh,’ responded Themis without surprise. ‘Who was his father?’
‘He was in my unit,’ replied Aliki. ‘We served together. Not for long, but for long enough.’
‘Was he killed?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps he was. Or maybe he is still alive. He left our unit unexpectedly.’
For a moment there was an awkward silence before Aliki, gazing into the distance, spoke again.
‘I don’t think I will ever love again.’
‘This little one’s father left without saying goodbye too. But I saw him on Makronisos. He had joined the other side. He was torturing people on our side.’
‘Theé mou,’ said Aliki. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m certain,’ Themis replied.
‘But at least you know he is alive!’
‘Is that such a good thing?’ asked Themis, trying not to sound bitter.
‘I still dream of finding Tasos,’ said Aliki.
‘Tasos . . .?’
‘Yes. I would be so happy for Nikos to m
eet him. But my heart tells me he is dead. He would have been one of the last men standing on Grammos.’
Themis sat there, deep in thought, rocking her baby who slept in her arms.
Tasos was not an uncommon name. She had known several at school and even had a distant cousin with the name. She tried to dismiss the idea, but the possibility that both children had been fathered by the same man hung in the air.
Another blow then fell like an axe, putting all doubt aside.
‘He would have died with a sword in his hand,’ said Aliki, her voice full of love and admiration. ‘Some people knew him as liondári, the lion, not just because of his courage but his hair too. It was like a lion’s mane, but black.’
Themis felt as if all her blood drained from her. For a moment, she could not speak, but the baby was stirring and she busied herself with rocking him and humming to him, hoping that Aliki did not notice how violently she was shaking.
Now that she was certain that the father of their sons was one and the same, she wondered if it explained why Aliki had bonded so easily with her child. Did he remind her of her own? Themis’ little one had only a hint of dark pelt over his scalp but little curls had begun to sprout like pea-shoots around the nape of his neck. Perhaps in time it would become more obvious.
It took Themis less than a second to make her decision. She would say nothing. Why destroy Aliki’s image of her lover-hero and replace it with something more bitter? As soon as she had composed herself, she spoke.
‘What do you think of the name Angelos?’
‘It’s perfect,’ responded Aliki, immediately. ‘He is an angel. It suits him.’
‘So let’s call him Angelos, then,’ said Themis.
From that moment this name, plucked from heaven rather than either side of the family, was given to the baby. Themis felt no need to go to the priest of the island. Angelos already had the little máti sewn to the inside of his trousers and that would be enough to protect him from the devil.
There was an informal school for the children and with Aliki feeding her child, Themis was free to teach small groups how to read and write. For the alphabet, she used sticks to make marks in the sand, and taught them to count with small stones. Storytelling passed plenty of time too. Recognising that children caused less trouble if they were occupied, the guards did not obstruct these activities.
Those Who Are Loved Page 25