The Thread

by Victoria Hislop

  Suddenly the door swung open and Katerina caught sight of him.

  ‘Dimitri!’ she cried, with surprise and unconcealed delight. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Before he had time to answer, Saul Moreno returned.

  ‘Elias is just coming,’ he said.

  Katerina now stood in front of him. She looked like a small goddess.

  ‘It suits you,’ was all he could think of to say.

  ‘I’m exactly the same size as the customer,’ said Katerina. ‘So it saves her coming in for fittings.’

  Dimitri was lost for words. He had only ever seen Katerina in simple, day-to-day clothes and the transformation was astonishing.

  Elias then appeared.

  ‘Dimitri! What are you doing here? My father said you wanted to see me. What’s happened?’

  Dimitri quickly recovered his composure. ‘The invasion . . .’

  ‘Yes, I know. We said it was going to happen, didn’t we?’

  ‘Well, some of us are going.’

  There was not a moment’s hesitation before Elias responded.

  ‘I’m coming too.’

  ‘I knew you would. But we have to go almost immediately. There’s a train leaving for Ioannina at seven tonight.’

  ‘That soon! All right. I’ll tell my father, go home for some things and then meet you at the station.’

  There was determination in Elias’ voice. Dimitri knew he would be there in good time before the train rolled out of the station.

  While Elias went to tell his father, Dimitri was on his way to break the news to his mother. Konstantinos Komninos would not find out until his son was well on his way.

  It was as though Olga half expected Dimitri to be going. When he knocked on the door of the drawing room, she was standing by the French windows that looked out over the sea. The water was rough that day.

  ‘You’ve come to say goodbye, haven’t you?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I know my own son,’ she said, with a catch in her throat. ‘That’s how I know what he will do.’

  Dimitri put her arms around his mother.

  ‘I hope you think what I am doing is right.’

  ‘You’re going to protect Greece, Dimitri. Of course it’s right. And you are young and strong. Who else is going to do it, if not you?’

  ‘I’m going with some friends too, I won’t be doing it single-handedly,’ he said, almost jokingly.

  Olga tried to smile, but she could not manage it, so she turned away and walked towards the gilded bureau that stood against the wall. She opened one of its many drawers and took out a brown envelope.

  ‘You’ll need this,’ she said.

  Dimitri took the envelope without shame. From its thickness he could tell that there were millions of drachma inside. He and his friends would be needing them and he accepted them without hesitation.

  ‘Thank you, Mother.’

  There was no merit in delaying a parting that was unbearable to both of them. Olga stood erect, with her arms tightly crossed. She was squeezing herself so tightly that she could scarcely speak or breathe. Such a posture was the only way she could prevent herself from losing control. Under no circumstances must she allow herself to cry.

  She looked at her son with pleading eyes and gestured with a nod of her head that he should go.

  He kissed her on the forehead, then he was out of the door. Pavlina thrust some food into his hand and, with some spare clothes and a few books, he left the house at a run.

  The following day, the Moreno workshop buzzed with the news of Elias’ departure. Kyrios Moreno was impressed by the bravery of his son, and announced to all his young male workers that he would support them if they chose to make the same decision. Two of them did not return to work the following morning. They had followed Elias’ example and signed up. Everyone was proud of them, knowing that they were joining thousands of other young Jewish men who were going off to fight.

  Soon there were news reports from the front. The army suffered from a dire shortage of equipment and supplies, and weather conditions were becoming severe, with deep snow and subzero temperatures in the mountains. Most soldiers lacked experience, but soon acquired it.

  Katerina wondered how Kyria Komninos had taken her son’s departure and imagined that she would be as anxious as Roza Moreno. On her way home that night, she took a detour to the little church of Agios Nikolaos Orfanos, and lit two candles. She stared into the flames and prayed long, hard and equally for the safety of Dimitri and Elias. Elias and Dimitri. It was hard to know how to order their names.

  The days went by and everyone waited for news. In the Moreno workshop they continued to sew. Sewing had always been a distraction for women when their men went away to war and never more so than now.

  Katerina had just begun to do the edging on one of the most lavish commissions of her career, a wedding gown for the daughter of a wealthy Jewish family who lived in one of the largest mansions in Thessaloniki, one that outshone even the Komninos home for grandeur.

  The white peaks and folds of the wedding gown on her lap took her imagination to the rugged mountains where the fighting was taking place. Stories of conditions on the front were circulating and everyone with loved ones there feared as much for the effects of frostbite as the Italian bullet. Katerina’s mind had wandered hundreds of kilometres from Thessaloniki and her unfocused gaze saw only the white blur of a blizzard. She realised that her eyes were swimming with unshed tears.

  Suddenly she felt a sharp stab of pain. In her reverie, she had pricked her finger, jabbing the needle deep into the flesh and, before she knew it, a drop of blood had fallen onto the fabric. In this otherwise pure landscape of virgin white that spread across her lap and cascaded to the floor, there was now a red spot. Katerina was aghast. She quickly bandaged her finger with a scrap of discarded fabric and the bleeding stopped, but she could do nothing to shift the mark. She had been told by Kyria Moreno, very early on in her training, that nothing in the world could remove a blood stain. The only solution was to cover it up. This was why all the modistras must learn to avoid ever pricking their fingers. The mark would have to be carefully concealed so she began to create the first of a hundred pearl-bead flowers, hoping the bride would be happy when she saw this unexpected embellishment.

  As she continued her work that morning, she reflected on her ‘accident’ and realised why she had lost concentration. She cared for Elias like a brother but it was her fear for Dimitri that had brought her to the brink of tears. It was Dimitri whose image she had seen in those mountains.

  Good news then came from the front. In spite of the awful conditions, the Greek army began to push the Italians back. Within a month, they had captured the Albanian town of Koritsa. They then transferred their offensive to the coast, which gave them access to supplies from the sea, and meanwhile continued to advance into Albania.

  It was the first victory against the Axis powers. The Italians had now been chased from Greek soil. The troops were heroes and their survival of the harsh condition had become legendary.

  In the Niki Street mansion where a dinner was being given, a toast was raised. At last, Konstantinos Komninos felt he had a son he could boast about.

  ‘To our army! To Metaxas!’ he said. ‘And to my son!’

  Olga raised her glass, but did not drink.

  ‘To my son,’ she repeated quietly.

  There was excitement in the Moreno workshop too.

  ‘How long will it take them to get home, do you think?’ Katerina asked Kyria Moreno.

  ‘A few days, I expect. Perhaps a few weeks. We don’t know where they are exactly, do we?’

  The Morenos had received letters from Elias, so they knew that he was in a unit with Dimitri.

  It was, of course, naïve to think that they would be returning so soon. Soldiers were now needed to protect the border and Elias’ next letter informed his parents that he was obliged to stay. Katerina tried to conceal her disappointment.
r />   If the main concentration of the army had not still been in Albania, then perhaps there might have been a stronger front to resist the next attack made on Greek territory. This came with terrifying and irresistible force at the beginning of April.

  Sweeping over the border from Yugoslavia, the German troops came with such speed that the Greek and British forces could not stop them.

  The people of Thessaloniki held their breath. Even the spring leaves seemed not to stir. The streets were silent as everyone waited. Theirs was the first major city that the Germans would reach.

  ‘Isn’t there something we should be doing?’ Kyria Moreno asked her husband, tearfully wringing her hands. It was an extraordinary situation to know that it was only a matter of time before the Germans arrived.

  ‘I really don’t think so, my dear,’ he said calmly. ‘I think we just have to see what happens. We’ve all got work to do, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that will keep our minds off it all.’

  Kyrios Moreno was right. There was nothing that anyone could do.

  Though many had loathed the man, the death of Metaxas three months earlier had left the country without strong leadership and resolve, even within the army itself. The strength to resist the German invasion was lacking.

  On 9 April 1941, the tanks rolled in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  IN THESSALONIKI, people were well used to hearing different languages: Greek, Arabic, Ladino, French, English, Bulgarian, Russian and Serbian were all distinguishable to people even if they did not speak them. These sounds were like musical compositions that flowed around their streets. They did not need to be understood, but their intermingling notes were part of the city’s texture and, like chords, made music that was pleasing to the ear.

  Now there was a sound that was less familiar to most ears: German. As soon as the occupying troops arrived, the people of Thessaloniki heard the orders barked between Germans to each other, and then at themselves. It added to their sense of unease.

  ‘I think we just carry on as normally as we can for now,’ said Kyria Moreno to Katerina, a few days after the occupation.

  It was not really as though they had a choice, but in the Moreno workshop there was so much work to be done that they had little time to worry about what might be taking place outside in the street. The Morenos, as all Jews in Thessaloniki, were not unaware of the way in which the Nazis had persecuted the Jewish population in Germany. It made them anxious, but not unduly afraid. They felt some level of safety in numbers. There were, after all, nearly fifty thousand of them in Thessaloniki. The Moreno workshop was a cocoon within which they could very happily continue as though nothing had changed and, once bent over their various tasks, the act of concentration helped distance them from the outside world.

  ‘Perhaps Elias will come back soon?’ Katerina ventured.

  She knew that her employers were losing sleep over their younger son and, now that the Germans had invaded, Katerina hoped that both he and Dimitri might come home. After all, what was there for them to do? The Germans were on their way to Athens and the Greeks were as good as defeated, even if most people did not like to admit it.

  ‘I hope so, Katerina,’ Roza said, with the hint of a smile. ‘I hope so.’

  Meanwhile, it was important to keep their spirits raised, and that week, in spite of Esther Moreno’s obvious disapproval, they did not wait until the end of the day to put on the gramophone. Sofia Vembo’s sweet and tuneful voice sang out every day over the finishing room. It cheered them all as they stitched to the rhythm.

  For the first week after the invasion, life continued almost as normal except that olive oil and cheese became almost immediately unavailable.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll reappear on the shelves again soon,’ Eugenia said to Katerina optimistically. She had lived through plenty of shortages before.

  For Katerina, the first significant indication of change was when she got to the workroom and the magnificent wedding gown that she had almost completed was no longer hanging on the dummy. It had been removed.

  ‘Where’s . . .?’ Katerina started to ask, with a hint of indignation in her voice, striding up to the naked tailor’s dummy.

  She turned to Kyria Moreno and realised that she was in tears.

  ‘I’ve put it away for now,’ Kyria Moreno answered, dabbing her face with a handkerchief. ‘The wedding has been postponed.’

  Katerina was speechless. She had been working on the dress for four months and she knew it had to be completed by the end of May.

  ‘But why? What’s happened?’

  Katerina was dry-mouthed. Something awful must have happened to the poor bride.

  Kyria Moreno was wringing her hands. A few other workers had arrived in the workroom, and all of them asked the same question.

  ‘Where’s the dress?’

  The wedding gown had become a great focal point. Even in the Moreno workshop, it had pushed the boundaries of ambition and extravagance. The bride, Allegra Levi, who had been in for a fitting the week before, had wanted to look like a European princess, and this was what they had achieved for her.

  Kyria Moreno began to explain. She spoke quietly, as though she did not want to be heard outside the room.

  ‘They’ve arrested Kyrios Levi.’

  She faced a barrage of questions: ‘When?’ ‘What for?’

  ‘He is not the only one. They have arrested other council members and community leaders. For no reason.’

  Isaac had come into the room.

  ‘There is a reason, Mother, and we all know it,’ he said bluntly. ‘It’s because they’re Jewish.’

  There was silence in the room. The spectre of anti-Semitism had returned, and the hope that they could ‘carry on as normal’ ended there. Within a month, other anti-Jewish measures had been implemented. The Jews were obliged to hand in their radios. Kyrios Moreno rarely bothered with the music that was played on the radio, but he always listened to the news.

  ‘Let’s simply not hand it over,’ said Isaac. ‘They aren’t going to know, are they?’

  ‘It’s too much of a risk,’ said his father.

  ‘Well, they haven’t said we can’t have gramophones, have they?’ said Kyria Moreno. ‘So I’m going to hide that away. They’re not going to take away our music.’

  Three days later, they had their first visit from two German officers. They were accompanied by a young Greek man, who interpreted for both sides.

  Having carried out the order to hand in their radio, the Morenos were unsure of why the Germans had come.

  ‘They are here to inspect your premises,’ said the interpreter. ‘And you appreciate that a lot of Jews have had their businesses taken out of their hands.’

  The young man’s confidence that the Germans spoke not a word of Greek allowed him to be very free with how he talked to Kyrios Moreno.

  ‘I don’t think that’s what they want to do here. If you’re careful, you should be all right,’ he added.

  The officers asked to see every room. The tailors and seamstresses automatically stopped what they were doing and stood up when they entered. It was not out of respect, it just seemed the safest thing to do.

  The younger of the two officers ran his hand along the rolls of wool in the storeroom. He seemed particularly interested in some fine woollens and stopped to examine them. Finally, he pulled out a roll and dropped it with a thump on the cutting table.

  ‘Dieser!’ he barked. ‘That one!’

  ‘They want suits, you see,’ the interpreter told Saul Moreno. ‘With your skills, you should be safe. There’s no point in them kicking you out of here. It’s not just the fabric – they could get that elsewhere – but your workmanship. Your reputation has already reached them. You’re lucky!’

  ‘So, better get measuring.’

  Saul Moreno called in his top men’s tailor and, with almost obsequious attention, began to note their measurements.

  The interpreter skilfully moved between
German and Greek, speaking with obvious respect and formality to the two officers.

  A conversation of sorts began between Kyrios Moreno and the more senior of the two officers.

  ‘Let me tell you how we heard about you . . .’ the officer said.

  He described, gloatingly, the house they had requisitioned for themselves to live in.

  ‘It is somewhere close to the White Tower,’ he said. ‘A marvellous place and the family are very cultured and give us such excellent hospitality. They have two daughters and a very fine Steinway – and an excellent cook in the house.’

  There were not many people in Thessaloniki with a Steinway piano. Isaac, who had not left his father’s side, exchanged a look with Saul.

  In the next breath, the officer confirmed what they had already guessed.

  ‘I complimented Kyria Levi on her dress. It looked like something from the best couturier in Berlin or even Paris!’ he said. ‘So she took us on a little tour of her wardrobe, and there they were! Rows and rows of beautiful gowns – all with your labels! I hope to bring my wife over in the next few months, so I know this will be her first port of call. May we congratulate you!’

  The younger officer then joined in. ‘And then we had a look at Kyrios Levi’s suits. Pity the trousers end halfway up our shins. We wouldn’t be here now if he wasn’t so short!’

  Something followed that the young Greek did not bother to translate and the two officers laughed together.

  The thought of these two rifling through the cupboards and dressing room of one of their best customers, who was currently imprisoned, sickened the tailor.

  The interpreter then spoke to Kyrios Moreno: ‘I gather that they will be recommending this place to all their colleagues. So, if you work well for them there is no reason for them to shut you down. They aren’t planning to pay you the going rate, but I think you’re safe enough. They’re a vain bunch, these officers, so make them look as dapper as you can.’