by Gary Cleaver
Sofia thought for a moment. “Then I will stay too, if the fire comes, Christina, you will not be able to evacuate Yota and the child on your own, so I will assist you.”
Christina smiled, “Good then, let the men fight the fire while we women see to the important things in life, wash your hands Sofia, we have work to do.”
They went back into the bedroom.
6:54pm
Nikos Suvari and Pavlos Filipos pointed the nose of their big Canadair fireplane toward Katsimila for the second time in two months, but this time it was a different mission to the one in July. Pavlos sat in the right hand seat quiet and serious, there was no basketball chat now, they had flown at two hundred and fifty metres all the way from base, the best height they could achieve whilst keeping below the heavy cloud cover, the sea had been beneath them the whole time, black flecked with white, wild and hostile. The wind constantly buffeted the aircraft sometimes sending it into strange attitudes of flight, Nikos grunted as he wrestled with the controls, on the approach they got their first sight of their target.
“Nasty” said Pavlos. It was easy to see that although they had fought bigger blazes than this one, with the strong wind and the parched fuel in its path, it would quickly get out of control. It now covered thirty thousand square metres, roughly the size of six football fields, it had crossed and blocked the north road from the village and the south road, on which a steady stream of cars could be seen would soon be under threat from its rapid progress. They descended toward the sea, flying as close to the shoreline as they dared for maximum shelter, even so the aircraft bounced alarmingly on contact with the water, when the tank was full it took their combined strength to haul it back up into the sky. They threw the Canadair into a hard left turn, still climbing; the fire was less than five kilometres away.
Dimitris Lambakis was using his skill and experience in leadership to the full, he reasoned, cajoled and when all else failed roared at the people of his village to fill their cars and get away as quickly as possible. Now he faced an added complication as vehicles returned from the blocked north road seeking another way out, he directed traffic as best he could and prayed that the one remaining escape route would stay open. George Karamis made his way slowly into the square in front of the mayor’s office and joined him.
“Good evening Dimitri, you seem to have both hands full, could you use some help?” “To be honest I could use a miracle right now” they raised their voices momentarily as the big yellow fireplane went overhead.
George pointed. “They will not be of much use, it will be dark soon, too dangerous for those guys”.
Dimitris Stamos sat in the breakdown truck, nervously chewing on his cheroot. He was parked on a track beside the south road watching the slow stream of cars leaving the village, over the top of them he could clearly see the fire approaching. One particular car caught his eye, a little Fiat Punto containing Pavlou Giannakopoulos and her two children, Dimitris was not in the car. Stamos guessed immediately what the big defender was up to; he swore and threw the truck into gear. Five hundred metres west of the village boundary he found the JCB as it was about to turn off the road and into the scrub beyond, he sounded a long blast on the horn and pulled up alongside.
“What are you doing, are you crazy?”
Giannakopoulos waved him away, “If the wind turns we will lose the whole village, I can create a fire break here and buy us some time. Go back to your job Stamos and let me do mine”
Stamos looked up at the fire and then down at Katsimila.
“Alright Dimitri, but promise me something, when the fire gets too hot or the smoke too thick, you will run my friend, you will run like a thief.”
His phone rang to tell him of a broken down pick up that was slowing the evacuation down, and he drove off. Giannakopoulos headed into the scrub, dropped the bucket on the front of the digger to ground level and began.
The Canadair swooped low over the fire and jettisoned its load, Nikos watched with detached interest as a large section at the front edge turned dark.
“That’s it for us Pavlos, it is too dark for any more runs, home we go” he glanced across at his co-pilot and caught the look.
“Oh alright, you and your puppy dog face will get me into serious trouble one day. But trust me, when we get back, IF we get back, you’re buying the beers.”
Pavlos smiled at his superior “It’s a deal.”
They turned the aircraft back toward the sea to refill the tank. On the second run it was so dark that the fire itself was their only marker, as the water went down Pavlos watched.
“The wind has turned, that village is toast if the boys on the ground can’t cope.”
Nikos pulled back on the stick and climbed away, he looked down as the lights of Katsimila passed under them.
“There is nothing more we can do Pavlos … God help them.”
Christo Alexiou held a rag to his mouth as he made his way back to the house, he had said a brief farewell to his precious olive trees and now knew it was time to be somewhere else, the fire would be upon them in less than twenty minutes. Inside he found Irena packing suitcases.
“What do you think you are doing woman! There is no time”
She turned on him “If there is time for your beloved trees then there is time to save some important things.”
Family heirlooms, photographs of children and grandchildren were thrown into the bags, Christo muttered as he helped her, he looked through the window at the orange glow that now lit the room.
“That’s it Irena, no more,” she began to protest. “Listen to me Irena, all this junk is meaningless to me if I don’t have you, so let’s get this stuff into the truck and get the hell out of here!”
They threw the cases into the back of the Mazda and sped away, twenty minutes later the paint on the kitchen door began to blister.
Sofia Hadjadakis damped the cloth for the tenth time and wiped Yota’s forehead, she tried to soothe her.
“You are doing so well Yota, we are almost there, just a little while longer and you will have a beautiful child.”
She looked out of the window, smoke was beginning to travel across the rooftops of the village, Christina spared it a quick glance as well.
“Do not worry Sofia, we will soon be done here, in fact I think I can see….ah!” “What is it Christina?”
“I think you should look for yourself”
“Oh my god what is that?”
“That my dear is the baby’s buttocks, we have a breach birth” Christina sighed “Just what we needed.” Yota started another contraction, she found this unfair as she had only just finished with the last one, Christina looked at her sternly.
“Alright Yota I need you to work even harder now, you can do it my dear, trust me.” In reply Yota merely screamed.
8:41pm
Was the precise time when a twenty metre eucalyptus tree, in flames and already weakened by a lightning strike the previous year, fell across the south road and completely blocked it. The cars trapped on the wrong side were forced to turn around and head back to Katsimila, Lambakis, assisted by George, had done a wonderful job of organising the exodus, but now there was no way out and more than two hundred residents and visitors were trapped in the small village. Dimitri and George stood amidst the log jam of stationary vehicles in the square with worried expressions.
“Well George, we only have one option left, we must find all the fishermen and boat owners that are still here, the sea is our only way out.”
“Rough out there tonight, Dimitri, we may be only swapping one problem for another.”
“Even so, I think everyone would sooner take their chances out there, come on let’s get on with it.”
In the scrub land at the back of town Dimitris Giannakopoulos threw levers, stomped on pedals and cursed the fire, he had made a break six hundred metres in length, he knew it would not halt the blaze for long, but it might be enough. Now the fire was upon him, the Perspex window by his right elbow was blac
k with soot and too hot to touch, he dropped the bucket to make one last run, as he crested a small rise he could see the lights of the village just a few hundred metres away. There was smoke in the cab now, his eyes smarted and breathing was difficult, when the right hand front wheel burst into flames he decided to follow Stamos’ last instruction, he dropped from the cab and ran. When he reached the road it was empty, he thought that everyone had gone and decided to follow, ten minutes later he reached the burning eucalyptus, buried among the flaming branches was a large breakdown truck.
“Oh my God no” he whispered, he ran towards the back of the vehicle but was immediately beaten back by the heat, sadly he turned on his heel to make his way back to town. A voice pulled him up short.
“I thought I could ram it off the road, but it proved impossible.”
Giannakopoulos cried out with relief, Stamos was sitting beside the road smoking a cheroot.
“Problem is, when I jumped from the truck I didn’t land very well, I think my leg is broken.” The big centre back picked up the little goalkeeper and carried him back to Katsimila.
Just after nine Yota Koutalidas gave birth to a girl weighing two point nine kilograms, she decided on the names Christina, Sofia. Sofia senior was looking out of the window again, the front edge of the fire could now clearly be seen, they did not have long.
“Right Christina, I am the stronger, I will help Yota you carry the little one. Where do you suggest we go?”
Christina said “My guess is the roads will be blocked, so we will go to the harbour, if there is anyone left they will try to get out by sea.”
Christina gazed at the small bundle in her arms. “Well, little lady, what a way to start your life, first you are named after a prostitute and now you are going for a boat ride!”
“I’d sooner you’d say “Shopkeeper” Christina” Sofia glanced at the window. “That is if I still have a shop come tomorrow morning”.
The exhausted quartet made their way down to the harbour as the first wisps of smoke entered the village streets.
Having finished with their traffic duties Dimitris Lambakis and George Karamis were now part time harbour masters. They had found all but one of the local fishermen still in town and had got them aboard their boats with the engines started, Dimitris spoke to each in turn. Eventually he came to the newly repaired “Danae”, Iannis and Aspro were standing together on the bow.
“I don’t suggest you take more than six Ianni, your boat is small and it’s wild out there, we will wait until the last possible moment before we load you up, don’t go out any further than you need to.”
“I know my boat’s capabilities Dimitri, I will take eight and I will keep them safe, have no fear.”
George was on the opposite side of the harbour organising a small fleet of privateers, he had mustered two yachts, a half a dozen rigid inflatable speed boats and a little converted Caique owned by a local British expatriate. All of the skippers were nervous, they were being asked to overload their boats in conditions where they would not normally put to sea at all. The Caique captain was an experienced marina with as much sea time as Lambakis, these days he was often to be seen in the bar at the Artemis hotel telling any and all who would listen long romantic tales of life on, what he called “The deep blue”. George asked him his capacity.
“Normally I will take six, but tonight…?” he looked out at the wildly tossing waves in the bay. “Given the circumstances George, I will take as many as you want.”
George smiled, “I will try and keep it to six, good luck to you, Martin.” The Englishman waved briefly as George limped painfully on to the next tiny craft.
10:06pm
Christo Mariopoulos stood close by his fire truck on the highway, the tree which he and his assistant were hosing down was almost out, they moved on to the next one. They had been doing this for over four hours and there was still no shortage of burning trees. During the course of the evening they had been joined by crews from all over the region, they came from as far away as Korinthos to the north, Kranidi and Porto Heli to the south and Tripoli to the west. Their problem was they were fighting the fire from behind, with the roads blocked no crew could get through to Katsimila where they were desperately needed. Their only hope was to fight their way through the fire, but this would take several hours, time the little village did not have. As well as the fire fighters, scores of volunteers lined the road, carrying buckets of water, picks and shovels, anything they could lay their hands on to fight the blaze.
Six hundred metres south of Katsimila, Vassillis Arvantis was running along a deserted stretch of beach, he was halfway between the village and where the turtles had hatched two weeks before. But he could get no further, here the fire had reached the sea, the heat from the burning pines and scrub made it impossible for him to go on, he looked desperately up and down, he knew she must have come this way. He cupped both hands around his mouth.
“KIRSTY?.....KIRSTY!” the crash of the surf the howling wind and the roar of the fire were the only replies he received, he picked up a rock and threw it into the flames, then turned around and headed back.
Christina Karamis, with her namesake held safely in her arms, arrived in the harbour closely followed by Sofia, who by now was practically carrying Yota, the area was packed with over two hundred people. Christina cast her eyes around, as if by magic her husband appeared at her side.
“Good evening my dear, I am so pleased you could join us!” She held up the child. “Look George, a new life.”
He grinned but the grin soon faded.
“Let’s hope we can save it along with the older ones, come with me.” He led them over to the converted Caique. “Martin! You will be pleased to hear that we will not be overloading your boat tonight, take these three, excuse me, four, and give them your best protection.” Martin helped them aboard.
Burning shreds of vegetation were falling like brightly coloured snow as Dimitris Giannakopoulos turned the last corner before the harbour, he had carried Stamos for almost three kilometres and was totally exhausted, he set him down gently on the harbour wall and sat beside him. Lambakis walked over, but it was not Stamos that concerned him.
“Good God, Dimitris, what happened to your arm?”
Giannakopoulos looked down, the right sleeve of his T shirt was all but burned away and the flesh of his right arm was red raw from wrist to shoulder.
“Oh” he said calmly “I hadn’t noticed that before.”
Lambakis scooped up Stamos as though he were a small bundle of sticks.
“Come on, let’s get you two on to a boat, and then we’ll get some cold water on that arm.”
After loading the two injured young men safely aboard one of the local fishing craft, Lambakis made his way back around the wall, they could wait no longer he decided, the fire was at the edge of the village and the smoke was becoming unbearable. He looked around the little harbour at the assembled boats, there would not be enough room for everyone, he knew it, he made up his mind that he would stay behind and save himself if he could, and he also knew that nothing and no one would persuade George to leave. He started loading people into the first boat speaking words of encouragement to each of them as they went, at that moment the wind died. For a few seconds there was a strange silence, the distant roar of the approaching fire only served to deepen the quiet. Then there was a blinding flash immediately followed by a deafening clap of thunder.
“What?” said Dimitris, instinctively he looked up, he received a fat raindrop full in the face for his pains. It was followed closely by millions more.
11:17pm
George Karamis was not the sort of man who readily believed in miracles, but he recognised one when he saw it. When the heavens opened on Katsimila that night the rain didn’t just fall, it bounced back up half a metre and then fell again, below waist level visibility was zero and within seconds the streets were awash, within minutes the fire began to die. Up on the highway Mariopoulos pulled of his helmet for the f
irst time in over six hours, he held it upside down and allowed the deluge to fill it, then he poured it over his head and roared at the sky.
In the downpour it took Dimitris Lambakis several minutes to locate George.
“Will it be enough Dimitri?”
Lambakis smiled “More than enough old man, can you believe it?”
George looked around. “There is work still to be done my friend, we must get all of these people out of the boats, did any of them leave?”
“No, not one! If you ask me that makes two miracles.”
There was no need to organise the unloading of boats, the people flooded back into the street, they stood in the rain, they shook hands, they hugged each other, and they laughed up at the sky. Giannakopoulos held up his burned arm and allowed the rain to bounce off it, it stung, and it felt wonderful. Stamos was lying on the deck beside him but his face was grim.
“What’s the matter with you? Is a broken leg so bad?”
Stamos looked at him sulkily, “It’s not that Dimitri, my cigars are wet”.
11:39pm
He couldn’t find her, he had been everywhere and he couldn’t find her, if anything had happened to her he did not know what he would do. Vassillis ran through the rain along the seafront past the Artemis hotel, he looked once again at the deserted terrace and the bar beyond. Nothing. He didn’t know why but nothing else mattered, his life was meaningless, pointless if he couldn’t find her. And suddenly, there she was. Standing just twenty metres away, the rain had plastered her hair against her head like a helmet, the little make- up she had been wearing made long black streaks down her sodden face, her clothes were creased and clinging to her body; she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“KIRSTY!” he ran towards her and stopped a short distance away, for a moment he was as tongue tied as he had been on the previous day, the downpour intensified and he had to shout over it,
“KIRSTY, I WAS SO WORRIED, I HAD TO FIND YOU.”