by Gary Cleaver
She shouted back “YES VASSILLI, I KNOW, THE MONEY I AM SO SORRY, I MUST….”
“NO!!” he yelled. “NOT THE MONEY, I WANT TO ASK YOU … I NEED TO TELL YOU … I HAVE TO SAY...”
She cocked her head on one side as if she had not understood, then she ran to him and flung her arms about his neck, she kissed him hard and then pressed her mouth to his ear so he could hear her above the rain.
“Don’t ask me anything Vassilli, you don’t have to say anything, just hold me and promise me you’ll never let go.”
“I promise.”
They held each other as the rain pounded their shoulders. And rain hides tears. And for that they were both grateful.
4:41am
It was still raining, the streets of Katsimila were choked with thick slurry of water, ash and mud, the fire was out, mother nature’s own fire plane proved to be better than anything the good people of Canadair could ever build. In a quiet corner of the bar at the hotel Artemis tiny Christina Sofia Koutalidas clung to her mother and fed enthusiastically, Christina Karamis watched over them. In a chair nearby Sofia Hadjadakis slept deeply, a lick of bleached blonde hair hanging across her face. George, Dimitris Lambakis and Martin sat near the bar, like Sofia, Martin was out for the count, it had less to do with exhaustion than the empty brandy bottle and four jugs of wine that were scattered around the table. George and Dimitris spoke in low, slightly slurred voices.
“You know Dimitri, my children say that nothing ever happens here.”
“Surely not.”
“It’s true, they say it is a dull place, my grandchildren agree with them, I suppose if I live long enough, my… what do you call them… er, great grandchildren will say exactly the same thing.”
“Well it has not been too dull tonight.”
“No, no, a little too much excitement for one night.”
“Did Stamos and Giannakopoulos get to the infirmary?”
“Yes, Costas Capellas took them, they’ll be fine.”
“Brave boys, too brave for their own good.”
“Without Giannakopoulos’ efforts we could have lost half the village even before the rain started, as it is we got off very lightly, aside from your olive trees of course.”
“And Alexiou’s trees, not to mention his house!”
“Ah, at least he and Irena got away … a burned arm and a broken leg, it could have been so much worse, Dimitri.”
“Yes…is there any brandy left?”
“Only what is in our glasses…until I get the next bottle.”
“Alright…until you do, what shall we drink to?”
“How about miracles?”
“Miracles it is!”
They raised their glasses.
“Yammas”
Ashes
Extract from the Oxford shorter English dictionary:
Epilogue: Noun: A final word or speech on that which has passed before. From the Greek logos; speech.
The scorched, blackened trees stood in rows, denuded of leaves and all but the stoutest of branches, which still dripped even though the rain had stopped an hour before. Christo Alexiou sighed and jammed his hands into his pockets, he turned and walked slowly back to the house. In the remains of their small kitchen Irena was standing with a frying pan clutched in one hand.
“Woman if you are planning to use that on me, may I just say that it was not me who started the fire”
She smiled weakly at him and then began to weep.
“Come, come Irena none of that, we will start again, we will rebuild our little house and everything will be fine.”
“But it will not be the same Christo, never again.”
“No my dear, it will be better and this time the kitchen door will be perfect, I promise.” He seldom made her laugh these days; it always gave him great pleasure.
On the other side of the low stone wall Dimitris and Gabriella Lambakis stood together among the remains of their ruined grove, the scene before them was akin to the aftermath of battle and the thin, watery late afternoon sunshine only served to accentuate this. Here and there smoke rafted up from the still smouldering roots. Dimitris stooped and scraped a glutinous mass of water and ash from one shoe, he wiped his hands.
“Well Gabby, that is that, no more olives for a few years, these are a total loss, we will have to buy new ones and start again from scratch.”
She took his arm, “At least they are not the largest part of our income, many are worse off than us, we have our health, our children and thank God we still have our house, things will get better, and after all we are Greeks, a little adversity brings out the best in us.”
He chuckled, “I suppose now you want me to sing the national anthem, do a little dance perhaps?” She elbowed him in the ribs.
In the centre of Katsimila, in the small square a black Mercedes car was parked, a modern version of the one that stood in the same spot on a hot July day in 1943. Alex Anousakis the Mayor had driven through the night from Athens, fought his way down the twisting, clogged north road into town and had arrived behind his desk at six am, he had been working solidly ever since. Throughout the morning a steady stream of visitors had come to tell him their stories, he had been able to build up a picture of the previous nights events and was now making notes on a pad with his Parker fountain pen. He was so engrossed he failed to hear the rumble of a thoroughbred engine outside. The motor of the Aston Martin cut, the driver’s door opened and a plump figure levered itself out on to the street, wet footsteps slapped on the marble floor of the outer office, when Alex finally looked up he found himself face to face with the quivering, purple featured Theodoras Pericles Aristotle Bakoyannis.
“YOU!” Theo spat “You and your incompetent gang of peasants have allowed this to happen, my house is RUINED!”
Alex went back to writing his notes, he decided to let Bakoyannis rant himself to a standstill before even attempting to reply.
“All of the taxes I pay! All the money I have put into this wretched place! And you cannot protect my house from one puny brush fire? I will sue! I will bankrupt this little slum of yours…” Still Alex did not look up; when he spoke he did so quietly in a measured tone.
“Mr Bakoyannis let me tell you what I am doing here right now, I have a list of five names, I am composing a letter to the government citing these five individuals and requesting the highest awards for civilian bravery that this country can bestow. I will read you these names and you will listen, even though they mean nothing to you.
Dimitris Lambakis
George Karamis
Dimitris Stamos
Dimitris Giannakopoulos
And the name that will mean something to you, if you think hard enough. Sofia Hadjadakis, she has provided you with entertainment on a number of occasions over the past few years so I am sure you will remember her. She could have saved herself quite easily, but instead she chose to stay and it could be argued she saved two lives, one of them just a few minutes old. She is, simply the bravest girl I have ever met.
Some of the people of this village lost their livelihoods last night and two young men very nearly lost their lives in defence of this “slum” as you call it. I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to your idiot ravings, Mr Bakoyannis, so let me tell you what you are going to do. You will leave my office and go back to Athens this very moment, you will make your insurance claim and you will build yourself another eyesore. But somewhere else, Mr Bakoyannis, not here, not Katsimila. I am very busy, sir, so would you now, please, and I say this with the greatest possible respect…Fuck off.
Theo was so taken aback; he did exactly as he was told.
Dimitris and Gabriella were back in the 4x4 driving down the hill into town, the sun was down and the lights of Katsimila twinkled in the twilight, they looked almost defiant.
“If things get no better Gabby, we have to consider quitting this place altogether.”
She smiled “Oh I don’t think it will come to that.”
“I don’t know, if I have another year with the business like this one…what will we do?”
Gabriella looked down at the lights.
“I have no idea my love, but we will think of something…we always think of something”.
DELOS