He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘How long has Era Bala been here?’
‘You recognised her?’
‘No, I’ve never seen her before. I think she might have seen something of Andonis in me, though.’
Jenny Ikonomou dabbed her eyes with a tissue. ‘It took me over ten years. After she was discharged from hospital, she just disappeared. I employed a man, an investigator like you. For months he couldn’t find a thing, but I kept paying him. Finally, he traced her to a mental hospital in Thessaloniki. They didn’t know her name. She’d been found in rags on the street, begging for food. She had no papers or ID. And, of course, she doesn’t speak.’
Mavros looked at her in surprise. ‘She doesn’t speak?’
‘The doctors said she was traumatised so badly that she lost her voice.’
‘Can I talk to her?’
‘What’s the point? She can’t tell you anything. Often she doesn’t even recognise me.’
‘Why do you keep her here?’ he asked, twisting the knife. ‘To make yourself feel good? Or to wallow in the guilt you say you feel?’
Jenny Ikonomou’s eyes sprang open. ‘You’ve no right to talk to me like that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, relenting. ‘I thought Era might react to Andonis’s name.’
‘I doubt it.’ She walked to the table and picked up her cigarettes. ‘You can try, but in the morning. She’ll need some time to calm down now.’
‘In the morning? I’ve got to get back to Athens.’
‘You’re welcome to stay the night. I’m sorry I lied to you about your brother. Thinking back to those times is very difficult for me.’
‘All right. Thanks for the invitation.’ He smiled at her coldly. ‘Now you can tell me about Roza Arseni.’ He watched as the actress struggled with herself. Eventually she began to speak. It wasn’t long before he was the one struggling to contain his astonishment.
The woman at the window watched as the early-morning light spread over the mountains across the water. She didn’t see the bars behind the glass, only the contours of the mainland. In the first grey of dawn the wall of rock had been two-dimensional, but now it was filling out. The watercourses and cliffs were visible despite the distance, and the ridge was clear. Its lines and undulations had taken on human form. They called it the Sleeping Woman, she remembered that now. It was true, it did resemble a full-length profile—the nose and chin, the breast, the hands folded beneath, and the raised knees. The Sleeping Woman. Like her, she was silent. A witness in stone to the deeds of men. And women.
The man’s face, she thought. She knew the face that had appeared at the window. The eyes, she’d recognised them, even though one of them caught the light in a strange way. Who was he? Why had he gone so quickly, disappearing into the darkness? She’d been awake all night, pretending to the nurse that she was asleep. Awake, living the years of her stolen youth again. The party when she thought she’d achieved happiness—yes, he was there…
‘…and the music’s very loud,’ she said, pushing through the crowd of students in the basement flat. ‘The police will come.’
‘Let them,’ Manos Floros said, smiling beneath his moustache. ‘There are enough of us to put up a fight.’ Shouts came from the far side of the room and he raised an arm. ‘Keep the volume down, comrades. There may be informers in the block.’
She smiled at him. ‘Thank you. I have to live with my neighbours.’
He nodded and squeezed her arm. She felt the nerves tingle even more than they did when she’d brushed against a jellyfish on the island the previous summer. They’d only gone as far as Aegina during the long vacation. There was too much to do in the city now that the Colonels’ iron hand had closed round the people. They slept on a remote beach, a group of them lined up in sleeping bags like larvae waiting to turn into butterflies. That had been Manos’s simile and she loved it. He had the soul of a poet, even though the Party didn’t encourage what one of the leaders had called ‘flighty language’. They didn’t encourage romantic involvement between comrades either, seeing it as an unnecessary distraction.
‘Can I play this?’ The young man with the shining eyes held up a recording of Theodhorakis’s songs. The composer’s work had been banned.
‘Ask Era,’ Manos said. ‘It’s her flat, Andoni.’
She looked at the handsome comrade. He was the son of the much-mourned Central Committee member Spyros Mavros, who’d died shortly before the coup. ‘All right, but not too loud. And no singing along.’ She felt the young man’s blue eyes on her. They were powerful, they seemed to see deep inside. She watched him as he went to the record player. He was younger than most of them, but already he was showing leadership qualities. Most of the female comrades were in love with brave Andonis. Not her, though. She wanted Manos and she thought he wanted her. She thought, but she wasn’t sure. The doubt was killing her.
‘I know the words,’ said Jenny Zanni, one of the young man’s admirers.
‘No singing along,’ Andonis said, winking at Era.
‘How about a dance, then?’ Jenny demanded. Her thick dark hair was crushed into Andonis’s face as she clamped her arms around him. He didn’t struggle.
‘Shall we?’ Manos said in her ear, his arms slipping around Era. ‘We’re young. We deserve some recompense for the risks we’re taking. Come, Era. Soon we’ll be free.’
It was at that moment that her uncertainties vanished and she began to believe that she and Manos could have a future together. Not just in the glorious days when the party triumphed but soon, maybe even that night. Manos turned her round and looked into her eyes, his breath playing on her face. It was sweet, despite the unfiltered cigarettes he smoked. She felt a wave of heat course through her, the hairs rising on her neck and arms. Could it really be that her dream was coming true?
‘I’ll never leave you,’ Manos said, pressing her against him. His voice was tender, but there was strength in it, as if he meant that they would outlast the regime and live forever. ‘You know that, don’t you, my Era? We were born to be together.’
She felt her knees buckle. His powerful arms held her upright. ‘I always knew it,’ she whispered. ‘But I wasn’t sure that you did.’ She held him tight, no longer concerned if the others saw them.
‘Are you feeling faint, Era? Don’t let her fall.’
She looked round as the mocking voice cut in. Roza Arseni. She was sharp, she was very active in the youth party, but Era had doubts about her. Roza always looked at Manos with barely concealed lust.
‘Go away,’ he said firmly.
Era watched as the young woman’s expression hardened. Roza didn’t dare to answer Manos back. He was trusted by the senior comrades. Era thought there was something twisted about Roza. She’d mentioned it to Manos, but he hadn’t shown any concern. Instead he quoted his father, a famous resistance fighter. ‘The struggle brings out the best in most people, but the worst in a few. Until the heat of battle rises, you won’t know who will crack.’
As the music played and they began to dance, she looked across the room, her heart bursting with joy. Andonis was still in a clinch with Jenny. There was no sign of Roza. Era smiled.
She came back to herself in the chill of dawn, blinking away tears, and looked out across the grey sea. The salt element was a source of pain to her. Manos had met his end in the water, not in her arms. She lowered her gaze. Andonis Mavros, what had happened to him? Could that have been him outside her window?
Era felt her jaws moving, her mouth forming the shapes of words, but there was no sound apart from her rapid breathing. What was it her grandmother had said?
‘Speech is silver, my child, but silence is golden.’
It wasn’t true. Silence was a prison far worse than a room with barred windows.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MAVROS WOKE EARLY and went down to the ground floor of the villa. He found Jenny Ikonomou in the large and well-appointed kitchen. She was making coffee.
‘Good morning,�
�� she said. Her eyes were puffy.
He returned the greeting.
‘How do you take your coffee?’
‘No sugar.’
She filled a small cup. ‘Same as me,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘I’ll make another.’
Mavros sat down and thought back to what she had said the previous evening. Roza Arseni, her comrade in the youth party, had become Rea Chioti. It was so unlikely that he’d been instantly convinced. The woman had undergone extensive plastic surgery. That was standard practice for wives of wealthy businessmen, even ones who had nothing in their past to hide. Jenny Ikonomou had met her at receptions and hadn’t been fooled—after all, she had professional knowledge of how to change one’s appearance. The women hadn’t acknowledged that they knew each other when they were young. The actress had put her dalliance with Communism behind her and the gang boss’s wife had obviously moved on too.
‘Do you think Roza who’s now Rea knows that you know?’ Mavros asked when she sat down opposite him.
‘Definitely.’ Jenny lit a cigarette.
‘It seems strange that she hasn’t admitted it, given that your brother works for the family. You know she’s been running it since her husband became incapable?
She met his eyes and then looked down. ‘I don’t follow that world.’
Mavros was inclined to believe her. She’d spoken of Rea Chioti without much feeling. ‘You don’t keep in touch with the comrades either?’
Jenny Ikonomou blew out smoke. ‘A few. My generation of so-called idealists have sold out in all sorts of ways. They’ve become centre-left socialists, businessmen, media personalities.’
‘And actors,’ Mavros said, with a smile that she didn’t return. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard anything about what she did when she was in security headquarters.’
The actress put her cigarette out nervously. ‘I wasn’t interested, Mr Mavro.’
‘Maybe you should have been.’ He’d checked his notes before he went to bed. ‘Roza Arseni was arrested five days before the others in Manos Floros’s group.’
‘So?’
‘It didn’t occur to you that she betrayed you?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I betrayed Manos and Era. I told the police everything I knew.’
‘You’re blaming yourself needlessly. Once you’d been arrested, all of you would have talked sooner or later.’
‘Not Manos.’ She caught his gaze. ‘Not Era.’
Mavros realised that she needed her guilt to sustain her. ‘Can I see her now?’
‘If you insist.’ She stood up. ‘But we’ll have to leave if she becomes agitated. The nurse is very strict.’
He followed her into the walled compound. Despite the early hour the old man Thanasis was filling a wheelbarrow, his shotgun propped against a hedge. He gave Mavros a suspicious look before going on with his work.
Jenny Ikonomou knocked at the door of the outhouse. There was the sound of a key turning several times. They were admitted by a dour woman in a white tunic.
‘Please don’t stay long, Mrs Ikonomou,’ the nurse said, eyeing Mavros dubiously. ‘You know she doesn’t like strangers.’
The actress led him through another door that was locked behind them. ‘Good morning, Era,’ she said in a clear voice. ‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’
The haggard woman was sitting at the window that looked on to the sea and the mountains. She turned her head slowly and took in Mavros. Before either of them could move, she darted across the room and wrapped her thin arms around him. He gave Jenny Ikonomou a wide-eyed look and then held the sobbing woman in a gentle embrace. After a while, she raised her head and took in his face. Then she smiled and her ruined features were transformed.
‘I told you,’ Mavros said. ‘She sees something of Andonis in me.’
When she heard the name, the woman let out a gasp that could almost have been a word.
‘I’m Alex Mavros,’ he said, smiling back at her. ‘My brother was Andonis. Do you remember him?’
There were more sobs and mouthed words, but no intelligible sounds.
‘Come, Era,’ the actress said, taking her arm. ‘Let’s sit down.’
The woman only moved with her when she saw that Mavros was going with them to the chairs at the window. When they sat down, Era took his hand in hers, her gaze fixed on his face.
‘This may be painful,’ he said, hoping she could follow his words. ‘I’m going to ask you some questions about the time that you were arrested.’
Era’s eyes remained on him.
‘Did you ever meet a man called the Father?’
There was no reaction.
‘He was one of the torturers.’
She blinked hard, her eyes glazing over with a film of tears, but she made no attempt to move her mouth.
Mavros looked at Jenny Ikonomou. ‘Does she ever write things down?’
‘No. The psychiatrists say there’s a general block on her ability to communicate.’ The actress shrugged. ‘And on her desire to communicate.’
‘Do you remember the names of any policemen?’
Era’s face remained blank.
‘What about Roza Arseni?’
There was an instant change, her eyes screwing up, and her jaws opening and closing. She started to hit her thighs with her hands.
Jenny Ikonomou leaned over and held them. ‘What’s the point of this?’ she demanded. ‘These memories are painful for her, as they are for me.’
Mavros would have liked to know why the woman was so disturbed by the mention of Roza’s name, but he saw he had little time. ‘What about my brother Andonis? He disappeared in late-1972. Did you ever hear anything about him?’ He knew it was a long shot. Era had been in and out of hospital by then.
The woman squeezed his hand and then took her own away. She composed herself and looked out of the window, her mouth ceasing to move. A last tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.
The actress signalled to him to get up. They left the silent woman to the spectacular view.
Mavros took a deep breath when they were outside. ‘I have to get back to the city,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Thank you for the bed.’
She clasped his hand briefly, then walked towards the house.
As he was passing the old man’s wheelbarrow, she called out.
‘Alex!’
He turned, surprised that she’d used his first name.
‘My brother has a house in the hills above Lavrion. Thanasis has a map for you.’
Mavros took the folded paper the old man held out, then raised an arm to her.
Jenny Ikonomou didn’t return the gesture. Her face was a mask of suffering.
The Son bought a cheap mobile phone from a black man on a street corner. He walked into the market area in the opposite direction from the hotel. A sultry whore, her face plastered in make-up, gave him an inquisitive look but he ignored her. Maybe later. First he had an important call to make. He went into an alley where scrawny cats were sniffing around for food and pressed out the number he’d committed to memory.
‘You know who this is,’ the Son said when he got through.
There was a pause. ‘What do you want? I thought you only spoke to the head of the family.’
‘Not any more. Listen, Ricardo—’
‘No names.’
The Son grimaced. ‘Sorry. Listen, the old man has lost it. He can hardly hold a cup this morning, never mind anything sharper.’
‘What do you want me to do about it?’
‘Can’t you talk to—’
‘No, I fucking can’t. I’ve got problems of my own.’
The Son had expected a response like that. ‘All right, how about this? We do a job independently to show the boss how good we are.’
‘What’s this “we”? She already knows how good I am.’
‘Does she? That Damis guy seems to be in favour now.’
‘Fuck you!’ Ricardo went quiet for a while. ‘What kind of job were you th
inking about?’
The Son smiled. He knew he could hook him. ‘Well, the Russians seem to have learned their lesson.’ He lowered his voice and told Ricardo his plan.
‘Jesus Christ, you’ve got a lot of imagination for a butcher.’ There was another pause. ‘Let me think about it. I’ll call you later.’
‘No, my friend, I’ll call you. This evening. Six o’clock.’ The Son cut the connection, then opened up the handset and prised out the SIM card. He threw the former at a cat that scuttled away and crushed the latter under his heel.
As he walked back on to the street, casting a glance in each direction, he considered going back to the whore he’d seen. Tonight, he thought. After the job that Ricardo wouldn’t be able to resist setting up. The bald man needed to prove himself to his boss again. Maybe he’d bring that tosser Damis with him. He could go the same way as the Father. The Son shivered as he remembered what the old man had done to him, raising a hand to the plaster on his neck.
The Father had humiliated him for the last time.
Mavros made the ferry by seconds, the sailor on the ramp frantically waving him across the quay. He watched as the ship reversed away from the mole and turned northwards. To his left, the mountains of the Peloponnese stretched away. The famous Sleeping Woman looked as peaceful as ever. He thought of Era Bala, her eyes on the ridge from the barred window. She was another sleeping woman, her past locked away, but he’d got through to her. If only she’d been able to talk about Andonis. And about the Father.
He went up to the top deck, telling himself to concentrate on Katia. The house that Jenny Ikonomou had told him about was a good lead, but he’d have to be careful. If the missing girl was there, it would be a big risk to turn up and break the door down. An experienced operator like Ricardo would have taken precautions.
He rang the hospital. A nurse told him that the doctors were with Niki and that she’d had a good night. He told her to say that he’d be there by midday. Before he could make his next call, the phone rang.
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