by Lena Manta
Standing beside her, twelve-year-old Melissanthi reminded her of herself when she first met Gerasimos. Her second daughter, Julia, stood on the other side of Melissanthi, looking even smaller than usual, as if she’d been worn down by grief. Theodora felt her youngest daughter, Magdalini, squeezing her frozen hand and looked in her direction. She saw then that her other daughters, Polyxeni and Aspasia, were waiting to take courage from her. What would she do? How would she manage?
That evening she put the children to bed, then turned away all the relatives who had decided not to leave her alone. She would have to get used to being on her own. She sat near the fireplace in the spot where Gerasimos always sat and fixed her eyes on the fire. The rain had stopped but the wind was strong. From time to time the windows creaked annoyingly. But in some ways, their grating noise was a relief—a little sound from the window, a crackling of the fire that broke the lonesome silence.
The next morning Theodora was still in the same place. Melissanthi, who woke first, threw two logs on the dying fire. Moving as quietly as she could so as not to wake her mother, she covered her with a jacket and then sat at her feet, watching the flames revive. The flames danced drunkenly as they devoured the wood, and the girl turned her gaze first to her sleeping mother, and then to the house. This house had suffocated her for as long as she could remember. Once, when she’d climbed high up the mountain with her father, he had shown her the vast plain spreading out at their feet. “You see, Melissanthi,” he’d said, “how endless the plain is? How could you imagine anything other than this?”
“What’s beyond the plain, Father?” she’d asked him.
“The whole world,” Gerasimos answered.
“So why do people live in one place instead of going to see the world?”
“Because however far you go, my child, there’s always something farther away. However high the mountain, as soon as you reach the top, you’ll see that there is a taller one. But a person has to put down roots somewhere.”
“Only the trees and the plants have roots. People have legs to go forward.”
“And a brain to know when to stop,” continued her father. He kissed her, adding with pride, “You’re a very clever girl, Melissanthi!”
She missed her father very much but she still didn’t agree with him. She wanted to go ahead, she wanted to fly. The house by the river stifled her and there were times when that river, the one she’d loved so much since she was little, seemed like a rope tied around her neck that wouldn’t let her breathe.
Theodora woke and found Melissanthi curled up at her feet. “Couldn’t you sleep, child?” she asked, stretching to counteract the stiffness of her body from sleeping in the chair.
“Yes. I woke up not long ago. Why did you sleep here?”
“I was sitting here last night and fell asleep.”
“You miss Father a lot, don’t you?”
“A lot.”
“What will you do now, Mother? Will you marry again?”
Theodora looked at her in surprise. “What are you saying, Melissanthi? Who told you such a thing?”
“I heard two old women saying it yesterday. They said that because you’re still so young and so beautiful, and because you have an inheritance, you’ll find someone who’ll take you, even with five children.”
“I’ve never heard such nonsense, and when my husband’s not yet cold in his grave! Listen to me carefully, Melissanthi. No one will replace the husband I’ve lost, because no one is worthy of him. And because you’re a woman too, I’ll give you a piece of advice: if the man who asks for your hand is not the one and only, don’t take him!”
“Even if he’s rich, Mother?”
“What does being rich mean? Don’t confuse money and happiness; those things don’t always go together.”
“And what if the man who asks for my hand takes me far away from here?”
“Is that what you want? To leave?”
“Yes, Mother. For me this village is . . . how can I say it? That mountain over our heads presses down on me; it cuts my breath off.”
“In the old days they used to say that the gods lived there.”
“I know. But the gods were clever. They took the summit and left the ruined mortals down below, unable to see faraway lands and dream about what lies beyond them. I see the sea over there, and I long to get on a boat and travel all over the world.”
“I hope you can achieve that, but remember that it’s this corner of the earth, stuck on the rocks below Olympus, that will always be your home. You’ll always find a harbor here. Only here will you find the truth of your life, because your roots are here, Melissanthi, and nothing changes that.”
Melissanthi rested her head on her mother’s knees. Theodora tenderly stroked her hair and the two of them stayed there for a long time, just staring at the fire.
They passed a very difficult winter. Snow and frost had destroyed everything, and hunger surrounded their village. Theodora tried desperately to secure the basic necessities for the children and herself. If it hadn’t been for the goat and the chickens, they would certainly have died of hunger. She’d spend an entire day with her feet sinking into the cold mud just to collect a single sack of wild greens. The next day she’d go to Katerini to sell them. She’d usually manage to make a little money doing this, but each time, until she got back home, she’d be stiff with fear; if she ran into a German patrol, they’d steal what little she’d managed to make.
That afternoon she came home happy. She’d managed to sell not only the sack of greens, but a few eggs she’d saved from her hens. A wad of notes, mostly of little value because of the inflation, was well hidden in her stocking. Stuffed into her pocket was an onion. Anyone who took it for a wad of money would be disappointed and, hopefully, move on without looking further.
The three Germans who’d stopped her a few meters outside the village immediately looked as if they didn’t have good intentions. As soon as Theodora saw them, she straightened her back and glared at them with contempt.
“What do you want?” she asked abruptly.
“Where were you going at this hour?” one of them asked in terrible Greek.
Theodora wondered again, What the devil? Did all the Germans speak Greek now? “I’m going home,” she answered.
“And that thing filling up your pocket? What’s that?”
“It’s an onion,” she said, pulling it out. “So that I can eat! Maybe you want that too? In any case, you haven’t left us anything! And now, if you want to kill me, go ahead! If not, let me go home. My five children are waiting for me to come back.”
For a moment the Germans stood still with uncertainty. Then they moved away. Without a second glance at them, Theodora went on her way, praying that the beating of her heart, which was knocking at her chest from fear, wouldn’t be heard. She reached her house and only when she closed the door did she let the tears of tension and agony flow freely down her cheeks.
Three days later her village was very severely tested. A group of resistance fighters trapped and blew up a German convoy of ten trucks carrying munitions that had passed through their district. Unwillingly, Theodora was a witness to the scene as she splashed through the mud to gather greens, and her blood froze when she saw from a distance the blinding flash and heard the deafening noise. For a few moments she stood frozen to the spot, trying to recover from the shock, and then her brain sent her a single word to help her recover: Reprisals! She knew the Germans would pay back their loss of men and weapons to the absolute limit. Her clouded brain began to work, and her instinct warned her, The children! The children are at school right now. That’s where the bastards will strike!
The next moment she began to run toward the school as if a thousand demons were pursuing her. She slipped in the mud, her legs were cut as she fell and got up, her clothes were torn and ripped by branches, but nothing bothered her. She had to get there, otherwise the blow would be terrible. Like a madwoman, her hair disheveled, cut and bruised, with torn
clothes and out of breath, she reached the school and nearly broke down the door as she fell on it. The teacher jumped up in fear and turned pale the minute he saw what a state she was in. He ran toward her, along with her daughters, who were also disturbed at the sight of their mother.
“What happened, Kyria Theodora?” the teacher asked.
“The children,” she said, breathless. “We must hide them! They blew up some German trucks . . . Reprisals!” She realized she was speaking incoherently, but her breath couldn’t find its proper rhythm.
The teacher didn’t need to hear any more. “Quickly, children! Go! Climb the trees, hide among the leaves, and don’t move from there until tomorrow morning, whatever happens. God preserve you, Kyria Theodora. You go too!”
She was running again, this time with her children behind her. She arrived at the house just as she thought her soul would leave altogether—her heart was beating so furiously in her chest. She took the children down through the hidden trapdoor in the kitchen, gave them a little water and bread, and with the last of her strength dragged the heavy table over the entrance to the hideaway. Covered in sweat, she collapsed on the floor, her chin trembling uncontrollably. The sound of her teeth chattering was the only thing that disturbed the complete quiet of the house. She must have spent some time like that because when she managed to stand up it was already dark. Her legs trembling, she approached the window. The house was some way from the village. There was no way she could find anything out, nor did she have any intention of leaving her children. She closed the shutters and lit a single candle in the room before she opened the cellar to take the children out and hug them in her arms. The girls, deathly pale, clung to her and she could hear her every heartbeat.
They spent an agonizing night. With the trapdoor open for any emergency, Theodora and her five daughters prayed to the Virgin to save their village from disaster. In the morning they were afraid to even go outside. Theodora was scared to go to the village too; she didn’t want to know how many had paid for yesterday’s explosion, and in what way.
A creaking on the verandah made her whole body shiver with fear. Somebody was there. In a flash she pushed the children through the trapdoor and pulled the table back over it. She threw wood on the fire, then stirred the ashes, keeping hold of the heavy iron poker when she was finished.
Someone knocked. It seemed impossible that it could be Germans knocking so considerately. She listened.
“Kyria Theodora? Are you in there?”
She sighed with relief and opened the door wide for the doctor, who was standing on the doorstep.
“It’s you, is it, Doctor? You made my blood freeze! Come in!” she said.
As he entered the room, he looked curiously around him. “The teacher told me what happened yesterday,” he whispered. “May God keep you, lady, for the good you’ve done! You saved the children!”
“What happened, Doctor? Did you find out?”
“I don’t know if it was divine intervention that made you think of the children, but immediately after the attack, the Germans made for the school. They dashed in, but naturally they didn’t find anyone.”
“Serves them right!”
“Afterward, though, they went berserk! You can’t imagine what happened in the village . . .”
“Did they take a lot?” Theodora’s voice had cracked.
“Fifty people, madam!”
“Christ and the Virgin!”
“They kept them in the square for an hour with the whole village around them and they asked us if we knew anything about the ‘traitors’ who blew up the trucks. And because nobody said a word, they began killing them in front of our eyes, one by one!”
“All fifty of them?” she spat.
“A bullet in the head for each one, before the eyes of their mothers and wives!”
“Curses on them! And then?”
“Afterward they calmed down and let us quietly bury our dead.”
“The children? What happened to the children?”
“Thanks to you, everyone was fine. We got them down from the trees. Most of them have bad colds, but they’re all fine.”
“Blessed be His name!”
After the disaster that had struck so many homes, the village was plunged into mourning. The rage was silent and impotent for now. But a people whom history had condemned to be tested again and again could only be patient.
When the village bells sounded announcing the liberation, pandemonium reigned. At first, they didn’t know why the bells were ringing, and they were afraid. What else was waiting for them? Later, though, they all realized, almost simultaneously, that the sound was joyful, liberating . . . and then they understood. The rumors that had multiplied recently, about the war going from bad to worse for the Germans, weren’t baseless. Their faces lit up. The sound of the bells could mean only one thing: liberation! Everyone came out into the streets; everyone hugged each other; everyone laughed and cried at once. Theodora opened the trapdoor in her kitchen, took out the Greek flag she’d hidden there, and wrapped it around her shoulders before she rushed out with her children to meet the rest of the smiling faces in the square. Dancing and singing had begun and a large fire was burning in the middle. The celebrations would last until the morning.
No one was expecting the civil war that immediately followed. Certainly not the village, which found itself experiencing even worse hunger than it had during the occupation. The battles were brought to their doorsteps, to the courtyards of their houses, and Theodora had the impression that a nightmare had begun again—but this one was worse than the last, because, on both sides, the weapons were in Greek hands, and the blood spilled was also Greek—only Greek. History took out her pen again to write this tragedy in black letters—black as the times themselves. The nation had stood up to its occupiers and vigorously fought against their tyranny—and now its children were slaughtering one another.
Greece did something she hadn’t done before: she lowered her head in shame, like a mother who can’t control her family. She removed her crown of laurels. Then she turned her eyes to God and begged Him to help her in this difficult hour. Every sacrifice had to be made to end the schism. Now was the time to gather up the pieces and go forward, to stand up with the help of her children. Those who were still alive.
Theodora stared wide eyed at her mother when she’d finished telling her what she had to say.
“What on earth are you saying, Mother?” she shouted and got up from her chair.
“Why, child? What did I say to you? I told you to get married! You’re still young and your children need a father.”
“My children are fine and for just that reason, you should have thought before saying such a thing to me!”
“But you need to have a man in the house.”
“We needed a man in the house when the war was on. But seeing that I managed even then, what would I do with one now? I’m just fine the way I am. My fields are producing well, my children are growing up and becoming beautiful and good, my house is in order, and I don’t miss having a man. Leave me be, Mother!”
“Yes, my girl, but the children will leave one day and you’ll be alone. Look at me. You married and left home, and my Anna too, and I don’t know if I’ll see her before I die. Who do I have? Only your father. You’ll be left all alone.”
“I prefer that.”
When her mother left, Theodora looked around her house. A chill spread inside her even though the sun outside was hot enough to crack rocks. Her daughters were in the village with some other girls, decorating the church for the Feast of the Virgin. She opened the door and went out into the yard and looked at the garden beds, nicely in order. She glanced at the river, sparkling in the sunlight, as if molten gold flowed on its bed. Then, as though drawn by a magnet, she headed toward it, took off her shoes, and waded in up to her knees. She took a handful of water and splashed it on her burning face. A small branch drawn by the current was traveling carelessly on the surface and she followed it u
ntil it was out of sight. Her daughters found her like that and were astonished.
“Mother! What are you doing there?” Polyxeni asked.
Theodora turned and looked at them. They really were very beautiful. They had taken the best features of herself and Gerasimos. A moment later she got out of the water and sat on the bank.
“I was hot and I went into the water to cool down,” she answered. “Is that a bad thing?”
“But you never go into the river!” Aspasia insisted, and they all sat down near her and looked at her anxiously.
“There are moments when a person does things they don’t usually do. That isn’t bad.”
“What’s the matter, Mama?” Melissanthi asked in a soft voice.
Theodora looked at her firstborn. She was fifteen. At that age Theodora was already in love with a man fifteen years older. “Nothing’s the matter with me, Melissanthi, it’s just that your grandmother was here and she was doing some matchmaking for me.”
Exclamations could be heard from her daughters’ mouths.
“What does matchmaking mean, Mother?” asked Magdalini. She was just seven years old and had some gaps in her vocabulary.
“Matchmaking,” Julia undertook to explain, “is when they tell you to marry someone!”
Magdalini looked at her mother in surprise.
“Are you going to marry someone else?” she asked. “Will we have a new father?”
“Your father is the only father you’ll ever have, and no one will take his place,” Theodora answered in a tone so firm it startled the little girl.
“Did you ever think about us leaving?” asked Melissanthi.
Theodora looked at her oldest daughter in surprise. “Leaving? To go where?”
“To another place! What’s keeping us here?”