Nicolai's Daughters

by Stella Leventoyannis Harvey

  Alexia leaned her elbows on the desk. “Are there any other records?” What was she really looking for?

  “I have nothing on your grandfather. No.”

  Alexia thanked Zoë. A dead end. Now what? She lingered.

  “My grandmother was one of those children,” Zoë said. “You could talk to her.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother.” Alexia pushed her chair back and stood. “It’s okay. I can ask my family.” It had started because she was sure Christina was keeping secrets from her about Theodora and the family. But what did Theodora and her father have to do with this massacre? She knew she was just stalling because she didn’t know how she was going to tell Theodora who she was.

  Zoë motioned for her to sit down. “I will call her. It is no trouble.”

  Alexia followed Zoë to a souvenir shop. They entered the unlit store. The bell over the door sounded weakly, as though it had been stuffed with a cloth to silence it.

  The old woman in the store walked out from behind the counter, a cane in her hand supporting each step. Her smile came slowly, deepening the wrinkles in her face. She hugged Zoë, asked her who her friend was. But when Zoë told her why she’d brought Alexia to see her, she shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t talk about these things.” The shawl she wore over her black dress seemed like a weight she was forced to carry, a load that might break her bent back in two. “When you called, you said you were coming for a visit. Not this.”

  “But she looks for her family,” Zoë said. One hand was on the counter, the other raised as though she was pleading.

  “Everyone leaves after that day.” She shuffled behind the counter, stood at the cash register and tapped the old-fashioned keys. They made a dull, broken sound.

  “Her great-grandfather died here. Her grandfather disappeared.”

  “Many people did.” She sat down on the stool and rested her arms on the counter. She picked at the grime under one fingernail, scraping the dirt out with another fingernail. Tiny black bits fell onto the counter. “My friends all go.”

  “His name was Nicolai Sarinopoulos,” Alexia said, moving closer to the counter. “He was the second Nicolai. His father was the first and my father, the third.”

  The old woman’s cheeks collapsed into themselves, shrinking her face.

  “Did they take him away?” Alexia persisted. “Do you remember?”

  “Why must I talk about this?” She spoke to Zoë, but stared at Alexia.

  “It might help me understand,” Alexia said. “Please.”

  The woman closed her eyes as if in prayer, said nothing for several minutes. Alexia waited. Zoë rubbed her grandmother’s shoulder, whispered in her ear. “How will people understand, if we don’t tell them?”

  “He was a neighbour who walked me to school every day. Our parents teased us. They told us that when we married, we would give them many grandchildren. He was a good boy.” She continued to pick at her fingernails as she told the story.

  “They came in the early morning and ordered everyone out of their fields and back into their houses. No one was allowed to wander, go to school or work. This lasted several days. Nicolai was bored. He snuck out his bedroom window the first night, after his parents fell asleep. It was a test, to see if he could do it. There couldn’t be as many Germans as the rumours had it. He walked as far as the end of the lane and ran back, climbed up the tree and slipped through my window. He told me all about it. I remember how proud he was. He was smarter than they were.

  “Every night he went a little further, until eventually he was returning only a few hours before sunrise. It started as a game, but then he brought back food. He told me he had found the storage containers the Germans hid in the cellar of an old farmhouse they were using as their supply base. Nicolai shared whatever he had. ‘They take so much from us,’ he said. ‘They won’t miss a few crumbs.’

  “He was my best friend and I tried to warn him. ‘Let’s do what they tell us for now and when they leave, life will go back to normal.’

  “‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They aren’t smarter than me.’”

  The old woman shook her head, stared at her cracking nails and took another laboured breath. “I followed him one night. I don’t know why. But I did. God, forgive me.

  “I could see Nicolai standing to one side of the kitchen window, hidden but watching. He didn’t see me. It was colder than usual. I could see his breath. I held mine. Inside the farmhouse, I heard the Germans talking and playing cards around the old wooden table. All of us kids had been in that kitchen at one time or another. The boy who lived there was one of our friends. We were all friends before the Germans. Music drifted in and out. I thought it must be a radio. I don’t know if he could see much through the grimy film on the window, and I couldn’t see anything in there, but I thought it must be a radio.

  “Someone walked past the window and Nicolai ducked. He was probably holding his breath like I was. I’m sure he told himself to get the food and get home. Maybe he even thought about what I told him. Do what they tell us to do. That’s what I said. But I knew he wouldn’t. He said my way would never fill our stomachs. Maybe he was right. I don’t know.

  “I could see he was nervous. He shifted from one foot to the other, like he did sometimes when he was excited. Maybe he even thought he shouldn’t have come out that night. Maybe he was mad at me for warning him. He probably told himself to stop listening to other people, just do what he knew was right. I could almost hear him. ‘Girls, what do they know? What good are they? They scare you so you do what they want.’

  “I heard a crack nearby. Nicolai saw me then. I was in the bushes.”

  Dirt lay on the counter in front of her. Alexia’s hands were behind her back, clenched tight. Her breath was shallow. Do I really want to know? she asked herself.

  “You don’t have to say anymore,” Zoë said. “It’s okay.”

  The old woman stared at Zoë, then at Alexia. “It is time to get this off my conscience. I can go to my grave in peace.”

  Zoë looked at Alexia as if to ask, “Are you all right?”

  Alexia wasn’t sure. She nodded.

  “We looked at each other,” the old woman said. “He shook his head, told me with his eyes to get home, leave him alone. Before I could do anything, a soldier came around the corner of the house and before Nicolai could run away, he’d caught him by his shirt. The mud made a sucking sound as it freed his feet. I will never forget that sound. Even if I live one hundred years. The soldier pushed him forward. Nicolai stumbled. The soldier caught him and carried him along. A door creaked open. He was in the barn. I snuck into one of the stalls. They didn’t hear me. There was moonlight coming through a small opening near the ceiling. I saw everything.

  “The soldier pushed Nicolai onto his hands and knees and dragged his pants down. He must have felt the tear of skin, a sharp pain or something threw him forward. He turned, saw the man’s long, thin fingers holding his hips. He tried to pull himself away, but the German held him, thrusting himself harder into Nicolai. I closed my eyes. I didn’t know such things could happen. I didn’t know anything. My jaw hurt. I didn’t realize how tight I held it. All I could hear was my grinding teeth and a few gasped breaths from that German.

  “When I opened my eyes again, I saw the man pulling his trousers back on. Nicolai was curled up on the barn floor, covering his head with his hands.

  “‘It’s not the end of the world,’ the soldier said, in perfect Greek. The enemy knew our language. We were lost.

  “Nicolai didn’t move. I couldn’t move.

  “‘I want to show you something. A boy like you will find it interesting.’ The man pulled him to his feet, asked him if he wanted a cigarette.

  “Nicolai shook his head, buttoned his fly.

  “The man deposited a couple of cigarettes and a lighter in Nicolai’s shirt pocket. ‘Maybe later, hey?’ He tousled Nicolai’s hair. ‘Come. You’ll learn.’ The man pointed to a hea
p of dirt in one of the stalls. ‘Just dig a little with your hands. It’s fun. You’ll see. It’s like you’re looking for buried treasure.’

  “Nicolai stood still. I could smell it now. I couldn’t before. Or maybe I did, but I was too afraid to notice at first. It was worse than any other barn I’d been in. How could that man stand it? I wanted to throw up and I knew Nicolai thought the same thing. He wouldn’t though. He wouldn’t give that German pig the satisfaction.

  “‘No?’ The man put his arm around Nicolai’s shoulders. He pushed the dirt away with his foot.

  “I saw the bloodied face of the farmer who used to live in the house. A delicate, mud-caked hand lay on his shrunken cheek as though caressing his face. The farmer’s wife maybe or his son. I put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t leave Nicolai behind.

  “The man held Nicolai by the shoulder. ‘You do what you’re told, and this doesn’t need to happen to you. Don’t go thinking you are like those independence fighters you Greeks are so proud of. This is a different time. We are different conquerors. You are not them. Remember.’ He ran his fingers through Nicolai’s hair. ‘I will take care of things.’

  “Nicolai looked the soldier in the eye. ‘And my family?’

  “‘Your family, friends, everyone will be safe.’ He snickered then. ‘And to think, our commandant thinks this is the most dangerous centre of resistance, a place that must be wiped out. You don’t look too dangerous to me.’

  “I ran home as fast as I could,” the old woman said. “I waited for him. His lip was bleeding, his shirt and pants were dirty. I pretended I didn’t know. I had a few candies he’d stolen from them before. I tried to give them to him. He yelled at me, told me to leave him alone. He’d never done that before. We were best friends.” Her eyes were dry.

  The old woman leaned into the counter. “He went out every night after that and brought us cans of meat, many different things. We never talked like we used to. He thought he’d saved us. He was so young, so proud. When they came to the door and dragged us to the school, he still believed. I remember his smile. He trusted them.

  “Nicolai stood in line with the rest of the men. The women and young girls were in another line. They were being herded into the school along with some of the younger boys. He heard the question being asked of the boys in front, nodded to me and mouthed, ‘It’s okay.’

  “‘How old?’ one German asked.

  The soldier from the barn pulled him aside before Nicolai could answer the question. ‘I’ll take him.’ He pushed Nicolai into the gymnasium. ‘I keep my promises.’

  “The gymnasium was full of women and children. We all wondered what would happen next, but no one was brave enough to ask. Except Nicolai, of course. He went looking for the man he knew. One of the soldiers pushed him back in the room, snickered at him. ‘You should be with the rest of them. Not here with the women and babies.’

  “‘Let me go with the men,’ Nicolai said.

  “‘This is the place for boys,’ the solider said. ‘Your place.’

  “His mother and sister held him back, told him to stay with them. ‘You are the man of the house now,’ his mother said in a tone I’d never heard before. ‘We need you.’

  “‘Maybe I can find out what’s going on.’

  “‘I can’t lose you too,’ his mother said.

  “The doors were locked. He pushed himself out of his mother’s arms. He ran to the window along with the others. The men were marched up Kappi hill, the Germans beside them pushing them on with their rifles. He told me that he should be with them. He was old enough. He could do any work the men could do. At the top of the hill, they disappeared.

  “We heard popping sounds, over and over again, but we didn’t know what they were. I saw Nicolai kneel down beside his mother and pat his sister’s head. ‘We’re going to be fine.’

  “I smelled the smoke, but didn’t think anything of it right away. Maybe they were burning some trees. I didn’t know.

  “Then a woman screamed. ‘They are burning us alive.’

  “Some of the mothers huddled around their children, covered their faces with anything they could find. Others kicked and scratched at the door.

  “Nicolai threw himself against the door until it gave way. We saw the flames eating the walls of the school. We all ran out and into the fields. The two German soldiers left to guard us ran off in the direction of the forest. No one chased after them. The stronger women helped the ones with children on their hips, the young boys helped the older women climb up the hill to find the men. The fields were vacant.

  “Nicolai ran ahead. I could see him pumping his arms. How his lungs must have ached.

  “He reached the top of the hill before any of us. When we made it up the hill ourselves we saw the lifeless, twisted bodies lying across the backside of the hill. Blood seeped into the cracks in the ground like rainwater.

  “I was separated from my mother and my father was among these men on the ground. I didn’t know what to do so I followed Nicolai. I couldn’t look at those dead faces around me. He searched through the bodies, stepped on a hand. He made the sign of the cross. All the women were wailing. I don’t know how he did it, but he seemed to ignore them. He found his father leaning against a tree, a gaping hole in his chest, his eyes open. He held him close, rocked him back and forth as you would a baby.

  “His mother and sister found him like that and knelt down beside him. His mother moaned and crossed herself. His sister stared, her eyes blank and tearless.

  “‘Why did you hold me back? I could have stopped them,’ he shouted at his mother. He stood up and pushed her away.

  “She fell. His sister helped her up.

  “‘I could have helped.’ As he paced, he punched his legs with his fists. His mother’s hair was grey at the temples, her face without colour. He kept hurling insults. She refused to turn her eyes away or let go of his sister’s hand. He slapped his mother. Others pulled him away, beat at him with their hands. He wouldn’t stop. He fought them until his fists were bloody and he was out of breath. On her hands and knees, his mother pleaded with them to leave him alone. Blood dried on her lip. He pulled himself off the ground, spit at all of us and ran down the hill.

  “I never saw him again,” the old woman said. She wiped her forehead with a hanky. “His mother died a few months later. His sister disappeared. The rest of us were too busy burying our dead.”

  Alexia felt dizzy. She swallowed hard to keep everything inside.

  “We found that German too. The one who hurt Nicolai. Dead in one of our fields, stabbed to death with a pitchfork. Someone got him maybe before he got back to the rest of his group of murderers. We don’t know where they all went. They disappeared as fast as they came to our village.” The old woman swiped her shawl over the counter. Dirt fell to the floor at Alexia’s feet.

  My grandfather, Alexia thought.

  “It comes back every day,” the old woman said. “The smell of the mud of so many graves, which we dug with our hands. This is in my nose even up to today. I hear women and children screaming and crying when there are none around. They took our husbands, fathers and brothers, and they left us without compassion. Our village changed. Now, we keep to ourselves. Don’t help each other, like before. We are not the same.”

  Alexia stared at the woman. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Zoë stood beside her grandmother, an arm around her shoulders.

  “Your father was here many years ago,” the old woman said.

  “When?”

  “I don’t remember. But I spoke to him in the museum. And his sister was here before him. You look like them.”

  “Did you tell him about my grandfather?”

  “He didn’t ask. I didn’t tell.”

  “And my aunt. Did you tell her?”

  “She wanted to know,” the woman said. “She came back over and over, but I never told her the whole story. Not like I told you. She put
two and two together. I know, because she hasn’t visited me in a very long time.”

  The woman shook her head. “War does many things. One day, it stops. But what it leaves never does. It stays like a disease with no cure.” She placed her hand on Alexia’s shoulder. “This is not a way to live. At some point, we have to forgive. It is the only way to survive.”

  Alexia heard children shouting and laughing outside and looked around. A man peered through the window, his nose squashed against the glass. The camera around his neck swung back and forth, thudding against the window. Zoë and her grandmother turned. The tourist moved back quickly. He walked away.

  Alexia had felt on the verge of throwing up the entire time the old woman had been telling her story, and when she got to the moped, she couldn’t keep it down. She wiped her mouth with her father’s old handkerchief and leaned against the moped for a long time to settle her stomach. She gazed at the looming cross on the hill and shook her head, trying to separate the image of her father from the image of her grandfather in Christina’s photo albums from the image of her great-grandfather in the museum. So much sadness. So many sacrifices. All for what? She didn’t know.

  Alexia kicked the stand and started the moped. The motor wheezed as she took the corners. She’d thought getting at the truth would help, but she didn’t feel any better. This was worse than those stupid rumours about her grandfather lying about his age. Gossip was easier to live with. That’s why her aunts spent their time doing it. Christina knew the truth, but didn’t tell anyone. She’d held onto this secret for God knows how long. Maybe that was her way of sparing the rest of them.

  The breeze smacked Alexia in the face, kept her focused on the road. What good would it do to tell them this stuff? It had nothing to do with Theodora. It explained a lot about why Christina was so secretive, why her aunts were afraid that good things never lasted, but it didn’t tell her anything more about Theodora or her father. Maybe there was no more.