by Kate Hewitt
The night of the proposed meeting Sophia went to the coffeehouse. She could barely concentrate on the basin of dirty glasses, barely heard the rumble of conversation from the front room. Her stomach roiled, and for once it was not from the thick fog of cigarette smoke and oily paraffin.
“You are not yourself tonight, I think,” Kristina said. She’d come into the kitchen and leaned against the table, her arms folded, her eyes narrowed shrewdly.
Sophia felt as if her heart were throwing itself against her ribs, almost as if it were separate from the rest of her body, desperate for escape. “I’m tired,” she said after a moment, and heard how her voice shook. Mother of God, she was so frightened. And Kristina must surely know it.
“You work hard.”
“Thank you,” Sophia mumbled, her head down, her blurred gaze on the cracked basin of soapy water. Just a few more hours and then she would have to make her way alone in the dark, all the way to the Lethikos property, a distance of several kilometers. What would she find there? What if she was seen?
To her surprise she felt Kristina’s hand heavy on her shoulder. “It will be all right, little one,” she murmured. “Don’t be so afraid.”
Sophia jerked her head up and stared at Kristina in shock. She knew. She felt as if the world had tilted—and then righted itself again. Of course Kristina knew. Of course she’d arranged it all. Sophia had suspected something at the start, but then dismissed it. Now she was certain. Her working here, meeting the man in the back—Kristina must have had some part in it. Sophia had been naively stupid to imagine otherwise. And Spiro too, most likely, on those evenings when he disappeared and Sophia had to serve in the front room. It made sense now, terrible sense.
“Why…?” she finally whispered, her throat so dry the single word scraped it.
Kristina pressed her lips together in a hard line. “You’re needed.”
Sophia shook her head. “How? And why me? So many people want to help—”
“People with loud mouths and hot tempers.” Kristina moved closer to her, her voice lowered to a vehement hiss. “Communists.” The single word was a snarl.
Sophia swallowed. She had not realized Kristina was so against the communist andartes. So many people in the village supported them, listened to the stories of the guerrillas who raided Italian outposts and shot the Nazis in the streets of Athens. Loud, brave men, but all Sophia thought of was how your corn was as likely to be taken by an andarte as a soldier; you never knew who would be holding the gun.
“You are quiet, Sophia, and you keep your head down. That is what we need right now.”
“But I…” Her throat ached and her eyes stung. “I don’t want—”
Kristina grabbed her shoulder, her fingers digging into her skin through the thin cotton of her blouse. “Do you want to see this terrible war finished? Do you want to see your father smiling and your sister well and alive, married with a child in her arms, at the war’s end?” Her fingers tightened, the nails sharp. “Do you think that will happen if we sit on our hands and let the soldiers saunter around, shooting good men like my Georgios?” Sophia said nothing and Kristina gave her a little shake. “Do you?”
Mutely Sophia shook her head. She saw the determined gleam in Kristina’s eyes, felt the hard dig of her nails in her shoulder. She could not fight this.
“We are not talking about smuggling psomi to a band of bloodthirsty communists. Any fool can do that.”
Then I am less than a fool, for I won’t even do that. Sophia swallowed hard. “Then what are you talking about, Kristina?”
Kristina pressed her lips together once more and shook her head, releasing her grip on Sophia’s shoulder. “It is not my place to speak of it. But you know what to do.”
And then she was gone, leaving Sophia alone with her spinning thoughts, her shoulder stinging and a far worse ache in her heart.
Another hour passed, and she walked home slowly through the darkness, her mind still spinning, her heart thudding. Back in her father’s house, all was quiet and dark, the only sounds the rustling of the animals in the shed and her father’s soft snores from upstairs. Sophia walked up the outside staircase, each step taking as much effort as if she were climbing Mount Oeta. In the bedroom she saw her sister curled up on her bed, knees tucked up towards her chin like a child. She was a child. Silly and thoughtless, yes, but loving and affectionate, too. A child who deserved a full life ahead of her, a chance to become sensible, to have hope and happiness, a husband and children of her own.
Do you want to see your father smiling and your sister well and alive, married with a child in her arms?
Oh, yes, Mother of God, yes. She did. That did not mean she wanted to risk their well-being as well as her own in securing such a future. And yet she would do it, because she had to.
Slowly Sophia undressed, reached for the old, patched dress and work boots she would wear to walk the stony road to the Lethikos property. She twisted her hair up under a scarf, tying it tightly.
Why could she not be braver, stronger? There were men and women in this village and a hundred others who would leap at the chance she’d been given. Their hearts would sing with pride and joy at helping the brave andartes—whether republicans or communists—and thwarting the Nazis. Sophia’s heart held only a lament.
I didn’t want this. I never wanted any of this.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to Angelika. She could not keep herself from touching her round cheek, smoothing the soft hair away from her face.
“Stay safe,” she whispered, even though she knew it was she who courted danger, not Angelika, for once sleeping safely in her bed. Then, with her heart still beating hard against her ribs, Sophia slipped from the room and down the stairs.
The breeze rattled through the olive trees of the Lethikos’s grove, a sinister, skeletal sound, or so it seemed to Sophia as she made her way in the darkness, the light of the moon cutting a silver swath through the shadowy grove, illuminating the bent and twisted trunks of the olive trees. Her heart bumped unsteadily against her ribs and her throat was dry.
She’d walked in complete darkness, afraid to bring a light that might reveal and endanger her, and so she’d had to walk slowly, stumbling over the rock-strewn road, shrinking into the shadows when she heard a suspicious sound, even if it was only the bleat of a goat or the rustle of the wind.
Once she’d heard voices, the low, growling murmur of men, and she’d slipped off the road into the scrubby bushes at the side as they came towards her, her heart thudding. They weren’t Nazis, of course; Sophia had yet to see even a single German soldier. Their Italian allies still controlled most of the countryside, although there were murmurs that the Italians would be forced out by the end of the year.
Yet if the men weren’t soldiers, they could still be andartes. Who else would be about at this time of night? Sophia was almost as fearful of meeting one of Velouchiotis’s men as she was of an Italian or even a full-blown Nazi in his gray uniform and jackboots.
The men, whoever they were, passed, no more than shadowy figures in the darkness, and Sophia counted to a hundred before she moved out into the road again. She breathed a small, shuddering sigh of relief when she came to the low stone wall that marked the border of the Lethikos’s land.
She squinted through the twisted tree trunks, unsure how to find the man she’d come to meet. The olive grove was large, meandering over the hillside; he could be anywhere. A breeze rustled the trees again, rattling their branches, and Sophia shivered slightly even though the air was dry and warm. She walked a bit farther along the stone wall, away from the road, and then waited, unsure how far or long she should wander about in the dark. If she stayed for a quarter of an hour and then left without seeing anyone, would it be her fault? She could explain to Kristina, or the man she’d met in the yard, if she saw him again, what had happened. I tried…
“Sophia Paranoussis?”
Sophia jumped at the sound of the voice, for she had neither heard nor seen anyone approac
h her. She turned, and in the moonlight she saw a man’s face, alarmingly close to hers. “Y-y-y…yes,” she stammered. “That is who I am.”
“What is my name?”
Startled, Sophia could think of nothing to say. How was she to know a stranger’s name? Then, surfacing from the depths of her stunned mind, realization came. “Perseus,” she whispered, and he circled her wrist none too gently and drew her to the hidden shelter of a nearby olive tree.
Sophia stumbled over the uneven ground, grateful when Perseus released her wrist. In the shelter of the tree, she could not see him at all, although she inhaled the faint scent of Karelia cigarettes, which she knew could be obtained only on the black market.
“The less you know, the better,” he told her, his voice so low, Sophia had to strain to hear even though she was right next to him. “So, for now, I will only give you a few details.” She nodded, even though he might not be able to see her, and he continued. “Within the next few weeks we are expecting a certain number of men. They will land near here, in several groups. You will be responsible for the aid and shelter of one group.”
Sophia stared at him, her mind seething with questions she knew she didn’t dare ask. What men? How would they arrive? What were they going to do? And how could she provide food for a group of strangers when there was barely enough to put on her own table?
“The man who contacted you in the coffeehouse will contact you again,” Perseus said. “Wait for his message—and be on your guard always.” Sophia swallowed, her heart hammering with a new fear. Suddenly her sleepy village seemed full of traitors and idiots. “Trust no one,” Perseus warned her. “No one at all… not even those closest to you.” A chill rippled through Sophia and she wondered whether he meant Angelika. Did he know about her sister’s attachment to Dimitrios? “That is all you need to know now,” he finished flatly, and the moon emerged from behind the clouds to illuminate his face. Sophia saw a long, thin scar curve down the outside of his cheek. He smiled grimly, the grove dark all around him. “God go with you, Sophia.”
Sophia opened her mouth, but no words came out. She was icy with terror, unable to move. Think. Still smiling, Perseus took her elbow and led her back towards the road. His eyes narrowed, he glanced in both directions before sending her on her way with a none too gentle shove.
“Go. Quickly. And do not be seen.”
Somehow Sophia managed to put one foot in front of the other, and walk in numb, mute terror all the way back to her father’s house. As she climbed the outside staircase, she heard the gentle rumble of her father’s snores. Her sister was asleep, still curled up on her side.
Sophia undressed, fumbling, her fingers blunt and clumsy. Now that the meeting was over, she felt her senses return. Her body began to shake. Mother of God, what had she agreed to? Except she hadn’t even agreed. No one had even asked. It had simply been expected, demanded, and the price for disobedience could be in blood.
Angelika stirred and Sophia froze. “You’re back? From the coffeehouse?”
With shaking hands Sophia reached for her nightdress. “Yes.”
“Why did you wear that old dress?” Angelika asked, nodding at the dress lying discarded on Sophia’s bed. “It’s not good enough for feeding the goats in.”
“I’m only in the kitchen,” Sophia said, and was shocked to hear how quickly the words—the lies—came. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, Sophia,” Angelika sighed, sliding down into her bed once more. “You have no sense. Don’t you want to be beautiful, noticed? Just a little bit?”
“No,” Sophia whispered, “not at all.”
But her sister had already fallen back asleep.
The days crawled by, and yet passed all too quickly, for every day that Sophia did not hear from her contact, whoever he was, she was one day closer to the day when she would.
She tried to say something of it to Kristina, but the older woman simply shook her head, her eyes flashing fire. Clearly the kitchen of the coffeehouse was no longer a safe place to talk. The thought terrified her.
Just as terrifying were the rumors and stories that swirled through the village, the men’s mutters in the coffeehouse and the women’s whispers by the fountain or in the field. Stories of how the Italians would be pushed out, stomped on by German jackboots as the Nazis swept through the villages of Greece’s wild heart and broke it with their swift and brutal reprisals. Whole villages razed to the ground, hundreds taken into the square and shot like dogs. Men, women, even children, all with bullets in their heads, left to die, to rot.
Would Iousidous be next? Would she?
And what of Velouchiotis’s men? She felt the danger, the threat of violence and even death from all sides. The guerrillas roamed in the mountains and, reckless and angry, shot anyone they liked; the Nazis marching in the towns were the same. Nowhere was safe.
A boy had gone missing one night; his body had been found with a bullet in it the next day. He was rumored to have worked with Velouchiotis. Angelika had been shaken by the death, yet Sophia knew her sister still flirted with Dimitrios when she could, still loitered by the fountain waiting for him, even if only to give him a smile and a toss of her pretty dark head. And Dimitrios had not learned any discretion, despite the new dangers, for he still stood up in the coffeehouse and bragged of his rifle and all the Nazis he was going to drive off with it one day.
Sophia suppressed a groan at the thought. Angelika, she implored silently, don’t you see what is happening? Don’t you know what danger you’re in? Her dark gaze flitted to the doorway of the coffeehouse, as if Angelika might appear there, even though Sophia knew she would not. Women did not come to the coffeehouse. She only hoped her sister was at home, or with her aunt, or the other women of the village. Not, please God, courting troubles—and Dimitrios.
As her gaze rested on the doorway, she imagined another person entering, the thin, narrow-faced man who had accosted her by the water barrel before. How would he get in contact with her this time? She’d taken to hurrying through the streets and walking with other women, as if such childish ploys could keep her from being approached. She knew, with a chilling certainty, that the man would contact her whenever he liked, however he chose.
Yet how? And when? And what would she be asked to do? She was not a brave person. She was not reckless or daring or defiant, and the thought of having to call on a courage she was quite sure she did not possess filled her with a sick despair.
Yet as the days passed and August turned into September, Sophia started to nurture a faint, frail hope that she wouldn’t be called on at all. Perhaps Perseus had changed his mind, or the plan had changed, or fallen apart completely. Perhaps she wouldn’t be needed. With each passing day Sophia found herself beginning to unbend, that hope unfurling inside her like a seed planted in the soil of desperation. Each night she slept less fitfully and was spared the dark, bloodied dreams that had haunted her since she’d first gone to the Lethikos’s grove.
The last of the men were emptying out of the coffeehouse one evening in late September as Sophia hefted a tray of empty glasses into the kitchen. She placed the tray next to the big stone sink and wiped her forehead. She was not looking forward to the washing up. Outside the sky glittered with stars, and she had not seen Angelika all day. Worry needled her as she pumped water into the sink and then turned to the glasses.
“Hello, Sophia.”
The voice came from behind her, and her mouth opened in an instinctive scream that was silenced by a hand pressed firmly over her lips. Her whole body stiffened in shock and fear as a voice whispered in her ear. She felt the solid presence of a body only inches behind her, and the faint scent of Karelia cigarettes. It was strangely intimate, horribly invasive. She had never had her body so close to a man as to this stranger.
“Don’t scream.” After a second’s pause he removed his hand from her mouth.
Sophia drew in a shuddering breath before she turned around. Perseus stood there, his face expressionless, hi
s body relaxed despite the fact that he’d just scared her near senseless.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
Perseus smiled faintly. “You weren’t meant to.”
She swallowed and wiped her now sweaty hands on her apron. “Why are you here?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, even though she knew. The knowledge pooled coldly in the pit of her stomach, and Perseus confirmed it with one terse sentence.
“You are needed.”
Sophia swallowed. “How?”
“The men are scheduled to arrive in a few days. They will need food, shelter. You, along with some others, will meet them in the place you went to before.”
“The Leth—”
“Shh.” He held one hand to his lips.
“Who are you afraid of hearing?” Sophia asked in a whisper.
“Anyone. People talk, Sophia. Most cannot keep a tongue in their heads. They boast, they gossip, they whisper. But not you.”
So she’d been told. It was horribly fitting, she supposed, that the quiet discretion she’d relied on to keep her safe was what had attracted these men to her and would put her in danger.
“When?” she asked, still whispering.
“The twenty-eighth of this month, at ten o’clock at night. Tell no one.” He gripped her shoulder, his fingers biting into her flesh. “No one,” he emphasized, and jerkily Sophia nodded. Her heart was hammering, the blood thundering in her ears.
Satisfied, Perseus turned away, and Sophia found enough courage to ask one last question.
“The man—the man who first talked to me. I thought he was meant to come—”
“He couldn’t.”
Dread plunged inside her. “Why not?”
Perseus’s eyes were bleak as he smiled grimly. “He’s dead. Taken out and shot three nights ago, like a dog. This is what we are fighting, Sophia. This is why we do it.” He held her gaze for a long moment, and Sophia wondered what he would do if she refused to obey his orders. Would she be a threat, a danger then? From his dark eyes and cold smile, the man known as Perseus seemed capable of almost anything, including eliminating a reluctant spy.