by Kate Hewitt
“We are looking for where they will go,” Dimitrios corrected her, even though he’d just told her they were looking for where they dropped. Sophia knew better than to argue. “And I suppose you will now ask where they will go,” he said, his mouth twisted into a sneer even though his eyes glinted. He really was enjoying this. Sophia didn’t answer, even though she knew she risked Dimitrios’s ire. He just laughed, the sound harsh in the still darkness of the night. “We will go to the mountains, of course,” he said. “It is the one place the Nazis don’t go.”
That was true enough, Sophia supposed. Mount Oeta loomed above the village, dark against a darker sky. Its densely forested peaks and freezing temperatures would keep any sane soldier from attempting to venture upon it. Even though it was only October, the mountainside was covered with snow. Sophia shivered just at the thought of following Dimitrios into that icy wilderness.
“Let’s go,” he said, and with another push in the small of Sophia’s back he sent her stumbling towards the path at the end of their scrubby yard, the path that trailed to nothing amidst the dense pines.
It was a long awful night. After the first hour Sophia forgot the bite of cold in the mountain air and the gnawing of her fear; all she was conscious of was how tired she was, and how much her body ached. Dimitrios, thankfully, did not talk much; he was too concerned with finding these soldiers. SOE agents, he’d said, although Sophia did not know what that meant.
Her feet grew numb as they climbed higher up the mountainside, and the snow seeped into her boots. Her face and hands stung from the cold wind that blew down from the top of Mount Oeta. She recalled from stories that the demigod Herakles was meant to have died on the top of the mountain, having made a funeral pyre of trees. She hoped she did not share a similar fate.
Occasionally Dimitrios would stop and look around, as if searching for something, although Sophia knew not what. She didn’t ask; they hadn’t spoken in hours. Were there men hiding in these mountains, Sophia wondered. The men Perseus was looking for? And what had happened to Perseus? It seemed a terrible irony that she’d been so afraid of working for him, when all along something far more frightening was in store for her.
A pale gray dawn was lightening the sky when Dimitrios stopped suddenly, the trees dark and dense around them, so that Sophia nearly bumped into his back. “Hush,” he said, presumptuously, for she hadn’t spoken.
Sophia waited, wondering if the thud of her heart was audible. What had Dimitrios heard? Were there soldiers about? Nazis? She heard the sweet, high trill of a bird, one she didn’t recognize, and nodding in satisfaction, Dimitrios cut through the forest. Sophia hurried after him, the snow past her boots now, her body aching with exhaustion.
Just a few minutes later they came into a clearing; four men were crouched on their haunches on the ground, a small smoking fire in front of them. Sophia stared in surprise. So these four men with their plain, rough clothing and unshaven faces were the men they’d been looking for? The Englezoi? The sound of the bird must have been a signal, she realized, feeling completely out of her element. Perseus hadn’t told her of signals; even more telling, she hadn’t asked. She’d never even thought of such things.
One man straightened and strode towards Dimitrios. He spoke Greek, but he was the only one who looked as if he did. Dimitrios answered back in a low voice; Sophia couldn’t hear what either of them was saying. She turned her gaze back to the three men around the fire; one of them had clearly hurt his wrist and was attempting to bind it with his good hand without much success.
Sophia watched him for a moment before she hesitantly approached him. In normal circumstances she would have never even thought of speaking to or even standing next to a man, any man, and certainly not a strange one. Yet these were not normal circumstances, and he clearly needed help.
He glanced up at her as she came closer, his brown eyes friendly, his face creased into a smile. Sophia smiled back, uncertainly, because this all felt so strange and in any case there seemed very little to smile about. She pointed to his injured hand and then to herself. He clearly got her message for he chuckled ruefully and stretched his arm out.
“You think you can do a better job of it than me? Frankly, I think you’re right.”
Sophia didn’t understand what he said, but she thought she took his meaning, for he held the bandage out and she bent to bind it more securely around his wrist, blushing as she did, for she’d never touched a man’s skin like this before. His arm was brown and rough with dark hair. He winced and she mumbled an apology, blushing all the more. In return he smiled and patted her hand. Her skin tingled from where he’d touched her with his cold, bare fingers.
“Sorry, I’m a bit grubby,” he said and then tried in Greek, “Signomi.”
Surprised, Sophia stammered, “Einai entaxei.” It’s all right.
The man grinned and said in hesitant Greek, “I’m not very good, am I?”
Too discomfited by the simple banter to answer, she kept her head lowered as she wound the bandage around his wrist; the skin was red, the arm swollen, although not too badly.
“Pos se lene?” he asked, and she looked up warily. He pointed to himself. “Alex.”
She swallowed dryly. “Sophia.”
“Hello, Sophia. Kalimera.” Good morning. He sounded like a schoolboy sounding out words, but Sophia appreciated the effort. She knew so little English, nothing more than a handful of words. And she saw that it was morning; a gray dawn had given way to sunshine, the sky pale blue above them.
The man who had been conversing with Dimitrios strode back to the fire and issued instructions to another man, who immediately dumped a bucket of snow on the flames. Then the men, save Alex, began to gather their things.
Sophia patted Alex’s wrist and stood up. “Is—good?” she asked, as hesitant in her English as he had been in his Greek. He smiled at her, his straight white teeth dazzling her for a second.
“Is excellent,” he answered. “Thank you very much. Efharisto.” He stood up and began, rather clumsily, with his one good arm, to gather his things.
Sophia turned to Dimitrios, who was watching the proceedings with a rather satisfied smile, as if he had arranged everything. “Are we going back now?” she asked him, and heard the hope in her voice. Dimitrios saw it too, for he smirked and shook his head.
“Going back? What good would that do? No, we will go with the men. We will take them to the Major.”
“The Major…?” Sophia stared at him in horror. “Major Velouchiotis?” she said in a whisper, and Dimitrios confirmed this with a terse nod.
“But—but I thought you wanted to take them to Zervas! To EDES!” The thought of heading into Aris Velouchiotis’s camp was terrifying. He shot boys who hid a loaf of bread. What might he do to a group of British soldiers, men he could very well condemn as spies if he felt like it? And what of the Greeks who brought them? Sophia was under no illusion that Dimitrios Atrikes rated highly with the head of the communist resistance.
“After we see Velouchiotis, we will go to Zervas. The two groups are meant to work together.”
“Work together?” Sophia thought of how Perseus had sneered about the rabble of communists. They were seen as the enemy as much as a blackshirt or a Nazi. How in the name of God were they all meant to cooperate? “That’s impossible.”
“And you know so much?” Dimitrios scoffed. His hand twitched by his side, and Sophia took a step backwards. She did not want to be slapped again, and she had a sense that it was only the presence of the Englezoi soldiers that kept Dimitrios from venting his frustration on her. This wasn’t, she suspected, going according to his own foolish plan.
“I know the groups do not wish to work together,” she answered in a low voice. “Is this a plan of the English? Can’t you tell them otherwise?”
“There is more going on here than you or I know,” Dimitrios snapped. “Now I’ve had enough of your woman’s chatter. Make yourself useful and stop whimpering.” He pushed roughly p
ast her, and Sophia swallowed hard. Her fatigue had vanished, replaced by a clammy terror.
The man named Alex placed a hand on her shoulder. “All right?” he asked quietly, and Sophia understood that at least. She stared at him with a growing sense of despair, for she did not have the words—or the courage—to explain how she wasn’t all right… and neither was he.
18
Now
“Come in, come in.”
Although her face was wreathed in smiles as she beckoned Ava into her home, Eleni looked worried. Ava noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the furrow between her brows, and wondered at their source. “How is the teaching?” Eleni asked. She’d invited Ava over for dinner, and the house was full of the spicy scent of a lamb stew. Ava perched on one of the chairs in the tiny kitchen while Eleni bustled around. Already the little house with its air of comfortable shabbiness felt familiar and loved, and the warmth of it banished the anxiety that had been eating away at Ava since her phone call with Simon, and that near-disastrous date with Andreas three days ago.
“Good… I think. It’s been fun, anyway.” She’d been to the school once more so far, and had progressed from her first day of pointing and miming to a slightly more advanced vocabulary drill. “The children seem to enjoy it.”
“You are good with them, I’m sure.”
“I miss teaching,” Ava admitted. “It’s good to be back in a classroom.”
“You taught art before?” Eleni queried, and Ava nodded.
“They’re cutting positions left and right, though. I don’t think I could get a job teaching art again, at least not at the primary level.”
Eleni arched an eyebrow. “You think of returning?”
“No—not yet,” Ava said hastily. She felt a sudden surge of confusion, as if she’d missed the last step in a staircase. She wasn’t thinking of returning; she’d been here only a few weeks. And yet the ache of loneliness, of missing Simon, had intensified, so she felt as if she had an emptiness inside her. Yet returning to England wouldn’t do anything about that. Would it?
“Ah, well.” Eleni shrugged. “I wondered.” She set a crusty loaf of bread on the table and Ava noticed there were only two places set.
“Will your mother be joining us?”
Eleni shook her head, and the furrow between her brows deepened. “No, she is sleeping. She has not been well.”
Ava felt a little lurch of alarm. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Eleni nodded and began to ladle out the stew. “She is nearly one hundred years old; of course her health is bound to fail. Every day with her is a blessing.” She pursed her lips, frowning, and Ava waited, sensing that Eleni had more to say. “She has seemed so distracted lately,” Eleni continued after a moment. “As though something is distressing her, and she won’t tell me what it is.”
Once again Ava thought of Parthenope’s desperate apology. Had her arrival in Iousidous, her likeness to her grandmother, brought up painful memories for the older woman? “How long has she been like that?” she asked.
“A few weeks. Since—” Eleni stopped abruptly, but it was easy to guess what the older woman was reluctant to say.
“Since I arrived?” Ava asked quietly. “She was distressed to see me, I remember. Because I look like my grandmother.”
Eleni nodded slowly. “Yes, although she won’t speak of it at all.”
“Maybe if you asked her—”
“No.” Eleni spoke with the same firm finality as before. “I do not wish to distress her further. The past is finished.”
“But maybe she needs to talk about it, whatever it is,” Ava pressed, trying to keep her voice gentle. “Maybe talking about it would help her with her distress.”
Eleni stared at her for a moment, the furrow deep between her brows, and for a moment Ava thought she might agree. Then she shook her head resolutely. “No. It’s better to forget.”
But Parthenope clearly couldn’t forget, Ava thought, and for a moment she wondered if it was Eleni, rather than her mother, who did not want to speak about the past. But what on earth could Eleni possibly be afraid of? She hadn’t even been born then.
“Have you learned anything of your grandmother?” Eleni asked, and it felt like a peace offering. Ava accepted it as such and she began to tell Eleni about the interview with Angelos Mallos as they started to eat.
“He said she had a sister, a sister like a butterfly.”
“A butterfly?”
“Yes, I suppose that means she was a bit scatty—”
“I don’t know this word ‘scatty.’”
Ava gave a little laugh. “Lazy. Easily distracted—”
Eleni nodded, pursing her lips. “Or he could have meant something else. Angelos taught literature before he retired. Do you remember when I told you about Zorba?”
Ava’s throat tightened. “The man who danced.”
“Yes.” For a moment Eleni’s voice softened with compassion. “There is something else in that book. In one part Zorba talks about a butterfly. He found a cocoon on a leaf and he breathed on it to make the butterfly come out, but of course it came out too soon, and its wings were too wet and it died. Zorba realized he should not have rushed it, and he learned patience.” Eleni paused, lost in thought. “I wonder if your grandmother’s sister was a bit like that—the war breathed on her, and she was forced to grow up too soon.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “Who knows what the young men and women of that time could have been, if not for the war.”
And Ava knew she was not thinking only of Sophia’s sister, but of her own mother. What had happened to Parthenope back then to make tears course down her cheeks over seventy years later? Whatever it was, Eleni didn’t seem to want to find out.
“But enough of that,” Eleni said briskly. “Let us talk of the future. Have you heard from that husband of yours?”
“Simon?” Ava blurted, startled, and Eleni glanced at her curiously.
“Is that his name?”
“Yes.”
“It is not good for you to be so far apart.”
Although Eleni spoke gently, her words still stung. “It’s… it’s not like that,” Ava said quietly. “I told you before, we’re separated. We’re… I suppose it’s likely we’ll get a divorce now.” Why did saying that aloud hurt her so much? It felt as if she were being sawn in half.
“It is likely,” Eleni returned, “if you remain here and he is there.”
Ava flushed and put down her fork. “If you think we could just work it out if we were together, that’s not possible. That’s why I came here in the first place. I needed a change, and it was clear that we were not working it out when we were together. It just made things worse. And in any case, I think Simon’s glad to be shot of me. He seems to have moved on, at any rate.”
Eleni frowned. “Moved on?”
“He’s seeing my best friend. I think they’re just friends… at least I hope they are. But they’re spending time together.”
Eleni looked startled, but then she pressed her lips together, her expression seeming to harden. “He wouldn’t if you were there.”
“How can you say that!” Ava exclaimed. She rose from the table, her whole body trembling. “You know nothing—nothing about it! I know you’ve been kind, welcoming me into your home, but…” She broke off, her voice choking, and Eleni leaned over to lay a placating hand on her arm.
“Ava, I’m sorry. I should not have spoken so. But I can see how unhappy you are, and I wish for you and your husband to—what is the word?”
“Reconcile,” Ava filled in dully. Her rage, like a flash flood, had come and gone in a matter of seconds. Now she just felt drained. She sat back down and picked up her fork, toying with her stew, for her appetite had vanished.
“Reconcile,” Eleni repeated quietly. “But now you say it is not possible?”
Ava didn’t answer for a moment. Everything in her wanted to deny what she’d just told Eleni, to insist that it was possible—and yet how? She closed her
eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Eleni cocked her head, her eyes warm now with compassion. “Why not?”
Now that her anger had gone, Ava found she could talk about it. She almost wanted to. She hadn’t really talked about her marriage problems with anyone, and there was so much kindness in Eleni’s face now that Ava suddenly found herself practically tripping over her words to explain. “I’d known Simon wasn’t very expressive, of course I had. But we’d been trying to have a baby for years and when I finally fell pregnant…” She bit her lip, the memories flooding through her. “I was seven months along and I hadn’t felt any movement for a day or two, so I went in for a scan. Even then I wasn’t really worried.” She pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes. “I was so stupid. Simon used to tease me about how I panicked about the most pointless things. But when I should have panicked, I didn’t. I felt like something that terrible couldn’t happen to me.” She dropped her hand, gazed dully at Eleni. “When I had the scan, there was no heartbeat. No explanation why the baby—my daughter—had died. Just one of those things.” She offered Eleni an awful, twisted smile. “That’s what the technician said. ‘Just one of those things.’ As if it was a rainy day or a long bus queue.” She drew a shuddering breath. The eerie stillness on the scan’s screen still haunted her dreams, caused her to wake with her face wet with tears. “It was devastating. After trying for so long and then to lose it… lose it all…”
Eleni covered Ava’s hand with her own. “I am so sorry.”
Ava nodded jerkily. “Anyway, afterwards I was a wreck. And Simon just seemed to soldier on. It was like he didn’t even care. He didn’t want to talk about what happened. He didn’t even hold her when she was born.” Ava heard the accusation ringing in her voice. “He just asked them to take her away, like she was so much rubbish.” Tears stung her eyes, and she felt the kind of great, choking sobs she hadn’t given into in months tug at her chest. She gulped down a breath and blinked hard.