by Lena Manta
“What happened?” Vassilis asked in a choked voice.
“Help me lay him down now, and I’ll tell you later,” answered the young man, panting from the load he had carried for so long.
“Let’s take him upstairs,” Vassilis ordered, and they carried the unconscious Simeon in their arms.
Roza appeared and covered her mouth to stop the cry she was about to utter.
“Is he alive?”
“Only just,” Vassilis answered. “Bring whatever you can find to help him.”
Without breathing, she ran to the kitchen, which had almost been destroyed. With shaking hands, she tried to find a pot to boil some water in while her daughter-in-law searched for alcohol without any success.
“Where’s Grandmother?” Roza asked. She’d found the gas ring but not the matches.
“I made her sit down in a chair that wasn’t broken!” Lefkothea answered, handing her the matches. “How is Father?”
“I don’t know. The boys took him upstairs.”
“Go to him!” the girl said to her. “I’ll boil the water. And I’ll bring towels.”
Roza didn’t wait to be told a second time. With her stomach in her throat, she ran to her husband’s side. He had recovered a little, but he was struggling to breathe. He had been wounded very badly, it seemed, and his grimaces told her he was in pain. She sat on the bed and took his hand in both of hers. It was also covered in blood.
“Simeon . . . ,” she whispered to him, holding back a sob, and he opened his eyes and looked at her.
“I couldn’t save anything.”
“It doesn’t matter, my husband. It’s you who must be saved.”
“Roza—” He tried to speak, but another spasm of pain cut him off.
“Hush, my pasha, don’t speak. Everything will be all right.”
“I don’t have time, Roza, and I must tell you,” he went on, using his last reserves of strength to speak. “You were wrong. I loved you. And I made a mistake by not telling you, but I didn’t realize it myself for a long time, and then I was ashamed. I want you to know, though, even now, at the end. I loved you and I love you now. And I thank you because I lived happily with you. You are a good and decent woman, and I didn’t behave as I should have with you. I filled you with a bitterness you didn’t deserve . . . forgive me!”
She saw his eyes fade before his hand became lifeless in her own. She bit her lips to keep herself from howling. She pressed her hand to her chest and bent to leave a kiss on his lips.
“Kiss your father,” she told the children. “He’s gone.”
Vassilis felt his eyes burning; his chest was struck by a sudden pain. He bent and kissed his father’s forehead, and then it was Aristos’s turn. Vassilis saw his brother stumble and hurried to support him. Roza jumped up beside her son.
“What is it? Are you wounded too?” she asked him in agony.
“No, but my eyes have seen such things that I don’t know how much more I can bear. We didn’t only lose Papa tonight,” he whispered, and had to sit down.
Vassilis put him in a chair and knelt in front of him while Roza remained standing.
“Tell us, what other terrible things did you see?” she said, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know how to tell you. I left work secretly. There were disturbances in the neighborhood by my office, but not like here. I went to the shop. When I got there, I thought I’d lose my mind. The whole street was full of broken glass, and all the stores had been looted. They had destroyed our shop. I found Father in the workshop under a counter they’d thrown on top of him. He could hardly breathe.”
“And Grandfather?” whispered Roza.
“He was lying beside the door. Probably he’d tried to stop them. They’d beaten him and then trampled him in their frenzy.”
Roza felt as if the bullet that had been chasing her had finally found its target. She swayed, and the two boys only just managed to catch her in their arms before she fell down in a faint. They had no choice but to lay her down beside her dead husband. Vassilis took a bottle of cologne from her dresser to rub her wrists, and Aristos snatched the jug of water from the basin and wet her face. She seemed to come around. Her eyelids fluttered, memories overtook her, and the tears came. The two brothers watched with horror as she curled up beside Simeon, holding him in her arms and lamenting him silently with her face buried in his neck. With great difficulty, they tried to pull her away, and they managed it just as Lefkothea came hurrying in. One look was enough for her to grasp the extent of the disaster, and she ran to take her mother-in-law, who was now crying loudly, in her arms. With her husband’s help, she lifted Roza from the bed and put her in an armchair. Nobody was aware the grandmother had come silently into the room until they heard her cry out. They all turned and saw her fallen on her son, repeating the same phrase: “Why, my treasure? Why? What did you ever do to them?”
She stroked his bloody hair and kissed him without anyone stopping her. They didn’t have the courage to tell her that there was another person she would soon be mourning. The moment of truth was not long in coming, and they didn’t need to say a word. At some point, Grandmother Penelope froze. Without stirring, she raised her head and looked at her family. Her eyes moved over them, one by one, and stopped on Aristos.
“My husband? He died, didn’t he?”
Instead of answering, they all bent their heads, and the woman received the second blow like a dagger to the chest. Her eyes rolled, she grimaced with the pain, and then closed her eyes tight. They ran to her, Lefkothea grabbing the cologne, but the old woman hadn’t fainted. She stood up with difficulty and approached her daughter-in-law, who was crying silently.
“That was it, my daughter-in-law,” she said and her voice shook. “We’ve been left alone, and now we must be brave for your children.”
They embraced each other, mingling their tears and their laments, unable to believe the disaster that had befallen them. Through the veil of her tears, Roza saw her whole life with her husband passing by. His last words turned her tears into flames. “Why?” she moaned. “Why?”
The double loss in their household attracted a lot of people to their side. Every one of them was mourning their own losses, and they also mourned the total destruction of their lives. The Greek Kristallnacht, as it was later called, was the longest night in Constantinople. At daybreak, martial law was hypocritically declared by the government. What was there even left to destroy? Every hour, someone brought another sad piece of news as the catastrophe of biblical proportions grew. Despite their own pain, the Kouyoumdzis family couldn’t help but shudder when they heard of the deaths, the rapes, the desecration of Christian tombs. At the funeral of Simeon and his father, each conversation revealed another aspect of that terrible night.
“In Balukli, they smashed the graves of the Greek patriarchs and threw their bones into the streets,” said a choked voice.
“And in the cemetery at Sisli,” said another with a sob, “they dug up the most recently buried and stabbed the corpses. They cut them into pieces, the devils.”
“Three of them raped Rafailoglou’s daughter, and the girl went mad,” said a weeping woman.
“And Moisis the money changer’s wife. They left her in the middle of the road.”
“They destroyed the Church of the Holy Trinity in Stavrodromi.”
“They stripped priests and made them go out into the streets shouting that Cyprus was Turkish.”
“What are you saying?” said an old man. “The heathen antichrists handed over a little child of nine to a man they call ‘the Gorilla’ so the beast could abuse him in front of everyone! Should we be crying about churches? People are dead!”
Silence fell for a while as they tried to absorb what they were hearing. Without intending to, they sat close to one another; they needed to know they were not alone.
A tragic figure, aside from Roza, was Grandmother Penelope, who had lost her husband and child in one day. Dry-eyed, she followed the funeral m
ass; dry-eyed, she watched her two loved ones disappear into the bowels of the wounded earth. Everyone there said she would soon be gone herself, and they were not wrong. The very next day, she was dead. She had done her duty, buried her loved ones, and it was as if she’d ordered her heart to stop beating so that she could go and find them.
It took nearly ten days before the others could stagger to their feet, let alone walk. Vassilis had become head of the family now, against his wishes. His wife and his mother watched him pace the house like an animal in a cage. One evening, at the end of that black September, they put the children to bed and sat in the kitchen.
“We have to think about what we’re going to do,” he began calmly, and everyone was surprised at the sound of his voice. They had been struggling for so long to get a word out of him.
“But what can we do, brother?” asked Aristos. The young man wasn’t in a good state. He couldn’t even pass a Turk in the street. He ground his teeth and rushed away to stop himself from attacking strangers. For his part, Vassilis hadn’t even gone to visit the family shop. Images of his father, covered in blood, and his dead grandfather came to life to suffocate him.
“We must,” Vassilis went on, as if searching for his words, “stand on our feet again. I thought of something, and I want your opinion, especially yours, Mama.”
“Mine?” Roza wondered. “What could I tell you, son?”
“I want us to leave,” Vassilis finally said, and taking courage from his brother’s expression, he went on. “There’s no place for us here. And I can’t wait for us to be the next ones to die when the Turks rise up again. I won’t watch them slaughter my children in front of my eyes!”
“Bravo, brother!” Aristos declared, and for the first time in a long while, they saw the light return to his eyes. Then he too looked at his mother. “Mama, Vassilis is right. We have to leave!”
“And where would we go, my child? Our house is here, our shop. Your grandfather and your father gave their lives defending it!”
“Yes, but there’s nothing left.”
Roza was about to answer, but she stopped suddenly. They all looked at her anxiously, thinking she wasn’t well, but her expression had filled with something they couldn’t interpret. She stood up suddenly.
“Aristos, Vassilis, we’re going to the shop!” she ordered.
“Stop, Mother! There’s nothing left, I told you,” he protested.
“Are you coming with me, or will I go alone? I must see it. Bah! Where did my mind go?”
She dashed to the door. The two men hurried after her. Lefkothea stayed behind with the children, terror gnawing at her heart.
They reached the main street of Pera, where their beautiful store had once stood. They were surprised to see the shops around it functioning, even if in a rudimentary way. But the old owners were no longer there, and in their place were new ones: Turks.
“Do you see why I said we had to leave?” asked Vassilis, his tone sharp.
“Hush, Vassilis, and come with me!” she ordered.
They arrived at the door of what had once been the best jewelry store in Constantinople. After taking their grandfather’s body away, they had lowered the metal shutters and locked them. Roza felt her eyes burn thinking of the martyrdom of her loved ones, but she took a deep breath.
“Open the shutters!” she said firmly.
The two men obeyed with heavy hearts. The store looked like a gaping wound. The sound of broken glass from the former windows echoed hauntingly.
“Is there a light?” Roza asked, and her voice trembled slightly.
Aristos turned the switch, and two or three lights that had escaped the mob’s frenzy lit up.
“Good. Turn them off again,” she told Aristos, and he obeyed.
The three of them remained in the semilit space. Roza didn’t waste any time. She didn’t give in to her memories, just marched to the back of the store, where the workshop had once been.
“Mama, why are we here?” Vassilis asked irritably.
“Hush, Vassilis, and do what I tell you! Bend down and get under that counter. Aristos, help your brother clear away the broken things. You want me to leave my home, but without money, you can’t live anywhere.”
She looked around and found a crowbar that had probably fallen from the intruders’ hands. She gave it to Vassilis.
“Pry up the floorboards!” she ordered.
Vassilis and his brother lifted a few boards and stood staring at what they had revealed.
“What’s that, Mama?” they asked almost with one breath.
“Don’t you see? Stand aside now while I open it.”
Roza knelt and carefully entered the combination her husband had taught her. Instead of putting his safe in the wall, Simeon had chosen to bury it below his feet. Every evening, before they went to sleep, he made her repeat the combination until he was sure she knew it as well as her own name.
The little door opened, and Simeon’s treasure appeared. Packets full of gold coins and a velvet purse full of precious stones.
“Mama!” Vassilis gasped.
“What did you think, eh? So many years of hard work. Didn’t you think there’d be some money?”
“That’s not just money, Mama, it’s a whole fortune!” Aristos observed.
“Hide it on you, and let’s go! We have a lot to do before we can set out on a journey.”
“Does that mean you agree that we should leave for Greece?” Aristos asked her.
“Why not? What’s left for me here? My daughter’s in Greece! Even better. Only—” She broke off her sentence and hung her head.
Vassilis understood and put his arms around her while he exchanged a look with his brother. What tied her to this ground was that it was where her parents, her husband, and her in-laws lay.
“We’ll take them with us,” he said softly, “and we’ll have them here forever.” He pointed to his heart.
“Yes, son, you’re right. Let’s go home now.”
They hid the treasure carefully on themselves, then opened the shutters of the store. They hadn’t managed to close them again before a Turk who had taken over the store next door blocked their way.
“What are you doing here?” he asked roughly.
Vassilis was about to answer curtly when he felt a sharp elbow in his ribs.
“Good morning, sir,” Roza said sweetly, surprising her sons. “This store belonged to my husband, and I thought I’d say good-bye before I sell it. I have a daughter in Greece; we’ll go and live near her.”
“If it’s like that, I’ll buy your store. Will you sell it to me?”
“Do you have to ask, sir? You’ll do me a favor for taking away my worry.”
The Turk standing opposite them seemed pleased. He named his price, and the woman had to pinch her son’s hand so he wouldn’t go on the attack. It was a ridiculous price and not a tenth of the store’s real value, but Roza kept smiling.
“Sir, if you’ll pay a little more, I’ll give you the store and our house! It’s not far at all. A big house, two stories. Do you have a family?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then it’s just what you need! Why don’t you come with us, so you can see if you like it.”
Holding Vassilis’s and Aristos’s hands as tight as if they were five-year-olds, she walked ahead. The Turk followed with a heavy tread and a hostile look.
“I’ll throttle you if you say anything!” Roza hissed to her sons. “I’m in charge now!”
Lefkothea nearly fainted when she saw the Turk entering the house. Her mother-in-law’s look told her to stay silent.
“Here we are, sir! This is our house,” Roza said, looking confidently at him. “There are four bedrooms upstairs, pasha. A real palace—you’ll enjoy it. What do you say? Do you like it?”
“Hey, Greek woman, are you trying to trick me by any chance?” he grumbled now.
“Me, pasha? Let me take you to see the title deeds I have! The house and the store are both mine, and
I’m selling them to you. Is that a bad thing? Since we’re leaving, wouldn’t it be a pity for them to fall into ruin? You seem to be an honest worker. Why should I let some Jews rush in here and ruin it? At least you’ll do some work on it!”
Her gaze was fixed innocently above his head, and silently she asked forgiveness from the many Jews they had lived among peacefully for years. She saw he was persuaded. They agreed on the final details and made an arrangement to see a lawyer the following day. When he left, Roza collapsed into a chair.
“Daughter-in-law, bring me a glass of water. My mouth has dried up.”
Lefkothea rushed to carry out her order, and as soon as her mother-in-law had drunk a little and recovered, she turned angrily to her sons.
“You nearly wrecked everything,” she chided them. “Are we going to achieve anything with these cursed people by being macho? Thank God I was able to salvage things, and we’ll make something out of it. Off with you now! Hurry and figure out how we’re going to leave. Lefkothea and I have a lot of work to do.”
“What work?” Aristos wondered.
“Sewing!” Roza answered mysteriously.
They made their journey by train, because there was no way Roza would get on a boat. Two days before they left, she prepared the ritual boiled wheat and took it to the graves of her men. Then she was ready. They took nothing with them except their clothes and their silverware, but their overcoats were very heavy. For days, the women had been struggling with the linings. They’d managed to sew all the gold coins into them. Roza had even slit open their handbags, hiding the precious stones inside. Not until they crossed the border did they take a deep breath. And when they got off the train, exhausted from the long journey with three small children, they realized there was no time to rest. Only by rallying their forces and working hard would they be able to stand on their feet again in this place that they imagined was their homeland but in fact was a foreign country.
CHAPTER 13
VERVERIS AND SEKERIS FAMILIES
Athens, 1955
Smaragda left the letter she was holding on the table in front of her. In great detail, her sister told her what had happened in Constantinople a few months earlier. Smaragda couldn’t believe her eyes. The newspapers in Greece had said very little, as if the journalists were in a hurry to change the subject. But the little they did report was enough for the family to be alarmed about their relatives. Fotis immediately sent a telegram, and fortunately, they answered quickly; otherwise the Ververises would have gone crazy with worry. Since her husband’s death, Kleoniki had moved in with Dorothea. Galata hadn’t been spared the anti-Greek riots, but no harm had come to Smaragda’s family.