Orthokostá (17 page)

We loaded up the chestnuts. To haul all through the night. We passed Sourávla, we arrived down outside Ayios Pétros. Was it the devil playing tricks, or was it the smell of blood—three years since Fotiás was killed there, the mules wouldn't set foot there. We couldn't see a thing.

They arrested me in place of Márkos and our uncle the doctor. My uncle had left first. Márkos later on. Toward the end of November. There'd been a light snow, about two fingers high. In February, the seventh or fourteenth of the month. And it had frozen. Two rebels came by, strangers. Which of you is Eléni? I am. At daybreak. They took me to Mángas's house. Old Man Dínos Haloúlos was there. Yiannoúkos's father. And Biniáris I think. And the Braílas woman. Aunt Eléni Kyreléis with Kikí. And Kyriákos Galaxýdis. They took us down to Loukoú Monastery. Old Dínos had a shaggy wool cover. I don't remember if I took blankets. I must have taken something. They might have brought me something. At Loukoú we found others. Eléni Roúgas. Pétros's mother. She was crying all the time, she wouldn't eat anything. I tell her, Whatever happens to us, we'll get through it. Mítsos Kapetanéas was there, and Chrístos Panayotoúros. From Stólos now living in Kastrí. Stólos was nearby, they brought them food, they brought meat to those men. They'd grill the meat. As though it were Carnival. One day they let us go out. The rebels were guarding us, and we went outside the stone-fenced yard of the monastery. A sunny February day. I thought about running off. About escaping. But where would I go? My folks were in Kastrí. They had stayed there. Old Mavroyiórghis and Mavroyiórgaina. They'd be the ones who would pay for it. In about a week's time they got us up. At night, it was raining. Get up, we're going. They didn't tell us where. They just took us. We passed by Astros. I had on some thin wooden shoes, they came apart, I walked barefoot. My feet were all cut. We
reached Orthokostá at daybreak. Fifty or sixty people. Maybe less. We went into the monastery. Instead of asking for some warm water I put my feet in a water trough. And I fell sick. I came down with a fever. We slept on the same mattress, me, Aunt Eléni, and Kikí. A couple of days later my parents send me a basket, or rather a shoulder sack, from Kastrí. Eggs, walnuts, dried figs. But it all had to be inspected. With a fine-tooth comb. The rebels kept half of it, they gave us the other half. They had nothing either. We found out that Penelope Kaloútsis was leaving, they'd soon be letting her go. So I wrote a letter. I wrote it in front of Kikí. I wrote about how we were doing. I wrote them not to send us things because they kept them. I was planning to give it to Penelope, to hide and take with her. So she could give it to them. But what with my fever and all I forgot in the end. Luckily. They got Penelope in the end. She had a patchwork woolen quilt, they put her up on a mule. And a rebel escorted her. Was it Vasílis Tóyias maybe? I don't remember. Kikí says to me the next day. Kikí Kyreléis. See Penelope's quilt? They'd left it on the stone fence. They'd folded it. We spent our time there in the yard. Walking. Up and down. Kyriákos Galaxýdis was there. Someone named Tálas from Trípolis. Someone else named Krígas, old Liás Krígas, from Rízes. Whose house is on the right as you enter the village. And a young fellow named Yiórgos, I see him in Trípolis, that fellow. He sells gasoline now, I can't remember his last name. Everyone took a liking to me. All of them. Kyriákos Galaxýdis would pace back and forth all the time. A nervous man, with a long face. And all he would talk about was his car. About the tires or about one thing or another. Finally he would stop and he'd look outside. Do you see Mount Malevós? Kastrí is on the other side. When they let us go we'll cut right through the brush, and we'll get there. One day the abbot came over to me. The monastery had a few monks. Not too many. They didn't let them speak to us. Are you Mavroyiórghis's daughter? I am. Do you know I'm a friend of your uncle Ayisílaos? Uncle Ayisílaos lived in Astros and rented the land from the monastery. Olives and the like, he worked the land for profit. On the twentieth of March the rebels get us up. We were leaving. For
where, no one knew. The abbot calls me to his cell. He gives me six fresh eggs. Make a hole in them, he tells me, and suck on them. There was no food to take with us. The abbot was getting on in years. I would look around his cell. He had a hand made from bone, he had it hanging, a hand with wood, with a handle. What's that, Father? My child, I have no wife to scratch my back. And that's what it's for. I was downright amazed. The rebels got us up. There was a justice of the peace in the detention camp. From Vlahokerasiá. Kikí and I went to see him. He couldn't stand up. His legs were like barrels, black and blue underneath. They would take him outside the monastery, beat him, and bring him back. They got us up on the twentieth of March, they took us up the mountain. We came to a ravine. The rebels escorting us stopped, they made us stop. And we waited for some liaison. We learned later on that they were waiting for an order, whether to kill us or not. Whether they would kill us all in that ravine. The Germans had learned about our detention camp. They had captured a caïque from Ayios Andréas with army boots that were meant for the rebels. And the rebels were afraid that they would come and free us. They didn't kill us. Night came and went. The next day they took us farther up. We came to a sheep pen. Nothing there but a shed with a small high window. That served as both the window and the door. They put us in there, they cut down some fir trees, they lit a fire. The shed filled up with smoke. There was a prisoner there with us called Bebéka, just a girl. She was pregnant. But she didn't look it. Bebéka was her name, she wasn't married. There may have also been two boys. I think they were from Loukoú. There were about forty of us all told. The shed filled up with smoke, we say, Let's get out, we'll suffocate, and they let us out. We went outside, it was snowing. There were fir trees, the snow would fall, by the time it reached the ground it would melt. And there was a hush in the air, a silence. We saw some lights off in the distance, Kikí says to me, That's Athens. That's how high up we were. Now I think it was probably Argos. In the morning they gave us half a boiled potato. That's all they had. We went outside to urinate. Kikí and I went a bit farther out, and we saw some blood. That Bebéka, her
belly gave out. Seems she gave birth to the child in the night and died. Either it was her time or she miscarried, what with all the hardship. I don't know. A skinny young thing, pretty. Two days later they took us back down to Orthokostá. Outside the yard they had dug out a grave. At the edge of the road. They'd covered it up, the dirt was still fresh, they'd thrown some branches over it so it wouldn't show. We never saw the justice of the peace again. Then Broúsalis arrived, a lawyer from Bertsová, and Níkos Delivoriás, I don't remember the rest. They were the Central Committee for the Peloponnese. They were the head men. They put us in the church of the monastery, they talked to us. They asked us if we'd been treated well. We had no complaints. In other words they'd never beat us, they'd never tortured any of us. Whatever discomfort they had, we had too. The men guarding us. They tell us, The detention camp is being dismantled tomorrow. You're leaving. I ask, Can we leave today? Anyone who wants to can leave. It was March 27. Or maybe 26. They got ready. Kyriákos Galaxýdis. Old Liás Krígas. Tálas and that Yiórgos. Maybe Biniáris was with them. Vasílis. It was probably just those four. It was in the afternoon of March 27 or 26. I tell them, I'm coming with you. They didn't want to take me. We'll be sleeping in sheep pens. Then I will too. So I started out. With those four men. We made our way through the brush, we kept pushing forward. When there was a wall they would get hold of my hand and help me over. I was wearing a simple two-piece outfit, made from one of our brother Márkos's suits. I'd burned it with the iron, and he'd given it to me. Right between the wild pear trees and the gorse it began to come apart. In the end I grew tired. Night came. I realized I couldn't go on. I say, Where are we, they tell me, At Asómatos. Old Sotíris Kóllias used to spend the winter there. They had olives, they had land. I say, I'll go and find them. Tálas took me part way down. I reached the village easily from there. I found a woman, I asked her. She showed me the house. And I went there. The girls greeted me with tears. We went to sleep. In the morning Voúla says, We're leaving. We're going back to Kastrí. But we can't put you on the mule. We're taking the animals, we have things to carry. We
got up in the morning. With the ewes tied, with the hens on the mule, it took us thirteen hours to get there. Word had got out they'd cut off my hair. They'd cut off Marina's hair then, Aunt Ioulía Velissáris's daughter. The Security Battalions. And Christina would go round the neighborhood crying and saying, They cut off our sister Eléni's hair. We arrived at the village. They ask me about Penelope Kaloútsis. Oh no, I tell them. Penelope left twenty days ago. She hadn't gone to Kastrí. She hadn't gone to Ayiasofiá. They had homes in both villages. And what were the people from Ayiasofiá anyway? Most of them were from Karátoula too. And then someone says, Let's all mourn for Penelope. They understood. Several days went by. It was the time of the Salutations.
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I went to church. I found Aunt Eléni there, I found Kikí Kyreléis. They had left the detention camp the next morning. After me. Whoever stayed behind, whoever didn't get out quickly, they kept. The Braílas woman and some others. Because a new order came not to dismantle the camp. So I saw Aunt Eléni there, I saw Kikí. We were all hugging and kissing, crossing ourselves, lighting candles because we'd made it home. Kikí didn't tell me a thing. They were planning to run away to Trípolis and Athens. And they left right after church. Next morning in the square I see rebels, strangers, looking at the house. Watching our house. Intently. They were talking, I think Haroúlis was with them, God forgive him. Well, anyhow. I tell my mother, They're going to arrest me again. What are you saying, Child? I tell her, I'm leaving. I'm going to Athens. If they come here tell them I've gone to our koumbároi in Perdikóvrisi. To the Nikoláous. We were their godparents, my father had baptized Dimítro and Uncle Menélaos had baptized Eratosthénis. Uncle Menélaos gave them quite some names. He had a fondness for such names. I go up to Athiná's place. Unfortunately for me Rigoúla was there. Haroúlis's wife. She saw me. Now what do I do? Rigoúla went and told Haroúlis. I put on a kerchief. So, it was them, it was them. They were the ones got our Níkos all worked up. Well, anyhow. I put on a kerchief, I say, Maybe they won't recognize me. And I walk straight through the square, so as not to arouse any suspicions. With my legs shaking,
and me fighting to hold steady so no one could tell. I arrive at Horaítis's house in Lákka. There were some trees up above, and it was very windy and they were howling. Mr. Manólis, sir, God has placed me at your mercy. Horaítis worked at the bank up until the war. Before it closed. He sends word to Yiórgos Haloúlos. Who had seen me. They'd put him in charge, they were mobilizing at the time. Yiórgos Haloúlos arrives. They were in the dark down there. Two days go by. Then they send a message to Horaítis to type up a notice that they would give a certain amount of money to whoever could find me. Or tell them where I was. So many millions. That's what money was worth during the Occupation. They went and put it up in all the kafeneía. Written on his typewriter by Manolákis himself. I stayed for a week at his house. His girls were there, Póli and Nítsa, and the boys. But I couldn't stay any longer. We were all in danger. One night Dimítris Kokkiniás appears, with Antónis Kapniás and Thanásis Vozíkis. Nighttime, midnight. They take me. We crawl along till we reach Kavasális's place. Aretí came out. She gave us a loaf of bread. There was an empty house next to theirs, belonged to Eléni, the sexton's sister. The widow of Yiórghis Kosmás, who was killed in Albania. He had left her with a young daughter, and Eléni was away in Astros. They had the key. Or the house was just empty. There was a big crate there, and on top of it was a mattress, made from burlap, with corn husks for matting. And that's where I slept. The place was full of rats. I was terrified. It had a fireplace, made from a large tin pail. So the three sons, they kept watch every night. They slept next door to me, in the other half of the house. It belonged to the sexton. And every night they would knock on the wall to see how I was doing. They'd leave me some bread outside, some water. And I stayed in there. All day long. I'd look out the window, I'd see rebels passing by. They would shout, Eléni, to find me. They didn't know me. I stayed ten days on my own. All alone. I started feeling weak. From hunger and inactivity. And from fear. I say to myself, Let them kill me, and I decided to give myself up. I got up, in the early hours, and went outside. Across the way from Thalís Kapetanéas's house was the Chrónis place. They had a “water-tap”
hung out on the balcony, a makeshift washbasin made out of planks. And next to it a carnation plant. It was dawn. I see Panayótis Chrónis, he was splashing water on himself, washing himself. He looked at me, he didn't recognize me. I went to our house. I went straight to the kitchen. My family had gone off, I didn't know anything. They had gone to Trípolis. Only my mother was there. She was staying down at old Sotíris Kóllias's place. The rebels had taken over our house. I went into the kitchen. It was light out, the sun had come up. And then I hear my mother coming. She had a bag with wheat chaff, she had some hens, she was coming to feed them. She comes inside. She sees me. You're here, my girl? I'm here. Now what will I do with you, what will I do? The whole neighborhood's awake. Where will I hide you? There are rebels in the house. They were still asleep. I tell her, You won't hide me. I'm going to turn myself in, let them kill me, I don't care. But why they wanted me I didn't know. I walked outside, trembling, I went up to Mángas's place. They were all there, with Haroúlis Lenghéris in charge. I turned myself in. Where were you hiding? In our house, in the basement. I'd asked my mother, Did they search the basement? They hadn't. In the basement, I tell them. And what did you eat? There was water outside. I had taken two loaves of bread with me. No one knew me. They wouldn't listen: You were hiding somewhere. I wasn't hiding, I was at our house. That stayed secret for two years. They let me go free. I found out later what the charges against me were. The Kyreléis women had left. That night, after the last service of the Salutations. And because they saw us talking in church, they thought I was a liaison. Vasílis, their eldest son, had gone to Trípolis and he sent them shoes with Nikólas Balahámis. Through Ayiliós I think. Nikólas was their relative. They were barefoot, they sent them some boots. We were barefoot too. In that winter weather. Nikólas brought them the boots and they left, walked all night. They went to Trípolis, Vasílis was waiting for them. And from Trípolis they went to Athens. That's what happened, and that's why they were after me. Later on they arrested Balahámis, they sent him to the detention camp. They had all the people who didn't get away in time, in March.