Orthokostá (23 page)

The Battalions were advancing toward Astros. Some kind of reconnaissance, something like that. Lýras tells me, You're going with them. The only time I saw action outside the Bureau. He tells me, You'll go with the Battalion. My mission was to bring in Paraskevás Denézos. Paraskevás was a lawyer, a member of ELAS, they'd put him in charge of ETA. The Rebel Commissary. I think he was Trámbalis's brother-in-law. Trámbalis, manufactured ice and spaghetti. In Trípolis. At any rate, they were related somehow. Distant relatives through marriage. And we had to get him out of there, away from the Organization. Lýras tells me, You'll go down there, you'll get Denézos. He's been notified. He'll go with you. And I had to transport him safely to Trípolis. It was a way out, that, a setup so there wouldn't be any retaliation. So he could appear not to be going with them voluntarily. We went to Kastrí. We passed through Kastrí. The Battalions, hordes of them, were grabbing whatever they could. Kastrí was already burned down, of course. We went to Ayios Pétros. Same thing there. We went down to Ayiánnis, and from there to Mesóyeio, Astros. And all of them barging into homes and looting. As though they were in enemy territory. In a foreign country. I never imagined it could be like that. We went back, we spent the night at Koulourás's inn. For our own safety. The next day we went back up to Ayiánnis. Paraskevás was there with his sister. They came over to me. I took them along. Voúla Papayiánnis, Kóstas Vasilópoulos's wife, decided to come with us. Kóstas and I were colleagues, he was also a schoolteacher. But he was involved with EAM. Voúla came with us to try to
somehow make up for her husband's forced participation in EAM. Of her own accord. We met at her brother's house. Astéris Papayiánnis. Ada was there too. It was summer when that raid was carried out. They'd come up from Mesóyeio. They were spending the summer there. Voúla came with us. They knew us, we were neighbors. She was a colleague's wife. I had her sit in the front seat of the car. Mihális Galaxýdis was driving the car. And he wouldn't stop hounding her. We went to Trípolis. Lýras took Denézos, he took him to Trámbalis. Voúla was staying somewhere else in the beginning. Another man from Astros had come with us, name of Kontákos. A few days later they sent for Voúla, then she went and stayed at Trámbalis's house. Mihális Galaxýdis would keep arresting her, hauling her in to the police station. He'd arrest her and lock her up, put her in jail. Because supposedly her husband was with EAM. They sent word to me. I went over and found him, and I had words with him. I told him, What's going on here? I brought this woman to Astros, she came here with me. Under my protection. And she came here to safeguard her husband, to justify his forced participation in EAM. I would arrange to get her out of the police station, Lýras would give an order, they'd let her go. Then Mihális would arrest her again. He was threatening to turn her over to the Germans. Voúla was staying at Trámbalis's place, I was at the Hotel Grítsi. One afternoon she called me over to the fence. There was an open space between us. She says, What shall I do, how long will this go on? She was upset. And rightly so. I tell her, You're not in danger. As long as Lýras is there I'll take care of things any time you're there. But I couldn't figure out why he was so steamed up, so obsessed with her. And then she told me why herself. A lover's frustration. He wanted her. Even before she was married. And she wouldn't look twice at him. That kind of insane passion was fairly widespread. I just want to point out what sort of thing one was up against then. But we shouldn't speak about that. Voúla was both a fellow villager and the wife of a colleague. May God rest her soul.

I remember everything. They got me from here. They took me to Ayios Pétros. Along with Chrístos Kokkiniás. From Ayios Pétros they took us to Kastánitsa. They had Marínos's brothers there. They killed Themistoklís. Mihális died last year.

—And Marínos?

—Marínos was in Athens. That's why they caught us. I had Dína and the boy, they were little.

—Yiórgos?

—Not Yiórgos. I had him later. Yiórgos and Themistoklís.

—Which children did you have then?

—Dína and Dimítris. Dína's almost fifty. She's married to a miller, in Aséa. Dimítris is in Trípolis. Working for the telephone company.

—Themistoklís is in Trípolis too.

—Yes, but Themistoklís came later, I had him later.

—Dimítris and Dína, how old were they then?

—Let me think. They must have been four or five.

—And they stayed here when they arrested you?

—My mother took them. My mother married a Perentés. You remember Mítsos Perentés?

—No.

—You're not very old, you. How old were you back then?

—In the Occupation I was seven.

—You're not old.

—Says who I'm not? I'm fifty-two.

—Then you're older. My children were three or four years old. The girl was born first. Worried herself sick. Bleeding from her ears, you know. And Dimítris started saying, Light all gone, Grandma. Looked at that oil lamp and kept saying, Our light all gone, Grandma. He was so young, I mean he could barely speak. Maybe he was two. And the girl was three. About that age.

—Who took you from here?

—Lenghéris.

—Pótis?

—One of the two. Maybe it was Harís.

—And they took you to Mángas's house.

—Yes. And to Ayios Pétros–Kastánitsa. We were covered in lice, tons of them. Such filth. In Orthokostá we found that poor Braílas woman. They had arrested her earlier. Along with Marínos. I was the one got Marínos out. All innocent-like. I went and saw him.

—In Loukoú?

—No, in Ayiánnis. At Vérvaina grade school. They'd taken them there. I tell him pretend-like, What are you doing here? We've got work to do, why are you still here? Oh, what we went through, he'd say later. And he left for Athens.

—That happened in February, right?

—It was winter. Maybe March. February or March. They arrested me in May. We were still making cheese. Here at my mother's place. With Chrístos Prézas. They came and took me, with my shoes still pressed under my heels. Like slippers. Yes. They were killing me, those raggedy old shoes—when I got to the prison camp my feet were all cut up. In Orthokostá there were lots of people. People I knew. I would cross myself day and night. There were mothers with young children. Day and night, so grateful they didn't arrest me with my children. The children in the camp would gather on the stairs and play. Old stone steps worn smooth by footsteps. And when they said, Come and eat, what did the little ones get? They gave us peas, just pea soup. Except when someone brought us something from outside. Efthymía was there, my cousin Thanásis's sister-in-law. Thanásis Samartzís. She was getting married. She married some older man
from down there. And I met him back then. In '39. I was engaged. I got engaged too that day. The same day. They were relatives of my husband, we went to the wedding, and we met them. And he would bring me food. Or send me some.

—Was he from Ayiánnis?

—From Ayios Andréas. Really, he'd send food. To Orthokostá. And not a word to him from anyone.

—How long did you stay there?

—A month. One whole month. And if the Germans hadn't come they would've killed us. They took us out to the mountains.

—Wait a minute. Yeorghía Makrís was there.

—We were together. The two of us. We slept together. All the women did. There was another woman from Ayiasofiá.

—Did they interrogate you?

—No. Nothing. But they did take us out to the mountains. We woke up one morning, they knew the Germans were coming. We saw Tóyias, he had a hand grenade strapped to his waist. A hand grenade. Something's going on, the others were saying. The men. Poor Panayótis Pezoúlis. They killed him. Iraklís's uncle. Chrysanthe, he says to me. We were cousins. Second cousins. He had a dream that night. It's a good dream, I tell him. He was gathering lentils by the handful and throwing them in front of him. It's a good dream, I tell him, what could I say to him? They tortured those two, him and Iraklís. They didn't kill them, they didn't execute them. Just put them through hell. Before the Germans came. And Themistoklís, God rest his soul, could barely move. I went and took him fresh-cut grass. It was May, near summer. Fresh grass to put under him. They'd beat him real bad. To cushion up his body. His back all bruises from top to bottom. That grass gave out warmth, it took away his pain. Chrysanthe, how did you think of that? he said. To ease the pain just a bit, Themistoklís. So you're not flat against cement. Piled-up grass keeps in the heat. Like we used to say about mowed hay that it “heated up.” And his back soaked up that warmth, caught that heat. He was seething all over from so many beatings. Then they got us up, they took us out to the mountains. They took us out of Orthokostá when they
realized that the Germans were coming. We had all slept together that night. They took us up the mountain, there was a ravine, it could hold us. A hundred, hundred fifty people. As soon as it got dark they separated us and they took us to a shepherd. His son took us there. About ten of us, all women. He says, Father, take care of these girls. All right, says the old man. O-o-o-o-kay, goes his son. O-o-o-o-kay, answers the father from under his cape. The son says, Take care of the girls, I'll take care of them. In the morning at daybreak the father went off a ways. I say to the others, Shall we leave? Shall we just go, I tell them. What are you talking about, they answer me, They'll kill us. They all said that. They were younger than me. Better if they kill us. Shoot us from behind so we don't see them. And we left. We go along some more, down a hill. We see the Germans.

—How old were you then?

—Thirty? Maybe not even.

—Do you remember when you were born?

—I was born in 1912. Twelve from forty-four, thirty, thirty-one years old. And I took those girls, I helped them escape. The Germans saw our white kerchiefs, and they didn't bother us. Back then we all wore head scarves. I told them to. Get a stick and tie your kerchiefs on it, all of you. We tied them on, and we got going. We kept moving toward them. We had to go down a gorge to get across. We meet an Italian man. A deserter. Like someone just stepped out of a washtub, that's how he looked. Covered in sweat. We ask him, Where you headed? he says, Germans. Germans coming. He spoke a little Greek. He was afraid of the Germans now. And we were on our way to find them. We walked on down, a good lot of kilometers, there was a small stream. We found the Germans there, they were washing their feet. They'd captured two rebels. They asked us, Who are these men? Talking with their hands. What could we say? They had them in the sun, and they were beating them. Beating them with canes long as Easter candles. Those rebels had made my life hell, but I felt sorry for them. We left that place. We never saw those rebels again. We went back to Orthokostá. The Germans were advancing. We got away from those Germans there, they let us go free. We decided to go back to our
homes. To go up to Malevós, to come back here. They tell us, Rebels ahead, where are you going? So we split up. I left for Galtená. My sister was there. She'd married someone called Kambylafkás. Panayótis Kambylafkás. We walked all day. All day with a woman from Ayiasofiá. Named Lambrítsa. She's married now, down in Mýloi. We got ourselves to Galtená. They bedded us down out on the terrace. We fell right asleep. My sister, her mother-in-law, and the girls. She had six girls. At night I hear dogs. I hear the dogs, They're coming for me, I say. I drag my covers inside. Nonsense, they're not coming for you, says my sister. The rebels are coming for me, I tell her. I get up next morning, no one came. I get up and put on her mother-in-law's clothes. Those old-fashioned dresses. I bundle myself up in her scarf. So they won't recognize me. Where will you go? To Kastrí. I bring myself up here. My mother sees me. You back, my jewel? Come, sit down. I can't, Mama. They'll catch me. What are you talking about, child? I take my girl by the hand, a loaf of bread and the boy on my back. And I go to Másklina. Marínos was there. But I had stamina back then, I was strong. A loaf of bread, the boy on my back, and the girl, I'd have her by the hand, then I'd let her move free for a while. I got myself down there, I found Marínos. After eight months apart. We stayed there. Then we left the place, we went to Trípolis. And that's how we got away. Trípolis was the end.

—How did they kill Themistoklís?

—They took us somewhere else, I told you. No one knows, we never found out. Ruthless men. My mother-in-law went and found him afterward. Two years later. They'd buried him under stones. She found the bones. Was it him, or someone else, well, who knows? So much happened. You get all emotional just talking about it. From Másklina to Trípolis. Terrible years. Especially for me. Bad. Very bad. After the Liberation, I came back here. I wanted to come here. Marínos stayed. I came here. I found nothing. Everything had been leveled. The house burned down. The house here, and the house in Ayiórghis. We had homes in two places. When they set fire to our village Petrákos told us. Chrístos Petrákos. That they burned down the houses one by one. This house here, that house there. And I was left
with nothing but the clothes on my back, I swear. We had that shelter, just a hole, we'd hidden our things there. To keep them safe from the Germans. We'd hidden them because of the Germans and the other side took them. They knew the shelter. But now I have shoes. They don't cut into my feet and make me bleed. Back then I'd stamped them down right here. I was setting the cheese to curdle, they didn't let me go inside to change. Thank the Lord.

—All that's over.

—It's over. And later I had children, nice kids with good jobs. I'm not just saying that 'cause they're mine. Everyone thinks so.