Orthokostá (12 page)

were taking us. They took us from the station on foot and some women were following us, they kept telling us, Write a message, throw us a message, a note. So Eléni wrote one and threw it to them. All that about a month after they'd let her out, from Orthokostá. From the detention camp. She was accused of carrying a rifle, of being a rebel in the mountains. That's what they said. They slandered her falsely. Not all of them. I don't mean all of them. The Galaxýdis brothers and Iraklís. The others, Dránias and Chrístos Haloúlos, they helped us. Chrístos was in love with Steryianí Papaloukás. He was killed because of her. He went to see her and he was killed. In Athens. During the December Uprising. So they took us to Haïdári. Eléni threw them the note, and word got out we were there. They started preparing to send us to Germany. They started sending us to doctors to be examined. I was haggard looking and very thin. Some woman says to me, It's a pity for both you girls to go to Germany. You, you look so bad, tell them you're an epileptic. But I'm not an epileptic. Say you are, because the doctors are allowed to disqualify seventeen patients out of every hundred. And that excuse works, seizures. But another woman from our group had to verify it. Someone did, I don't remember who. There was a girl from Loutráki. Named Evridíki Yerolymátou. We'd become friends, and we're still friends. She was with her sister Moíra. I think she was the one who verified it. And they separated us. They took me to the sick ward. There I was, all alone, afraid they would kill Eléni. And Eléni afraid for
my
life. We'd meet on the stairs, hug each other, and start crying. At any rate. A few days later they came to get me. They took me to the station to leave for Trípolis. I arrive in Corinth. There I run into the Yiannoúlis brothers. Yiánnis and Yiórgos. By chance. Where are you going, Christina? Well, here's the story. To Trípolis. Don't go to Trípolis because the other side will haul you in again. Go to Athens. I was in Corinth now. I say, I have no money. Yiánnis went and got me a ticket, he sent me back. Don't go down to Trípolis, they'll put you in jail again. I arrived in Athens, I went to some relatives. On Notará Street, near the museum. Yiánnis, my cousin Christina Támbaris's husband, came and got me from there. We went to Kifisiá. Márkos was there in Kifisiá.
He tells me, The Germans have capitulated. And Eléni's getting out on Wednesday. Is this true? Yes, it's true. What's happening in Trípolis? I've been in touch, everyone's fine, we survived. That put my mind at rest. I went and lay down. They gave me some bedding and I slept. I didn't get up for a week. They'd come and check to see if I was breathing. Come have something to eat. I don't want to. And I'd fall back asleep.

Her father would get himself drunk in Kastrí. The priest. He'd slipped into a drinker's apathetic state. And he'd neglected his family. But my aunt had discussed this with the old man, and she'd put him in charge of their affairs. She'd handed things over to him carte blanche. That all happened in 1925, maybe 1926. I can barely remember it. That's when Stylianós came from Chicago. Stylianós Kalamáris. He was from Karátoula too. Hard times. People were suffering. Wheat shortages, large families, lots of mouths to feed. People didn't have enough of anything, not bread, not oil. Not even wine. Anyone in America was considered to be in the promised land. Should anyone show up from over there, everyone wanted him for a son-in-law. So Stylianós arrived. Someone would approach him, someone else would wine and dine him. He was short and fat, or rather he wasn't all that short. But he looked short because he was fat. Big belly, no neck at all, his head stuck on his shoulders. The old man started working on him too. Diplomatically. I have a girl for you too, he tells him. From a good family. She's my niece. Pretty, upstanding, good housewife. But I'm not sure she'll be interested in you. There was a purpose to all this now. To this manipulative preamble. To lower his hopes as a possible suitor. He talked him up good; in the end he had his way. They arranged for him to come to the house so they could meet each other. His niece was notified accordingly. The old man's second niece. She came to the house, they pulled out a bolt of cloth. Cloth they used to weave on the loom. They unrolled it to cut a blouse for my mother. That was the pretext. After a while the prospective bridegroom
showed up. He came in, said good day, they said good day too. An unusual hour for the old man to be there. The whole thing was a setup. Let me introduce you to my niece. The niece was bending over a plane-smoothed wooden chest to measure the cloth. She didn't suspect anything. Today she must be eighty or older. Iríni. She came here last summer. Stylianós isn't alive now. She was plump, heavy. With white hair. But as a young woman she was pretty. At any rate she was thin, and nimble. So let us introduce our niece to you. He doesn't waste any time. You know, your uncle and aunt here have been having a word with me. Do you know about what? Iríni was mortified. He came to the point, that fellow. In medias res. Right to the point. Iríni was so mortified that she dropped the scissors and the tape measure, if she even had a tape measure. I can't remember if she took measurements or if she used a pattern to cut the cloth. Then she found a more convenient place to escape the onslaught. She opened the hatch and disappeared. Stylianós went over to her and leaned over. The hatch was open. You didn't answer me, he said to her. She stopped on the third or fourth step. That's when she realized that a marriage was being arranged for her. Whatever my uncle and aunt say, and my father, she said. The father came last. I agree. He was elated, he considered her response to be, and in fact it was, an acceptance of his proposal. He went out on the balcony—you can still see the bullet marks. He had a pistol on him, he took it out and fired one, two, three, four shots in the air. To proclaim to the world, to noisily trumpet the new-formed alliance. The balcony was covered by a big piece of tin, and he made a hole in it. That son of a gun, said the old man, he shot a hole in the tin cover and now it will leak. And that's how the marriage was arranged. They had their wedding, went off to America, and had a family. And they lived happily for almost half a century. They had four children. Thanks to the old man's clever ploy. Thanks to his sharp-minded strategy. To his telling him, I have a fine young lady, but of course she has no dowry, if you insist on one we'll scrape something together. But I don't know if she's going to like you.
Because you're fat, and all that. He wore that poor man down. Broke his morale. Didn't even tell him they had arranged for him to go to their house, or who the person was. Just told him the person will be at the house, but not who she was. So his curiosity would be aroused. And it certainly was.

That fall in Athens we had a problem just surviving. When we arrived. That's when we went there—Aryíris Nikolópoulos from Valtétsi
¹
took us there. There was a group of men from Valtétsi, with Papaoikonómou and the rest. They cooperated, they all voted for Tourkovasílis.
²
Tourkovasílis, the head of the Bank of Greece at the time. And we went to see him. We explained the situation to him. Thodorís, Aryíris Nikolópoulos said to him. What are we going to do? What's going to happen? Tourkovasílis had supported us in the past. He promised us that soon we'd be able to secure arms. So we could form teams in the Ermionís area. Where there was a sizable EDES
³
organization. In the end the only thing he did was sign us up for the employee soup kitchen. All of us from Arcadia, everyone who had left from down there. To get meals there until we were settled somewhere. They had dining rooms in the basement of the central branch, where they cooked food, and we went and ate for free there. Until October 28. Which is why I said I left Kastrí in October. Until October 28. On October 28, Tourkovasílis was arrested. By the Germans. It happened in the bank's festivities hall, where a ceremony had been organized in honor of Óhi Day.
⁴
The third anniversary. With the approval of the board of directors, of course. But word of the gathering was leaked, and the Germans burst in and nabbed them all. The board of directors, the employees, everyone. Tourkovasílis was up in his office. He hears about it, he goes downstairs, he says to the Germans, Whatever my employees did was on my order. I'm the only one responsible here. So of course the Germans arrested him. He
was court-martialed. They had him in jail in Kallithéa. They cut off his hair. They were going to execute him. And he got off by chance. Because right at that time they killed his brother Yiórghis Tourkovasílis. A former officer of the gendarmes, also a member of Parliament. ELAS caught him and they shot him. I think that this contributed to Thódoros's being let off. He stayed in jail until the Liberation.
⁵
Tourkovasílis. And later on, when Kýrou
⁶
accused him in Parliament of collaborating with the Germans, he reacted in the well-known Tourkovasílis style. He had been elected a member of Parliament with the help of Maniadákis. Well, he took care of Kýrou, he waylaid him on Anthímou Gazí Street in downtown Athens, and he beat the daylights out of him.

—That so-called Recognition for having participated in the Resistance. That's what I just can't stomach.

—Never mind the Recognition. Can you tell me about the old lady?

—Yes, I'll tell you.

—That's what I want. When they caught her, how they caught her, why they caught her. When you found out that they killed her. How old was the old lady when they butchered her. And did they cut her up or did they shoot her?

—Cut her up. They butchered her.

—When did they arrest her?

—They arrested her some time around February. If I remember correctly.

—Where?

—They arrested her here. Right here.

—The old lady worked as a cobbler?

—Yes.

—And how old was she then?

—Fifty-five. Fifty-six. And they didn't just arrest her, they looted her things too. They loaded up two cars, anything they could find. In the house and in the cobbler's shop. They took down the wine and carried it off in goatskins. Loaded up those wineskins.

—Where did the old lady learn the trade?

—From her father. And she made new shoes, all kinds. She was the best cobbler in town.

—Did you learn to cobble from her?

—Yes, from her. And so. They brought her down here. They kept sending us letters to go back.

—Had you gone over to the Battalions?

—We hadn't gone anywhere at the time they arrested her. That's the funny part.

—Where were you?

—We were in Athens, that's all. Trying to protect ourselves, like so many others.

—Yes.

—We were staying there in Athens. The Battalions were formed around March. That is, after things got tough here in the villages. People couldn't take it. Wherever they went, they were killing people, arresting them, and so on. And those actions led to reaction.

—When did they arrest her?

—Around February.

—They must have arrested her earlier.

—Maybe January. And meanwhile they kept sending us letters up in the village. Be back home by midnight and you have nothing to fear—we won't do anything to you.

—Who signed them?

—They just sent them like that. Someone would stop you, for example. The Organization gave me this letter, he'd say. In the meantime the so-called Resistance was formed. The Security Battalions were formed, and people went over to them. And that's when it all happened. The first ten days of June. After the springtime arrests. When the Germans went out on various operations. The big blockade, as we call it. I know that's when they killed her. During the first ten days of June.

—Were you in the Battalions?

—It was at that time the Battalions were formed.

—Yes.

—But when they arrested her there were no Battalions.

—Who told you, do you remember?

—That they arrested her?

—That they killed her.

—Yes. Word got out. Because at the detention camp there were people from Kastrí. Along with the old lady. And when the Germans closed in on them, they had to break up the camp. And execute the people there. Like Polítis, and old Mrs. Braílas, my mother, and I don't know how many others. Someone called Maraskés from Roúvali. Themistoklís Anagnostákos. A man from Trípolis, and a girl. Well, anyway. They killed them. And when they killed that lot the rest of them were scared, they tried to hide. They formed small groups, two here, two there. You know. And those rebels came back up, there was a ravine down below. They say, Just now we executed the traitors. The others all scared out of their wits. They deserved it, they told them. And they were spared.

—You say they arrested her in February.

—Yes.

—Could it have been later?

—No, it was in February.

—But on February 2 the first detention camp was dismantled. They left Orthokostá and went to Mávri Trýpa.
¹
On the second of February.

—Ah, the first detention camp.

—And they left. The Germans freed them.

—Yes, right. With the second detention camp.

—Then they arrested her later, not in February.

—Yes, maybe. Maybe around March. Something like that.

—Were you still in Athens?

—Yes, we were in Athens.

—Who else did they capture with her, do you remember?

—From here, Panayótis Polítis. Iraklís's brother.

—Yes.

—There were five, six, seven of them. Five of them were executed.

—Did you ever see Kalabákas, or talk to him?

—Which Kalabákas?

—Yiánnis. The one who escaped.

—Oh, yes.

—He says he dropped down. Just in time.

—And that he covered himself with my mother's skirts. How do you know all that?