When the Cypress Whispers (15 page)

“Evangelia traded the eggs and olive oil for the passage back to Erikousa. It was all she had, but she gave them to a fellow islander to keep quiet and take them in his
kaiki
. She risked everything to help my family. The Nazis knew that Jews had escaped, that they were being hidden by Greek families all around Corfu, in the villages and on the smaller islands. They issued a proclamation that any Christian found hiding or helping a Jew would be murdered. That they, and their entire families, would be shot and killed for defying the order and helping the
Juden
. But despite this, despite the risk, the threats, and the knowledge that she could be killed, Evangelia hid them, she protected them. She saved them.” He paused. “She saved us.”

Daphne stared at Yianni. She felt torn—torn between calling him a liar for daring to conjure up such a horrific fairy tale, or embracing him, clinging to him, and thanking him for finally sharing the truth.

“How?” was all she could manage.

“They lived like that until the war was over. The two widows and their children, scraping by on what little they had, living in Evangelia’s house. Dora taught Evangelia the art of sewing, of making beautiful clothes from the few scraps they could find, and Evangelia taught Dora and her girls the ways and customs of the island women so they would blend in . . . so they would live. They spent night after night talking, teaching each other the stories, traditions, and culture of their people. They learned that despite what they had always heard in their lives, they were more similar than different—the Greeks and the Jews. Evangelia told everyone on the island that my grandmother was a cousin who had come to stay, but everyone knew better. Everyone on Erikousa knew who she was—
what
she was. They all knew my grandmother was hiding, that she and your grandmother and perhaps they themselves would be killed if the Nazis found them. But no one told. No one on the island gave away the secret. Despite the risk to themselves, to their families, and to the entire island, no one told the Nazis. Not one adult, not one child, Daphne, no one. At first, they stayed away and simply let the widows live in peace. But Dora said that as time moved on, the islanders embraced them. They helped them, protected them, and, along with Evangelia, made them feel like part of their island, part of their family.”

Daphne wrung the white fabric of her skirt in her hands, the cotton twisted and knotted around and around and between her fingers. “But how—how did they manage to hide from the soldiers?”

Yianni stopped for a moment and smiled. “Your
yia-yia
is a brave and special woman, Daphne. Whenever my grandmother would tell me about her, it would always be in hushed tones, with respect and reverence.”

“My
yia-yia
. . .” Daphne pictured her frail
yia-yia
, who seemed dwarfed even by her black uniform. The same Yia-yia who spoke no English, had never been formally educated, and had never stepped onto an airplane or even outside Greece. “How could she know what to do?”

“When I would ask that question, my grandmother would simply say she knew. She could feel it. She knew when the soldiers would come. She knew when they would leave. She would dress Dora and the girls in peasant skirts and blouses and send them off with a sack of bread and olives and water, and always my grandmother’s cherished menorah wrapped in an apron and hidden in the folds of my grandmother’s dress. They would hide in the hilltop caves on the wild, uninhabited side of the island until the soldiers were gone again. She always knew when they would come, and she always knew when they would go. She was the only one who did. Somehow, she could hear them coming. At first it was just Evangelia who would make the dangerous trip to bring food and water when they were hiding. But then, one by one, the islanders began to come. They brought food and supplies and even crudely made dolls from scraps of fabric and corn husks for the girls.” He smiled at this, his eyes crinkling at the thought of little girls playing so innocently in such dangerous circumstances. But then the smile disappeared, as he remembered again what came next in the story.

“The Germans never occupied Erikousa, but they would visit, usually once a month, and stay for only a few days, always searching for Jews who had escaped. Those days always seemed endless and the Germans were brutal, beating even small children who dared not greet them with raised arms or whose
Heil Hitler
s were not loud enough for the soldiers’ liking. But Dora, Evangelia, and the islanders had settled into somewhat of a routine, as routine as things can be in times of war. Everyone knew where Dora and the girls were hiding, and as difficult as it was for them on the mountainside, they never went hungry. Someone would always come and bring them what they needed . . . clothing, food, companionship and conversation to fill the scared and lonely hours. But one time, the Germans stayed longer than usual. It was the last days of summer, and a terrible and stubborn storm rolled in and would not leave. It rained for days upon days, and the sea rolled and churned. No fisherman’s boat dared attempt to sail, and neither did the Germans—even their big, modern boats were powerless against the angry sea. Dora said they waited and prayed for what seemed like an eternity to be told it was safe to return home, but that message did not come. It never came.” He shook his head, his shoulders slumping farther and farther down, weighted by Dora’s fear and desperation.

“The endless dampness was too much for Rachel’s frail body. The coughing set in and got worse with each passing day. Even the precious medicine that Evangelia and the other islanders risked their lives to bring her was no match for the infection that took hold, the endless coughing that shook her battered little body. The sea finally calmed, and the Germans set sail for Kerkyra, but it was too late. Rachel’s cough grew worse with each passing day, and then the fever set in. It was too much. The poor thing could fight no longer. She died, there in your
yia-yia
’s bed, as Dora and Evangelia held vigil, holding her tiny hand and cooling her burning forehead with wet rags. It was too much for Dora. How much can one woman be expected to bear? It was too much. She sat silent for weeks, catatonic with grief. Evangelia had listened to Dora’s stories and knew what needed to be done. She washed Rachel’s tiny body and ripped the sheets from her own bed, using them to make Rachel’s funeral shroud. Since Rachel was Jewish, the priest would not allow her to be buried in the Christian cemetery. But Evangelia got down on her hands and knees, and with her bare hands she cleared the earth just outside the cemetery gate. They buried Rachel there, near the entrance. The priest stood with Dora, your
yia-yia
, and the other islanders, and although he did not know the Kaddish, the Jewish prayers for the dead, he said prayers from his heart and asked God to take this innocent child into his arms.”

Daphne was silent. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. There were no words. But Yianni was still not finished. He still had more to say.

“I learned many stories of the war at university,” he continued. “We studied the bravery of Athenian archbishop Damaskinos, who told his clergy to hide Jews in their very own homes and issued false baptismal certificates that saved thousands. When the Nazis threatened him with the firing squad for his actions, the archbishop boldly replied, ‘According to the traditions of the Greek Orthodox Church, our prelates are hanged, not shot. Please respect our traditions.’ ” Yianni closed his eyes again. He sat motionless and silent, savoring the archbishop’s words.

“I learned too of Bishop Chrysostomos and Mayor Loukas Karrer of Zakynthos. When ordered by the Germans to present a list of Jews living on the island, they handed over a list with only two names—their own. Beause of these men, not one Jew perished in Zakynthos, not one.”

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, his spine straightening.

“Evangelia is just as brave as these men, Daphne, just as deserving of acknowledgment and honor. You have been asking why I feel so close to your grandmother, Daphne. And that is why. I owe her everything, everything I have, everything I am. My whole life, I always promised that I would return to Erikousa and find Evangelia, to thank her. To hold her hand and kiss her cheek and look into the eyes of the woman who risked her own life to save my family. That is all Dora ever asked of me, and I promised I would do this for her. When I was younger, I never found the time, always too busy, running here and there. I spent my whole life studying, my head stuck in books, desperate to suck up knowledge and information. But in the end, it all meant nothing. I was filled with facts, but I was empty. That’s when I realized it was time to fulfill my grandmother’s wish, to come and meet the woman who saved her life, who saved my own mother as well. That’s when I came and found your
yia-yia
.”

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”

“She had always planned to tell you when you were a mother yourself. She felt then, and only then, could you truly understand what happened. But then you were struck by tragedy as well, another young widow with a child to raise. She didn’t want to weigh you down with ghosts from the past when you were haunted by ghosts of your own.”

There was no denying the truth in his words. Her eyes were closed as she listened to him speak, but Daphne could feel his gaze. What she saw when she opened them surprised her once again. Gone was the piercing and challenging intensity that had always stared back from Yianni’s face. There was no challenge in his eyes this time, no contest to win, no riddle to unravel.

Gone was the straight-shouldered bravado that Yianni had worn just a few short hours ago as they boarded the fishing boat. His shoulders were now hunched as he leaned on the railing for support. This trip, this story, had exhausted him. He looked toward the dock; it was closer than he had anticipated—as if the shore had snuck up on them, their journey together too quickly coming to an end. He jumped up without another word and prepared to dock the boat.

No, don’t go.
We’re not finished.
She wanted him there with her, but she could not bring herself to say it, not out loud.
Come back.
Come back and sit with me, tell me more.
But he could not hear her silent pleading.

“We’re here.” He leaped onto the dock, tying the
kaiki
with the expertise of a man who could fashion complex knots with his eyes closed.

“Wait!” she shouted. “Wait, don’t go!” Daphne yelled as she jumped up from her seat. She reached her arm up to him. He pulled her up and guided her to shore with no hesitation. Daphne looked up again, knowing what she needed to do.
Just once more, just to be certain
.

Her eyes locked in on his. It was all the confirmation she needed.

There was no denying the pain in the black eyes that stared back at her. It was a look she knew well.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Twenty

Daphne ran into Stephen’s arms the moment he emerged from the crowd of suntanned tourists at the Corfu Airport. As soon as she laid eyes on him, with his perfectly tailored pants and striped polo shirt, Daphne had anticipated feeling a sense of relief. Stephen had always had a calming and quieting effect on Daphne; it was the one thing that always stood out in her mind about her fiancé. When Stephen was nearby, it seemed that everything would always somehow be all right—every problem would have a solution, every minute detail would be taken care of.

There, in the middle of the hot, dusty airport terminal, as he greeted her with, “Hello gorgeous,” he scooped her up into his arms and bent down to kiss her lips. But even Stephen’s presence, his strong hands, the pull of his fingers stroking her hair, the anesthetic timbre of his voice, could not dull the lingering ache that Yianni’s story had left. This time, even Stephen was powerless to fix what had happened. Even Stephen couldn’t dull the impact of Yianni’s words, nor the impact of his eyes. As she leaned into Stephen’s body, Daphne felt as if there were no strength left in her own, as if the trip across the Ionian Sea that morning had drained her too, leaving her as dry and empty as the black sea urchin shells that she and Yianni had left bobbing on the sea in their wake.

But Daphne knew this wasn’t the time nor the place to tell Stephen what had happened, what she had learned. In the process of convincing him to move the wedding here, Daphne had painted a vision of an island paradise, a beautiful place filled with nothing but love and laughter. For her entire life, Daphne had believed this to be true. Only earlier in the day, onboard a simple
kaiki
, had a bearded fisherman shattered her fantasy.

“Honey, are you all right? What’s wrong?” Stephen asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just so happy to see you. I guess I’m just . . .” She paused, making certain to choose her words carefully. “I guess I’m just overwhelmed.”

And she was. As much as she had loved having Evie and Yia-yia to herself for so many days, she’d also been anxious to move forward, to begin her new life. But something had changed for Daphne that morning in the terminal. When she laid eyes on Stephen, instead of sensing relief, Daphne was overcome with something else, something she’d never expected. When Daphne spotted Stephen as he emerged from the plane, she didn’t stop to think how lucky she was to be with a man who had all the answers. Instead, Daphne realized that she, herself, had none.

Yes, she had success, she now had money, she even had the highest accolades; but it was all due to Stephen’s help. She could never have done it without him. All these years, Daphne had imagined herself so advanced, so independent, so very modern and evolved from the peasant roots that tethered her to the dirt roads, chicken coops, and archaic customs of her family’s homeland. But in that moment she realized that despite her education, her American upbringing, cosmopolitan outlook, and financial success, she was not the vanguard in her family. She was not the one whose accomplishments and life should be revered and regaled. After listening to Yianni’s story, there was no doubt in Daphne’s mind that that particular honor was reserved for Yia-yia.

It was Yia-yia, not Daphne, who had proven what it was to be a woman; fearless, strong, unstoppable, and divine. As Daphne clutched Stephen’s hand and walked with him toward the terminal exit, she didn’t feel like any of those things. She felt like a coward.

“I’
LL BE RIGHT BACK.
” S
TEPHEN
kissed Daphne’s cheek as he headed toward the bathroom to shower.

Daphne rolled over in bed. She clutched the white sheet to her chest and listened to the hotel’s antiquated plumbing screech and groan as Stephen turned on the water in the white marble bathroom. Despite its four-star rating, the Corfu Palace hotel still maintained some of the quirks and characteristics of traditional Corfu life.

Even as a young girl, Daphne had always loved the majestic old hotel. Whenever she and Yia-yia made the trip from Erikousa to Kerkyra, either to stock up on supplies or for one of Yia-yia’s doctor’s visits, they would walk arm in arm along the sidewalks of Garitsa Bay, gazing up across the main road at the ornate hotel. Yia-yia would always cluck and coo over the lush gardens—the leafy palm trees, towering lilies, and seemingly endless rainbow of rosebushes. Daphne adored the hotel’s meticulously maintained grounds, but she was fixated on the hotel’s grand entrance.

More than anything, she loved the wide semicircular driveway, lined with an army of international flags that stood sentry as the bell captain greeted each guest. Daphne had loved standing across the street with Yia-yia, watching the flags dance to life in the bay breeze. For Yia-yia, this view was something to enjoy, appreciate from afar. But for Daphne, this hotel was more than something to admire; it was something to aspire to.

After all those years of gazing up at the hotel from the public park across the street, this was the first time Daphne had actually stayed at the Corfu Palace. It was the first time she could actually rationalize spending hundreds of dollars on a room when Popi’s apartment sat empty just a few blocks away. She had thought about staying at the hotel when she arrived from New York with Evie, but despite the fact that Evie would have loved the large, shallow, and therefore unthreatening kiddie pool, Daphne knew that Popi and Evie would bond better in the apartment, without any outside distractions.

But now, on Stephen’s first day in Kerkyra, Daphne knew it was the perfect time to make good her lifelong dream of driving up the flag-lined driveway and being greeted by the bell captain. She wanted Stephen’s first impressions of Greece to be warm and positive ones. And if he stayed here, they no doubt would be. Confident she had made the right decision, Daphne rolled over once again and stepped out of bed, her toes sinking into the deep pile of the hotel suite’s white carpet.

We’ll save the reality of flies, chickens, and donkey poop for later.
Daphne laughed, thinking of the culture shock that awaited Stephen on Erikousa.
For now, we’ll just let him think we’re all about marble baths and room service.

A
S
S
TEPHEN SHOWERED,
D
APHNE WRAPPED
herself in her makeshift toga and pushed open the terrace doors. The sheet lifted as it caught the breeze that kicked up from the shores of Garitsa Bay below. Daphne walked to the terrace’s metal rail and leaned out, one hand grasping the sheet to her chest, the other clutching the rail to steady herself. She pushed her torso forward to take in every detail of the stunning view, looking straight down on the hotel’s outdoor restaurant and pool area. The saltwater pool was lined with Corinthian columns and lush green plants, as if guests had turned the corner from the modern lobby and found themselves transported to a secret, ancient grotto. Daphne smiled as she realized that was kind of how she felt here, surrounded by the opulence of the Corfu Palace, just miles away but yet worlds from her family’s life on Erikousa.

She looked up from the swimming pool and out across the bay. The water’s glassy surface was dotted with grand yachts as well as the humble, weather-beaten fishing boats she knew so well from her childhood. There was something enchanting about the light this time of day. Daphne loved when the blinding light of midday began to fade, allowing the naked eye to see colors and details that the daylight often obscured with its intensity. She took it all in; the peeling pale blues of the fishing boats’ hulls, the two-toned grain of the yachts’ wooden rails, the rusty orange of the hibiscus plants that bordered the bay’s pedestrian walkways, and of course, the last gold and purple flecks of the sun’s dying rays skating across the water’s surface.

She inhaled sharply as she spotted it, waves of grief washing over her again and again, mimicking the incoming tide lapping against the shore below. There it was. Just beyond the pool area, to the left of the bay, jutting out into the water and standing sentinel on a man-made island, there stood the old fort. Daphne shuddered to think of what had happened there, of what Yianni had told her. She still couldn’t understand how a place built to protect the people of Kerkyra could have been used for such evil. She couldn’t imagine the people, men, women, and children, dragged there, plucked from the quiet routine of their lives, terrified and uncertain of their fate. Their own lives and the lives of their children at the mercy of strangers with guns strapped to their waists. She imagined Yia-yia, a younger woman then, marching through the streets of the town to the fort, determined to save another woman’s child. This all seemed more fantastical and surreal than any myth or fable Daphne had ever heard. But according to Yianni, it was all true, disturbingly and frighteningly true.

Daphne was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice that the noisy shower pipes had stopped squeaking or that Stephen had slid open the terrace door behind her. Not until he pressed his still-damp naked chest against her back did she snap out of her daydream with a startle.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “It feels like ninety degrees, and you’re covered with goose bumps.” He rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders.

“No, I’m good.” Daphne turned to face him. “I’m good,” she repeated, attempting to convince herself more than Stephen.

“Isn’t this hotel beautiful?” She lifted her arm and swept it into the air around her. “That bed and those sheets are so comfortable. I could crawl back in and sleep for days.” She hunched her shoulders, gripping the sheet with both hands and burrowing her face in the soft, white cotton.

“Yes, but not as beautiful as you.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Let’s go. I’m starving, and I’m dying to see this island you’ve been bragging about for so long.” He kissed her again and turned to go back inside.

Daphne watched as he unzipped his garment bag and pulled out a pair of perfectly pressed khaki pants and a polo shirt. As he began to dress, Daphne looked out once more across the water. It was now officially twilight; a pale gray and purple pallor had settled over the entire bay. The yachts bobbing on the water’s surface had all turned their lights on, casting an eerie sheen across the bay. She looked down toward the park and watched as children whizzed ahead on their scooters while couples walking hand in hand trailed behind. Daphne closed her eyes and inhaled one last time. The fresh sea air was now permeated with the smoky scent of lamb roasting below on a spit, smothered in garlic, rosemary, and lemon.

Her stomach growled. Realizing that Stephen was probably dressed by now, she turned to go inside and get dressed herself. But then she spotted them, and felt compelled to stay and watch a bit longer.

There below, walking arm in arm along the bay, was a teenage girl in a miniskirt and an elderly woman in a shapeless black dress. Daphne’s eyes followed them as they strolled along the bay. They talked and talked, giggling and smiling at each other, the old woman leaning on the young girl for support as they walked. Daphne leaned over just a bit, straining to hear what they were saying, but the terrace was too high, she could hear nothing. But then Daphne realized that it really didn’t matter. She didn’t need to hear the conversation between a
yia-yia
and a young girl as they walked in the twilight, surrounded on one side by the sea, and on the other by the siren call of a grand hotel. She didn’t have to hear their words or wonder what they were talking about; Daphne remembered it all quite well.