Hearts of Stone (18 page)

‘Wait for my order! Wait, damn you!’

The vehicle stopped jarringly and Andreas’s side struck the back of the cab painfully. Hissing a curse he turned back as the wounded sailor reached the truck and tried to heave himself up into the back, grimacing with pain as the machine gun blasted out above his head. Andreas hurriedly set his rifle down and pulled the man up and in, his ears ringing with the clatter of the Hotchkiss. Even though the Germans had gone to ground they were now firing back in earnest and the wooden rail on the side of the truck splintered as a Mauser round tore through it.

‘Go!’ Andreas shouted at the driver. ‘GO!’

Slamming the vehicle into first gear, the driver let the clutch up too quickly and it leaped forward, threatening to stall before he caught it with the clutch, adjusted the accelerator and the lorry shuddered down the track away from the olive trees. Through the rosy-hued dust thrown up in its wake, Andreas saw the flashes of gunfire and the field-grey uniforms of the soldiers emerging from the trees. Then they reached the junction of the track leading down to Sivota and the truck slowed for the turning. Stakiserou and Papadakis had to stop firing to hold on to the side of the vehicle to keep their footing while Andreas did his best to steady the wounded sailor with his spare hand. The gears ground as the driver wrenched the steering wheel towards the head of the track and Andreas felt the sailor jerk in his grip as a warm spray splattered his cheek. He glanced down and saw a gaping red hole in the side of the man’s head. His eyes stared up, wide in death, and his jaw hung open.

‘Shit.’ Andreas gritted his teeth bitterly and let go of the man. The truck bounced along the track that zigzagged down towards the bay, and out of sight of the Germans. But the enemy had smelled blood and would continue the pursuit, Andreas knew. They would not be far behind the truck, determined to wipe out the handful of Greeks who had inflicted such heavy losses amongst their comrades. Unlike the truck, they were not obliged to use the track and could descend directly down the slope at the end of the bay. Sunlight flickered through the trees as the driver took the pitted and rutted surface as fast as he dared while his passengers held on tightly.

Then there was a gap in the trees and Andreas snatched a brief glimpse of the bay and saw the exhaust smoke trailing up from the submarine’s stern as the crewmen hurried aboard and climbed down through the deck hatches. Flames glittered at the base of the pyre of abandoned equipment and supplies. Andreas saw the captain standing on the conning tower beckoning to his men. The anti-aircraft gun swung towards the sound of the earlier shooting and the crew stood ready for action. Then the trees blocked the view again. Two more turns, Andreas recalled as he held on. The truck swerved into the penultimate straight for another hundred metres, turned again and then the trees opened out either side of the track. The track divided, the right branch heading towards the village while the left made for the jetty where the
Papanikolis
was ready to depart. Two men stood at the bows, another two at the stern, ready to slip the moorings, and the gangway was still in place.

The truck rattled into the open and steered directly for the jetty. Andreas and the others shared a nervous smile of relief at their escape. Then there was a shrill clatter and a line of dark holes stitched across the roof of the cab. The lorry began to turn as the stricken driver’s foot came off the accelerator, and as it slowed it struck a pothole and turned on to its side, throwing its passengers and the machine gun out across the dirt and shingle. Andreas fell hard on his shoulder and felt the snap of a bone. He groaned as he sat up in agony. The engine was still running and a wheel spun. The machine gun lay close by, still attached to its stand and half on top of Papadakis who lay sprawled in a daze. The driver was dead, the body trapped beneath the truck, leaving his torso and bloodied head exposed. The petty officer was already on his feet, seeming unhurt. He glanced round the end of the lorry and swore.

‘Holy God, those fascist bastards are quick off the mark!’

Andreas struggled up, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain of his broken collar bone. Up the slope he could see the enemy there. Some, fitter and more nimble than their comrades, had run directly down the slope and were only a hundred metres away from the truck.

Stakiserou reacted swiftly, straining as he picked up the Hotchkiss and set it up at the end of the truck. Patrakas snatched the last box of ammunition and staggered to his side. The petty officer nodded his thanks and fed the belt into the breach before pushing the younger man away.

‘Get the lieutenant back to the boat!’

Andreas looked at him and shook his head. ‘I’m injured. You and Papadakis go. I’ll stay.’

Stakiserou ignored him as he crouched behind the weapon and took aim. ‘Sorry, sir. I can’t hear you.’ He cocked the weapon and fired a quick burst before the officer could react. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Papadakis. ‘What are you waiting for? Go! Get him out of here!’

The sailor nodded, thrusting Andreas towards the waiting submarine as the petty officer fired again. The deeper crack of the Oerlikon joined in, shooting its explosive shells in amongst the trees. Andreas thought about protesting but was steered away by the young sailor who put an arm round his back and pushed him on. Bullets zipped past as they reached the jetty and the crewmen on the mooring lines crouched low, waiting for the order to cast off. Some of the German rounds glanced off the hull with a shrill crash. Andreas could hear the short staccato bursts of the Hotchkiss and smelt the acrid stink of diesel fumes as he ran. Then they were at the end of the gangway and Papadakis helped him across on to the deck of the
Papanikolis
.

‘Get him below!’

Andreas glanced up and saw the captain’s face looking down over the coaming of the conning tower. Then Iatridis looked up and cupped his hands to his mouth.

‘Cast off for’rd! Cast off aft!’

‘Wait!’ Andreas protested. ‘Stakiserou is coming!’

Iatridis looked down again with a pained expression and shook his head. The submarine’s starboard engine rumbled a deeper note and the gangway splashed into the water as the vessel got under way. Andreas looked back towards the truck and saw that the Hotchkiss was no longer firing. The petty officer’s body lay slumped over the weapon. Some distance beyond him the Germans scattered and scrambled for cover as the Oerlikon blasted them again. A handful of shots flew after the
Papanikolis
as she slowly slipped out from under the camouflage netting and swung gently towards the entrance of the bay and the open sea beyond.

Chapter Sixteen

Norwich, 2014

D
usk was settling over the city and the room felt gloomy and cold as Eleni folded her spotted bony hands in her lap.

‘That was how it was when the Germans invaded and Andreas fought them for the first time. He told me about it later, when we met again. How he had first gone to war . . . He remained there for the rest of his life. Poor Andreas, he never saw the world at peace ever again.’ She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her lined lips together before she blinked and forced a slight smile.

‘I found this while you were making a drink earlier.’ She reached down to her cardigan pocket and brought out a stained black and white photo with a decoratively cut edge and placed it on the table between them. ‘It was with the loose photos in my drawer. It was amongst Andreas’s effects when the British finally gave them to me years after the war. Such a little box to carry the mementoes of a lifetime . . . Anyway, there, see what a handsome man he was.’

Anna reached for the photo. She saw a man in an army uniform with a beret, standing smiling, arms clasped behind his back. Some distance behind him stood the pyramids of Giza. Anna recognised his features clearly enough. Not so different from the picture with Eleni and Peter, but his face had filled out and his build was more solid. It was true that he was handsome, but in that stiff, old-fashioned way that Anna could not quite take seriously.

‘I thought he was in the navy.’

‘He was. That was taken several months after his submarine escaped to Egypt, when he was working for the British.’

‘Why Egypt?’

Eleni thought a moment. ‘Where else was there to go? The enemy controlled most of the Mediterranean. Egypt was the closest territory still controlled by our allies. Besides, that was where King Georgios and what was left of his government had fled when Greece was invaded. While we starved, they lived in comfort in Cairo. Meanwhile, most of our people who had escaped the occupation went to Egypt in the hope that they would find a way to continue the struggle. As for Andreas, there was little for him to do when he came out of hospital, even though he was desperate to fight the fascists. Commander Iatridis wanted to take the
Papanikolis
out to attack enemy shipping but the Greek government in exile refused to risk the few warships they had saved from the Nazis. Eventually they got sick of his demands and replaced Iatridis with a captain more willing to obey their will. Meanwhile Andreas had been chosen for other duties. About the time this photo was taken.’

‘Oh?’ Anna leaned forward. ‘What was that then?’

Eleni shook her head. ‘I’ll tell you in the morning, child.’

Anna watched her grandmother in silence, wondering at the account she had just been given. Eleni had seemed old all her life, always the same irascible and shrewd lady who moved with a brittle elegance. But now it was as if Anna was seeing her afresh, and as her grandmother had spoken it was almost as if she could see the young woman Eleni had once been. So full of life, and in love for the first time, only to have to endure the invasion of her peaceful island home by the Nazis.

As she considered Eleni’s description of the early days of the German onslaught, the analytical side of Anna’s brain cautioned her. This was Eleni’s account of what Andreas had told her, many years ago. It was bound to be compromised by being told second hand, so many years after the events concerned. It might not be a reliable version of what had really taken place. Then again, what version of events ever was? As a lecturer had once pointed out to her at university, what people understood by ‘history’ was made up of what had actually happened, what historians said happened, what people thought had happened and, increasingly, what film, television, novels and the internet represented as having happened. Given that, anyone who sought an accurate historical ‘truth’ was doomed to frustration at best and complete misunderstanding at worst. And yet, Eleni’s words carried the conviction of truth in them and she had depicted the characters, their feelings and the settings so vividly that it was hard not to accept the veracity of her recounted experience. Perhaps history belonged to whoever could tell the best story, Anna mused.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted Anna’s thoughts and a moment later her mother entered the room.

‘Anna, love, will you give me a hand with the shopping?’

‘Of course. Do you mind, Yiayia?’

Eleni shook her head. ‘You go and be a good girl. Besides, I am tired. I will rest a little before dinner.’

She gave a brief smile and nodded towards the door and Anna rose from her seat and followed her mother into the hall and out on to the path leading to the street. The sun had dipped below the roofline of the terraced houses opposite and the street was washed in blue-tinted shadow. Anna shivered at the cold and realised how hot her grandmother’s room had become over the last few hours. Her mother’s Vauxhall Astra was parked just outside the small gate and she lifted the tailgate to reveal several shopping bags stuffed with groceries. They took two bags each and turned back towards the house.

‘Have you had a good chat?’ asked Marita.

‘Very interesting. We’ve been talking about her childhood all afternoon.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, not really childhood, I suppose. It was more to do with the war years.’

‘I see.’

Anna picked up on her mother’s strained tone at once and glanced at her as they approached the front door.

‘You first.’ Marita stretched out a hand and held the door open. They placed the bags down in the hall and went back for the rest. As she closed the front door, Anna’s mother raised her eyebrows and spoke softly.

‘She’s never really told me a great deal about what went on at that time, you know. It was never spoken about when I was a kid and it seemed too late to raise the subject again when I grew up. Seems she’s been more forthcoming with you.’

‘I guess.’

‘I wonder why.’ Marita frowned.

‘Does it upset you, Mum?’

‘What? No. Of course not. Just seems a bit strange that she should open up to you rather than her own daughter, that’s all. Now, let’s get these bags into the kitchen and put the shopping away. Then you can help me prepare dinner.’

A short time later Marita stood over the stove frying onion, garlic and browning some minced beef while her daughter chopped tomatoes and courgettes.

‘How was she when you were talking?’ asked Marita.

‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s not been very well in recent months. Had a cold a while back that took her a long time to shake off. Mum isn’t as strong as she was. It’s funny, I knew the time would come, but it feels too soon, somehow. Like neither of us is quite ready for it. She seemed to be the same person for so long. But now she’s very old. Oh, she’s in great shape for her years. Or was. But now I’m worried about her.’ She looked up from the large frying pan and smiled at her daughter. ‘I expect you’ll feel the same when my time comes.’

‘That’s a long way off yet!’

‘You think so, and then . . . there you are. I never thought I’d be middle-aged and now I spend more and more time worrying about what I eat, dyeing my hair to hide grey roots and doubting I’ll ever find another man to be with. Now that I have Mum to look after I doubt that any man will be interested in me, beyond a quick pint and a one-night stand.’

‘Mother!’ Anna stopped cutting and stared at her wide-eyed. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘It’s true enough. I’m getting to the age when men stop taking any interest. I’d better get used to it.’

‘That’s rubbish. You’re still an attractive woman. And there are plenty of fish in the sea.’

‘But I don’t want a fish, I want a man.’

They both laughed and continued their preparations for the meal for a while before Anna spoke again.

‘I’m envious of Yiayia. She’s experienced so much in life.’

‘That’s because she is older.’

Anna ‘No, it’s more than that. She has lived through great changes. The war, the struggle afterwards. Things we’ll never know. And I think it has given her an understanding of what really counts.’

‘Maybe, but we all see great changes. Look at how much the internet has altered the world. My goodness, I’d never have imagined a fraction of the things that people would be able to do with computers in my lifetime.’

‘But none of it feels very real,’ Anna responded. ‘I spend more time than I should on Facebook and Twitter, and before that playing
Angry Birds
and
The Sims
, but none of it feels real to me. I have never met most of my “friends” on Facebook and most of the time the only thing they have to talk about is who they are having a coffee with. That and posting dumb pictures of pets doing cute things. It’s not life-enhancing stuff, is it?’

‘And perhaps you should be thankful for that. Would you really prefer to go through what your grandmother had to endure?’

Anna considered this for a moment and tilted her head slightly to one side. ‘Do you know, I think I might. After all, she lived through the greatest event of the last century. She found love when she was young. Real love. I’d trade that for the wave of trivia that makes up my life.’

Anna finished the last courgette, took the heaped board over to the cooker and carefully swept them into the pan. Her mother gave them a brisk stir to work them into the simmering ingredients already cooking.

Anna watched her for a moment, enjoying the aroma in the kitchen.

The door to Eleni’s door clicked and she emerged from her darkened room and entered the kitchen, walking stiffly with the aid of her stick. She lifted her nose and sniffed.

‘Moussaka? Or what passes for it in this house . . .’

‘Thank you, Mother,’ Marita responded with a shrug. ‘It won’t be ready for a while yet.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘We’ll eat at about eight.’

‘I can wait.’ Eleni crossed to the kitchen table and pulled up a chair and eased herself down stiffly before hooking the handle of her walking stick over the corner of the table. ‘A drink while we are waiting would be nice.’

Marita turned to her daughter. ‘There’s some white in the fridge. You remember where the glasses are.’

Anna nodded and a moment later set a glass down in front of Eleni, handed one to her mother and sat down with a glass of her own. Once the moussaka had been layered in a cooking dish and placed in the oven, Marita joined the others and raised her glass. ‘
Eviva
.’

Anna smiled as she joined in and took a sip. ‘Nice . . . It’s good to be home. Good to be sitting at this table with both of you again.’

Marita cleared her throat. ‘I hear you’ve been talking about your memories of the war. Anna said it was fascinating.’

‘I don’t know about that. It was the truth. It is all I have left from those times.’ Eleni took the glass in both hands and raised it to her mouth for a tentative sip and nodded approvingly. ‘Good . . .’

There was a brief pause before Marita spoke again. ‘You were talking about Andreas, the friend you had when you were young. I should like to hear some more about him myself. You’ve never said much before. Not to me at least,’ she concluded in a reproachful tone.

‘You never really asked, my girl. Besides I was younger then, and the memories were still too fresh in my mind.’

Marita caught her daughter’s eyes and mouthed,
I told you
. ‘I don’t think you should try to remember too much about that time if it distresses you.’

‘Pshhh! I am strong enough for that. It is only when I speak of Andreas that my heart becomes heavy. But I will feel better in the morning. I can continue telling Anna about him then.’

‘Of course,’ Anna agreed, hiding her frustration. ‘But what about the situation in Lefkada, Yiayia? After the Germans came. What happened then?’

Marita shot her daughter an irritated look but Anna pretended not to notice and smiled encouragingly at Eleni. The old lady took another sip of wine and set the glass down gently as she collected her thoughts.

‘Even though it was the Germans who arrived first, they did not stay long. Within a month they had handed the island over to their Italian allies. It seemed that the Germans considered that policing duties were all that the Italians were good for. Besides, they needed every German soldier that could be spared for the invasion of Russia that began later in nineteen forty-one. So the Italians took over. I remember it well. Our people were summoned to the main square to witness the Italian flag being raised over the prefecture. I can remember my mother crying and my father saying that our freedom had been taken from us. All I knew then was that Andreas had gone, and that I had no idea what had become of him. So I cried too. For myself.’

She breathed deeply and then chuckled. ‘Do you remember that film you showed me some years ago, Marita? The one about the Italian occupation of a Greek island? I cannot recall the title exactly. It made me laugh. You said you didn’t think it was supposed to be a comedy, and I explained to you that I was laughing at it, not with it, as the English say. I can tell you, there was nothing funny about the Italian occupiers. Nothing charming. They swaggered about the island as if they owned it. Taking the best of everything for themselves and beating up anyone who protested, and then throwing them in jail. My father was forced to work for them. He did his best to protect our people but was not thanked for it. As his daughter, I was insulted in the street and bullied by the local youths. The only place I felt comfortable, outside my own home was when I visited Andreas’s father. When the Italians came, he refused to leave his house. When they billeted some men there he shut himself up in a few of the rooms. I used to take him bread and milk from the town, and he continued my education. Taught me to read and write better, and gave me books from his library to help me improve myself. I think even then he saw that Andreas and I were meant for each other, and if his son survived the war then I would need to be more worthy of him. I did not resent him for that. I wanted to learn. To be more like Andreas.’