Those Who Are Loved Page 7

  Only a week later, they once again heard shouting in the street and the sound of beating on a nearby door. Kyría Karanidis told the girls to hide under the bed in case the police came in. They willingly did so, clasping their hands over their ears to keep out the sound of screaming.

  At the end of January, something then happened that no one could have predicted. General Metaxas suddenly died.

  ‘Septicaemia,’ announced Panos without sorrow. He was reading from a newspaper. Reactions were mixed, especially in the Koralis household.

  Themis felt a surge of optimism. Perhaps the dictator’s death might mean the return of other political parties and the end of the sort of police brutality towards communists that she had witnessed so recently.

  Thanasis and Margarita mourned Metaxas ostentatiously. There were now more than a million members of EON and many of them felt that the cornerstone of their beliefs had been pulled away. By contrast, Themis felt nothing. Panos even less.

  ‘You wait,’ said Margarita to Panos. ‘You’ll miss Metaxas. You didn’t approve of him but you’ll be sorry he is gone.’

  Panos openly enjoyed doing battle with his siblings, but Themis did everything she could to avoid confrontation, especially with her spiteful sister. Panos knew, though, that she felt the same as he did.

  ‘Look, Themis,’ he urged when they were alone together. ‘Even if we are not allowed to express them, it doesn’t make our views wrong. Perhaps it makes them even more right.’

  And so, while keeping their thoughts to themselves, Panos and Themis did not shed any tears for the dictator’s death. They hoped it might lead to better times and restoration of civil liberties.

  Such a hope was not to be fulfilled. Within a few months, freedom of every kind was lost for each and every Greek, whatever their political beliefs, left, right or centrist, royalist or republican.

  Ultimately, neither the Greek nor the British forces who had arrived at the invitation of Metaxas’ successor, Alexandros Koryzis, could do anything to prevent a German invasion. At the beginning of April, the Nazis marched in.

  Chapter Five

  IN THE PAST few years, the radio had brought children’s stories and music into the apartment, as well as news, both good and bad. On 9 April 1941, it brought them information that so many had feared. Germans troops had arrived in Thessaloniki.

  Even that day, as they sat at the table with the radio turned to full volume, Thanasis maintained that the Germans were more natural allies of the Greeks than were the British.

  ‘I am sure we will all come to see the Germans in a different way,’ he said, with his newly acquired head-of-the-family intonation.

  There was plenty to back up his view. Goebbels had made a radio broadcast in Berlin just before the invasion: ‘The fight on Greek soil is not a battle against the Greek people but against the archenemy,’ he had said. ‘The archenemy is England.’

  ‘It makes no sense to be on the side of the Allies,’ Thanasis continued.

  ‘Shh!’ urged Kyría Koralis. She wanted to listen to the details of the announcement being made, but Panos was more interested in challenging his brother.

  ‘Well, that might be your view,’ spat Panos. ‘But we have been invaded now, and there are foreign troops on our soil.’

  Both Thanasis and Margarita felt connected to the Germans and still believed that they shared a cultural identity.

  ‘We have less in common with the British than with the Germans!’ said Margarita defiantly. ‘Maybe you’ll realise that soon.’

  ‘Margarita, agápi mou, please don’t shout! You are putting my nerves on edge,’ pleaded Kyría Koralis.

  ‘But, Yiayiá, you know they admire the Greeks,’ she pleaded, banging her fork down on the table.

  Kyría Koralis shook her head from side to side in despair. Greece had been invaded and the tone of the newsreader’s voice was enough to convey that this was a bad thing. Themis said nothing. It was obvious to her that any soldier who came in uninvited was an adversary.

  Over the following days, Thanasis used every fact he could find and every statement of Hitler’s that was reported in the right-wing press to reinforce his argument. Now, more than ever, he held on to the view that Germany was a friend of Greece, not a foe.

  Panos almost gave up disagreeing. He believed one day that Thanasis would see the truth.

  Themis, too, found her older brother ridiculous, especially when he raked up facts to prove his case.

  ‘Some say that Rudolf Hess has a Greek mother!’ he continued. ‘So how can he be against us?’

  Margarita supported her brother with enthusiastic nods but the rest of his audience remained silent.

  ‘And the chief of German Military Intelligence is descended from Constantine Canaris!’ Thanasis continued. Canaris had been a freedom fighter in the Greek War of Independence and one of the first prime ministers of modern Greece. ‘Hardly likely to be an enemy. Eh, Themis?’

  Thanasis was always keen to recruit Themis on to his side, and now aimed his comments at her. She stirred her soup round in the bowl and would not look up to meet him in the eye. Being ignored did not deter him.

  ‘You’re clever enough to know that facts are facts,’ he continued. ‘It doesn’t make sense to fight these people when some of their leaders share our blood.’

  ‘But we aren’t fighting them, are we?’ interjected Panos, staring down at his plate and gripping his fork so hard that his knuckles began to shine. He had a vision of it plunged into his brother’s neck. ‘They’re here now, Thanasis, and there’s nothing we can do. It’s over.’

  ‘Don’t be so gloomy, Panos.’

  ‘Gloomy? You tell me not to be gloomy when the Luftwaffe have just destroyed every ship in Piraeus?’

  ‘They were British ships.’

  ‘No, they weren’t. You know they weren’t. Some were ours. You lie, even to yourself, Thanasis!’

  They had all seen the far-off flashes that had lit up the sky when the port of Piraeus was bombed. Even when evidence proved otherwise, Thanasis stuck to his position, with Margarita his trusty echo.

  Events rapidly unfolded. Each day, there were fresh and alarming developments that rendered the front pages of the newspapers obsolete by the time they rolled off the press. In the Koralis apartment, the radio was permanently tuned. The two girls and their grandmother were sitting together, white-faced, one evening, when Panos came in. The day before they had all heard the shocking news that the Prime Minister, Koryzis, had shot himself and now they were listening to a report that the King, the government and the majority of the British forces had left the mainland for Crete.

  ‘I can’t breathe out there,’ said Panos. ‘It’s so tense!’

  The Nazis were steadily advancing south and the terrifying threat of a German presence in Athens hung in the air. Fear was palpable.

  Tens of thousands of Greek soldiers had already been taken prisoner and Themis fretted that the whole family would be tied up. Margarita was adamant that the entire city would become a giant prison.

  ‘What do you think is going to happen?’ Themis asked her grandmother. ‘It’s as if we’ve been abandoned.’

  ‘Agápi mou, I don’t know,’ replied Kyría Koralis, wringing her hands. For the first time in her life, she could not reassure her grandchildren. She could not promise to keep them safe. Her fear and uncertainty were as great as theirs.

  ‘Everything will be fine, little Themis,’ said Thanasis, who had just come in. He grabbed his sister and lifted her up so that they were eye to eye.

  ‘Put me down!’ she insisted. Now aged fifteen, she was too old to be treated like a five-year-old. ‘Put me down!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ laughed Thanasis.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘I’m scared. Of what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Everything is going to be fine. You know what one of the German generals said? He wants to make the friendship between Germany and Greece even stronger! That’s hardly some
thing to fear, is it?’

  Even now, the German leadership continued to claim that they had come to bring peace, and within hours of their arrival, the key to the city was calmly handed over to them by the mayor. This symbolic gesture, as Thanasis was quick to point out as they sat at the table that evening, was carried out without gunfire.

  They ate in silence for once, too overwhelmed to argue.

  ‘You’re not to leave the apartment. Any of you,’ said their grandmother. ‘I need to know you’re all safe.’ Nobody wanted to upset Kyría Koralis, but when she briefly went to the balcony to fetch some biscuits that were cooling outside, both boys took the chance to slip out, one after the other. The girls remained at the table.

  ‘They’ve gone to their room,’ Margarita said quickly, before her grandmother had time to ask.

  The old lady put an arm round each of her granddaughters.

  ‘I think we should try and find out what is going on,’ she said.

  She turned on the radio. Even as the voice that crackled over the airwaves gave them the bad news, it also exhorted them to have courage in defeat.

  ‘The valour and victory of our army has already been acknowledged. We did our duty honestly. Friends! Have Greece in your hearts, live inspired with the fire of her latest triumph and the glory of our army. Greece will live again and will be great. Brothers! Have courage and patience. Be stout-hearted. We will overcome these hardships.

  Thanasis returned as the broadcast was ending.

  ‘Do you know where Panos is?’ Kyría Koralis asked the girls, realising they had both fooled her.

  ‘No,’ they said, each looking at the other, slightly abashed.

  A while later, another broadcast gave out instructions for the following day. The tone was practical. Transport would be interrupted, civilians should remain at home and soldiers in their barracks. Shops and schools should stay closed.

  Panos was not out for long and when he returned he was downcast. For once, he agreed with his brother.

  ‘We must do what we’re told,’ he said. ‘And just wait to see what happens.’

  On the morning of 27 April, the first troops marched through the deserted streets.

  Throughout the whole day, Themis felt trapped. She wished she could go and find her friend Fotini or at the very least go down into the square. With such options closed to her, she climbed the dark flight of stairs that led from the landing outside the apartment and let herself out through the heavy door at the top and on to the rooftop of the building. Drying sheets furled and unfurled around her like white flags, but she pushed them aside and made her way across to the flimsy metal railing that ran around the edge. Her eyes followed the straight line of Patission Avenue that pointed like an arrow to the Acropolis. Less than three kilometres away, the ancient Temple of Athena was visible against the skyline. Very distinct on this clear spring day, the sight reassured Themis that all was well.

  From this vantage point, however, she could not see the Nazi flag fluttering in the breeze. It had just been planted next to the Parthenon. When she went back downstairs she found her grandmother pleading with both boys to stay inside. They were determined to witness what was happening.

  ‘But it’s so dangerous,’ she cried. ‘They have specifically said you must remain inside! If your father was here . . .!’ There was nothing the old lady could do to prevent them. Like any curious young men eager to witness a drama, they were both determined, and for their own reasons.

  Thanasis left first.

  Panos went out on to the balcony. It infuriated his grandmother, but he had recently taken up having an occasional clandestine cigarette and she caught him having a puff.

  ‘Agápi mou, please don’t drop ash on the plants,’ she entreated.

  Panos did not acknowledge her. He was too absorbed watching his older brother crossing the square and now disappearing round the corner. He had no doubt that Thanasis would be making for the local EON headquarters.

  ‘Panos!’ snapped Kyría Koralis, as she saw her grandson dropping the stub into one of her pots.

  ‘Sorry, Yiayiá,’ he said, his lips touching his grandmother on her cheek. ‘Sorry. I’ll be back later.’

  Panos ran from the apartment and down the stairs. Once outside, he hesitated before crossing the square. He would find a different route from usual to the centre of the city, taking sidestreets and alleyways to avoid the main road and to make sure he was not seen. On his way, he did not meet another human soul. It was as though the city had been evacuated. Occasionally there was the sound of a voice coming from an open window. Cats still sat in doorways. Soon even they would notice that the restaurants were closed.

  He walked quickly, his hands deep in his pockets, his head down. A few moments before he reached Syntagma, he could hear the sound of steady hammering, like metal being beaten on an anvil. The noise grated on his ears. Suddenly he identified the source of the sound. Across the narrow entrance to the street, passing towards the centre down Academia Street, he saw ranks of grey-uniformed soldiers, their boots crashing in unison on to the road. The soldiers’ eyes were fixed ahead, but nevertheless Panos flattened himself into a doorway, terrified of being seen.

  He worked his way down a parallel street, his heart beating in time with the soldiers’ march. Eventually the ranks of soldiers had all passed so he made his way to the end of the street and observed their receding backs. Who knew whether there would be more following, but he had to see. What shocked him was neither the volume of soldiers, nor the swastikas that were already fluttering from the buildings. Much worse was the sight of some Greeks on the pavements waving enthusiastically. Then he caught sight of his brother. Thanasis was with a few of his friends and Panos saw a German soldier stop and take a cigarette from their group. Close by, a small group of women smiled as the soldiers passed and a few others leaned from their balconies waving and calling out their greetings.

  Panos felt nauseous. His legs shaking, he made his way back home, almost careless of his safety or his route.

  This evidence of mutual goodwill between Greece and Germany sickened Panos but it gave Thanasis new conviction.

  ‘Have you heard any guns?’ he asked Panos when he too returned to the apartment. ‘Has even one Athenian come to any harm?’

  Thanasis was right and Panos could not deny it. Nevertheless, the news that the Nazi flag had been planted next to the Parthenon was now widely known, and offended him deeply.

  ‘War is more than a bloody battlefield,’ said Panos wearily. ‘We weren’t firing guns at the Turks every day, but we were in conflict with them, weren’t we? Every day for four hundred years, it was war.’

  ‘Well, this doesn’t feel anything like war to me.’

  Thanasis would not shift from his position. He had plenty of ‘evidence’ that Panos was wrong and continually taunted his brother with it. Each of them was as stubborn as the other.

  In the first few days of occupation, Themis regularly sneaked up to the roof to make sure that the Parthenon was there, glad that she could not see the foreign flag. Schools were shut for the time being and she desperately missed Fotini. There was no way to communicate with her and she could not defy her grandmother and go out alone.

  Kyría Koralis spent even more time in front of her iconostasis than she had in the past and her grandchildren saw her crossing herself vigorously every time some new announcement was made. Themis wondered why she bothered. Every day things were getting worse so clearly God was not listening.

  When they heard that a new Greek government had been formed, Themis resented the idea that it would co-operate with the occupying forces.

  ‘We just have to be patient,’ her grandmother said reassuringly. ‘Everything will be well if we do as we are told.’

  ‘I don’t want to do as I am told by Germans,’ protested Themis.

  ‘It’s not the Germans now, you idiot,’ said Margarita. ‘It’s our own people. We have a government. They’re Greek. Why don’t you listen to Yi
ayiá? You never listen to anyone, do you?’

  ‘Shut up, Margarita,’ Themis responded.

  ‘You’re just stupid, that’s all. But you always have been.’

  Margarita always maintained that her younger sister had been brain-damaged when the old house collapsed. In an ostensibly teasing way, it meant she could dismiss Themis’ opinions whenever they disagreed.

  Themis’ refusal to attend the German army’s victory parade a few days after the occupation was met with abuse.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ Margarita told her, poking her in the ribs as she left the house with freshly brushed hair and a smear of lipstick. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  Thousands had gathered in the streets, or watched from balconies. Members of the far right and of EON gathered to hail the passing soldiers and a few households had hung out swastikas.

  Themis heard her sister and grandmother return from the parade. As was usual now, the two boys were out and Kyría Koralis could not demand explanation. They were nineteen and twenty-one now, and it was no longer possible to control their comings or goings. She was actually grateful when they were not there together. The bickering between the sisters was more than enough, without adding the noise of the boys’ constant conflict.

  The day after his army’s parade in Athens, Hitler made a speech in the Reichstag. Thanasis read a report of it, insisting on repeating his views to the girls as they sat at the table after dinner.

  ‘He blames Britain’s Prime Minister for what’s happened here, you see?’

  ‘Churchill?’

  Even Kyría Koralis could not see the logic of this.