Several hands grabbed me as my knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor. Danial and Samuel; Papa, my dearest, darling, father; Mama and her bad legs; my proud and upstanding grandparents; Aunt Martha in her fine hairnet and perfect makeup, and dear Uncle Levi who wouldn’t hurt a fly. All dead?!

  I remembered every detail from the time I watched them so carefully in L’Aeronautica, and finally when they boarded the ship. My entire family, and all my other aunts, uncles, and cousins, had been killed in the atrocious gas chambers I had read about, or starved to death in the unholy Nazi prison camp.

  ‘ Why?!’ I cried. ‘They’ve murdered my papa! My mama! Danial and Samuel! I’ve waited every day for news, longing to hear from them, and now I learn they’re dead!’ Somebody brought me a chair, and someone else a glass of water. ‘I wanted to present them with their granddaughter. What will I do now?’

  The letter was taken from me. I stared, my mind blank, tears streaming down my face.

  Two women linked arms with me and walked me home. My neighbour followed with the pram.

  In the cottage they gave me strong tea thick with sugar. Sonia cried. Someone took her away to feed her. I wasn’t to worry.

  Friday, 24 May 1947

  Some days after I received Jacob’s letter, Doctor Michalis came to the house with pills. Lithium bromide, it said on the label. He told me they were proved to help depression, and were sure to make me feel better, but I could no longer breastfeed. Traces of the medication in my milk would harm Sonia.

  Nobody seemed to understand that I didn’t want to feel better, and I didn’t care about Sonia, and in truth, I was a bad person who had killed many people, and here was my punishment. I deserved this mental torture. My penance for killing my sister was the awful knowledge that the rest of my family had suffered horribly. They were taken from me, and each other, forever and there was nothing I could do to change these facts.

  I cried for Irini’s help, but in truth, I knew I did not deserve her loyalty. She had also suffered a terrible death, rather than betray me. And I had been selfish, enjoying her love, and yet giving mine to Giovanni.

  Apparently, Mrs Spanaki sent for the doctor when she found Sonia crying, hungry, and in need of a nappy change. It seems I was unaware of my daughter’s needs. She told me later, I was completely distressed and depressed, surrounded by the newspapers with pictures of concentration camps.

  I don’t remember much, only that my mind was spinning with the images I’d seen in those papers. Mass graves, starved humans, living skeletons. I stared at the gaunt faces. My family was there, amongst them, somewhere! I could not face food with those scenes at the forefront of my mind, and I had no inclination to wash myself, or change my clothes. What did it matter how I looked? Hours blurred into days, sleep and wakefulness merged. Nightmares and reality were indistinguishable and the only sounds in our house were Sonia’s plaintive crying and my own sobs.

  The following days were a fog of pills, friends, and whispers.

  Sonia was brought to me for short periods, but all I did was stare at her. My little girl seemed like someone else’s child. When she cried of hunger or thirst, I had no compulsion to nurture her. The kind and generous people of Paradissi took my child away and cared for her.

  I asked for the letter, to read it properly, but it was kept from me. ‘When you’re stronger,’ they said.

  One tranquillised day drifted into another. I had stopped caring for myself, stopped writing my journal. Sonia faded into insignificance. Life lost its value and nothing seemed important.

  I asked for Jacob’s letter every day. ‘The doctor has it, Dora,’ the local nurse told me. ‘He’ll give it to you when you’re strong enough.’ She put her arm around my shoulders. ‘If you don’t improve soon, he’ll insist on electric shock treatment at the hospital.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s awful, Dora, quite unpleasant.’

  ‘Then why would he send me?’

  ‘Because it makes you lose your immediate memory. He reckons if you forget what happened to your family, you’ll get better.’

  Her words had a profound effect. The last thing I wanted was to lose the memory of my loved ones. Recollections of them all before their departure on the ships were so precious. Memories were all I had. My mother’s food, my father’s stories, my brothers and the games we used to play. Danial and his riding lessons, Samuel, the brainy one who helped me with school work. Jacob who played the violin so perfectly, and he was only a year older than me.

  Since his letter, I had heard the sad, mournful sound of his violin in my head while recalling newspaper pictures of atrocities beyond imagination.

  I tried to be like Jacob, practising my vocal scales to perfection. I dreamed that one day we would stand together on the stage, him playing and me singing. He’d take my hand and we would bow and curtsy. My family in the front row clapping crazily, the applause magnificent.

  The doctor must not rob me of these dreams and memories!

  I bathed, washed my hair, and cleaned the house, which had become dirty and unkempt. I collected Sonia from a friend who’d been kind and understanding, and I went to see Doctor Michalis.

  I left Sonia’s pram outside, and carried her in on my hip.

  ‘What’s come over you, Dora?’ he said smiling, taking in my fresh appearance. ‘I’m very pleased with your progress.’ He examined Sonia and then returned her to me. ‘You seem to have recovered. Promise me, if you ever feel depressed like that again, you’ll pay me a visit?’

  I gave my word and asked for my brother’s letter. He chewed his lip and for a moment I thought he would refuse. From his desk drawer he retrieved a bundle of mail, each with the blue and red border.

  ‘These arrived for you, Dora. I took the liberty of collecting them. I’m going to give you the first one. Return in a couple of days and I’ll decide if you’re strong enough to deal with the rest.’

  The moment I was outside, I sat on a low wall in the shade of a grand walnut tree, opened the letter, and skimmed down the lines until I came to the sentence that had torn me apart. I read on.

  I am twenty now, Dora, but I’m not as strong as I was. I was poorly when the British rescued me from Auschwitz, weighing twenty-six kilos and too weak to walk. Another day in that place and I would have perished. We were down to one kilo of bread every three days, and water that turnips had been boiled in.

  I believe everyone else in our family has gone to God, apart from you and Evangelisa. Please tell me I’m mistaken! Tell me you have heard from somebody else! I thought about you often, and dreamed I would return to Paradissi and sit with you at a table laden with mountains of food.

  I listened to your wonderful singing in my head, and remembered your laughter when Papa tickled you until you couldn’t breathe. Those dreams kept me alive. Thank you for that. You saved my life.

  I’m too tired to go on, but I’ll write again soon.

  Your loving brother,

  Jacob.

  My poor dear family. I had been cheated by hope. They were gone, snatched away when they had full lives to live. And I never hugged them. And I never told them how much I loved them. And I never said ‘Goodbye.’

  Sonia fell asleep in the pram as I pushed her home. I parked her in the shady courtyard. Tears were streaming down my face and I didn’t care who saw them.

  Why was life so cruel?

  A pair of swallows had started building a nest under the tiles over the front door. I watched them for a moment flitting in with beaks full of mud, plastering their cup-shaped nest in the eaves.

  The priest’s wife came over with a bowl of soup. ‘They’re dead, Mrs Spanaki! All but Jacob! I wish I was dead too, then I’d be with them in heaven.’

  ‘Now, now, Dora,’ she said, ‘that’s not the way. You must be strong for Sonia, and you have to represent all your family to your child. She needs grandparents, a father, aunts, uncles, cousins. You have a big role to play and your loved ones would expect nothing less. Don’t let them down. If you do, they will have died in vain.’

  At first, I was angry. I wanted to spit some clever quip back at her, but as her words sank in, I realised she was right.

  The swallows returned and continued their nest building, preparing for a family – preparing for the future.

  *

  ‘I’m better, Doctor, thank you,’ I said. ‘I replied to Jacob’s letter, but I think it’s time I read the rest of his correspondence.’

  Doctor Michalis pulled my lower eyelids down and peered into my eyes. ‘Are you sure, Dora? Perhaps it would be advisable to wait a while.’

  ‘I’m starting to fret, Doctor. Withholding them is doing me more harm than good. I don’t want to get poorly again, and I promise you that if they’re too awful, I’ll put them aside until I am stronger.’

  His eyes flicked to the desk drawer. After a pause, when the antiseptic smell of his surgery had become almost unbearable, he said, ‘All right but only if you give me your word you’ll be cautious.’

  ‘I will, I swear.’ I laid my hand on my heart.

  He handed me the mail, warning me to take it slowly.

  I rushed to the bakery for a loaf, then continued home. After feeding Sonia, I settled her down for a nap.

  My stomach growled, but the letters seemed to call my name. I made a strong coffee, remembered the bread in the pram basket, and broke off a chunk.

  My insides trembled as I tore open the second letter, understanding that Jacob’s words would probably break my heart.

  Chapter 50

  A week before the court case, Naomi opened the top half of the door. Morning sunlight streamed into the kitchen. Bubba dozed in her chair. Rebecca and Fritz had returned to London but were due back in Rhodes any day. Naomi longed to hear all the baby news. She put the boys’ washing in the machine, and started mixing a new batch of cream. Orders had risen dramatically, thanks to Marina’s blog, and Naomi was having trouble keeping up.

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’

  She looked up to see Heleny’s beaming face peer through the top of the front door. ‘Shush . . . Bubba’s asleep. Come in, Heleny,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I can’t stop stirring.’

  Heleny glanced at Bubba resting in her chair. She unlatched the bottom of the stable door and sidled into the kitchen which immediately felt cramped. ‘Sounds interesting. What is it?’

  ‘Neck cream.’

  ‘I just wanted to tell you, the perfume worked. Fannes says the magic has died; he still likes me a lot but only as a friend. No more nights of rampant sex. It’s such a relief!’

  Bubba snored, her grin so wide that if she’d worn dentures they would have fallen into her lap.

  Georgia appeared at the door. ‘May I come in? I’ve brought you your mail, Naomi.’

  ‘Of course,’ Naomi said. ‘Will somebody put the coffee on? And, Bubba, you can stop pretending to be asleep.’ She studied the brown envelope of officialdom before tearing it open. ‘It’s about the court case.’

  She read the letter twice. The court could not accept anything in the Italian census as it had been taken out of the country, and the information about the Rhodes property was unlikely to be found in time.

  ‘That’s that, then. A dead end. So bloody annoying. I’ll just pop over to Papas Yiannis while you two make the coffee.’ Naomi pulled her cream off the stove.

  The priest, obviously disappointed said, ‘Let’s not fret about what we can’t change. I’ll scan the letter and send it to your lawyer.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Naomi stared at a mound of furniture with rugs and pictures piled on top in the centre of the room.

  ‘Marina’s boyfriend offered to do the painting, which reminds me, the sooner you take my old sofa, the better, though I wonder where you’ll put it.’

  ‘I’ve a plan. The boys can earn their keep while they’re here and knock out the banquette.’

  *

  Naomi wondered if her boys could make any more mess. She scooped up another bucket of debris and tipped it on the patio corner.

  ‘Just going for a coffee in the square,’ Angelos called. ‘We can’t do any more until that rubble’s out of the way.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere until the job’s done!’ Naomi shouted. ‘Rebecca will be back in a couple of days and the wall needs to be plastered and painted. Now shift that mound of rubble while I get your washing out of the machine, prepare your food, and make your beds!’ She stomped upstairs, only halting for a massive dust sneeze.

  She snatched the diary and a pillow from her bedroom, locked herself in the bathroom, and got comfy on the floor in the corner. She found another two airmail letters between the pages, and opened them carefully.

  1st June,1947

  My Dearest Pandora,

  I can’t tell you how much your letter has lifted my spirits. I am weak and have pain in my joints, and after what I have seen, sometimes I think I don’t want to live any longer. I’ve prayed for death. Now, YOU have given me new life. I must get better and stronger. Oh, the joy I felt when I received your letter, to know I wasn’t the only one left.

  I’m determined to recover enough to come home.

  You asked me to describe what happened to us. Dear sister, it is too difficult for me to recount it all at once. I will write as often as I can bear to recall the days after we left Rhodes.

  We were about six hundred people to each ship. I was separated from the others and forced into the hold where we were crammed, unable to sit down. When that space was full, they filled the upper deck. I don’t know which was worse, to suffocate below or fry up top. We had no toilet or water.

  We left the port on the 23rd of July. It was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and the rusting old ship was burning hot. In the dark hold, I thought I would die, and feared for the rest of our family up top in the blazing sun.

  I don’t know how they managed up there with no food, water, or toilet. In the hold, we all had to press even closer together so that there was a corner where people could relieve themselves. The old women and the young children cried a lot, and soon the stench and the heat were choking.

  The sea was rough. Urine and excrement swam about our feet. Exhausted and cramped, many of us became seasick, vomit adding to the intolerable conditions. One of the old men near me died. He made a whimper, clutched his chest, and then his knees buckled. We managed to get him over to the door, where he lay at our feet in the filth. That poor old man was our first fatality. Little did we realise the number of deaths ahead of us.

  In the morning, we docked at the deserted island of Piscopi. Two of our men were allowed to take the body off the ship and bury it at the foot of one of the nearest mountains.

  On the second night, still on our feet, we berthed at Kos, where another group of Jews, between ninety and a hundred of them, were forced onto our boat.

  We had been three days without food or water when we anchored at the island of Leros.

  Later, I learned from those on the open deck, that the other boats were also moored up in that port. There, the captain of the fleet hired to take us to the port of Piraeus, an Austrian national, refused to continue after seeing the atrocious conditions we were forced to travel in. Unless they gave us food and drink, he would not set sail for Athens.

  We were given a little bread and water. The piteous crying from the children was the only sound in the hold. The stench was intolerable. Three more old people died, their bodies thrown overboard.

  We arrived at Piraeus, the port of Athens seven days later. Lorries waited at the quayside. After ten days in the dark, the light was blinding. We were filthy, foul-smelling, and desperate for water. I felt sorry for the mothers, unable to console their weeping children. You could see their hearts breaking.

  They separated men from women, loaded us into trucks and transported us to the camp of Haidari. We were forced to sit in the middle of a field, surrounded by armed soldiers. There I found Papa, Uncle Levi, and my brothers, their faces and necks blistered and peeling to the flesh, but being united after such an ordeal lifted our spirits. Grandpa was missing. We guessed he was a casualty of the ship.

  We prayed for him.

  From the field, we saw the trucks full of women and girls entering the barracks. Papa worried about Mama and about Grandma. Mama’s legs had swollen after standing for so long. Naively, I hoped there’d be a doctor in the barracks.

  We stayed in that field for three days, until finally we were reunited with the women and children.

  Dearest Dora, I’m tired of this misery. I want to tell you my good news. I am living with an Italian nurse who looks after me very well. I am in love. Her name is Lucia, and one day I intend to marry her. She’s beautiful and kind, but bossy. She tells me to stop now. It’s time to eat and sleep. I’ll write again in a few days.

  All my love, dear sister, from your brother,

  Jacob, XXX

  Naomi realised Jacob would be her great-uncle. So, Dora had written to him in Italy. She wondered what had become of him as she unfolded the next letter.

  14th June, 1947

  My Dearest Pandora,

  I hope you received my previous correspondence, which told of our journey to the prison camp at Haidari, outside Piraeus. They gave us bean soup, which was sour with maggots in it, but being so hungry and thirsty, we all got some down.

  We had to strip completely to be searched. The women too. Their shame at being naked in front of children and other men was heartbreaking. The soldiers were brutal to the young girls, prodding and taunting them, and we all thanked God that you and Evangelisa were spared that humiliation.

  When the guards had finished degrading us, we were crammed onto lorries and transported to Athens, then packed into cattle trains, over seventy to a wagon. They sealed the doors. Moving was impossible. Ventilation consisted of a small window in the roof that didn’t let in enough air for everyone. We almost suffocated in the heat.

  The wagons remained locked for fourteen days while we travelled over land. We had nothing but a drum of rancid, undrinkable water and dry bread. At one stop, they gave us a few onions and a handful of raisins to share. We cried for people to give us water, but our guards threatened anyone who went near them. There was so much suffering!

 

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