Escape to Ikaria Read online

  After the next over, Ros bowling underarm to Lysta who missed every ball, everyone started to get bored. What is it about cricket, I thought to myself, that simply doesn’t interest people unless they’ve played it at school?

  ‘I don’t want to play any more,’ said Lysta.

  ‘I’ve had enough as well,’ said Ros, going back to sunbathe.

  ‘Me too,’ said Agathi.

  ‘I’m going swimming,’ said Sam.

  Vassili and Gregory decided to head up to the taverna for an Amstel and I was about to join them when Ros called me over and asked me to rub some lotion on to her back. It was a strange concoction that smelt like vinaigrette.

  ‘What on earth is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I made it myself. Olive oil, lemon juice and a secret ingredient. We’re hoping it will deepen our suntans; we don’t seem to be able to get any browner.’

  They were all going to try it, Sarah, Julia and Lottie.

  ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’

  ‘Of course, and it’s a lot cheaper than Ambre Solaire.’

  ‘Well, watch where you put it. Lemon juice can sting.’

  11

  The Invasion

  It wasn’t often on a summer’s morning I could sit on the patio with a cup of coffee while everyone slept quietly in the house. Gazing through the branches of the eucalyptus trees to a shimmering sea, I thought there was nowhere I’d rather be.

  That was until the Ikarian army arrived. Soldiers spilled out of the back of two canvas-roofed lorries, all holding rifles, and lined up on the road outside the taverna. What on earth was going on? Were we about to be invaded by the Turks? Was this it, was this the day? I ran into the house and woke Ros and the children.

  ‘Quickly, get dressed all of you!’ I should have included myself, since I was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. I could hear orders being shouted, getting ever closer.

  ‘Wake up! Get your clothes on! We’re being overrun by the army!’

  Four soldiers marched up the steps on to the patio. It was frightening, and why were they here – coming to arrest us? The officer gave an impeccable salute and introduced himself as Captain Karalis. He was dressed immaculately in combat fatigues, the uniformed men with him of similar appearance and cleanliness.

  Before he said any more, I told him we were English, and my Greek was limited. Ros and the children had gathered around me, and we all waited nervously to hear what Captain Karalis had in store for us. It went through my mind that maybe we were going to be deported. Did we need a visa, having been here so long?

  ‘We must ask you, if you please, to vacate the area for the next four hours . . . take what you need and lock up your house.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’ I said, hoping I wasn’t overstepping the mark. He did not give a direct answer.

  ‘All the houses of Lefkada must be secured, and please leave the area, no further questions.’ He checked his watch. ‘You have half an hour . . . I will return.’

  Then he went down to the beach, barking orders, turfing everyone out of their tents, telling them to hurry up. I could imagine the soldiers’ reactions when they saw a girl emerge with a safety pin through her nose, but maybe Francesca slipped it out before she went to sleep.

  On the blast of a bugle, a troop of soldiers ran into the taverna, shuffling their feet, getting themselves into a perfect straight line. Julia and Sarah came out, sleepy but alarmed and as mystified as the rest of us. Then Maria appeared, angrily waving her broom as she was ushered from her house, while Yannis stood on the steps in an antique nightgown, half man, half ghost.

  All of us from the houses dotted around Lefkada and the tents on the beach were herded together. Our names were taken and we were led away towards Aghios Kirikos; behind us they barricaded the road. We were like refugees driven from our homes, Maria still with a broom in her hand. She and Yannis had no more idea what the army was up to than the rest of us. After we’d walked just a few a hundred yards we heard a siren wailing, like the warning given before a controlled explosion takes place.

  ‘Maybe they’ve found an unexploded bomb,’ I said to Gregory.

  We walked on and came to the fenced-off site where the Toula Hotel was being built. Yannis and Maria shook their fists at this blot on the landscape, watching the bulldozers at work, the ready-mix lorries tipping out their concrete. Maria had never left the island and had always lived a simple life, her father a charcoal burner in the woods around Perdiki. She was probably thinking she was witnessing the ruination of the island in the name of progress, as it’s called. We all stood and watched through the wire mesh as they felled trees and dug up the earth.

  ‘Vandals,’ said Paulo. ‘Destruction of the land for profit.’

  Suddenly a black BMW appeared behind us, repeatedly sounding its horn. It was being driven by a dark-suited businessman wearing expensive sunglasses.

  ‘Any of you want work? Good money, bonuses, not Ikarian money.’

  It couldn’t have come at a better time.

  ‘What kind of money?’ I asked.

  ‘Athens money, which means you will get paid. You want a job?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes, maybe. I can mix cement.’

  ‘Go to the office, talk to them.’

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Petros. I am head of the consortium.’

  The advancement of tourism had arrived on an island of communists and fishermen, of peasant farmers and café philosophers. Changes were coming; who knew what effect they would have on the people of Ikaria, an island that wanted to be left behind.

  But these musings ceased instantly as a volley of gunshots whined through the air. We could hear the repetitive cracking of machine-gun fire. The battle of Lefkada had begun; a little spot on the earth that wasn’t even on a map being stormed by the brutish military, with, no doubt, all the wildlife scampering for cover.

  We retreated to the beach and had an improvised breakfast: yoghurt, feta cheese and some fruit, all from the monastery, but no one really had an appetite. It all seemed completely unreal, as if a revolution had begun, listening to the distant gunfire while waves broke gently on the shore. We swam and we talked, all wondering what was going to happen to us.

  After a while, Sam and Lysta were looking for things to do, Lysta having had enough of practising her cartwheels. Sam was upset that he’d forgotten to bring his snorkel, which I’d bought for him after he’d finally mastered the crawl. But Seth wandered along the beach completely occupied, turning over stones, carrying a wooden coffin under his arm that had once been his pencil box. I watched him, thinking how very satisfying it must be for a small soul to be so absorbed in what he was doing. I hoped this was just a passing phase and couldn’t understand the pleasure that he got from little dead insects. He seemed to have no other interests. The day before he had asked Ros to cut one up for him, wanting to see if it had blood. He was only three.

  At last one of the soldiers came down and told us we were allowed back and we wandered up to the barricade that was being moved to the side of the road. At the taverna, Captain Karalis sat at one of the tables rolling up maps, and as soon as we approached he saluted us with a beaming smile. It was hard to tell if it was genuine; there was no apology from him for disrupting our morning. He openly admitted that it had been nothing but army manoeuvres, which happened every year somewhere on Ikaria. Even he had not been told until the night before where it would take place. So that was what they had been up to when they took over our homes and closed down the taverna: playing at being soldiers. Around us the troops were clearing up, removing rolls of barbed wire and dismantling their machine guns.

  Yannis and Maria completely ignored everything that was going on around them as they opened the taverna and straightened tables. Maria even swept her brush over Captain Karalis’s polished boots, a deliberate act of defiance, waving him aside with an indignant look.

  Finally a dozen soldiers got on to their hands and knees. I couldn’t imagine what they were d
oing until I realised they were searching for spent cartridge casings. It was hard to believe they could hold out for long in the event of an invasion if they had to spend half their time retrieving bullets they had just fired.

  That evening I knew Sam had been up to something. He looked sheepish and seemed preoccupied. This change in behaviour became more apparent as we sat down for supper on the patio, secretive looks being passed between him and Lysta. I knew that whatever they had been up to, they wouldn’t be able to keep it to themselves for long. In the event, they revealed their secret without too much probing. They asked me what my judgement would be of a fictitious person who kept something they had found that didn’t belong to them.

  ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘honesty. We all have to decide about that.’

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ said Sam, turning to his twin sister, who nodded in agreement, ‘and if this thing that they’ve found has been lost and the person who lost it will never know, and doesn’t need it any more, can they keep it?’

  ‘So it’s not worth a lot of money?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, maybe twenty drachma.’

  ‘And it’s not useful to anyone?’

  ‘No. It would have been once, but not now.’

  ‘Has it got anything to do with the Ikarian army?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, unhesitatingly.

  ‘I think I know what it is.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Has the person who found it got more than one of them?’

  ‘Yes, I think he has.’

  ‘He has, Dad,’ said Lysta. ‘He’s got five of them.’

  ‘Well, if I leave the table and come back in a minute we can decide what to do.’

  I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a retsina, and when I returned there on the table lay five brass cartridge casings. Sam and Lysta were looking at me with both hope and guilt on their faces.

  ‘Ah ha,’ I said. ‘What have we here? Property of the Ikarian army?’

  ‘Yes, but how did you know?’

  ‘I have the mind of a detective.’

  Sam and Lysta had found them hunting in the rough scrub at the back of the house, down on all fours for the afternoon. Ros had been surprised they hadn’t wanted to go for a swim; now we knew why.

  ‘Can we keep them for ever? I want to take them home with us,’ begged Sam.

  ‘You can keep them, but don’t let Captain Karalis know. We’ll be taken away and questioned for having property that belongs to the Greek army.’

  Datsun Jim could never pull up slowly outside the taverna. He had to slam on everything, causing a great cloud of dust to sweep over the customers eating a quiet meal. It always annoyed Maria, who came at him with her broom raised and began thrashing him in front of everyone. People had to put napkins over their faces, coughing and choking until the dust slowly cleared.

  This time, he arrived with Thekla, the love of his life. In extricating her from the front seat, he showed a new side to himself, a touching affection. Manoeuvring her in the limited space the open door provided required not only strength but dexterity. Her white dress, covered with large black circles, made her look like an overweight Dalmatian. Her head scarf was wrapped tightly like a turban. I couldn’t see what she had on her feet, probably flip-flops, because she shuffled rather than walked. Watching the two of them, it was hard to imagine what attracted them to each other. When Jim saw me, he did what he always did: came straight over and asked the same question.

  ‘When are we working together again?’

  Ros was with me, and it was best for her sake that I showed no interest, which for the first time upset him and he looked crestfallen. I had never seen Ros so angry as that night when I arm-wrestled with Giorgos, and she rightly blamed Datsun Jim for everything.

  Jim didn’t force the issue; neither did he produce a wad of notes from his pocket. He just stood there and obviously had something on his mind. Then, all in a rush, he said, ‘I’m going to marry Thekla, my beautiful woman, and you are to come . . . and you, missus,’ he added turning to Ros, who he had never called by her first name, always referring to her as the wife, or your woman, and now missus. Ros and I were a bit taken aback; they had only known one another for a few weeks.

  ‘Well, that is the most wonderful news, Jim,’ we both said, almost in unison.

  ‘Now will you come and work for me?’ he asked, as if the wedding invitation would somehow tempt me back.

  ‘What about Giorgos?’ asked Ros.

  ‘He is leaving in two weeks for Detroit.’

  ‘I don’t know, Jim. It is too difficult for me. I need to be paid every day, not as before,’ I said.

  But Ros, somewhat surprisingly, came up with an idea. What if he was to pay me in advance when he picked me up? That would solve all our problems.

  ‘Yes, this is a good idea. We can shake on it.’

  ‘Do you really want me to do it, go back to work for him?’ I asked Ros.

  ‘Why not? You have nothing to lose now.’

  ‘Four hundred drachma,’ I said, ‘for a morning’s work, Jim, then siesta.’

  ‘Four hundred, my friend.’

  And so began my new arrangement with Datsun Jim. The next day, arriving nearly an hour late, he got out of his pick-up and before he had even said ‘Kali mera’ thrust four hundred drachma into my hand.

  ‘For you, my friend, and now we go to Giorgos’s house and you mix the cement a happy man.’

  I didn’t mention how late he was. Maybe Maria did, waving her arms around and slapping her own forehead in exasperation.

  It lasted three days and then the pick-up overheated, so he turned up on a donkey, expecting me to ride with him. But it would have been too much for the poor creature.

  ‘Forget about it, Jim. Let’s wait until you get the pick-up fixed.’

  ‘Some fool didn’t put water in the radiator.’

  ‘I wonder who that could have been?’

  ‘Why do you look at me like this?’

  Artemis would often sit reading a paperback, legs crossed on the bench beneath the pear tree. She sat in an upright position holding the book in her right hand, a cigarette in the left. So still was the air the smoke curled upwards and dissipated into nothingness. I was never sure if this elegant posture was a natural pose, for I always sensed she knew I was nearby. And I couldn’t tell whether the book she held in front of her, and seemed so engrossed in, was no more than a prop to tempt me into a conversation. These weren’t scholarly books, but well-thumbed Greek love stories, probably bought in second-hand shops, the covers showing lovers in passionate embraces. Maybe after reading them she left them behind for Sister Ulita.

  The monastery garden was full of secluded places; Artemis knew them all, and I’d come across her during siesta time, alone, reading these romantic stories. She was an enigmatic woman, who, in her Athenian world, would surely not have been without her male admirers. But here she lived a very different life. It seemed out of character for such a woman to indulge herself with these cheap books and it made me want to discover, even more, what lay beneath the surface.

  Her sunglasses rested in her hair and a turquoise dragonfly hovered beside her, as if intoxicated by her perfume. She turned each page with varnished fingernails, smoothing it down as if caressing it. All her movements were graceful, none more so than when she was sewing with Sister Ulita.

  Much as I’d wanted to, I’d never asked her why she read these love stories. I thought she might slam the book shut and storm off, offended by my prying. But when a lizard scurried beneath her foot and broke her concentration, I suddenly found myself saying, ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘A hopeless love affair. That is all I ever read, love with an unhappy ending,’ she said, lowering the book on to her lap and crossing her legs again. I could see by her expression that she was waiting for me to continue the conversation.

  ‘You only ever stay a few days, and then —’

  She didn’t let me finish.

/>   ‘It is enough. And besides, I have other things to do. Monasteries, they are like prisons. What do they do but sit in silence and pray.’

  ‘But your work is for the church?’ I asked, wondering how long I could engage her.

  ‘I spend most of my time restoring vestments for the bishops on many of the islands. It is tedious work and I’d prefer to be in Athens.’

  Then she stretched, with both arms outspread, as one does after sitting for some time, lost in another world. Rather than continue the conversation, she rose and said, ‘It is time for some water and fruit,’ and walked away, leaving her book behind on the bench, brushing her hair back over her shoulders.

  Not long after, I heard Sister Ulita’s shrill call, ‘Neeko, Neeko.’ She never called me once, always twice, as if there was some urgency to it. Which there never had been, and it was the same today, as she appeared with slices of karpuzi and a glass of water on a tray, being followed by Perseus, the monastery cat.

  As we sat down together she pushed aside the book Artemis had been reading without giving it a second look. She was more interested in attempting to have one of our bilingual chats. She got out her phrase book, and after several pained expressions and false beginnings produced the clearest English I had ever heard her speak.

  ‘Are you enjoying the watermelon?’

  To show my delight I applauded her. ‘Bravo, bravo, Sister.’

  Then I began the laborious task of searching for the correct response, which took nearly five minutes.

  ‘Ne, efkharisto, karpuzi einai poli auraya.’ Yes, thank you, the watermelon is very nice.

  It made me think about the development of language in the first place, of two people sitting in a cave thousands of years ago, wanting to have a natter. The slow progress before that first sentence was spoken, with no phrase book to consult. She was about to continue when the telephone began to ring and she was off in a rush. Never once had I seen her walk to answer it, just a frantic dash, dropping whatever she was doing.