The Girl Under the Olive Tree (40 page)

Penny felt guilty about not being up there to help the rebels. She had not seen Yolanda for months, nor had she written about her visit to the Jewish quarter. This was not something to put on paper. It must be spoken, face to face.

The
kafenion
was quiet, no more midnight meetings for
andartes
groups behind closed doors. So she was able to hurry down to Kondilaki Street where there was a little cobbler who did good repairs out of his house. His stitching was the best and most reliable, but materials were scarce. If she was to go back into the country, she must have decent soles on her feet. But on arrival she found a crowd jostling at some commotion. A soldier was pulling an old man into the street, beating him hard.

‘What’s he done?’ demanded Penny.

‘Jew,’ yelled the soldier. ‘You cheating bastard!’

The man covered his head, protesting, ‘I have done nothing to you.’

More soldiers were kicking him down the street. At last a man yelled down after them, ‘Pigs! You take a little man because you can’t find Kreipe!’

The soldiers stopped and the object of their ire shot off to freedom, swallowed up by the crowd.

‘Who said that?’ No one spoke. He pointed his gun at the crowd. ‘Line up . . . papers.’

Penny joined the queue, searching for her identity papers, somewhere in the bottom of her apron pocket, along with her badge pinned to the inside of it.

‘Hurry up . . .’ The soldier’s voice was cold and threatening.

‘I am doing my best,’ she snapped in exasperation, pulling them out. He grabbed her papers and looked down at them, then at her. ‘These papers are out of date . . . Name!’ He pushed her to one side.

With a sickening heart, Penny realized she’d completely forgotten to go back and join the long queues in the documentation offices all those months ago. Not only were these false papers, they were out of date. God help her now.

‘I’m sorry, I was busy . . .’

‘Come with me.’

‘But I have to shop. My mistress is ill,’ she pleaded. ‘I will get them renewed.’

He pointed his gun. ‘Come now.’

There was nothing she could do but walk in front of him, people staring with pity. This was her own doing, her own stupid fault, and there was nothing she could do to warn Nikos of her arrest. She wanted to cry with frustration and fear.

Yolanda followed the sad procession of men carrying the wounded and dead on mules down through the gully by moonlight, a slow, tortuous journey back to the nearest village where the priest came out, nervous at first, to give them the funeral rites.

‘My poor boys,’ he sighed, looking into the faces of each of the bodies. ‘We will not forget them.’

She had done her best to nurse them on the hillside but their injuries were just too severe. If only Andreas had been with her, she felt sure their leader might have been saved. The sorrow weighed so heavy when the villagers came to collect the bodies of their sons. They were all buried side by side and the spot marked by crosses. There would be more painted black crosses on doors all over the district by the end of the day to indicate each family’s sacrifice.

Yolanda felt so weary and sick with worry about Andreas. No one had heard anything from the group for days and she was sure they must now be prisoners. She watched the village women keening over the dead boys. When she returned to Dimitra and Andonis with no news, they were distraught.

‘You must go into the far tops, out of sight, to grieve; take the flocks with you to stop thieves stealing them,’ Yolanda advised. She helped them pack up and load the mule for the journey. She still ached from the climbing and the terrors of the past days and her back was stiff and tight. She couldn’t go with them, not when Andreas was missing.

Where was he, in the prison under torture? She dare not think of what he was going through. Who would speak for these heroes or defend them? It would be the execution post for them, but not until the Gestapo had burned out every last drop of information from their broken limbs.

It was her duty, she decided, to get more information, to follow the captured men and find someone to help their cause down in Chania. This would be no easy task and fraught with danger but she was not going to sit here doing nothing. Leaving the hills was not easy. Perhaps she should wait for Andreas. She was so torn by the need to know what was happening down there and there must be travel papers to find. She had been away so long, she’d forgotten when a bus would pass through the village going north. The mayor would give her a travel pass on some pretext of market trading. Perhaps she would find Penny there and they would draw strength from each other in this bleak time. The mayor promised if Andreas appeared Yolanda would be sent a message to return.

Penny stood before the civil servant in the rimless glasses, waiting for her interview. She had been standing for hours trying not to shake. ‘Papadopouli?’

She was pushed forward, her hands were sweating.

‘Why are your papers out of date?’ he snapped. ‘Do you not know the order and the punishment?’

‘My mistress is ill. She keeps me very busy. I did come and queue but I was going to be late . . .’

‘She must’ve been ill for a long time. These are years out of date.’

‘I was in the country.’

‘Were you now?’ he said sternly. ‘Miss Papadopouli.’

‘I came to help my aunt and uncle Nikos.’

‘Nikos who?’

‘Kyrie Mandolakis in his
kafenion . . .
His wife is sick.’ There was a pause as the man examined her documents. Had she brought Stella and Nikos into danger now? ‘They warned me to update my papers but I forgot.’

‘But these papers say you worked at the convent, what were you doing there?’

‘I wanted to train as a nurse but it didn’t work out. I was needed in the café.’ She sensed his suspicion growing.

‘You are quite a mystery, Miss Papadopouli, but I see no mark against your name.’ He stamped on the documents. ‘But I will have to check. This is most irregular. Wait over there.’ He pointed to a chair. ‘See she doesn’t move.’

A clerk stood eyeing her with deep suspicion. It was hard to sit calmly, her left leg desperate to keep tapping the tiles. She swallowed back the fear and tried to make conversation with him.

‘You must be very busy in this office,’ she offered, but he ignored her. What man wouldn’t ignore such a rough peasant woman in a shabby overall, her face darkened by sun and exposure. Her own sister would walk past her and not recognize her now.

Had she come to the end of her journey in this little office? Her mind was racing with doubt and fear.

Then the little civil servant bustled in and waved his hand in her direction.

‘She can go and queue for the rest of the stamps. Dismissed.’ He let the clerk leave, then he marched up close to her.

‘Miss Athina, be careful. You have been lucky this time,’ he said quietly, then showed her the door. ‘Don’t go wandering in the Jew quarter again. It’s not advisable in these troubled times . . .’

Later, Penny stood on the court house steps gulping in deep breaths of relief. Of all the officials in there she had found one who was sympathetic to the cause. Was it by chance or design? He knew Nikos’
kafenion;
perhaps he’d eaten there and knew the secret set-up. She’d had a lucky escape, but she wondered what he meant about the Jewish quarter. It seemed to be some kind of warning.

Yolanda arrived in the city after a bumpy tiring journey, not knowing where to go to find help. After the quiet of their mountain life, she was unnerved by the bustle, the noise, the squalor all around her. First she had to set up a table in the market and sell the cheeses, eggs and greens that validated her journey.

It was a beautiful May morning and her spirits rose for a second until she remembered Andreas, possibly imprisoned in chains, perhaps already mutilated or dead. Someone here would know of his fate. No news was good news, she prayed. In her widow’s black she looked no different from hundreds of other women keeping to the shadows of the walls. Somewhere here, Penny was hiding out. She must find her, but first she must visit her parents, even if they shut the door in her face. She wanted them to know she was pregnant so they knew their family would go on, no matter what.

When the market began to pack up, and it was getting too hot to be outdoors, she wanted to find somewhere to rest her swollen feet.

There was one place, not far to walk, where she would be sure of a welcome. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Yolanda made her way uphill to the Red Cross clinic, a place where she had found both purpose and love. It would be good to see who remained there, and maybe the doctors would help her find Andreas. She wanted to be among friends if there was terrible news to bear.

Nikos threw his hands in the air in horror when Penny confessed her mistake. ‘Are you crazy, girl? Do you want us all arrested? Lucky you were given one of our men to interview you, one of our regulars who keeps us up to date with anything we should know.’

‘I’m sorry but it was terrible to see those bullies in the street.’

‘It will get worse before it gets better,’ Nikos replied, flicking his beads and throwing his head back in agitation. ‘They have to blame someone now Kreipe is gone. Jews are always the first to be taken hostage and there are rumours they are clearing them out of cities on the mainland in thousands, taking them up north to work in camps. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘We ought to warn them,’ Penny said, thinking of Yolanda’s parents.

‘What did our friend tell you? Keep your nose out of what you can’t control. If they take you, we can’t protect you from torture. When Stella is better you must head back into the mountains, though that’ll need a travel permit and they are not so easy to forge. Keep your head down and be careful who you speak to. Things are quiet just now, too quiet, but it’s better just to carry on and sit it out.’

Penny felt uneasy after what she’d witnessed. Nikos was right to be cautious. She didn’t even know who she was any more: one minute a student, then nurse, farm hand, waitress, like a chameleon changing colours, from a British deb with a Greek name now passing herself off as a Cretan. It was all so unreal, living in this nightmare world where one false move could cost the lives of so many.

That night she had a nightmare: trying to jump into deep water, figures chasing after her, pushing her where she didn’t want to go. She woke sweating. Chania was no longer a safe hiding place; it was time to climb out of danger. She felt a strange foreboding of danger, a feeling in her gut that all was not well.

Rainer returned from the abortive mission to find Kreipe with only a few prisoners in tow. Androulakis had escaped. Stavros had been taken because Rainer was not so sure of his loyalty now, but the Greek protested his innocence vehemently when interrogated.

‘How was I to know you were spotted and the second group held back to make the ambush. The British agent is a cunning devil and his men have the advantage of knowing every bloody nook and cranny in these godforsaken mountains.’ He was nervous when they dragged him out of the cell for questioning. They knocked him around so when he returned with bruises his story about being one of the
andartes
would be reinforced.

Rainer’s commanding officer was unimpressed with the whole outcome of Rainer’s mission. ‘No excuses. This time you will oversee something that will not go wrong, executed with the utmost surprise and secrecy. We have orders to deport all the Jews here to Athens.’

‘There has been no trouble from that quarter,’ Rainer replied. ‘What’s the rush?’

‘Orders, Major Brecht. The final solution to the problems they have caused worldwide must be completed. It is already in hand. We have a list updated by the rabbi himself, and every one of them must be accounted for . . . babies, children.’

Rainer stared out of the window shaking his head.

‘Every newborn of their race is our enemy. The evils of Europe are to be laid at their door. You will see every exit and entrance is cordoned off, that transport is waiting, so the exercise will be swift and efficient and done before dawn.’

‘Where are they to be taken?’

‘To Agia, of course, to be sealed off in the prison until arrangements are made and so we can bring in any outlying Jews.’

Rainer took a deep breath. From the heights of commanding those brave paratroopers, to this: pushing women and children onto trucks, shoving them in that filthy hellhole. Is this what his army career had come to, obeying such orders? In his heart he realized this was a step too far. Every decent humane reason urged him to refuse to obey. What the hell should he do now?

It was like old times, sleeping in the basement of the clinic as Yolanda had done in the bombing raids in 1941, lying on a mattress among familiar hospital shelves with the scents of Lysol and ether. She’d been welcomed in, fed a hot stew, checked over. Now she was resting with her feet up. No one had news of Andreas but someone who knew someone in the police assured her that he was not being held prisoner. The doctor was too well known and respected not to have been sprung from gaol by sympathetic police officers. Now Yolanda felt the ache in her back loosen and she hugged her stomach with relief. Perhaps he would live to see his baby born after all. When she was rested she would go back to the Jewish quarter to make peace with her parents. She must make the first move . . . But the next morning she felt so exhausted and achy, no one would let her move from her mattress so she sank back and slept while she had the chance.

Penny was woken by the roar of trucks grinding through the streets. There was a racket outside as if troops had landed in the harbour, and a flicker of arc lights through the open window had them all on their feet. It was still the middle of the night.

‘What’s happening?’ Penny muttered, fearing a raid on them. She flung on her dress and peered out of the window to see a line of trucks backing up.

‘Don’t go out!’ Nikos shouted. ‘Don’t move.’

Penny nodded, but across the square, faces peered out at the noise and shutters were hurriedly closed. She crept through the
kafenion
to the stairs up to the balcony that gave a better view and, opening the door, peered out. She watched as a battalion of soldiers raced round through the streets with loudspeakers. ‘Out! Out! Jews out!’ She could hear screams of alarm, doors bashed, dogs barking. ‘Ten minutes with food and one bag, one bag only . . . Out! Out!’