The Girl Under the Olive Tree (49 page)

The men closed in on him, forcing him back until he keeled over the edge, his scream echoing around the rocks. Then there was silence.

Yolanda allowed herself a brief smile as she threw down the gun. ‘What? Did you think I’d wait for him to talk himself out of this? His kind gave my family no quarter. Take me home, Andreas.’

‘How did I do that to a man in cold blood? I think his bones are out there still, unburied and unmourned. I forgot my vows, Penny. I did what I did and I’ve wondered all my life whether I did right. My work was to save lives, not to takeany.’

They were walking across the fields, checking the young stock as she told her secret, hidden for so long.

‘It was the uniform and the brainwashing that created such monsters,’ Penny replied. ‘I hope I’d have had the courage to do the same.’

‘But what if he wasn’t a traitor but just a nationalist? Did I tell you that he recognized you from that wedding photo? He kept asking questions about you.’

Penny nodded. ‘He was a fascist when I met him, an ardent convert. We went out together for a little time in Athens but I couldn’t stand his views. I think he was a menace. I did catch a glimpse of him but I don’t think he recognized me then. I ran away to warn Bruce but no one believed me either. I’m glad you told me. I did wonder what happened to him. How did Andreas react to being betrayed?’

‘He was shocked and he looked at me with different eyes after that, with respect. They all looked at me with respect,’ Yolanda chuckled. ‘Especially when I had a knife in my hand.’ Her dark eyes sparkled at the retelling of such a drama. ‘We began again and it was good between us.’

‘Did they come for him?’

‘No, of course not, we were never troubled again. The enemy were too busy saving their own skins. But after the war there were recriminations and many partisans were executed by makeshift courts. We had such a short time in peace.

‘Andreas went back to the Red Cross and helped with its relief programmes. I never nursed again. How could I when I’d killed a man? But I worked with him, distributing food aid. The Red Cross ships came into the harbour late in’44. They saved many lives with food shelters and medical supplies.

‘When I think about that time now, I feel good that I fought back. I didn’t stand back and leave it to others to do the dirty work,’ she sighed. ‘That’s what I think now but it’s not what I felt then. Time changes everything.’

It was strange waking up in Sarika’s villa, with its cool marbled tiles, pretty white-lace cotton drapes, heavy dark furniture and the icon of the Virgin and Child in the corner. I could hear the chatter outside from daybreak. Everyone makes the most of the cool summer morning in Crete.

I lay back, thinking how easily I could’ve gone home without ever knowing Yolanda was alive. It felt like a dream, and the fact she’d sat with Bruce until the end was a such a comfort to know. If I’d not gone to the cemetery and seen the grave, or to the synagogue . . . It didn’t bear thinking about, and now we were going to find old Clarence. I’d thought about the tree only a few days before, wondering if it’d gone for firewood by now.

I had decided in the small hours to change my scheduled flight, put it back for a week. Lois wouldn’t mind. There was only the dog to return to and he was safe with the kennels.

How could I leave when we’re just getting to know each other again? Life had been tough for my friend, widowed young, but there was a bond between her and her family, with respect for each other. Women were always at the centre of such tight knit Greek families, in the background, but holding real power, and Sarika was growing just the same with her own children.

Nothing was too much trouble for my comfort: how rich a welcome I’d been given. I could hear their loud voices echoing around Sarika’s house as I sat on the balcony of my bedroom, staring out at the grandeur of their hillside surroundings and Yolanda’s beautiful garden next door. I heard the tinkle of the sheep bells on the wind and drank in the morning scents on the air.

As I dressed I wondered just what this day would bring. I must ask Lois to pack my suitcase when she called later.

We ate a breakfast of white figs and fresh yogurt with coffee, and when Lois and Alex arrived I told them my change of plan. This led to a flurry of phone calls and Mack promised to set all the new arrangements in motion for me. We set off in convoy down the track, winding down a side lane, cutting across the hills until I totally lost my bearings. Then after fifteen minutes we came to the old villa, which had scaffolding all round it.

‘They say a Greek footballer has bought it for his family,’ said Sarika.

‘No, it is a politician,’ argued Yolanda. ‘Only they have the money.’

‘Everything’s changed since we’re in Europe, grants, new roads, tourism, so many concrete lorries on the road. Where will it end?’ Sarika shouted in perfect English.

‘What happened to Ike and Katrina?’ I asked.

‘They went back to America. It was hard after the war and people took sides. Ike took his family back and rented out the land. Then the plants climbed over the house to strangle it,’ Yolanda said.

We parked round the back. No one was working on site, and, apart from the scaffolding, nothing had changed. I could feel myself tensing up. Would the old olive tree still be standing? There were wire fences everywhere. The land was partitioned into sections, some cleared with sheep grazing, others wild and left to run riot, but the olive grove looked as it always had, pruned, tended and the blossom still on the branches.

‘Can we go in without permission?’ I asked.

‘Poof ! No one here to see us,’ Yolanda dismissed with a wave of her hand. ‘Now where is this tree you give name to? You English are so sentimental . . .’

Lois was laughing. ‘She still drives a car called Mabel, won’t change it for a new model.’

‘When Mabel retires so will I. She’s been a good friend.’ I found my pace quickening, trying to recall how far from the house I used to sit with the children for a peck of peace in that noisy household. Then I recalled how we hid Bluey and his band of brothers not far from the tree.

‘There was an ancient chamber, a hole in the ground somewhere close to the tree, I’m sure.’

Alex was racing round. ‘Is this it?’ He was pointing to a squat trunk, the size of a beer barrel, with swirling bark. ‘It’s the fattest one, Aunt Pen.’

I stood eyeing it up. ‘So it is. I didn’t think it could last so long.’

‘The olive is the most ancient of trees. They can last for thousands of years. It has one deep root sunk into the earth but to fruit well they must be pruned hard, and this one has, but I see no face in it,’ Yolanda laughed.

‘I sat here many times and thought of home far away, and it was here that Bruce and I, we talked, and you know . . . But a box? Where would you hide a box? The ground is solid as rock, years of soil and leaves. I don’t think we’ll find anything here,’ I sighed. ‘Tell Lois what Bruce said to you.’

Yolanda repeated the story of the box and Clarence, and something about a hole. ‘He was very confused but he called your name. Why are you smiling at such sad things?’ she said.

‘I was thinking of Bluey and the boys, hiding in the chamber. What if he meant the hole
near
Clarence, the escape hole? When patrols came by, the escapers ran for the hole in the olive grove. It was where Ike hid his oil and grain; no one knew it was there. They said it was haunted by ancient spirits. It was the perfect hiding place. It’s not far from here.’

‘Is this an ancient burial site?’ Lois asked, but no one answered. ‘If there is one burial chamber there will be others. How exciting.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Sarika replied. ‘No one wants to find such stuff on their land. The government will want to buy the land and dig on it.’

‘Careful,’ I shouted. ‘If the entrance is loosely covered, one false step and we’ll be thrown in.’

‘Look,’ Alex was racing ahead, ‘there’s a fenced-off bit here. Can I take photos?’

There was a rectangle of barbed wire protecting the entrance. Someone didn’t want their flocks crippled or trapped.

Lois grabbed my arm. ‘You be careful now. I don’t want any broken pelvises.’

‘It’s buried treasure, Mummy, like Indiana Jones,’ said Alex excitedly.

Sarika pulled away the wire, inspected the thick grasses. ‘This looks like it, but it is dangerous for old bones. We mustn’t wake the spirits,’ she said, crossing herself.

‘There weren’t any spirits sixty years ago, unless you mean all the raki the boys swallowed. We hid them down here, and Bruce too, once.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Lois smiled as she and Sarika made to pull away the scrub. They lowered themselves down gingerly and then their voices came echoing up. ‘It’s amazing, just slabs of stone built on top of each other. Nothing here but rubbish and creepy crawlies, and it smells fusty. If we hold your hands you can come down, but no fancy tricks. We could do with a torch.’

‘There’s a cigarette lighter in the car,’ Sarika yelled.

‘I’ll get it.’ Alex was off like a hare back to the truck. I watched him with envy. Once I had raced down here, back and forth, hauling sacks, now I was putting one foot slowly in front of the other, willing myself not to fall in head first. It was dark but there was a gap of stone slab above us letting in a little light. It was as cold as a fridge. These Minoans built well.

‘I can’t see any boxes,’ said Lois as Sarika flicked the lighter on and off into the crevices. ‘Someone cleared this out years ago.’

My heart sank with disappointment. What was I expecting to find here? A sign saying ‘X marks the spot’? A box would have been checked out years ago and I’d never know what Bruce had wanted me to find.

‘Go round the walls slowly,’ Yolanda yelled down to us. ‘It’s just that I remember reading in the newspaper how a shepherd found a package hidden in the stone walls near his hut, documents left by a soldier. I think they found who they belonged to and sent them back to New Zealand. He came back to thank them with his family.’

Sarika kept up the search but the slabs were solid. No one could stick anything into them.
Where did you leave it, Bruce?
I was praying.

‘Try the steps,’ Lois suggested. They bent down and shone the light among the leaves and rubbish accumulated there. Suddenly: ‘Look! There’s something under there in the corner.’

We all held our breaths as they ferreted around the corner of the step. ‘It’s only an old tin, not a box, a very rusty cigarette tin,’ Lois announced.

‘Let’s take it up,’ I croaked, hardly daring to hope this was it.

Sarika climbed out first, helped me out, and then Lois came up with her treasure. She held it out for us to examine. It was rusted, the size of a bully-beef tin, battered enough to be what we were looking for. Alex photographed it and all of us standing round looking dazed and pleased.

‘It was tucked out of sight. It looks like rubbish to me but it won’t open here,’ Lois said, taking control of us, stepping up to the mark as she’d done so many times. I felt so proud of her.

‘Thank you, thank you. It looks exactly what a man might carry on him. Light and easy to hide, but who knows what’s inside?’ I was trying to sound casual. ‘I don’t suppose it’s anything special.’

‘Penny,’ Yolanda was clutching my arm, ‘he told me with his last breath to find it. It is for you. We will open it. Be patient, the boys will help us.’

It was hard to contain my emotion. I was impatient, curious and nervous. I didn’t deserve such good fortune. I didn’t deserve respect. I wasn’t worthy of him. All my life I had shut out this time entirely, because I knew I must face the truth of everything, not pick and choose the bits that pleased me.

Yolanda had shared her terrible secret of how she had found the strength to destroy the threat to her future. By executing Stavros, she’d found inner respect, discovered a part of herself she’d not known was there in her ‘eye for an eye’ revenge.

I had a secret too, one I could share with no one but my own conscience, a secret that had tormented me all my adult life. Must I open that rusty tin hidden in the deepest recesses of my heart before I was worthy of opening the real one?

Penny wandered through the streets with Brecht, buying the bare minimum, not wanting him to spend any more of his pay on her: a meal, a few items of essential clothing; that was the extent of her debt to him. But then sporadic gunfire broke out and she had nowhere to stay. She felt so feeble, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other without help. Her limbs were disobedient to her commands as she kept seeing herself flung overboard into the water, and the screams of the dead roared in her ears.

She’d recognized shock many times in others, now she must accept it in herself. She needed rest and shelter, and when Brecht booked himself a double room in a hotel, she’d no will left to refuse to join him there.

It was as if the whole day was leading to the moment when this would happen and for that a debt must be repaid. She’d no energy to protest, to be proud and English about it all. She felt nothing but the urge to sleep away the rest of her life in oblivion.

The next morning she woke alone in the bed. No one had shared it with her. His clothes were on the chair and it was clear he’d slept on the floor. She heard him in the bathroom as she buried her face into the pillow. She didn’t want to see his body. It would be tanned, lean and muscled. It would be in keeping with the rest of him, handsome and strong, things she’d noticed about him from the first time they had met. She wondered how well his wound had healed.

He’d made no demands on her and she was grateful that he respected her enough not to claim his due, but it would come, as sure as night follows day, and she would have to allow him to access her body and take from it what he willed.

Brecht dressed and left to check out the breakfast room, leaving her alone to wash and dress. She’d still not uncoiled her hair. It smelled of the sea, oil, stiff with salt, and she’d slept with it pinned tight around her head. It reminded her of where she’d been and who was left under the sea, steeling her resolve, protecting her.