When the Cypress Whispers (20 page)

Twenty-seven

Daphne and Yia-yia sat and clapped in time to the strumming of the bouzouki that blared from the cassette recorder in the kitchen.

“
Opa
, Evie.” Daphne beamed as she watched her little girl dance in time to the music.

“Bravo,
koukla mou.
Bravo, Evie,” Yia-yia said as Evie twirled round and round, her pink nightgown filling with air as if it were a balloon.

“She likes a good party, just like her Thea Popi.” Daphne giggled. It was no secret that even in their colorful extended family, Popi stood out as the most fun-loving of all.

And in fact that evening was no different. Even after a full day of festivities, dining, drinking, and gossiping with everyone who had come to welcome Stephen to Erikousa, Popi was still not content to call it a night. Popi suggested that she escort Stephen back to the hotel so Daphne could finish cleaning up and put Evie to bed. At first, Daphne resisted. After all, Stephen was her fiancé, and she knew he was already annoyed by the fact that she would not be staying at the hotel with him, that she instead chose to follow the island’s strict moral code. But in the end, Stephen didn’t seem to mind at all. He had been getting into the island spirit, first with several bottles of Mythos, then with the chilled shots of ouzo Popi insisted were yet another island tradition they must indulge in. In the end, all it took was Popi’s promise that she would reveal the deepest, darkest, and most embarrassing secrets of Daphne’s childhood once they reached the bar at the hotel. Stephen then kissed Evie, Yia-yia, and Daphne good night before linking arms with Popi for the dark walk back to the hotel.

“This is nice.” Yia-yia put her hand on Daphne’s knee while they continued to watch Evie dance. “I love having you here, having you both here. Even if it’s for just a short while.”

Evie bounced over to Yia-yia and gave her great-grandmother a hug. She lingered for a moment, just long enough for Yia-yia to feel the warmth of Evie’s soft cheek against her own. But then, just as the next song began, Evie sprang back into position, ready for their final recital of the evening. On tiptoes this time, hands held high above her head, she danced between her mother and great-grandmother as the music blanketed the night like a luxurious cashmere shawl.

When her dance was finished, Evie again went to Yia-yia’s side and gave her a hug. Yia-yia held tight this time, stroking Evie’s hair as she leaned in and softly sang to her.

I love you like no other . . .

I have no gifts to shower upon you

No gold or jewels or riches

But still, I give you all I have

And that, my sweet child, is all my love

I promise you this,

You will always have my love

When the song was finished, Evie kissed the tip of Yia-yia’s nose and went off to play with her kitten.

“
Koukla
mou
”—Yia-yia smiled at Daphne—“always remember me when you hear that song.” Yia-yia lifted her hands to her chest and folded her spindly fingers over her heart. “Your mother and I would sing it to you over and over again as we watched you sleeping in your cradle, right here, where you are sitting now. We would stay here for hours, Daphne, just watching you breathe, just thanking the heavens for your perfection and praying to the
a
gios
that he walk beside you and keep you safe.”

The olive and cypress trees around them vibrated in a subtle breeze. As their soft hum filled the air, Yia-yia spoke again. “Daphne
mou
, I will always sing for you. Even when you can’t hear me, even in your new life so many miles away from me, I know that I will always be there for you, singing those words for you, reminding you that you are loved.”

“I know that, Yia-yia. I’ve always known that.” And she had. In a life filled with loss, Yia-yia had remained Daphne’s one constant. Her rock. Yia-yia had always been the one person Daphne knew would love her unconditionally and completely.

With her wedding just days away, this was supposed to be a time of bliss for Daphne. But as happy as she was counting down the days until she and Stephen would become man and wife, along with the building excitement of each passing day came something Daphne hadn’t anticipated: a sense of melancholy. As the wedding approached, so did the reality that Daphne would soon be leaving the island to begin her new life—a life of luxury, financial security, and seemingly everything else she had struggled and prayed for through all the long, lonely years since Alex died. But in all the excitement of planning for the future, there was one thing Daphne had never stopped to think about. The beginning of a new life meant the end of another.

Twenty-eight

“Mommy, can I ask you something?” Evie climbed across the bed on all fours before yanking down the sheet and plopping her head on the pillow. She didn’t pull the covers up over her body, just lay there, straight and still, her slender tanned limbs naked to the night air.

Daphne leaned forward and pulled the sheet to Evie’s chest. “Yes, honey. You can ask me anything.”

“Can I bring my chick back to New York, Mommy?”

“No, honey, you can’t. Our building doesn’t allow baby chicks.”

Evie wrinkled her nose. “Well, can we just stay here, then? I don’t want to leave her. Her name is Sunshine, you know, because she’s yellow like the sun.”

“I’m sorry, honey—we’re going to have to go back home, and Sunshine will need to stay here.”

“Mommy, can I ask you something else?”

“Of course, honey.” Daphne fluffed the pillow beneath Evie’s head.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jack and Yia-yia and Erikousa? Why didn’t you ever tell me that it was so much fun here?” Evie waved her arms and legs across the bed as if the white cotton sheet were freshly fallen snow and she were making a snow angel.

“But honey, I did tell you.” Daphne pushed a curl away from Evie’s face. “I did, remember. I told you all about Yia-yia and why we were coming here, so she could be at the wedding. Remember, honey?” She sat on the edge of the bed beside Evie, right where the angel’s wings would have been.

Evie sat up in bed. “But you didn’t tell me how much fun it was here, how great everyone here is. Even when I don’t understand what they’re saying, they’re still really funny.”

“Yes, honey. They are really funny.”

“I wish we could come here all the time.”

“I know, honey, I do too. I’m really happy we came. And we’ll come back again.” She leaned in and kissed Evie’s little pink lips. “Good night, Evie.”

“Mommy.”

“Yes, Evie.”

“There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes, honey. What is it?”

“You had a lot of fun here when you were a little girl, right?”

Daphne thought back to the happiest times of her childhood. Evie was right, they had all taken place right here. “Yes, Evie, I had the most fun of my life here.”

“But I don’t understand, then, Mommy. You are always telling me to share my toys, that nice girls share. Why didn’t you share this place with me?” Evie yawned, staring up at her mother, waiting for an answer, unaware of the magnitude of her words. “I really wish you had shared this with me.”

Speechless, Daphne bit her lip. She winced at the pain but bit down harder still, teeth cutting into soft flesh. The pain was sharp and stinging, but no match for the pain Evie’s words had caused.

“Good night, Mommy. I’m really tired.” Evie rolled over on her side and was asleep instantly.

As Daphne stood up to leave the room, she glanced back at the sleeping child. Yes, Evie had been right. It seemed Yia-yia wasn’t the only one in the family with secrets; Daphne had kept a few of her own.

“T
HAT WAS QUICK.
” Y
IA-YIA HANDED
Daphne a glass of homemade wine as she sat down.

“She was exhausted. It was a long, busy day.” Daphne lifted the glass to her lips. The wine was perfect, slightly sweet and chilled. As she took her first sips, Daphne decided not to trouble Yia-yia with the details of Evie’s indictment. She knew Yia-yia would be thrilled to hear how much Evie loved it here, but the rest of the conversation was something better left for mother and daughter to sort out. Yia-yia and Daphne had enough sorting out to do themselves.

“You must be tired too.” Yia-yia nodded. “And what about your young man? Do you think Popi is still keeping him prisoner at the bar?”

“No, she probably dumped him in favor of a German tourist.”

“Or Italian.” Yia-yia smiled, her silver tooth glistening with saliva and firelight.

“This is my favorite time of day.” Daphne brought the cool glass to her cheek, an instant respite from the warm night. “It always has been, you know. Even when I was a little girl, I loved nothing more than having you all to myself at night. Just the two of us and the fire and the breeze and your stories.”

“You are wrong, Daphne
mou
. It’s never just the two of us, my dear love. It never has been.” She pulled her shawl tighter. Although the night air was thick and warm without the usual refreshing evening breeze, Yia-yia was chilled. She inched closer to the fire.

“What do you mean?” There was no one else there, just Evie inside curled up in her bed and Daphne and Yia-yia here, side by side by the fire. “There’s no one else here.” Daphne looked around just to be certain.

Yia-yia smiled as if she could somehow see the invisible guests that she spoke of. “Generations of our family, Daphne
mou
. They are all here. This is their home, and they have never left, just as I will never leave. They are all still here, all the women who have come before us, who guide us. We are not the first who know what it is to grieve, to have our men snatched away by Hades’ dark grip. We are not the first to wonder and ask how we will find the strength to care for the children left behind. But they know, Daphne
mou
. They know what it is to love a man, to love a child, to love another. And they are here to guide us when we don’t have the strength left to do so ourselves.”

Daphne sipped her wine and glanced again around the empty patio, trying in vain to imagine the women Yia-yia had so vividly described. But it was no use. That was all right for now, at least for tonight. On this night, Daphne had another story in mind.

“Tell me what happened, Yia-yia.” She pulled her chair closer. “Yia-yia, tell me the story, the story of you and Dora.”

Yia-yia closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sea breeze, as if summoning her memories from the evening air. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to be in Kerkyra that day,” Yia-yia began, her hands resting flat on her lap. “I rarely went to the main island back then. Why would I need to? I had no money to buy things with, no husband to shop for. Your
papou
had been missing for several months at that point, and I knew in my bones that he was dead.

“I had a small baby, your mother, God rest her soul.” Yia-yia paused a moment, making the sign of the cross, and continued with her story. “Food was scarce back then—we had barely enough to survive. I was terrified that we would starve. There was a war going on around us, Daphne, and as much as the islanders take care of one another, help one another, our friends and family had barely enough to feed their own children—I could not ask them to feed us as well. To make the trip to Kerkyra, I left your mother with my
thea
for the day, and I traded eggs for the
kaiki
ride, since I had no money to pay. Your
papou
left behind many debts when we lost him, and I knew he owed money to the tailor in Corfu. He had told me what a kind and generous man this tailor was, how he had made Papou a new shirt for Easter and told him to pay when he could. I knew I needed to go to him, to thank this man for his kindness and try to repay the debt the only way I could, with eggs and olive oil. The night before the trip, the
agios
came to me in a dream. He called to me, Daphne. He spoke to me. It had been a long time since I had prayed at the
agios
’s side, so I went. I went straight from the port to the church and I knelt beside him that morning and prayed he would protect us, help me find a way to survive with no money and no husband. And then I lit a candle and left the church, walking back through the old city to the Jewish quarter and the tailor’s shop, having faith that my prayers would somehow be answered.”

Yia-yia stopped once again. Her breath was rapid and shallow. As she spoke, it was as if each word was siphoning the energy from her frail body. But that didn’t stop her. She breathed deeply this time and waited, as if her beloved island breeze could breathe new life into her. She began again, her voice stronger this time.

“I knew something was wrong. The streets were empty. There was no one around, nothing but silence. As I walked toward the open door of the tailor, I heard a desperate wail. It sounded like a wild animal, but it wasn’t. I looked inside and saw it was a woman, Dora, Yianni’s grandmother. I stood in the doorway to see what had happened, what would cause her to make those sounds. I watched her, her dress and hair matted with her husband’s blood, screaming for her lost son.”

Yia-yia shook her head, her body shuddering again at the sounds and sights of that horrible day. “I pray you never hear the sound of a mother who has lost her child, Daphne. It is an inhuman sound, agonizing . . . I looked down, and there I saw her little girls kneeling on the floor, holding their
baba
’s lifeless body and begging him to wake up. It was like walking into hell, Daphne
mou
. I looked into Dora’s eyes, and I swear to you, I saw her being consumed by the flames of hell. And in that moment, everything changed.

“I knew what had happened throughout Greece, I had heard the stories. There was no television—I could not read the newspaper myself, but I knew nonetheless what those animals had done throughout Greece. And I could not let another family be destroyed, murdered. I would not allow it.”

Daphne felt her stomach tighten. She clutched the edge of her chair.

“That day, as I stood in the doorway in the Jewish quarter, the breeze kicked up, sending papers and leaves swirling in the empty alleyways. I took my eyes off of Yianni’s grandmother and mother for a moment and watched the papers and leaves swirling at my feet. Just as I looked away, tempted to leave that place and forget what I had seen, that is when I heard it. It was faint at first, the softest murmur, like the wings of a butterfly in my ear. But it was there, Daphne
mou
. It was there. At first, I denied that I heard anything. How could it be? But the wind kicked up again, and the voice grew stronger. It was a woman’s voice, soft and beautiful. I could hear her crying, I could hear her soft whispers between the muffled sobs. And I knew that my own
yia-yia
had been right. The cypress whispers do exist.”

Yia-yia closed her eyes again and sat in silence. The words that poured out of her seemed to have again taken her strength. Daphne held her breath and waited, but Yia-yia remained silent. Then, just as Daphne leaned forward to touch her grandmother, to make sure she was indeed awake, Yia-yia opened her eyes again and continued with her story.

“Daphne
mou
. I listened, and I understood what I needed to do. What my role was. That I had not been brought to this earth to be another forgotten widow, a burden on society, someone to be pitied and plied with handouts. It was faint, the faintest sound I had ever heard, but it screamed, Daphne. It screamed for me to do something. It screamed for me to help this woman, to get her away from there before the soldiers returned. It was the softest possible whisper, but it screamed that this was a good woman, a God-fearing and kind woman. A woman who deserved to be revered and respected, not treated like a gutter animal. I know so many good women, so many good men and their children, were beyond salvation that day, Daphne. I could not help them—I don’t know if anyone could have helped them. Those monsters murdered them all. And for what? I still don’t understand.” Yia-yia shook her head and looked deep into the fire.

“But this woman, Daphne,
this
mother, wife, daughter. She was placed in my hands that day.
My
hands, Daphne. These two very hands. These hands of a poor widow that never held anything of value. That day I held Dora’s fate in my hands, and I could not let her slip through my fingers.” Yia-yia cupped her hands, palms up toward the heavens as if to save the memories of that day from slipping through her fingers even now, so many years later.

She looked from her hands to Daphne. “The voice told me to save Dora and her children. And so I did. I brought them to Agios Spyridon that day. I knew he would protect them like he protects and loves us all. And he did, Daphne. We hid in the church. The Germans went door to door searching, knowing more Jews were hiding. But even as they hunted more victims, no Nazi entered the church of Agios Spyridon. Not one. I knew they would be safe there, that the
agios
would keep us safe. I knew that even without the whispers in my ear. When I realized there was no hope of finding young David, I brought them back here, Dora, Ester, and poor sweet Rachel. I brought them right here to our home and shared with them the little we had. As you know, we were very poor, and I had only one other dress, my good church dress. I gave it to Dora to wear, so she would look like one of us, Christian Greek, and not a Jew. We did the same with the girls, dressing them in the peasant clothes of our island. As Dora dressed Ester in a church dress I had been saving for your mother, the sweet child turned and asked, ‘Is it Purim already, Mama?’ Dora’s tears ran deeper than the sea that day as she answered ‘Yes, my sweet, it is,’ and dressed her children to conceal their faith.”

The old woman stared again into the fire, as if she could see the frightened mother and the scared, confused children playing out the scene within the dancing flames.

“Rachel’s death devastated us all. But after some time, Dora began to speak and eat again. She was a shade of what she had been before—but she managed somehow to carry on. Dora had lost so much, but what little strength she had left, she summoned for her only surviving child, for Ester. Your mother and Ester played together and grew to love each other like sisters. And Dora . . .” She sighed and looked up toward the heavens, knowing her friend was still there with her in some way.

“Dora and I grew to love and trust one another. We spent night after night talking, sharing stories and secrets of our people and of ourselves. They came to church with us, and although they did not believe in Christ as our savior, they respected our traditions and celebrated our holy days with us. They stood side by side with us, and as we said our prayers, they silently said theirs too, knowing that God would hear all of our voices, together, stronger. They respected and honored our traditions as we did theirs. I learned to keep the Sabbath with Dora. Each Friday we would prepare, cooking and cleaning together so there would be no fires lit and no work done in our home. I watched each Friday night as she lit the Sabbath candles, and we fasted and prayed together for their High Holy Days. I learned to cherish those quiet evenings together, Daphne. We both did. We became a family, and soon, we felt no difference—Greek, Jew . . . we were a family with many rich traditions. On August fifteenth, in fact, as the entire island celebrated Our Blessed Virgin Mary’s assumption to heaven, little Ester held your mother’s hand and the girls walked in a beautiful procession of all the children. One of the boys snickered at this, muttering under his breath that how could she, a Jew, walk beside Christ’s children? Father Petro heard the child and smacked the bad-mannered boy across the head before his father had the chance to do so himself.” Yia-yia clapped her hands and laughed at the memory.