that season. The model ship, splendidly displayed, was a custom prevalent in most Greek islands, where the perilous chief occupation of its men was fishing, thus serving as both a symbol of gratitude and an offering for the men’s safety. Froso and her brother cheerfully busied themselves, making everything around the house sparkle: colourful balloons from every light fitting, tinsel and ribbons on all the door handles and windows.
On Christmas Day after early morning mass, in front of the entire congregation huddled together in their tiny village church, Father Nicholas blessed the rings and performed the betrothal ceremony, announcing to all present that the two youngsters were now betrothed. After the service the two families gathered in Kosmas’s home for the festive meal. The day before, Manolios, the boy’s father, had slaughtered his pig, which he had been fattening for months, and Kosmas’s mother, Vangelio, spent all her waking hours cooking. She cooked one part of the animal in the oven and another part Manolios roasted over an open spit. Both meats were accompanied with spanakopita, a spinach and cheese pie, and several types of salads and vegetables. For dessert, apart from the traditional melomakarouna and kourabiedes, Vangelio made her famed baklava, filled with chopped nuts, flavoured with cinnamon and cloves and served warm and dripping in syrup and honey. That Christmas was the most enjoyable and memorable they had ever celebrated, and the festivities lasted for several days, as did the dishes that Vangelio had carried on making from other parts of the pig that had not been used for the main roasts.
Christmas and New Year came and went and Froso’s birthday was celebrated by naming the day for their marriage.
‘I always dreamed of getting married on the first day of May,’ she told Kosmas as they sat in his mother’s kitchen one Sunday after church.
‘That’s too far away,’ he complained, shifting a little closer. ‘I don’t care which day we marry, so long as I marry you,’ he said and leaned over to give her a kiss – but thought better of it as his mother pushed open the kitchen door.
‘There will be plenty of time for all that,’ Vangelio said as she walked into the room, guessing what was in her son’s mind. ‘Be patient, you’ll be married soon.’ She smiled at them both again. She was protective of the girl, she knew what men were like, and nuptials were strictly for the wedding night, although she also knew that if a boy had his chance it was very likely to happen before. But Vangelio was oblivious to the fact that Froso’s passion was as fervent as her son’s.
‘Ever since we told everyone about us, I can’t even kiss you,’ Kosmas whispered in her ear once his mother left the room again. ‘We are always surrounded by people.’
‘The rains will stop before long,’ she returned, flashing him a dazzling smile. ‘In the caves,’ she added cryptically with mischief in her eyes, ‘the earth will dry soon.’
Ever since the incident with Mitros, Kosmas had kept well away from the village, and Froso had reduced her trips to collect her books; as the festive season meant that the school was closed for some weeks she had had no reason to go there until now.
Froso’s first few visits were swift and uneventful; she arrived in the village with the first bus, she made her way to the school just as her teacher was opening up, and then hurried home. At first the skies were still ominous and uncertain with clouds hanging dark and low, but by March the weather had broken, the days grew longer, the temperature milder. The swallows were starting to arrive and were busy making nests, and the air was perfumed with lemon and orange blossom.
It was on a glorious day such as this, when the early spring sun had burned through the winter’s gloom, that the two young lovers agreed to meet once more in their hideout and steal some sensuous moments alone, even if it was for the briefest time; though they would soon be married, they were also young and impatient.
Froso didn’t go to the school to collect her book that day. Instead, to save time, she made her way directly to the cave. The scent of blossom mingled with the aroma of wild thyme was intoxicating; she clambered down the hill through the low bushes and thorny shrubs to the cave. Kosmas was already there waiting for her, having hidden his bicycle in