gift that she had been so proud of all her life, have failed to sense any of the dramatic events that had just been related to her? How could she have lived this long without some kind of sign? Was her everyday family life, her background and upbringing, all she had ever believed in and accepted without question, based on a lie? Finally she got up, threw on some clothes and crept out of the house; there was no point in lying there unable to breathe. She needed air, to run in the open and to be alone, as she had done when she was a child and felt hemmed in at home. Haunted by a thought which she dared not articulate or bring to the foreground of her mind she fled, taking a path that led towards the hills. She knew of a small grove with a few carob trees that had been spared the fate of others hacked down and replaced by olives: a little plot of land which she had claimed as her own private hideout. She ran most of the way until exhaustion and emotion took hold of her once again, and arrived panting, face streaked with tears. Once she had been able to run there with ease, barely breaking into a sweat; now she was no longer young, and though she was still slim and agile for her age, her heart was heavy. She stood under a gnarled old carob, laden with pods which hung from its dusty branches like black stalactites. Eleni threw her arms around the trunk and stood hugging the tree, sobs wracking her frame. Could she ever have imagined all those years ago, when she had escaped here as a girl seeking solitude and peace, what she now knew? Peaceful was the last thing in the world that she felt as she leaned against the tree, trying to draw breath. She wanted to scream, to release the tension in her throat and in her soul; to push that dark thought further into the recesses of her mind and exterminate it altogether, but she could not. All that she could do was to let her tears flow, until there were none left.
At last she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and, hardly thinking, reached up to pluck a carob pod hanging above her head. She bit into its leathery outer skin, thankful that her teeth were still strong enough to reach the softer, fleshier part of the fruit that was easier to chew on. Its sweet pungent taste instantly, subliminally, transported her to a happier time, a time of innocence when life was simple, when she knew what all the familiar people who were dear to her stood for, and who she was. She lowered herself to the ground; leaning back against the tree trunk, she sat there chewing, spitting pips onto the earth, until the entire pod was gone. As she ate, she let her mind drift randomly, until the pressure she had felt in her chest and throat all day started to lift. What sleep had failed to achieve earlier, the time it took to eat that carob fruit succeeded in bringing to her. She let her mind wander back into the past, the faces of family members and friends superimposing themselves in her thoughts. At last an idea started to take shape, causing her to stand up, brush herself down and hurry towards the village until she arrived in front of old Pavlis’s house.
She found him sitting on a wooden chair out in his yard listening to the news from an old transistor radio.
Eleni pulled a chair close to him, hoping that if she was in his direct vision he would be able to see and hear her better as she spoke. Now she waited for his response.
‘Yes, it is all true,’ the old man finally said.
She had already started to piece together vague images and events from childhood as she sat under the carob tree. Memories of visits to the village cemetery with Calliope, Froso and often Uncle Pavlis started to return to her like faded reels of film. She began to recall being taken along from a very early age on those visits by her mother and big sister, and while she played among the cypress trees and chased butterflies the two women would sombrely busy themselves at the graves. Visiting the dead was a common and regular occurrence for all families, not only