in order to pay their respects but also to ensure the graves were maintained, to replace the flowers and light the candles. Although many of their deceased relatives and friends of the family were buried there, one particular tomb – Eleni now remembered – seemed to take more of Froso’s time and beside it she would fall into mournful silence. Uncle Pavlis too, when he visited with them, would hold Froso’s hand and linger with her beside that grave.
‘I never had any doubt that you were my brother’s child,’ the old man said, finding Eleni’s hands and cupping them in his. ‘My brother died for nothing. His life was cut short before it began properly. But your existence, my girl, was a comfort to us all. It was as if we had part of him still with us.’
‘How could you be so sure?’ she said with a sharp intake of breath – then instantly wished her question unsaid. That idea had to be exterminated, it must never surface again; she could not tolerate its existence even as a glimmer of a thought.
‘As sure as the sun that rises every day,’ the old man replied. ‘You have his eyes.’
‘Then why was I not told?’ she demanded, knowing what his answer would be.
‘The oath of silence was sacred. Even if the crime we committed was justified, we still had to keep it hidden from outsiders and from the surrounding villages; no one must know, it was too risky. Your grandmother’s decision about the circumstances of your birth had to be respected too. Froso was so young and what happened then was our village secret. It was between us and God and no one else’s business.’
As a Cretan herself, Eleni knew and recognized all that Pavlis was saying. Having been brought up on this land, she was familiar with the passions and vendettas that had taken place over the years, and of the hot blood that ran through people’s veins. Yet still her brain rebelled and rejected the silence.
The old man let her stay while her questions kept coming, her curiosity and sorrow found the way to express themselves in words and after all these years he was finally able and willing to speak.
‘I am probably the only one left from the old folk,’ he told her. ‘Most of my generation are now gone or too old to be of any use. Froso has lived with this burden all her life . . . I know she wanted to talk to you about it for years, she told me that many times but couldn’t summon up the courage. When the end feels near then courage returns, or perhaps it’s not courage, perhaps it’s the wish to depart with a clear conscience.’
‘She carried the weight of that secret all her life, she often talked to me about her burden but there was nothing to be done. We all did our best to make sure you had a happy life, Eleni mou, a normal life. What’s the difference – a mother, a grandmother, a father, a grandfather? It’s all the same so long as there is love, and you had love all around you, my girl, from everyone.’
17
At a loss as to what to do or where to look for her mother, Calli reached for her phone and dialled Michalis’s number.
‘Does your aunt have any idea where she might be?’ was his first response, without knowing what could have provoked Eleni’s disappearance.
‘I don’t know . . . I haven’t asked,’ Calli replied, flustered, and turned to look at Froso. After finishing her call she pulled up a chair next to her aunt.
‘Do you know where Mum might have gone?’ she asked gently, trying to keep calm.
Froso opened her eyes but her gaze was distant; she looked past Calli.
‘She’s probably gone to see Pavlis,’ she whispered, and closed her eyes again. ‘Leave her, she needs to be with him.’
She took Froso’s advice and instead of searching for Eleni, Calli asked Nicos and Michalis to collect her and take her somewhere private, where the three of them could be alone to talk. At first she had been reluctant to leave her aunt, but Froso insisted.
‘Go, my girl, go with your friends,’ she told her. ‘Besides, your mother will be back soon and I need to have some time alone with her.’
Calli wondered how much she should reveal to Michalis and Nicos, while feeling certain that the