Page 50 of The Silent Sister

The sky was a perfect deep blue as Eléni and Simos set off for Fiscardo that Saturday. As they drove away from Argostoli, the coastal road became narrower. At one point, they came to a complete stop when they had to wait for a herd of brown-and-white goats to pass.

‘I’ve never driven along this road without our friends here holding me up somewhere. Not usually as many as this.’ Simos laughed. ‘Still, we have to put up with them if we want our lovely, salty feta . They roam free on the island, even on the rocks by the sea.’

With all the windows down, Eléni loved the feeling of the wind in her hair.

The smell of wild thyme was strong as they drove through the mountainous area dotted with yellow broom.

They’d been driving for about half an hour admiring the views of the sea to the left and the mountains to the right when Simos pulled into a layby.

‘No drive to Fiscardo is complete without stopping here. You’ll need your camera.’

There were already three other cars parked nearby, and the occupants looked down on the most amazing sight Eléni had ever seen. A sapphire-and-deep-turquoise sea edged with frills of foam broke onto a pure white beach.

‘Wow! The colours are just amazing!’ Eléni took a photo with the Kodak Instamatic she’d bought especially for the trip, along with several film cartridges. ‘I don’t suppose this will capture how wonderful it is in real life, but at least I’ll have something to remind me. Now a photo of you, Simos.’

He sat on the low stone wall, looking embarrassed as the people from the other cars watched.

‘You have to say cheese.’ Eléni pointed the camera in his direction.

‘Feta!’ His face broke into a wide grin and they both laughed.

Eléni asked one of the people nearby if he would take a photograph of them both.

‘ Nai .’ The man invited them to stand in front of the wall with the view of the beautiful beach behind them. The warmth of Simos’s skin as he pulled her close made her tingle.

‘Smile, parakaló.’

The man handed the camera back to Eléni, who thanked him.

Once back in the car, Eléni and Simos chatted about what, if anything, she could remember about Fiscardo. One memory that surfaced immediately was of her playing with a tiny kitten.

She paused for a moment, trying to remember the kitten’s name. ‘Callista. Yes. That was her name. When I stroked her, she used to purr loudly. I used to purr back and she’d snuggle up to me.’

Eléni remembered being happy with Eugenia and Maia until Georgios returned.

‘Who was he ?’ asked Simos.

‘Maia’s father and my aunt’s husband. I don’t know much about what happened, but we had to leave.

’ She remembered a lot of shouting. Much more was coming back to her.

She hadn’t thought about her life just after the earthquake before.

‘We moved into Fiscardo and Mamá worked in a taverna. The old man who owned it was kind and looked after me when she was working. He made me wooden toys, I remember. I still couldn’t talk, but I was happy and safe. ’

As soon as she’d said the words, she regretted them. The orphanage had not been like that for Simos. She changed the subject and asked him how much further it was to Fiscardo.

‘Here’s the sign. This is the famous Fiscardo. If I’m right, there is a car park not far from the harbour.’

They walked from the car park to the quayside to have a coffee before knocking on the doors of the three Koulouris households.

Eléni immediately recognised Taverna Zervas where she’d once lived, even though it had fallen into disrepair.

The metal balcony that led from the bedroom she’d shared with her mother was now rusted and the wooden shutters of the windows and entrance door were rotten.

‘That’s it! The taverna where Mamá and I lived. I remember. The nice old man was called Michaíl.’

Simos read the plaque attached to the wall of the taverna.

Taverna Zervas. Famous for being the meeting place of Kefalonian partisans and communists during the Civil War, 1946–1949

‘It only ended four years before the earthquake.’ Eléni wondered what Michaíl’s role had been when he’d allowed his taverna to be used in that way.

‘In my studies, I read about the war. It split families. Everyone took sides. It’s a pity we can’t go there, for old time’s sake.’

They found another taverna a few doors down.

While waiting for their coffees and baklavá to be served, Simos spread out a map of Fiscardo on the table.

‘Look, these are the houses where someone called Koulouris lived two years ago. I suggest we go to these first and then call on your aunt. Do you have her address?’

Eléni took out the piece of card and read it out to Simos.

‘There’s nothing of that name on the map. Can you remember anything about where it was?’

As she remembered playing with Callista, an image of a small beach came into her head. ‘Is there a beach or a cove nearby?’

Simos pointed to an inlet on the map just outside Fiscardo. ‘There’s one here. We could try there.’

They left the taverna and walked further up into the town.

What struck Eléni was how very different the buildings were from modern Argostoli.

The beautiful houses were rendered in various pastel colours ranging from pale pink to a delicate ochre shade under terracotta-tiled roofs.

The windows were accompanied by painted shutters that protected them from the intense sunshine.

The first house they visited was along a side street. Simos knocked on a door that had once been a vibrant turquoise blue, but now peeled back to bleached wood in places. They waited before knocking again. No answer. They went to leave when the neighbouring door opened.

‘There’s no one there.’ An old lady dressed in black eyed them with suspicion.

‘We’d like to speak with Kyrios Kostas Koulouris. Do you know when he’ll be back?’

The woman placed her hand on her chest, looked up and then crossed herself. ‘He is with God,’ she said. ‘An accident. Even at his age, he was a fisherman and he died at sea. His son lives here now.’

‘Did he speak about looking for his niece after the earthquake?’ asked Eléni.

‘No, he arrived here only three years ago from Patras. Shall I tell his son you came to see him?’

‘No,’ said Simos. ‘He isn’t the Kostas Koulouris we want. Efcharistó. ’

Two more to try. Eléni was disappointed, but not surprised.

The next household they tried was further into the town.

Set away from the street, it was a larger property and in better condition than the last house.

Under the porch that ran the length of the house, four cats basked in the sunshine on the mosaic-tiled terrace.

The door was opened by a young woman who looked about the same age as Eléni.

’We’d like to speak with Kostas Koulouris, parakaló .’ Simos did the talking again.

The woman turned her head and shouted, ‘Pappoú! Some people to see you. Go through — he’s in the orchard. But I should warn you, he gets very confused. He forgets things. His memory is very poor now.’

Eléni was disappointed, but thanked the woman for warning them.

The passageway of the house was dark and cool, and led to a large square full of mature fruit trees. An elderly man sat in the shade of one of the fig trees.

‘Pappoú. These people would like to talk to you. Please, sit down.’

‘ Kaliméra , Kyrios Koulouris. Do you remember the terrible earthquake? Lots of people were killed. Did you know anyone who died?’ Simos looked at Kostas’s granddaughter for reassurance that it was okay to ask. ‘Did you try to find a little girl, your niece?’

There was no reaction from the old man. Eléni hoped he might remember this significant event from twenty years ago, even though his memory was poor.

‘You weren’t here when the earthquake happened were you, Pappoú?’

Eléni’s heart raced. ‘You weren’t in Australia by any chance, were you?’

‘No. My grandfather was born to Greek parents and lived in America for many years. He missed the big earthquake in the fifties. My yiayiá was his second wife. I call him Pappoú, though. She emigrated with our family and always longed to return once the island was back on its feet. We all only came here about ten years ago.’

There was disappointment in Eléni’s heart for the second time that day.

Simos and Eléni stood and bade farewell to Kostas Koulouris.

His granddaughter saw them out.

‘ Efcharistó. We’re sorry to have bothered your grandfather.’

‘And I’m sorry he was not the Kostas Koulouris you wanted.’ The woman turned to Eléni. ‘From your reactions, it’s important you find him, I think. Are you the niece?’

‘Yes, I emigrated too. Everyone thought my whole family perished, but I found out later an uncle was looking for me.’

The three shook hands.

‘Well, good luck. I hope you find him.’