Page 52 of The Silent Sister

Eléni couldn’t believe what was happening. Was she about to see an exhibition featuring art painted or drawn by the father she had no recollection of? Eugenia had said ‘well-known artists’. It was all Eléni could do not to break into a run.

The school would be closed as it was a Saturday, but her aunt had directed her to the caretaker’s house nearby.

She hoped she could persuade him to open the school up for her.

At the top of a stepped street, they found the salmon-pink house situated on the edge of the school playground.

The gate into the yard was open and a man was sweeping the paved area next to the main doors.

Eléni and Simos crossed the yard and approached the man. ‘ Kalispéra . My name is Eléni Mouzakis. Some of my father’s artwork is exhibited in the school hall, I believe.’ The man rested on his broom handle.

‘I do not look at the names. I do not look at the paintings. I have more important jobs to do around the school.’

He began sweeping again.

Eléni’s heartbeat raced. ‘My aunt, Eugenia Papadatos, wondered if you would let me see them, parakaló . You see he died in the earthquake, and I was too young to remember him.’

‘I should not open the school at a weekend, I think.’

Eléni’s skin prickled. Can’t you break the rules for once, you stupid man? Simos held her arm as if knowing she was about to say something she shouldn’t.

‘We understand,’ he said calmly. ‘But Eléni has come to Kefalonia to find her family, and I’m sure your headteacher would forgive you if you just let her into the hall to see her father’s work. Efcharistó .’

The caretaker took a bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘Ten minutes.’

They walked through a hallway and entered a large, light and airy room.

Eléni scanned the walls until her eyes rested on a plaque that made goosebumps form on her skin.

Andreas Spyros Mouzakis (1924–1953). Studied at the Athens School of Art.

The head-and-shoulders photograph was of a young, bearded man with black curly hair and large dark eyes.

He appeared to be looking straight at her. Oh, Baba. I wish I could remember you.

‘So that’s your baba.’ Simos took her hand as she began to weep.

In silence, they walked slowly to look at each painting or drawing in turn.

A few larger pictures were painted in oils and had a freedom of brushwork that suggested spontaneity.

They reflected the vibrant colours of the island.

Seascapes in a range of turquoise, aquamarine and teals, or mountain landscapes with dark green cypresses, Aleppo pines and silver-grey olive trees, dotted with wildflowers and the occasional goat.

But it was the smaller pen-and-ink drawings that fascinated her most. The style and attention to detail could be mistaken for her own.

In her mind, there wasn’t any doubt that this was the correct Andreas Spyros Mouzakis.

She reprimanded herself for comparing her modest drawings with her famous father’s when she was just starting out on her own art career.

‘It has to be in the genes,’ Simos voiced what she wondered herself.

Even though the purpose of the visit to Fiscardo had been to find her uncle and that had proved to be in vain, seeing her father’s artwork displayed was more than Eléni could have hoped for. She’d made contact with Theía Eugenia again and hoped she’d built bridges between her aunt and her mother.

* * *

Eléni turned up for work at the taverna the following day.

It took her a while to get used to the prices and making sure she served the tables in the order the customers had arrived.

Even though she’d worked all day and had had several night shifts as a waitress before coming out to Kefalonia, Eléni was surprised how tired she was after being on her feet in the heat.

It was at these times she wished she still had the deep bath at the hotel where she’d stayed when she’d first arrived to sink into.

Instead, she’d managed to find a room at a shabby lodging house.

At least it was clean and cheap, and it meant she could stay on in Kefalonia.

When Simos was working, she used her free time to get as much drawing done as she could.

Inspired by her father’s paintings, she started using coloured inks more and more.

She kept her drawings of the buildings in her customary monochrome, but for any seascapes she used the transparency of blue, turquoise and emerald inks to create pictures glowing with Mediterranean colours.

Normally Simos wouldn’t visit the taverna until her evening shifts were almost over but, one Thursday evening, Eléni noticed him sitting at a table under the awning when she went outside to serve.

‘Simos, I didn’t expect to see you here until much later.’

His eyes sparkled. ‘I’ve got some terrific news and I couldn’t wait to tell you.’

‘What is it?’ Eléni’s heart quickened in anticipation. It must be important if he couldn’t wait for just a mere three hours. She checked there were no customers waiting to be served.

‘The advert. You know the one asking for the whereabouts of your uncle?’

She nodded. That was weeks ago and there’d been no response. She had resigned herself to the fact that Kostas Koulouris wasn’t on the island. She’d have to be content with knowing who she was, but with no living relatives.

‘Well, today I received a phone call from a man who said his name was Theo Koulouris. He lives in Argostoli with his wife and daughter. They’ve just got back from a holiday and he found the local paper in the mail that had built up.

And his father is a Kostas Koulouris! He remembers his father telling him about returning to the island to find all his family had perished. ..’

‘Eléni. You have people waiting to be served.’ The owner glowered at her from the doorway of the taverna.

‘I’ll have to go. I’ll see you at ten.’ She rushed inside and attended to a family of four.

Taking their order, all she could do was think about what Simos had just told her.

Don’t get your hopes up . Don’t get your hopes up.

They’d found countless men with the same name as her uncle.

Many of them would have found they’d had no living family after the earthquake if they hadn’t been living on the island at the time.

She went through the motions of being the attentive waitress and ensuring the owner had no reason to reprimand her again, but all she could do was wish away the minutes and hours until ten o’clock.

When she hung up her apron and left the taverna, she expected Simos to be outside but he had left.

She sat on the harbour wall and it wasn’t long before he joined her.

‘I’m sorry about earlier. I hope you didn’t get a hard time,’ he said.

‘No, nothing was mentioned. I made sure I didn’t give him anything else to complain about.

But tell me more about this Theo. Shall we stop at our usual bar for a drink?

’ Eléni pointed at a taverna that was popular with the locals, where she and Simos had started frequenting after she’d finished work.

‘If you like,’ said Simos. ‘But I wondered if you’d like to come back to my flat. I’ve been doing some investigating and we won’t be disturbed there.’

She’d never been to Simos’s place and the invite surprised her. He was such a private person, but slowly he was opening up. At times, she felt guilty her family search took up so much of his time, but, on the other hand, perhaps it helped him to reflect on his.

‘If you’re sure. You’ll have to finish what you were saying in the taverna, though. It’s all I could think about.’

He took her arm and guided her along the streets into the large square.

‘You got to the bit where this man told you his father had returned to find his whole family had perished.’ Eléni’s pulse quickened. Was there a ‘but’ to the story?

‘He was devastated and his son said he turned to drink. One night in a bar, Kostas overheard a British man asking for personal family stories about the earthquake. It turned out he was a reporter who’d helped rescue a little girl from the rubble.

He asked the question to people around him — how did they really know what had happened to their relatives when there were no death certificates or identification? It got Kostas thinking. Here we are.’

Simos’s flat was on the second floor of a white-rendered building in a street parallel to the office where he worked.

‘I don’t have far to get to work.’ He laughed as he opened the door. ‘Come in.’

The narrow entrance hall led to a large square living space defying the style of the communal hallway.

The white walls were bare. Sleek, modern Scandinavian furniture was kept to a minimum apart from a large corner sofa dominating the room.

There were no ornaments and no photographs on display.

Every surface was clear. Eléni thought how different it was from her own home back in Wales.

Everything here looked expensive and classy, but it wasn’t a home.

It looked more like one of those show houses you saw in magazines.

‘Sit down. What can I get you to drink?’ Simos opened a door in the wooden cabinet positioned on the opposite wall from the sofa. ‘I have all the usual spirits, ouzo and raki. There’s wine and beer in the fridge, or perhaps you’d like a coffee.’

‘I’ll have a wine, please. This is a very smart place you have here.’ He returned with the wine, a beer for himself and a dish of pistachio nuts and olives. ‘How do you keep it so tidy?’ Eléni thought of her cluttered bedroom back at the lodging house.

‘I can’t cope with things lying around or out of place. Force of habit after being in the orphanage. If we didn’t pick up our things, they were thrown away. We soon learned... not that we had much. Anyway, let’s talk about Kostas Koulouris. What do you think?’

Eléni sipped her wine. She recognised it as the same Robola one she’d enjoyed on their evening to see the sunset. ‘It certainly sounds promising, doesn’t it?’

‘It does. And here’s the best bit. He questioned the reporter for more information about the little girl and found out she was rescued in the street where his parents and sister lived. I think we have to pay Kyrios Koulouris a visit, don’t you?’

Eléni’s hand shook and she placed her wine down on the glass coffee table.

She thought about the reporter who’d been the reason her mother had taken her from Porth Gwyn and moved to Cardiff.

It was too much of a coincidence, surely.

‘ Nai, parakaló . I know I mustn’t get my hopes up.

Does this Theo think his father will want to see us? ’

‘ Nai . He’ll take us there. I hope you don’t mind me arranging it before checking with you first, but I said we could go on Monday. I can always cancel it if it’s not convenient.’ Simos looked so excited on her behalf. If only she could repay him and help to find his family.

‘Of course I don’t. Efcharistó . That’s wonderful. I’d given up hope as it’s been a few weeks since the advert.’

He brought a map of the island over from a drawer in the cabinet.

He spread it on the coffee table in front of them.

Leaning over to look at the map, Eléni felt the warmth of his thigh against hers.

Fizzles of excitement shot through her, but she knew he was unaware of the effect his closeness had on her.

‘He lives here. Just a few kilometres away. The town was badly hit by the earthquake and instead of building over the ruins, they built a new town close by. In Old Farsa, you will see parts of buildings and single walls left standing as they were left after the disaster. The new town is lower down and built to survive any new shocks... they hope. He’ll pick us up by the museum at ten o’clock. Is that all right?’