Their small school did not draw only the young inhabitants of the village. Ingrid, the wife of the general who had so callously murdered Chrysí, would often come to stand in the doorway, her slim arms clasped and head bowed. She did not attempt to speak to them, which was just as well. Katerina could not abide the idea of having to exchange pleasantries with such a woman. She was living in Dafni’s house, had wriggled inside it as a maggot would into a wound—yet somehow, their neighbor had made peace with her presence.
“Look at her,” Dafni said to both sisters one afternoon when Ingrid had materialized in her usual place. “She is a broken soul. There is no hate in her heart. It is her husband who is to blame, not this waif who moves around as if she has already passed over.”
“You pity her?” Katerina muttered, eyes narrow and indignant.
Dafni sighed.
“I pity any woman who has been abandoned by a man who promised to look after her,” she said. “I pity her, as I pity us.”
“There is a difference,” Katerina said cuttingly, “between men who choose to leave and those who are given no choice. Her husband, thattéras”—she snarled the word—“is an invader. He dragged his wife here with him for no other reason than his own stupid pride and selfishness. Why bring her at all if he was planning to rejoin the fight on the mainland?”
“I have heard that she was a nurse,” Dafni said, “traveling with the German army to tend to the injured soldiers. Something bad must have happened to bring her here. It is not usual for the wives of fighting men to accompany their husbands.”
“I do not know what to think about her,” Leni said. “But I am glad he is gone. My sister is right, that man is a monster.”
“A monster that Ingrid chooses to love,” Katerina pointed out. “That is why she will never receive any pity from me.”
When she was not required at the school or bakery and the few chores she had were complete, Katerina concentrated on what she and the exiled brothers had come to refer to as “pollinating.” Some days, this simply meant collecting morsels of food in secret, readying them to be transported to the mountains, while on others, she passed messages between men on other parts of the island, some of whom were hiding, others protected by their professions.
In the months since Stefanos had left, she had helped Atlas and Zephyr build a radio by carrying each separate component to them, disguised within the carcass of a maza loaf or strappedagainst her body below the folds of her skirt. The patrolling Italian soldiers took pleasure in stopping anyone they happened across on the roads and pathways—especially if it happened to be a lone female. Katerina had been subjected to their filthy pawing hands on more occasions than she could bear to recount, though she was careful not to complain. Battles had to be chosen carefully, and each time she walked away having gotten another item of contraband past them, it was with her head held high.
A lot of the men were barely men at all, their faces pocked with adolescent acne, downy fluff where a mustache should be. They did not frighten her. Others did, older lieutenants with mean eyes, ready fists, and belligerent smiles. Of the five assigned to Ano Meria, three were of the first kind and two like the second—including the man who had leaned so nonchalantly against his gun while the general had nearly strangled her. The men called him Lio—a name Katerina associated with a lion—and he was every bit as predatory.
“Do not antagonize him,” Leni would hiss whenever they emerged from the bakery to find him loitering in the lane outside. Lio had a pipe, not dissimilar to those Baba and his friends used. He kept it in his mouth, even when he wasn’t smoking. Katerina had come to loathe hearing the soft clack of it against his teeth almost as much as she hated the cold, sharklike stare he fixed on her.
“Signorína,” he would say to each of them in the kind of mocking tone that made Katerina want to spit into the dirt. On every occasion, Leni smiled, replying with a timid “Kalispéra.” Katerina refused to engage. Why should she greet the enemy as if he were a friend? To do so would dishonor not only her husband but also her country. Lio did not take kindly to her indifference. The more she ignored him, the more it seemed to fuel his desire to pursue her, to prod her, to taunt her with crude remarks.
“When Stefanos returns to me, that man will be sorry for what he has said,” Katerina brooded.
It was alwayswhen, neverif. Neither she nor Leni had heard from their respective husbands, though it did not mean they hadn’t tried. The Greek postal service had been all but canceled on the mainland and was nonexistent out among the islands. Everyone was aware that the flow of information was being strictly controlled by the occupying forces.
“How will we know if something has happened to them?” Leni fretted.
“I would know if Stefanos had been killed,” Katerina said. “My heart would tell me.”
On the final Sunday of the calendar month, Katerina was making her way down from the mountains several hours later than planned. She had gone that morning with a food package, arriving worn out and dehydrated to discover a group of newcomers at the cave.
“Do not worry,” Zephyr said as he hurried to greet her. “These people are with us. They are part of the Resistance.”
Three men she did not recognize, all young, and a woman around her own age.
A woman alone with five men?
Katerina was shocked into momentary silence at the sight of her. She said nothing until Atlas approached, embracing her warmly while his brother unwrapped the parcels.
“There is not enough here,” Zephyr said, turning to her. “We need more.”
“There is not enough anywhere,” Katerina told him, aggravated by his tone, by the hovering flies, by the tenderness in her breasts. “The blockade has not moved, and no food has reached the island for many months. I told you this.”
Zephyr went to argue, but his brother silenced him with a look.
“We understand,” Atlas assured her. “And we are grateful to you. I know you risk a lot, coming up here.”
The woman stepped forward.
“Selena,” she said. “I am a bee, the same as you.”
“In Chora?” Katerina asked.
