Seven
August 1940
Katerina told herself not to fall in love with Stefanos, but it was like telling the sun not to rise. And as that same sun was lured each evening to the horizon, so was she drawn to him, hopelessly and irretrievably.
It had soon transpired that he was the cousin of herkoúniados, Michalis, and had come from Ikaria, he said, in search of work, though he could not settle on anything. Stefanos did not want to fish or tend to the animals or be shut away in a hot bakery—all he wanted, or needed, to do was spend time with her, his“katsikáki”; read his political books and essays; and indulge in lively debates with Zephyr and Atlas, two brothers who had been exiled from Athens the previous year for their left-leaning views. Each night, Katerina would wait until she heard the low grumble of Baba’s snores before stealing silently from the house, up to the ridge where Stefanos was waiting, the orange bud of his lit cigarette guiding her across the mountain. Together, they would sit, listening to the roaring sea, talking, confiding, laughing. She longed for him to touch her but feared it also, aware of her body in new andthrilling ways, alert to even the merest contact—a brush of his knuckles, the sweet tobacco taste of his breath, his fingers grazing hers when they saw each other at church. Nobody could know—of that, Katerina was adamant. If Baba were to get so much as an inkling, he would lock her up. She might have reached marrying age, but there were ways of doing such things, rules that must be adhered to, and Stefanos had given her no assurances. For all she knew, he saw her as a little sister, someone to whom he felt affection but nothing more. At twenty-one, he was only three years older than her, though he knew so much, had seen and experienced so much more than she. How could she hope to impress him when he was a competent man and she a sheltered farm girl?
On the evening that marked one month since they had met, Katerina went earlier than usual to their meeting place below the ridge. Her parents were in Thira, gone to visit Baba’sgiagiá, who was ninety-seven and not expected to last another winter. Leni had wanted to go with them, but Michalis would not allow it.
“Why can’t the stupid fool cook his own meals for once?” Katerina had fumed, only to be shushed by her elder sibling.
“Michalis works hard,agápi mou; it is up to me to look after him.”
It was absurd, this talk of looking after. Katerina had long watched her mother do it, and now she must endure the fate of her sister following the same path. Stefanos would never expect such coddling—he told her often that her life was her own, to live as she pleased, and that the old traditions were anchoring them in the past.
“Greece is a great ship, Kat, but I fear it is doomed to be moored forever in place while the rest of the world moves forward without us.”
Katerina sat down on the grassy slope and stretched her legs out in front of her. The wind had quieted to a rare whisper, foronce content not to tug and claw, though she could feel the weight of rain in the air. Through the myriad hues of a burning sunset, storm clouds were gathering. She watched and she waited.
When the night finally came, it brought with it Stefanos, a sauntering figure trailing smoke and dust.
“Kalispéra,” Katerina said, nonchalant even as her heart began to beat twice as loud.
“Ti káneis?” he responded, easing down next to her. “How are you?”
“You missed the sunset,” she told him. “It was a good one.”
Stefanos took a long drag of his cigarette.
“I was talking. Time, it vanished from me.”
“Talking to the brothers?” she said as he blew several smoke rings into the air above them. Stefanos glanced toward her.
“Zephyr received news from the mainland,” he said. “There are rumors about an invasion.”
He spoke so casually, as if the two of them were discussing the plot of a play.
“An invasion where?” she asked. “By whom?”
The cigarette crackled as he inhaled.
“Into Greece, by the Italians. Mussolini thinks he can annex us. He will hitch himself like donkey shit to the tread of Hitler’s boots, but Metaxas is not a dog. He will not roll over and let the fat Italian dictator stick a knife between his ribs.”
Katerina’s mouth had gone dry.
“What will happen?” she asked faintly.
Stefanos sniffed.
“There will be a battle.”
“Not here?”
He turned to look at her.
“Óchi, katsikáki, not here. In the north, far away from here.”
“If they tried to come here, I would fight them,” she said,sitting up straighter, pushing out her chest. “I will kill them if they dare it.”
