“Good afternoon,” said one. His command of Greek was poor, the tone coarse. Even without the ugly uniform, the Italian could never have hoped to pass himself off as one of them.
Katerina did not return his greeting, though Leni murmured a timid “Parakaló.”
“Is this your house?” he asked them.
Leni hesitated. “It belongs to my—yes,” she said.
“It is our family home,” Katerina told him. “This one, and the one beside it.”
The soldier translated the information to his companion, who was older and thickset, with the mean, watchful eyes of a snake. He raised a brow, then spoke curtly in his own language.
“We think this is lot of space for two young ladies,” the first man said. “Where are your husbands, your children?”
“Our parents are in Santorini,” Katerina said coldly. “We do not have any children.”
The heavier man ran a critical eye over each of them in turn.
“Husbands?” he barked, the word warped in his untrained tongue. Katerina willed her sister not to reply.
“They are away,” said a voice, and all four of them turned to find Phaedra approaching. The first soldier pointed his gun at her, and she froze, her hands raised.
“Our husbands are away,” she said again. “They left many months ago to fight in the north. We have not heard from them. We do not know if they are alive. There are only women here on this hillside, women and my two children. We do not want to cause you any trouble.”
The soldier grunted, lowering his weapon with a terse nod. Turning their backs, the two men conferred for a few minutes before striding away without another word.
Katerina reached for Chrysí, knotting her fingers through the goat’s shaggy mane.
The soldiers were moving now, trooping as one mass toward the house belonging to Giorgos and Dafni. Leni jolted violently at the bang of a fist against wood, and this time, Katerina made no complaint when her sister grabbed her hand. She had no desire to follow those men; they repulsed her.
The sound of voices floated across the hillside, tempered at first, then louder. Katerina strained to listen, but all she could hear was a pleading cry.
She turned to Leni.
“Let me go,” she said. “I need to see. I need to—”
A loud crack rang out across the hillside. Chrysí lurched forward out of Katerina’s grasp and trotted toward where the Jeeps were parked, her small hooves kicking up dust. With a cry, Katerina wrenched herself free and ran after her, rounding the final vehicle in time to see Dafni falling to the ground as she was struck.
“No!” she cried, rushing over without a thought.
The man standing above her fallen neighbor turned. The pistol he had presumably fired into the air was still in his hand. He was more smartly attired than the Italian soldiers surrounding him, and recognizing the red panels stitched along his gray trousers, Katerina stalled, her heart leaping up into her throat.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t hurt her.”
The German officer looked at her in bemusement. He had the complexion of wet dough, his neck a livid red. Katerina met his eyes and saw only cruelty within them.
The soldier who had acted as translator stepped forward.
“This woman,” he said, following the German’s acidic drawl, “dared to defy orders.”
From the ground, Dafni left out a whimper. One side of her face was already beginning to purple, though she made no attempt to deny the accusation.
“Wh-what orders?” Katerina stammered, looking between the men.
“She has been instructed to give up her house,” the Italian soldier said. “General Wolff requires it for his wife.”
Dafni muttered something unintelligible and spat into the dirt.
“If you need a house, there is an empty one over there,” Katerina said, pointing across to the dwelling that had until recently belonged to the brothers.
