At the sink, Naomi reached up for The Songs & Poems of Pandora Cohen to read with her morning coffee.
The stiff pages were almost stuck together, and blue-grey spots of mildew framed each one with a musty smell rising from the paper. The handwriting was as neat as the diary, but song titles were flamboyantly scrolled and decorated. Bubba had been quite the artist.
Naomi recognised some of the titles: Lili Marleen, Oh Mio Babbino Caro, One Day When We Were Young. One cluster of songs had been written by Bubba; some were duets marked ‘Me’, and then ‘Giovanni’ on alternate lines, and dated at the bottom. Naomi smiled to herself. Had her grandmother and the shepherd boy sung their duets on the Filerimos mountainside?
Bubba ate on the patio while Naomi cleaned her room.
‘Come and sit with me for five minutes,’ Bubba said quietly. ‘I wonder where you are up to in the diary? I can’t stop thinking about it now, and it’s troubling me.’
Naomi dropped into the plastic chair. They both stared across the road at the priest’s house. ‘I’m reading about how the Andartes put you in a sack and hung you from the tree.’ She took Bubba’s hand. ‘If you’d rather I didn’t read them, I’ll put them away. It’s not a problem.’
Bubba shook her head. ‘Best to read them now, perhaps, while I’m still with you.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. It’s not as if you’re going anywhere soon, is it?’
‘We have to accept things, Naomi. Let me tell you: there are far worse things than dying, I know.’ After a moment’s silence, she nodded. ‘Ah, yes, the sack. I was furious.’ She huffed and shrugged. ‘Mad as a flea-ridden dog. But it was a difficult time. I felt helpless and desperate.’
Naomi nodded. ‘I think you were very brave to take on the leader like that.’
‘No, I was foolish, but I became brave. Desperation does that. I matured quicker than any child ever should.’
‘I was just looking at your song book. The words are beautiful, especially the ones you wrote yourself, the duets.’
Bubba smiled softly. ‘I was falling in love with the shepherd boy. I wanted to be with him all the time. He felt the same way too. We made plans and dreamed of spending the rest of our lives together. We talked about where we would live, what we would call our children, and so on. He was a small reprieve in all the horror that I was experiencing, and all that lay ahead.’
‘When Costa gets home, I’m going to ask him to move that shelf. It’s no good having your books over the sink, the pages are spotted with mildew.’
Bubba’s shoulders dropped. ‘I was always writing, or singing with . . .’ She halted, gulped, and then said, ‘Giovanni.’
‘You hesitated. Was there somebody else in your life?’ Naomi asked.
Bubba turned to face her, and Naomi saw her eyes mist over as she reminisced. After a long silence she said, ‘Somebody else? You’ll have to read on if you want the answer to that question, child. But love is a wonderful thing, you know that, don’t you?’
*
Naomi made two mugs of tea, prepared some food, and went in to see Bubba who had returned to bed for a nap.
‘Would you like to sit outside again, Bubba? Get some fresh air?’
‘I’m tired, child. Must have been all that brainstorming,’ the old lady slurred. ‘I’ll have another sleep when I’ve eaten. Have you heard from Rebecca?’
‘Not yet. But don’t worry, she’s bound to get in touch.’ Best not mention the phone calls and get her hopes up, Naomi thought.
Later, Papas Yiannis brought Naomi’s dishes back. ‘Another delicious meal, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought the next diary so you can read it before you post it.’ He held out another exercise book.
Naomi noticed how badly his hand shook. ‘Are you all right, Papas? Sit down.’ She indicated Bubba’s armchair.
He lowered his eyes and sat. ‘Thank you. Old age catching up, Naomi. Everything seems to take a little more effort these days, and I’m so tired all the time. Deprived of sleep by the 4 a.m. ladder.’ He smiled. ‘But nothing to worry about. What do you think of Bubba’s writing?’
Naomi pulled out a kitchen chair. ‘Tragic . . .’ She focused on the empty seat for a moment before sitting. ‘Difficult . . . and startlingly honest. Dora grew up so fast, didn’t she? Bubba wanted to talk about it this morning; she told me how much she loved the shepherd boy.’
‘Love is a wonderful thing,’ he said quietly.
‘It seems most of the Jews had no idea of what was going on in mainland Europe, or even Greece.’ She met the priest’s eyes. ‘I actually shed a tear, imagining Costa and my boys sailing away like that. How dreadful.’
‘The last Jews to be transported from Greece, only ten months before the war ended.’
‘Ten months . . . so did they survive and return?’ Naomi asked.
‘Not for me to say. You have to continue with this monumental history lesson, Naomi.’
As soon as the old priest had gone, Naomi picked up the diary and started reading.