Naomi looked up from the diary. The banging had stopped. Damn, they’ve snuck out for a beer, she thought, but they hadn’t. ‘It’s too quiet down here,’ she said, coming down the stairs. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s something at the bottom of the banquette, Mama.’ Angelos leaned on his lump hammer. ‘Metal, it might be an old electrics junction box.’ Konstantinos scraped around the rusty rectangle with a bolster chisel.
Horrified, Naomi cried, ‘Wait! Don’t electrocute yourself, I’ll turn off the power.’ She rushed to the fuse board.
‘No, it’s not connected to anything, just a box. Pass me the crowbar.’
‘What’s going on in here?’ Papas Yiannis called as he came through the door. ‘Bubba’s asking if she can come home yet.’ He stood for a moment and surveyed the chaos. Rubble all over the floor, and thick grey dust blanketing every surface. ‘Goodness me, what a mess!’ he said. ‘I’ll get the kids to help clear up.’
Naomi dropped her head into her hands. ‘This was a mistake. Rebecca and Fritz arrive tomorrow, and Costa on Thursday! Your father will go mad when he sees this mess. What am I going to do?’
‘Mama, stop fretting! We’ll be finished and plastered before midnight, promise!’ Angelos said.
‘There, that’s done it,’ Konstantinos lifted the box. ‘Looks like somebody lost their toolbox.’
The priest’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s not a toolbox. Put it on the table.’
Naomi’s mind flashed back to the diaries. Her pulse raced as she recalled the words: ‘Smashing the floors and ripping out cupboards, greedily searching for the secret cache of Jewish wealth’.
‘Get a knife,’ Angelos said. ‘See if we can break the rust.’
The knife bent. They tried a fork, but that bent too. ‘Spoon handle,’ Konstantinos suggested.
‘At this rate, I’ll have no cutlery left!’ Naomi cried. ‘Use the blade of the shears.’
The rust cracked, the lid moved, and everyone held their breath as Angelos prised the box open.
Inside the tin, they found an old waxed folder, tied with string and sealed with red wax. Inside that, was a fat envelope stuffed with documents, but none of them written in Greek.
Papas Yiannis returned to Bubba on his porch, while Marina, her boyfriend, Jason, and Heleny came to help clear up.
‘Clean the kitchen table and chairs and lift them onto the patio,’ Naomi said. ‘Bubba can sit out there and try to make sense of the papers while we get finished.’
‘What do you think they say, Mama?’ Angelos hefted another bucket of rubble.
Naomi shook her head. ‘No idea. It’s in Hebrew, but I saw a date of 1929.’ She picked up the oil-cloth packet that had protected the papers.
‘There isn’t room for all of us in here,’ Heleny said. ‘Why don’t I go home and cook eggs and bread for everyone?’
‘You’re a saint!’ Naomi said.
An hour later, the kitchen was reasonably organised. ‘Leave the plastering,’ Naomi said. ‘Bring the rug from my bedroom for the floor, and we’ll put the sofa against the wall. Job done.’
Outside, Bubba and the priest were talking excitedly.
‘Any joy?’ Naomi asked.
‘Bubba thinks it’s her grandfather’s will. We’re finding the translation difficult because some papers are in Hebrew and others in Ladino.’
‘Ladino?’ Naomi asked.
‘The language your ancestors spoke when they migrated to Rhodes from Spain. I doubt we’ll get them translated before the court case.’ Seeing her frown, the priest added, ‘There’s been a Jewish community living on Rhodes since before Christ, before Christianity – before my religion was ever invented if you like.’
‘Internet!’ Marina cried. ‘Bound to be an official website somewhere. We can scan or photograph the papers and email them to an expert. They’ll love dealing with such historical documents. Leave it with me.’
Naomi remembered the card Despotakis gave her. She retrieved it from her handbag and reached for the phone.
*
Naomi ran her finger down Costa’s itinerary. Athens. She hadn’t been to the big city for decades, and promised herself another trip once the court case was over and Bubba had made a substantial recovery. She loved Athens, especially the museums, and she recalled her favourite sculpture of all time: Boy on a Horse.
Now, the life-size bronze in full gallop with a wind-whipped child hanging on to its mane made her think of Dora and her incredible bravery at Kamiros Scala. She had an urge to google more information about the figure that she knew was correctly called the Jockey of Artemision but with a hectic day ahead, she didn’t have time. Nevertheless, the sculpture seemed to put meat on the bones of Bubba’s diary.
Memories of Athens stayed with her as she washed the breakfast dishes.
In an empty carriage on the funicular railway up Mount Likabettus, she had told Costa they were having a second child. She recalled her embarrassment when they reached the top, still locked in an embrace. People on the platform seemed to sense their happiness and beamed.
At sunrise, outside the blue-domed chapel of Saint George, they held hands and watched a soldier raise the Greek flag. Another soldier played a military tune on a trumpet. Blissfully happy and overwhelmed by the view, they gazed over the city with the magnificent Acropolis at its heart. Later, they’d seen the change of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier where they had both been proud of their country.
Now, Costa was at the Athens port for two days between cruises, disembarkation and embarkation, and he usually phoned her around mid-morning. Rebecca and Fritz had returned, thrilled to tell Naomi all their good news about the twins. But today, Fritz and the boys had gone into town for some ‘man time’. The annual rally of top spec cars was about to parade through the city streets, and Konstantinos longed to get up close to a Ferrari.
With so much going on, Naomi was glad to take a break from the chores when Georgia and Heleny arrived for coffee, gifting her an enormous box of honey-soaked baklava.
*
Rebecca found it difficult to drag her thoughts away from her babies. In no mood for gossip, she made an excuse to escape.
‘I’ve missed reading the diaries so much. Would you mind if I have a quiet hour on the patio with Bubba, to catch up?’
‘Go right ahead,’ Naomi said, passing the journal over.
Rebecca kissed Bubba’s cheek, sat beside her, and opened the diary. Her bookmark, a folded Lidl receipt, was still where she had left it.