I raced towards the airport, searching for Giovanni and trying not to cry. I practised my words. ‘Giovanni, say hello to your daughter, Sonia. Isn’t she beautiful?’
Inside the terminal, several groups of soldiers stood around piled kitbags. Laughter. Back slapping. Fake punches to the bicep or chin. The camaraderie was obvious. Some appeared startled when I rushed up and peered at their faces.
‘Giovanni, Giovanni, where are you?’ He must have gone to the port; the bus ran every hour from the airport into town. I stared at the big clock in the foyer and realised I’d missed it by ten minutes, but still, I had to check. Sonia had fallen asleep. I rushed outside with the pushchair. There was a taxi, but I didn’t have money. At the bus stop, a soldier with an enormous kit bag stood with his back to me. Could that be Giovanni? My heart was nearly leaping out of my chest.
I had never hoped for anything more intensely. I raced around him, peered into his face, and saw a stranger.
I could not get to the port before the ferry left for Athens and so I returned to the village, dragging my feet on the hot pavement.
‘He’s gone,’ I said to Jacob. ‘I didn’t see him, never gave him his child to hold.’
‘What’s that?’ Jacob pointed to a bag on the chair.
‘My old duffel that Papa made!’ Inside I found a large dried pomegranate, the skin hard and polished as old bronze. A sliver of skin had been carefully pared away, leaving the cream pith exposed. I stared at the pale heart, below it were the words, ‘This is yours, Pandora Cohen.’ Was my darling Giovanni referring to my bag, or his heart?
I recalled our last day together, in the villa, when he took my duffel and left me his precious catapult.
I turned and stared at the window sill. The catapult had gone.
Devastated to have missed falling into his arms, presenting him with his daughter, and planning a life together, my tears were dangerously close. ‘Will you help us to the roof, Jacob? I want to watch Giovanni sail by.’
We climbed the metal steps from the courtyard and sat in the shadow of the water tank. The sun was sinking and warm golden light bathed our faces. Distant Turkish mountains paled, mauve against a pinkish sky. I peered towards Rhodes Town. The Blue Star Ferry sailed towards us.
‘I wish—’
‘No point,’ Jacob said. ‘I learned that a long time ago.’
Sonia scrambled into my lap and pointed. ‘Big boat, Mama!’
‘Your papa’s on that blue ship, baby. The man that came today, he’s your papa and he loves you more than he knows.’
The ship neared. ‘He’ll be at the railings, looking our way, baby. He’ll see the cross at the top of Mount Filerimos and he’ll think of you and me. Look, Sonia, here he comes, sailing past the airport and Paradissi.’ The ferry was too far away to see any people, but I knew Giovanni would be gazing in our direction, perhaps his heart as broken as mine.
Jacob reached over and rubbed my back. ‘He’ll return. Love always finds a way.’
I longed to say so much, but the words stuck in my throat, so I stared at the vessel and rocked Sonia. She snuggled against my breasts and fell asleep.
Blinking away tears, I said, ‘I recall the day; the ship’s railings. . .’ and I couldn’t say more. Jacob squeezed my shoulder and I turned to see his face crumple.
‘I remember it too,’ he whispered. ‘They saw you duck out from under the truck and wave at the ship. Just a fleeting moment, but when they told me a little misery was lifted. My first job at the camp was to pull dead men off the electric fence. We were all dying, but some chose to end their lives rather than continue suffering. I considered it myself but then I’d remember you were at home waiting for us, so I tolerated the abuse.’
‘When you were in Auschwitz, did you come across any of the others?’
He stared at the sky. ‘A few months later, I was forced to throw the bodies into the furnace – all day, every day.’ He placed his hands over his face, as if to block the images. ‘Most of the time, they were dead.’
‘Oh, no. Who?’ Afraid of his answer, I hugged Sonia even closer to my chest.
After a long silence, he swallowed hard. ‘Danial. He was my favourite of everyone. I admired him so much, wanted to be like him – and there he was, skin and bones, his face twisted in pain, starved to death. I didn’t want to let go of him. Thin, thin skin stretched over bones. Dear Danial, my dear brother.’
I stared at the ferry that took Giovanni from me and Sonia. Danial’s last words returned with such clarity I sensed he was there on the roof with us.
A riddle for you, Dora. What falls into the sea every day, but never gets wet? A bag of caramels for the right answer.
I gazed at the sun sinking into the Aegean. ‘You owe me a bag of sweets, Danial,’ I whispered, my heart breaking.
Sonia snuggled up, blinked at me, then closed her eyes again. My brother and I sat on the roof, silent with our private thoughts and memories until the moon came up. ‘Why do you think all this happened to us, Jacob?’
He just stared into the dark, his eyes wide and a look of complete horror fixed on his face.
*
Two weeks later, I stood on the quayside with Sonia on my hip, waving goodbye to Jacob. He would be happy in Italy, married to the nurse he’d fallen in love with. He promised they’d come to Rhodes for their honeymoon and I looked forward to meeting her.
1 July 1965
Dear Diary, the years have flown. My Sonia has grown and gets married tomorrow. The last month was filled with preparations, but now I have an hour for myself and my diary.
Jacob arrived from Italy this morning with his lovely wife and their two girls. He has become a music teacher, and plays the violin very well. We are going to perform at Sonia’s wedding.
Sonia has asked me to sing O Mio Babbino Caro, because she has never known her father, yet in an odd way, she feels it will make Giovanni part of her wedding ceremony.
The song will be excruciating for me because my heart still aches painfully for my family – especially my own father – who gave me the pen I’m writing this with just a few days before he was taken away. The words of the song turn over in my mind.
O my dear Papa. I love him. He is handsome. He is handsome.
I recall the choir singing outside my father’s shop. I was a child in love with a curly haired boy. I am afraid I will break down in the middle of the melody and embarrass Jacob.
Sonia’s going to marry a local fisherman, Zorba. They are in love. My daughter was baptised into the Greek Orthodox Church by the old village priest. I found that hard to take. My own child, a Christian!
It was the Christians who slaughtered millions of us simply because of our religion. It was the Christians that herded us, young and old, rich and poor, into the gas chambers and crematoriums, burning old women and babies alive. For what reason?
I feel I have betrayed my family and my roots by allowing it. But then I remember Sonia’s father. Giovanni, the shepherd boy. He was a Christian.
Before his retirement, the old papas visited me. He was a kind and understanding person who said, ‘We must learn tolerance for other religions if the world is to become a better place.’
I haven’t met the incoming priest who will marry Sonia and Zorba tomorrow. His name is Papas Yiannis Voskos, new to the area and living with his wife and child in the next village until the house opposite is refurnished and painted.
Sonia told me that Papas Yiannis is open-minded and in my honour and out of respect to Jacob, some Jewish traditions will be incorporated into the wedding.
The Breaking of the Glass is a Jewish tradition that means a lot to me, although I never had the opportunity myself. It comes at the end of the Jewish wedding, and the interpretation’s left to the bride and groom.
I wonder what Sonia and Zorba will say.
Sonia has done the most unusual thing. Her dress is heavy white lace, fitted but flaring out at the knees down into a fabulous mermaid’s tail that lengthens into a train at the back. The narrow sleeves are unlined lace and come down to a point that covers the backs of her hands. The neckline is a scalloped boat-shape that highlights her perfect shoulders but is at the same time modest.
I thought of Evangelisa’s blue gingham dress with puff sleeves and white heart-shaped buttons that I wore for my wedding.
At the dressmaker’s, I helped her into the gown and then cried. I couldn’t help it. So much has happened in my life, and there I was standing before this vision of beauty, my daughter. I wished Giovanni could see her. Even after all these years, I can’t forget the shepherd boy that I married on a Juliet balcony. Beneath the cinnamon tree with its hidden scars, he gave me the greatest gift of my life, my beautiful child.
I see him in Sonia’s eyes and I explode with love. I also remember Irini, and then my heart breaks even more.
Sonia works at the local bank and brings home a good wage. She gives me a little money each week, and she has paid for half of her wedding with her savings. I wish I could have done more, but Zorba’s parents understand my situation and have helped.
My daughter had my dress made from the same white lace as her wedding gown. The style’s similar in that it’s fitted, but it finishes just below the knee. The neckline is less dramatic, and the sleeves are three-quarter length. I have a huge white hat. The brim is so big I can hardly see past people’s chins.
At first, I was shocked and said, ‘Sweetheart, I can’t wear white at my daughter’s wedding.’
‘Mama!’ she cried, ‘You are going to wear white, hold my bouquet, and have rice and rose petals thrown over you. You’ve been mother and father to me, and I want you to have a little of the fancy wedding you never had. And you can give me that ring from around your neck, because I’m having it altered to fit your finger in time for my wedding.’
At that point, I thought my heart would burst with pride. ‘No, child, you must have the ring made to fit your finger. It belonged to your grandmother, and it must go to your firstborn daughter. That’s the way it is.’
Sonia smiled. ‘I’ll be proud to wear it, Mama.’
Giovanni, how I wish you’d known her.
‘Besides,’ Sonia said, ‘Zorba had better understand; if he marries me – he marries my mother.’ She laughed at my shocked expression. ‘You know what I mean, Mama.’
Sonia’s going to walk down the aisle between me and Jacob. And I’m to stand next to her throughout the service, holding her bouquet. It’s my daughter’s big day, but I’m secretly thrilled and excited by the role I will play, and I believe tomorrow will be one of the most special days of my life.
The new priest came over and introduced himself. Although he’s a bear of a man with a big hairy face, he seemed nervous. I did my best to relax him and made him coffee. After some chit-chat, he asked me about Sonia’s father. He had touched a nerve and I turned away, reluctant to tell him anything, save that her father was the only man I ever loved, a shepherd boy by the name of Giovanni.
*
The ceremony was wonderful. The new priest did an amazing job. He has one of those voices that you feel you know, like an old friend or a brother, and I warmed to him immediately.
At the end of the service, Sonia and Zorba sat in two high-backed chairs to the side, and Jacob, holding his violin, joined me in the central aisle. We turned to face the congregation, the priest standing behind us.
Full of emotion, I concentrated on my breathing while Jacob played the beautiful introduction on the violin. As I sang, Oh my dear father, I saw Papa before me, his fingers wiggling over his head. ‘Run, little rabbit, run!’ I felt his presence in the church. I was a little girl again, with his arms around me, his face smiling and his eyes shining with love. ‘Follow your dreams, Dora.’
My voice waivered as I battled against emotion, and then I heard Giovanni, ‘Be brave, Pandora Cohen!’ His voice was so real I almost turned, expecting to see him right there behind me.
I recalled the night I wrote the words to a song, and then Giovanni and I sang it together. We made love by the light of a full moon. The first time for me – I suspect for both of us – under the beautiful cinnamon tree. Memories drifted through my head and filled my heart with renewed energy. In that Greek Orthodox church, I sang like I had never sung before.
When the music finished, I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath. There was a moment of complete silence in the church, and then the congregation burst into applause.
Sonia came to my side and kissed my cheek, almost knocking my hat off. She slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it, and immediately Evangelisa came to mind.
My pretty sister. If only she could have been with us today. It occurred to me, for the first time, that at least Evangelisa never knew the horrors that befell our family. She believed they would return soon. Evangelisa had no notion of the appalling things they were forced to endure before their lives ended. I could never forgive myself for what I had done, yet with that thought a little guilt lifted from me and I felt light-headed.
‘Thank you, Mama,’ Sonia whispered. ‘I’m sorry my father isn’t by your side. He would have been proud.’
‘Honestly, darling Sonia, I feel as though he is here,’ I said. It was true. I had a sensation I wasn’t alone. For a moment, I was lost in a time long gone, when I gave myself to Giovanni. The pain of what had been taken from me by the enemy, started to heal. I could smell the rosemary in Giovanni’s hair, the red wine on his breath, and the sheep’s lanolin on his strong, soft hands.
But to imagine he was actually there was a stupid idea, and I dismissed it immediately. Yet my heart ached to share this special moment with the shepherd boy.
Jacob stood next to the priest. He carried a fine wine glass and a white napkin. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud that my niece wants to end this joyous ceremony with an old Jewish tradition, and I thank Papas Yiannis for allowing it.’ He gazed over the curious congregation. ‘The breaking of the glass symbolises many things; each couple have their own interpretation.’ He placed the glass in the cloth and passed it to Zorba.
Zorba said, ‘I believe this is a very good custom. It made me think carefully about what this day means to me. Shattering the glass signifies how irreversible my vows are. I can’t go back on my promise to Sonia, to love and honour her always, just as the glass can never return to its previous state.’
Sonia placed her hands over Zorba’s, her eyes met mine, and she smiled.
‘For me, the shattered glass is a reminder of how fragile love is. A single action or thoughtless act, or breach of trust, can shatter a marriage. Life is delicate and may come to an end suddenly. We should remember when glass is broken, it can’t go back, like a lost life or a broken heart. From this day on, my life will never return to the time before I met and fell in love with Zorba.’
They threw the bundle down and, holding hands, stomped on it.
We all clapped. A small part of me was sad. My daughter had left me for the man she married. He was a good person and there was no doubt he adored Sonia, yet I felt a little abandoned. But doesn’t every mother on their child’s wedding day?
Hopefully there will soon be children. I long to be a grandmother!