Rhodes, Greece.
Papas Yiannis had rushed to church the moment Naomi arrived home, but that evening he looked in again while she slipped to the supermarket.
‘Bubba’s taking a nap,’ he said when Naomi returned. ‘She’s had a glass of milk with her pills and settled down to sleep.’ He folded his arms across his wide chest and dropped his head to one side. ‘The past week’s been a great strain, Naomi, but now that you’ve agreed to her wishes, I’m sure you’ll see an improvement in her health.’
‘Thanks for this morning. I appreciated the break,’ Naomi said as she loaded cheese and eggs into the fridge. Turning to face him, she took in the dark grey cassock that he still wore, although officially retired. As usual, the priest had unbuttoned the skirt and tucked the corners into his leather belt. His long grey beard was gathered into an elastic, and his shoulder-length frizzy hair caught-up and tied in a neat knot on the nape of his neck.
Naomi realised everything about Papas Yiannis was grey, yet he was the most colourful character she had ever come across. A modern-day icon of the traditional Orthodox priest. Picture-postcard perfect.
‘Apologies for dashing off this morning,’ he said. ‘The last rights, a dear old friend.’
‘Sorry for your loss. It must have been difficult.’
‘Did you post the parcel, Naomi?’
She nodded.
‘Any problems?’ Naomi shook her head. ‘Good. I didn’t think so. Encourage Bubba to talk. It will help relieve the burden of her past.’
Burden of her past? What burden? What past? She nodded again but he recognised her puzzled look.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll understand when you read the diaries.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Naomi said before she found herself bewildered again. ‘Just a moment . . . what diaries?’
Papas Yiannis wagged his silver-topped walking stick. ‘It’s a big story. Be patient. She always wanted to tell you but, well, you’ll understand soon enough.’
‘Will you have a coffee?’ Naomi asked. ‘I’ve some questions if you can spare me a moment.’
‘Coffee, lovely . . . but it’s no good quizzing me. It’s Bubba’s responsibility to enlighten you.’
‘No, it’s not about Bubba.’ She made the coffee as she talked. ‘Do you have any information about a door at the police station? This is probably just gossip, but my friends are asking me questions and I don’t have a clue. I’ve been too busy making my creams, and what with Bubba’s stroke, I seem to have missed the local news.’
Papas Yiannis stared. ‘Naomi, why do you think we’re going through this business with the gun?’
‘Bubba wants to make peace with Rebecca?’
‘Well, yes, there’s that; but the main reason is your family property.’
‘Family property? What family property?’
The priest’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you saying you have no idea?’
‘About what?’
He stared for a couple of beats. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise.’ He scratched his head. ‘Your great-grandfather had a tailor’s shop in the centre of the town. In fact, he owned the entire block of six premises. You really didn’t know?’
‘Papas, what do you know about your great-grandparents?’ Although the priest’s hair always hung heavy over his eyebrows, she realised he was frowning.
‘Point taken,’ he said after a moment. ‘Even before the war ended in forty-five the people of Rhodes the town council . . . how shall we say . . . absorbed the Jewish property and belongings. Document names were changed when Nazi Germany stated that the Jews weren’t allowed to own businesses. Deeds were retitled and the land registry, rewritten.’
‘You’re not telling me we still own the buildings in the city?’ She placed the small Greek coffee in front of him.
‘Well, morally, yes. Your great-grandfather bought and paid for the building with honest money, and the building was taken from him for no other reason than his religion. Now there’s a chance to claim it back. But, the municipality of the Dodecanese insist that every living beneficiary must attend the court in person to make their case.’
Naomi’s jaw dropped. ‘But it’s a world heritage site!’
‘Indeed, and a very valuable one too. As you know, Bubba has written many letters to Rebecca. She wanted to ask her forgiveness, but Rebecca never answered. Just before her stroke, when Bubba learned of the chance to get her father’s property back, she wrote again to explain, but didn’t received a reply.
‘As you say, your great-grandfather’s building is part of the UNESCO world heritage site. The property must be worth a million.’
Naomi’s eyes widened. ‘A million?’
‘If not more. We’re sure if Rebecca had read the letter, she’d have responded. Now, time’s running out. There are only a couple of months left to stake a claim. Posting the gun’s a desperate effort to make Rebecca sit up and pay attention.’
Naomi felt oddly abandoned. ‘Why didn’t Bubba tell me? Didn’t she believe I had a right to know? Didn’t she realise I’d probably hear it from someone else and feel hurt and ignored?’
Papas Yiannis smiled softly and patted the back of her hand. ‘She wanted to protect you from disappointment. Without Rebecca, you’ve no hope of getting anything.’
‘Much as I hate flying, why don’t I simply go to London and get Rebecca to come home?’
‘We’ve considered that, but peak season prices make it impossible. We checked with the booking office. In July and August, you’re looking at a thousand euros for flights plus everything you’d need for a week in London. The court is scheduled for October. Neither of us has that sort of money. My pension’s meagre and I believe the boys’ university fees and accommodation in Cyprus demolished your savings.’
‘Wow, I didn’t realise things had gone up that much. So, you anticipate that sending Rebecca the pistol will do what?’
‘As she can’t be sure it came from her grandmother, the gun parts are bound to arouse her curiosity, at least that’s what we hope. After the last part, Rebecca will be expecting instructions, but she’ll get Bubba’s diaries from the war.’
‘Diaries?’ Naomi huffed and half grinned. ‘You mean like how to make tasty potato-peeling soup?’
The priest’s expression changed: a flash of bitterness, confusion, and then humility. He placed his big gnarled hand on Naomi’s shoulder and peered into her face while he gathered his thoughts. ‘Naomi, there’s a lot you don’t understand.’
Bewildered by this reaction and the seriousness of his voice, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I can see I’ve offended you.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘To be honest, you’re right. I didn’t know anything about the gun or our property. I know zilch about my grandmother’s past or her war experiences.’
Naomi suspected something had upset Bubba just before the stroke. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Shamefully, she realised, she had been too busy with her lotions and potions to sit and talk to her grandmother.
‘I understand they rounded up the Jews, a couple of thousand I believe, and shipped them to Auschwitz. It’s awful . . . awful! On occasion, I’ve asked Bubba how she survived, but she refuses to talk about it. I presume her memories are too painful to relive.’
‘More than painful, Naomi.’ He dropped into Bubba’s armchair, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.
Naomi suspected she was on the verge of facts that would change her perception of Bubba for ever. She hesitated. What had happened?
‘In the Second World War, when she was sixteen, your grandmother wasn’t the woman you know.’ The old priest faltered, his eyes searched the floor and then returned to her.
Naomi sat on the stool at the side of Bubba’s armchair and took his hand. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Tell me.’
He bowed his head. The room was silent, the air still. Outside, cicadas sawed through the peace, building to a crescendo before a sudden, heat-heavy silence. Naomi waited, shocked when a tear splashed onto the back of her hand.
‘Oh, Papas, are you all right?’
The priest nodded at the bookshelf and the china ornament. ‘Pass me that last book, will you?’
She did.
He read the spine. ‘Pandora, what a lovely name.’ He allowed the book to fall open and peered at the words. ‘Bubba could have been a great singer. She had an amazing voice.’ He hummed a vaguely familiar tune. ‘She sang at your mother’s wedding. I’ve never heard anything like it. There wasn’t a dry eye. Some months later she got an offer to go to Italy, but she wouldn’t leave your mother. Sonia was pregnant with you at the time.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Naomi’s heart swelled with love for her grandmother. What a huge sacrifice she had made. ‘You were going to tell me about the war.’
The old priest took a breath and swallowed hard. ‘Yes . . . the war. Pandora Cohen was . . .’ he hesitated, gulped, and started again. ‘In the war, Pandora Cohen was a freedom fighter for Greece. A terrorist and an assassin. Even though the Rhodians were responsible for the murder of her family and almost the entire Jewish population of this island, she risked her life fighting for them and their country.’
Assassin? A killer? Naomi shook her head. Whatever she expected, it wasn’t this. ‘Sorry, you mean . . . she killed people?’
‘Hard to accept, but I promise it’s true.’ He paused while she digested the information. ‘She was little more than a child, very immature to start with, but she grew up hard and fast, and she suffered such appalling pain and loss. Pandora Cohen is the bravest person I’ve ever met. You can’t imagine how many lives she took or how many she saved, or the incredible danger she put herself in for others. I couldn’t have done it.’ His voice dropped. ‘You’ll understand everything when you read her journals.’
Naomi repeated herself. ‘I can’t . . . you’re saying she actually took people’s lives – killed them? My own grandmother?’
‘She was an assassin.’
Naomi thought about the gun and wiped her hands down her thighs, suddenly angry although she couldn’t say why. ‘Where are they, her diaries?’
‘Shhh,’ the priest said, glancing at the archway. ‘She gave them to me for safekeeping after Rebecca was born. The gun also. Originally, she instructed me to hand them over to you when she died, as anything else was too difficult for her to bear. But now, everything’s changed.’ He nodded, anticipating her next question. ‘Yes, I think the decision to reveal her past brought on the stroke. As if her brain shut down at the thought of revisiting that time. I’ll give you the first diary in a moment. It would be better if she didn’t see you reading it. I don’t want her getting upset. It may knock her back . . . or worse.’
‘You’re fond of her, aren’t you? I’ve always felt it.’ Horrified, she saw tears rise again in the old priest’s eyes.
He nodded, pulled a huge hankie from his cassock, and blew his nose. A smile trembled on his lips and Naomi sensed his emotional struggle. ‘You’ll understand.’ With a groan, he pulled himself out of the chair. ‘Now, walk over the road with me and I’ll give you the first diary.’
Naomi switched off the light and followed Papas Yiannis across the road. He had aged quite severely lately. She guessed him to be in his eighties, like her grandmother.
The sun had set and the street emptied. He pulled a second chair up to the tin table, invited her to sit, and then disappeared indoors.
Naomi listened to the sounds of the evening. Somewhere in the village above, a woman laughed, her voice merry and tinkling. Down towards the shore, a frog croaked and the sea rushed and shushed against the pebbles. She glanced up at the pink-grey sky where the first stars twinkled faintly. A plane rose from the airport, its roar breaking the silence, lights flashing from its wings and its vibration palpable in the still air. A thrill raced through her, as it always did at such a massive display of power and technology. Then, the peace returned.
The priest came with cans of iced tea and straws, and an exercise book covered in brown paper. ‘This one’s only half full,’ he said. ‘She had to leave it behind for Evangelisa, but she started another diary the very next day.
Naomi stared at the book. ‘Who’s Evangelisa?’
Papas Yiannis blinked at her for a moment. ‘She hasn’t told you anything at all, has she?’
Naomi shook her head and then looked up. Something caught her attention across the street. She peered at her own window, worried about Bubba being alone. Then she realised, what she saw was the reflection of Papa Yiannis’s house in her glass.
The boyfriend was lowering a ladder for the priest’s granddaughter. Naomi glanced at the priest. He calmly watched the reflections.
‘I’m at a loss, Naomi. It’s been going on for a month,’ he said quietly. ‘I was in my sixties when she was born. Now I’m too old and tired to deal with a teenager in love.’ He sighed, watching the reflection of Marina come onto the balcony and climb the ladder. ‘She needs her mother to talk to, and so do I. I’m out of my mind with worry.’
The lovers kissed and then, hand in hand, disappeared across the rooftops.
‘I’ve been in love,’ he said. ‘In a way I still am, so I understand Marina wants to be with her boyfriend, but I also realise she’s not going to tell an old man she has a lover.’
‘Would you like me to have a word? Make sure she’s being sensible?’
‘I’d appreciate it. Meanwhile, I’ll watch out for her safe return at dawn. Tell them they should use the front door. They think they’re being quiet, but dragging that ladder above my bedroom ceiling makes an awful racket at four in the morning when I’m trying to sleep.’
They exchanged a smile and drank their tea in silence. Naomi picked up the exercise book. The journal seemed oddly heavy considering the size of it and she wondered at the weight of the revelations that lay inside. ‘Thanks for this,’ she said staring at the name, Pandora, ornately written on the cover.
Back home, Naomi looked in on Bubba who slept soundly. She settled in her grandmother’s chair, opened the faded diary and studied the neat handwriting before starting to read.