Naomi studied the sepia photograph of Giovanni, stuck in the top corner of the Italian ID. A handsome boy, as she imagined when reading the diaries. Although his black curly hair tumbled over his ears, the scar across his left eyebrow was clearly visible in the picture. The event at Seven Springs came back to her. The first time Dora killed someone, and the only reason she did it was to save a life, that of the young man she loved.
Naomi held the document to her cheek and whispered, ‘My grandfather, I wish I’d known you, Giovanni. You were hardly more than a boy, yet you were incredibly brave too. Prepared to give your own life, rather than disclose the whereabouts of the Andartes. I wonder what happened to you.’
The poignant moment was broken when the door opened and Heleny stuck her cheerful face into the room. She had been in and out all morning, and although Naomi realised Heleny was simply concerned and wanted to help, her constant interruptions and efforts to make her friend feel better were, in fact, driving Naomi insane.
‘For God’s sake, Heleny, not now!’ Naomi barked.
Heleny’s grin fell and she withdrew.
Instantly regretful, Naomi dropped Giovanni’s ID and dashed outside.
‘Heleny, sorry! Please come back!’ she called up the street.
Heleny returned with a basket of hot cheese pies.
‘Please, tell me you forgive me,’ Naomi said. ‘I don’t know what came over me, yelling at you like that. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m sorry, really sorry.’
Heleny nodded. ‘It’s the grief. Don’t worry about it. I thought you might not have time to cook, with all you have to deal with. So I baked these for you.’ She placed the mountain of small pastries on the table, her wild grin reduced to a nervous smile. ‘If you’re cramped for space, some of your family can sleep at mine.’
‘I’m overwhelmed. I’m sorry I snapped. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. It’s just, oh Heleny, I loved her so much. So many things I wish I’d said, places I could have taken her, times I could have shown her how I appreciated what she’d done – given up – for me and Rebecca. Now it’s too late and all I’m left with is terrible regret. I can’t imagine life without her. It’s as if she’s taken part of me with her. I’m in pieces. Why wasn’t I more considerate?’ She realised she was crying now, and she had never felt so miserable.
‘Shush! Enjoy the pies.’
Naomi looked up and smiled. Trust Heleny to think food was the answer to everything.
Heleny gave her a hug, then glanced over the papers spread across the table top. ‘Not very organised, was he?’ She picked up Giovanni’s ID. ‘Such a sad loss,’ she said.
Naomi’s jaw dropped and she blinked away her tears. ‘You knew him?’
Heleny shrugged. ‘As well as anybody, I guess.’ She scanned documents and picked one up. ‘Here’s the one you want.’ She passed Papas Yiannis’s ID card to Naomi.
‘Thanks. I was looking for it.’
‘The earlier one’s no use, but Marina might like to keep it as a momentum.’
‘What?’ Naomi frowned, wondering if Heleny needed specs. She stared at the priest’s photograph, his hirsute face and glasses, and then read the words.
Nationality: Greek
Name: Yiannis Voskos
The sensation Naomi experienced was similar to the seconds before she opened her eyes after sleeping, wondering if dawn was about to break. Voskos, the Greek word for shepherd. My family have been shepherds since Byzantium, Giovanni had said to Dora. Naomi’s skin tingled. Could the shepherd boy and the priest be one and the same? If so, Papas Yiannis was her grandfather, her Papoú. She recalled the night before, when too much wine had prompted her to kiss the old man affectionately. She touched her lips, so glad of that intimate moment with him.
Naomi fell into the chair, her hand over her mouth, her mind racing through the diaries.
‘Are you all right?’ Heleny asked. ‘If there’s anything else I can do, just say.’
‘Could you clarify something?’
‘Happy to try.’ Heleny set about making them a coffee.
Naomi gulped, forcing her emotions down. ‘How do you say shepherds in Italian?’
‘Pastore, why?’
Naomi gasped. ‘I see. It was the priest’s Italian name before Rhodes became Greek. I hadn’t made the connection. What about “Yiannis” in Italian?’
‘That’s easy. Yiannis in Greek, Giovanni in Italian, Hans in Dutch, Iain in Scottish, John in English . . . do you want me to go on?’
Stunned, Naomi understood. The priest was Giovanni. All those years he’d watched over her family, quietly taking care of Bubba, supporting each of them when they needed it. Her mind went back to the diaries. Giovanni Pastore in Italian translated into Yiannis Voskos in Greek.
She had read the journals while the shepherd boy Bubba loved and lost, Giovanni Pastore, lived right across the street; the elderly priest that Naomi had known all her life.
This meant that Naomi’s mother, Sonia, was the priest’s daughter. Giovanni was already married with a child when he took over the parish of Paradissi, just before her own parents’ wedding. She wondered how he felt to discover Dora had waited all those years for his return.
Giovanni – Papas Yiannis – performed the wedding ceremony of Sonia and Zorba in the local church. How his heart must have broken when his daughter was lost at sea. So terribly sad. She picked up the priest’s latest identity card and stared at it.
‘Can I do anything before the God Squad arrives?’ Heleny asked gently, breaking her thoughts.
Despite her shock and grief, Naomi smiled, knowing how her friend referred to Georgia and the church ladies. She shook her head again.
‘Then I’ll leave you in peace.’ As Heleny left, she passed Marina in the doorway.
‘I’ve come to thank you for dealing with this. There’s no way I could have handled it. I’m hopeless with paperwork, Naomi.’
‘It’s no problem,’ Naomi said. ‘Sit down, Marina. Would you like a cheese pie?’
‘Wouldn’t I just, thanks.’ She sat at the table and placed a carrier bag in front of Naomi. ‘I brought this over. It’s the last diary. I know Grandpa was giving them to you. Also, there’s a china ornament he was very fond of. He said Sonia gave it to him after he’d celebrated her wedding. It meant a lot to him, in fact he treasured it. As it came from your mother, I thought you should have it.’
Naomi touched Marina’s hand, suddenly realising they were related, her grandfather was also Marina’s grandfather. ‘Thanks, it’s very thoughtful of you.’ She pulled the figurine out of the bag.
A china figure of a shepherd boy, a lamb under his arm and a sheepdog at his feet.
Naomi glanced at the other ornament, which had always stood at the end of the bookshelf. The china figure that Bubba cherished because Sonia had given it to her on the day of her wedding to Zorba. A dark-haired girl, singing, her eyes turned up to a blackbird on a branch, as if in duet with the bird.
Naomi wondered if her mother knew that Papas Yiannis was her father as she picked up the final diary.