This book belongs to Dora Cohen.
!!!PRIVATE!!!
Sunday, 16 July 1944
Paradissi Village, Area of the Butterflies, Rhodes, Dodecanese Islands of Italy, Europe, The World.
Today is my sixteenth birthday. After breakfast, my mother gifted me this book to celebrate. My father has given me the pen I’m writing with, which is a new invention. I don’t have to dip it into an inkwell, like at school. It’s called a fountain pen and has a black rubber tube inside, and a little gold lever on the outside. I must place the nib in the ink bottle and pump the lever a few times to suck ink into the tube.
The pen is marvellous and I believe I’m the first person in Rhodes to have one. Danial, the eldest of my brothers, gave me three bottles of ink: black, blue, and red.
I received a box of six bath cubes from my grandparents. They look so pretty through the cellophane window, each wrapped in gold foil and a band of flowery paper. I took the lid off, closed my eyes, and inhaled the beautiful smells. Lily of the valley, roses, honeysuckle, and jasmine. My senses drifted in a fragrant jungle, bumping into one perfume, then another. I’ll never use them because they’re too lovely to disappear in our tin bath.
Mama made a birthday cake with candles, but when I blew them out, I couldn’t think of anything to wish for. I’m always wishing for something: to be pretty, to have a larger bust, to be in the choir.
I also wish Mama hadn’t written ‘Pandora’ on the front of my book. Everyone calls me Dora, even my teacher. I like Dora. I’ve decided the diary will be my secret friend. I’ll tell her everything, all my confidences and imaginings, which I shall write down every day, starting now.
I am exactly sixteen years old and I’m in love. I don’t know his name, so I refer to him as the Curly Haired Boy. He looked at me today and nearly smiled. I can hardly explain how that made me feel, except like my blood rushed through my veins at a thousand kilometres an hour and my heart couldn’t keep up. I can’t stop dreaming about him. I want to go and talk to him, but that’s not the way to behave. My father would be disappointed.
My schoolbooks are spread over the bed because I should be doing homework, but I’m not. I am drawing hearts with our initials scrolled in the centre, and an arrow piercing through. D.C. & C.H.B. I’m also trying hard to look pretty. I brush my hair until it shines, and wear my whitest socks. I smear a little olive oil on my eyebrows and lips, and stuff my second-best socks inside my new brassiere.
I hope nobody else (especially Mama) notices my sudden bust development. Curly Haired Boy sings with the Italian choir. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Being a good kisser is important because if I don’t get it right first time, he may never want to kiss me again.
My best friend Irini, who’s one week older than me, said she’s heard you can get pregnant from kissing, but I don’t think that’s true. I am not sure how you do get pregnant, or how the baby gets out. Irini says it must come out of your belly button. Otherwise, what’s the point of a belly button?
We made round dolly-bags in sewing class at school and they close by pulling a cord threaded through the top. Irini says your belly button probably works like that because she has been told that when the baby’s born, they tie the cord in a knot and cut it off. So, we guess that after the baby’s out, they pull the cord to shut the belly button, tie it and cut it off. Then I imagine it sort of heals over until it’s needed again.
My mother has told me about periods, which I’ve been having for two years now. Mama promised to tell me more about the facts of life when I need to know, which isn’t yet, she said. And I’m forbidden to talk to anyone about these things because they’re completely private.
Growing up is a weird business. I constantly feel I’m on the edge of some huge revelation that will change my life. Yesterday, Irini asked me if I’ve got any hairs you-know-where yet, and I felt really stupid because I didn’t understand what she was talking about. We did an inspection of my legs and under my arms, and Irini told me they were coming. She said her sister has great bushes under hers and we laughed a lot, but then I was ashamed of being childish and found I was blushing. It’s all very confusing.
I’ve tried to ask Mama about these things, but she gets flustered and tells me I will find out soon enough. I think there should be a book, How to Become an Adult on your Sixteenth Birthday. When I understand everything, I might write it myself to help others in my predicament. One thing is for sure, when I have a daughter and she is sixteen I will tell her everything, or perhaps I’ll just give her the book I am going to write.
Irini received a pair of fully fashioned nylons and a suspender belt for her birthday. I longed for the same, but they don’t make them in my size.
Being very small for my age has always been a problem for me. People treat me like I am a child. Once, someone called me ‘Titch’ at school and I was so upset I sat under the table when I got home and cried my eyes out. Papa coaxed me out and made me sit next to him on the sofa. He put his arm around me and told me I’m small for my age because my mother had me very early, seven and a half months, instead of nine. He said I should have died, being so small, but I didn’t because I’m a born fighter. Although I didn’t die, I’ve never actually caught up in size.
I’ve always remembered that, and when anyone teases me about being small I tell them, ‘I may be small, but I’m a born fighter, so watch out!’ and I’m tempted to give them a punch. Twice, I got into big trouble because I really did clout somebody, and I had to promise Papa I’d never do it again.
The worst thing was, I had to apologise to the pig who had tripped Irini up and laughed at her sprawled on the ground. I punched him hard under his ribs, and for a horrible minute I thought he was going to die. He doubled up, fell to his knees, and made awful noises like he couldn’t breathe in. Still, after that incident, the teasing stopped.
When Irini and I dress up, she’s promised to draw a line up the backs of my legs with her sister’s eyebrow pencil, so it looks as though I’m wearing nylons too.
On the day the Athens ferry comes in, Irini and I go to the port. It’s against the law to kiss in public, but people don’t seem to care when the person they love is boarding the Athens ferry. It’s the only place we can study people kissing.
When I get home, I rush to my bedroom and practise kissing on the back of my hand. I look forward to having a real boyfriend, and I want to be prepared and get everything right when I do find my special person. Papa says preparation is everything. He’s the best tailor on the island and he taught me the saying, ‘Measure twice and cut once’. This is to avoid mistakes, and I think it’s a good rule to live by.
*
Naomi smiled at Dora’s honesty. The priest was right: her grandmother had been a very young sixteen-year-old. But this often happens when a girl is born into a houseful of boys. She recalled being around thirteen when she and Heleny learned how babies were made. At that time, Naomi had her first kiss. Costa and his friend had followed Naomi and Heleny for weeks. Eventually, one Saturday evening, she had allowed him to kiss her behind the church.
Rebecca was even younger when her curiosity arose, and although biology was newly taught in secondary school, her question was almost the same as Dora’s. She came stomping home and got Naomi on her own.
‘Naomi, Alexa says you can become pregnant from kissing boys. It’s not true, is it? She’s just saying that because Michalis wants to kiss me and she’s jealous.’ Naomi laughed and shook her head. ‘Well, how do babies get made, then?’ Rebecca persisted.
That had wiped the smile off Naomi’s face. She said Rebecca would learn everything in her biology class. Reading about Dora’s mother now, Naomi realised things hadn’t changed that much over the decades.
She remembered Costa taking the boys aside ‘for a quiet chat,’ when they were thirteen and fourteen. He came back flustered and red-faced. ‘They know more about sex than I do, Naomi!’
How she had laughed.
She got up, opened the kitchen cupboard, and ran her finger down his roster. The Royal Sapphire was heading for Piraeus, Athens’s port. Soon, he’d be home for winter and she couldn’t wait.
She returned to Bubba’s chair and the diary.
Until recently, I lived in Spartili Street, Paradissi Village, which is about fourteen kilometres along the coast from Rhodes Old Town, the capital of Rhodes. This island is very beautiful. Over the centuries, many nations have claimed it: Greeks, Venetians, Knights of Saint John, then the Turks, and now the Italians. My village, Paradissi, is the best one on the island because we have the most flowers.
Last month, we had to move from Paradissi, down to my father’s shop in the Jewish quarter of Rhodes Old Town because of an order from the Germans. Jewish people can only live in certain areas. Paradissi Village, where our home is, is allowed, but my aunts, uncles and cousins are living in our Paradissi house because they had to leave their homes in villages where Jews are no longer permitted.
Papa says it’s only temporary. Some people say Rome is liberated and the war is close to ending. Others claim Italy’s surrendered to the enemy, like they did in the last war, and we should be ashamed. I listen to everyone, but I don’t really understand the politics.
Although we’re Jewish, we didn’t have a problem with the Germans until now. However, some Jewish families left the Jewish quarter in Rhodes Town, and moved to the mountains because they’re afraid of bombing raids executed by the British.
The Juderia is near the city walls, in the area of the deep harbour. The British are trying to destroy this port, along with any German ships moored there. They often hit the Jewish quarter instead, and several houses have been bombed and our neighbours killed. One bomb landed on our shelter, and it was lucky we weren’t inside. Many of our friends died horribly and in excruciating pain. Crushed to death, or burned alive because of the British bombs. Everyone wishes they’d leave us in peace.
Mama wants to pack up and go. We were told of a fishing boat taking people to Turkey tomorrow night, but Papa says it’s too dangerous. The British do their bombing after dark and Papa says they don’t care who they hit as long as they frighten the Germans.
They frighten us all.
The last boatful of Jews departed in the night, but no one’s heard of it since. We wonder what happened. The moment war broke out, many of our friends set out for America, and others for Rhodesia.
Rhodes is Italian, it has been since the Great War. Until now, we Rhodians fought alongside the Germans against many European countries; but then we changed sides. Germany became our enemy. Now, people say Germany and the Axis are winning, and the conflict will soon be over. I get confused. Why did Italy join the British, whose bombs have been killing us in our beds? Germany’s our enemy now, and they occupy the island. The Germans were fine at first, apart from murdering all the Italian soldiers. But these past few weeks, things have become difficult. The Germans have changed.
I don’t like them much. They’re not as friendly as the Italians, and they can’t sing either.
Captain Vittorio, the Italian who ruled us, ran to hide in the mountains with his soldiers. The Nazis found them and took them to a hill overlooking Faliraki. Captain Vittorio and his men were offloaded from the truck, lined up, and shot in the head.
I’ve tried to imagine how it would feel to be shot in the head. Sometimes we hear distant shooting and wonder if it’s the Germans executing more people.
I know all this because now I’m sixteen my parents talk more openly in front of me. Papa says I should understand what’s happening in the world, but Mama claims I’m still too young. I don’t like to pick sides, but I believe Papa is right. How can I understand the situation and make decisions for myself, if I don’t know what’s going on in the world?
I’d better explain the situation in case, one day our – my and Curly Haired Boy’s great-grandchildren – get to read this. In 1912, Italy seized Rhodes from the Turks who they were at war with. After the 1914–18 war, Rhodes and the rest of the Dodecanese Islands were assigned to Italy. Some people speak Greek, some Italian, and many use both languages. The Jewish community speak Ladino, which is a sort of Spanish-Italian-Hebrew.
There is censorship here and, since last year when the Germans took over, we Jews are forbidden to have a wireless in the house. My father gets news of the outside world from his customers. People have heard whispers of atrocious happenings to Jews in distant countries, but everyone agrees such things would never happen here.
Monday, 17 July 1944
My father’s a tailor. His shop’s in the centre of Rhodes Old Town. I say his shop, but the building has been taken from us and given to the city for the duration of the war. I don’t believe Papa had any choice, but he won’t talk about it.
I started a new school when we moved to Papa’s shop in the Jewish quarter of Rhodes Old Town. It’s a school for Jewish children. We’re not allowed to attend the town school anymore, because of our religion. Mama said this was an ominous sign, but Papa said it was nothing to worry about. Mama gets worked up about everything. Our new school was busy at first, as there were over four thousand Jewish people in Rhodes, but half have left, and even more are waiting to have their applications for visas to other countries approved.
I wonder if we should leave too. It’s difficult trying to imagine starting a new life far away from home.