Dead Europe Read online

  Stellios Leptoulis opened the door. Even as his hands were turning the cold brass handle he was beginning his obsequious complaint.

  —I’m so sorry, Colonel, but I just cannot wait any longer. He stopped, his mouth fell open and a hushed blasphemy vaulted from his mouth.

  The Colonel was tightening his belt. But this was not what made Stellios’ eyes bulge and his mouth go dry. Sitting across from the Colonel, a mocking smile on her lips, was Lucia Panagis. Her mourning scarf had fallen lazily across her shoulders and her long flowing hair was scandalously exposed; the once raven black waves were now as white as the sparse locks of a dying old man. But what was most shocking was that her thick wool skirt and her cream hessian pantaloons were lying untidily around her feet. Lucia, with a small laugh, rose, and facing Stellios, she hoisted her skirts back to her waist; but not before he caught sight of her thick white bush. He dropped his eyes.

  —What the fuck do you want? repeated the Colonel, his tone now calm and taunting. Without a word Stellios shut the door and rushed back to his seat in the foyer.

  It was true what the village gossips said: Michaelis Panagis’ wife was mad. He cursed his brother, for if it wasn’t for Antonis, Stellios would not have come to town. Instead of walking into an abomination he would be now tending his flock, and preparing his fallow fields near the Cold Water creek. But Antonis had convinced him to make the journey, urged him to make an appointment with the Colonel one last time. Antonis’ son Giorgos had come of age and Antonis was determined that if his boy had to do time in the army, he should serve as far away as possible from the mountains and borders. The war was officially declared won by the government but the bandits and guerrillas still roamed the winter mountain peaks, increasingly desperate now that they were scattered and hunted. Any uniformed soldier they came across, they finished off immediately. Stellios honestly wished the guerrillas no harm. He was quite happy to see them flee to Albania and to the Slavs’ lands and leave Greece far behind: he was not vindictive but a fair man, and was grateful that the bandits had led the resistance to the German occupation. But he had lost patience with them over the harsh years of the civil war. They had pilfered his flock and this last winter they had demanded most of his stored provisions. With his children hungry and sick, he had even remonstrated with the two men who had come to take the cheese, the corn and the wine from his cellar. They had ignored him and ignored the cries and screams of his youngest daughters. Stellios had once been in sympathy with their cause. Now he damned them and all politics, all governments and all nations. God, just grant us a little peace.

  His brother was far less forgiving. The Germans had plundered the whole village and had stolen from across the valley, but once they had left, Antonis’ fields had flourished. It was as if the Devil had protected him. That first year after the Germans had fled, the village’s harvest had been disastrous. Other men had seen their crops fail, their seedlings puny or mouldy or poisoned. Antonis had begun to rent out his own fertile fields, charging a small interest. Of course, there was grumbling and insults but it was acknowledged that the eldest Leptoulis had always been a crafty schemer. He gets it from his great-uncle Mitsos Bertes, it was said, Mitsos Bertes being a young man who had managed to gain a favoured position in the court of the last sultan. Mitsos Bertes had ended up stabbed ruthlessly to death by a Greek patriot on the streets of Constantinopoli and there were many men in the village who were keen to see his great-nephew suffer a similar fate. There were few tears when the guerrillas came into town and announced that Antonis Leptoulis had been convicted in absentia by a people’s court which had found him guilty of capitalist usury. His rich crops were all plundered, his fields denuded and most of his stock of goats and chickens stolen. For good measure they had given the man a whipping that left him bruised, humiliated and blind in one eye. Though people had thought it quite merciful of the guerrillas not to have executed him, Antonis did not quite see it this way. He swore to avenge himself on the bandits and forced his brothers to do the same. However, he was loath to lose his oldest son to that struggle.

  Stellios looked up as he heard the heavy tread of the Colonel’s boots across the tiles. The Colonel was a tall man, and though the years of war had trimmed his solid frame, he was still imposing. He had a thick moustache that he wore in the Cretan style, and which reminded Stellios of Stalin. Not that it would do to tell this to the Colonel—better to not even try to make of joke of that.

  —Come, barked the Colonel, and Stellios followed the man into his private office. There was no trace of the mad whore. The room was cold and sparsely furnished with a long desk and two small wooden chairs. A photograph of the King and a silver crucifix were the only adornments on the walls. The walls themselves were cracked and peeling from the shelling during the war.

  —Sit, ordered the Colonel, and Stellios perched on the edge of the wooden chair, his grip still tight on his cap.

  —What news have you for me?

  He’s not even looking at me, thought Stellios. The Colonel lit a cigarette without offering one to the other man.

  —Excuse me, Colonel, but I have a favour to ask of you.

  —And what news have you for me?

  Stellios stirred uncomfortably in his seat.

  —Colonel, nothing to report. All the bandits have fled our village.

  —And their supporters?

  Stellios said nothing. Who can tell anymore, he wanted to reply, but he knew that would be a damaging retort.

  The Colonel turned from the window and looked at him. His eyes were large, dark and smiling. Stellios distrusted them.

  —How about Paparaklis?

  Stellios frowned. Sotiris Paparaklis had died the last winter, an icy landslide had buried him.

  —Colonel, Sotiris Paparaklis is dead.

  —But not Vasilis Paparaklis.

  Despite his fear, Stellios could not help laughing.

  —But little Vasilaki is not yet twelve, Colonel.

  The Colonel leaned into the desk and blew a thin stream of smoke through his thick pale lips.

  —I have it on good authority that your little Vasilaki, that little bastard, has been carrying messages to the guerrilla captains. I have it on good authority that your little Vasili Paparaklis is a communist.

  Stellios kept his mouth shut. He thought of Sotiris’ widow and her three young children, her oldest son fighting desperately up in the mountains. I will not say a word, Stellios resolved to himself.

  —What do you have to say to that, Kire Leptoulis?

  —I know nothing of this.

  —Then what the fuck are we paying you for? The Colonel butted out his cigarette on a tile and spat after it.

  Stellios blurted out his prepared speech.

  —Colonel, my nephew Giorgos is to be drafted and his father fears for his safety as the bandits are already suspicious of his allegiances. Please, Colonel, you who have been so good to our family, could you use your influence to ensure that he serves somewhere far from us? Stellios hesitated. The other man was again lost to the sights outside the window. A faint note of panic, a desperate shrill, now entered Stellios’ voice.

  —Please, Colonel, can I ask of you this one last small favour? My brother was slaughtered doing his duty on those damned devil mountains around Karpenissi. When we found his body he had been beaten so savagely by those madmen that I could not recognise his face. We identified him by the Cross he was wearing.

  The Colonel’s eyes were still smiling as he turned and faced Stellios.

  —My brother did not fear his duty.

  The two men stared at one another. Stellios dropped his gaze.

  —What news have you for me?

  Stellios now sat upright on his chair. Forgive me, God, he whispered to himself, and quickly patted his foot on the cold tiles. I step on you, Satan, he mouthed.

  —In the coffee-shop, Colonel, I overheard Costas Meniotis condemn the banning of the Party. Stellios spoke firmly and coldly. The Communist Party, he a
dded quickly.

  Stalin’s moustache twitched furiously.

  —I know which fucking party he meant. The Colonel lit another cigarette. Stellios did not dare ask for one.

  —I’m not interested in gossip, Mr Leptoulis.

  Stellios looked up at the silver crucifix on the wall.

  —Vasilis Paparaklis, they say, is often seen wandering out of the village at nights. Since he was a young boy he has not feared the night. I don’t know where he goes. But he returns before dawn. He has an aunt in the village of Gravitas. I think he stays there. If your men were to keep a watch on her house you will be able to follow him.

  The Colonel nodded and rose.

  —I’ll see what I can do about your nephew.

  Stellios shook the Colonel’s hand and walked out of the office and out through the back of the town hall. A latrine stood in the far corner of the yard. Stellios squatted over the hole and a long hard turd emerged from his body. He wiped his hands across his buttocks, then on some tall wild grass and hitched his trousers. He turned and spat into the hole and for one moment stood in silence, watching a swarm of flies dance merrily over the dirt and the shit. You are running very late, he reminded himself, and he walked away.

  He quickly finished his chores at the markets, and placing the pepper, the coffee and the salted meat into a thick hessian cloth, he tied his purchases with a tough weathered rope, and placed the bundle under his arm. The sun was high in the sky as he began his journey and he knew that it would be dark before he reached the village. He made his way out of town.

  As he was travelling along the thin dusty road, he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Lucia Panagis following him. Damn that woman, he cursed to himself, but he slowed his pace and allowed her to catch up to him. Her young daughter, Reveka, marched alongside her.

  The little girl was going to be a great beauty, like her mother. Her round face was pale from the winter dark, and her hair was long and black. Stellios had been one of the boys who had fantasised about making Lucia his wife, and in his youth the Devil had often sent temptation at night in Lucia’s guise. Now, looking down at the little girl’s stern shy face, he felt the familiar stirring in his crotch. He knelt and kissed Reveka.

  —What’s wrong, Reveka mou, aren’t you going to give your Uncle Stellios a kiss? Reveka tried to hide behind her mother’s legs. Lucia laughed, then quickly slapped her daughter.

  —Go on, you wild animal, kiss Mr Leptoulis.

  Reveka gave Stellios a hurried kiss. He smelt oil and rosewater in her hair, and he closed his eyes.

  —And did you have a good interview with the Colonel, Stellio?

  He rose to his feet, placed his bundle back under his arm, and continued his journey. Lucia fell in step behind him.

  —How is Michaelis? he asked her.

  Lucia was silent. Stellios smiled to himself and kept walking. He could hear Reveka’s rushed steps, trying to keep up with the steady gait of the adults. He turned and smiled at the girl.

  —Would you like to ride on my shoulders, Reveka?

  The little girl looked up at him suspiciously, then nodded slowly.

  —She’s heavy, cautioned Lucia, but ignoring her, Stellios lifted Reveka to his shoulders, waited for her to relax with her long warm legs falling across his chest, and the three of them continued their way up the mountain.

  From time to time, Stellios would glance back at Lucia. She was still a beautiful woman. Michaelis Panagis was lucky to have this to return to every night. Then he thought of little Christaki, the poor departed one, and his face saddened. Stellios bore Lucia no ill: far from it. He only felt a deep sadness for what had befallen the couple. He had heard Lucia’s screams of pain the night their son had died. The howling had lasted all through the night, and it was as if the very sky itself was screaming with her. Her shrieks had seemed to echo throughout the valley for days, for weeks afterwards. Lucia had been driven demented by Christos’ death and had even accused her own mother-in-law of killing the child. Stellios believed that Maritha had indeed been a witch. Even though his own mother had always called for her assistance when one of the children had fallen ill, she had also warned them against the Albanesa. But he refused to believe that Maritha was capable of evil towards her own grandchildren. No, Lucia had done great damage to her soul by condemning Maritha. Evil had come to their village and it was the old woman Panagis who had ensured that evil had also been banished.

  Stellios had been the one who had dug up the body. The boy’s corpse had not decayed at all: the skin was grey and clung like a shroud over the boy’s skinny frame. The mouth was contorted in a wide imbecile grin, and even the eyes had remained whole: in those empty glass eyes, Stellios had seen the summons of his own death. He had screamed, and would have fled if old Papa Nicholas had not grabbed on tight to his tunic. The priest had washed Stellios’ hands in holy water, blessed him, had the man kiss the Holy Book, and together they had prepared the pyre. There was no smell to the boy, and Stellios noticed the short stubby penis.

  —Was he a Mohammedan, Father?

  The priest had not answered. It had been then that Stellios had understood. The boy had been a betrayer of Christ. He spat on the ground and threw the corpse roughly on the pyre of tindersticks and coal. He gave a quick sharp kick at the inert body.

  —What are you doing? screamed the priest.

  —Forgive me, Father, said Stellios, but it is a rare chance a man has to kick at Satan himself. I’ll get to Heaven.

  The priest poured oil over flesh, over wood and coal. He had told the gravedigger that it had been Maritha Panagis who had urged him to unearth the body. Stellios had not been surprised that the old woman and her grandson had died. It was certainly no accident. It was the damn Judas’ final satanic revenge. Lucia had no right to condemn her mother-in-law. Maritha Panagis had saved their village.

  Night fell quickly as they began their steep ascent. Lucia had ordered her daughter off Stellios’ shoulders, and they now walked hand-in-hand behind the man. Reveka kept close to her mother, her bright black eyes darting in fright at the forest’s evening music. Is that a wolf? she cried. No, laughed Stellios, that’s the wind running down the mountain. Is that a demon, Uncle Stellio? No, shushed the man, that’s the moon yawning because he’s just awoken. But Stellios too believed the night belonged to the wolves and the demons and he prayed as they climbed. He heard Lucia chuckle.

  —I thought you a brave man, Stellio, a gravedigger. Why the hell are you praying?

  —All we have in life is God’s protection, Lucia Panagis.

  —You are a fool, Stellio Leptoulis. This is the Devil’s mountain. God doesn’t live here.

  It was the little girl who first heard the sobbing. She stopped and tugged fiercely at her mother’s skirts.

  —Why have you stopped, you stupid beast?

  —Listen, whispered Reveka, someone is crying.

  The adults listened to the night and they too heard the fits of grief.

  —She’s right, nodded Stellios, I hear it too. He turned to the woman and her daughter. You two stay here, I’ll go and have a look. Crossing himself, he followed the sound of the sobbing.

  Stellios came to the edge of a clearing and in the benign light of the half-moon he saw a young boy kneeling beside three misshapen forms. It was the boy who was crying. He looked up at Stellios’ approach and pulled a knife from his belt.

  —Vasilaki, don’t be scared, it’s only me. It’s Stellios Leptoulis. I’m returning from town.

  Vasilis Paparaklis hesitated, then he placed the knife back in its sheath and angrily wiped tears from his eyes. Stellios approached and looked down at the three figures lying still on the ground.

  He guessed that they had been bandits. The two dead men had long black beards, and the dead woman had worn the stiff grey hides of the guerrilla army. The skin on the faces of the corpses had been burnt away, as had much of their dress. Red scars and boils were visible on the exposed flesh. Around them,
visible even in the half-moon light, the earth itself seemed burnt and scarred, as if the sky had rained fire. The smell was putrid: death, rotting, and something unrecognisable. Something new, not of nature, something chemical, like the residue that clung to the one photograph Stellios possessed, of his mother and his father, God have mercy on their souls. He turned away from the abhorrent sight.

  —They’ve killed my brother. The boy pointed at one of the corpses. This is his dagger.

  Vasilis broke down again, and in his humiliation he turned away from the man. Stellios looked back at the forest path, and seeing that Lucia had not yet followed, he quickly made up his mind what he was to do. He knelt before Vasilis and violently shook his shoulders.

  —Hush, Vasilaki, you will have plenty of time for grief later. Your life is in danger as well. They know you have been helping your brother.

  The boy stopped crying and an angry suspicion filled his face.

  —What do you know?

  —I was in the town hall, Vasilaki, I had some business there in town. I overheard Lucia Panagis talking to one of the Colonels. She betrayed you to him.

  —Are you certain?

  The man nodded.

  —Go, Vasilaki, go and tell them about your brother. But then leave immediately for they will be coming for you. Run, don’t hesitate.

  The boy did not move. He looked down at the three bodies.

  —Run, insisted Stellios, save yourself. I swear to you on my children’s lives that they know you are involved. Your mother has already lost one son, don’t let her lose another.

  The boy rose and began to run. Stellios heard his rapid footsteps taking the forest path. The rank smell of the corpses reached his nose again and he had to turn away. He heard a tread and saw Lucia and Reveka walking out into the clearing.

  —Don’t let the girl come close, he warned, and ran and took Reveka in his arms. They both watched as Lucia walked up to the bodies and surveyed the ground around them. She turned, and in the moonlight, Stellios was shocked to see a triumphant smile on her face.