Kýrios Petrakis led Eléni back to the foyer and a large table topped with two detailed maps of Argostoli set under glass. They were titledBefore and After the Earthquake. ‘See here.’ He pointed to a street on the first map. ‘There’s your street. Byron Street. But if you look for it on the second one, it’s not there. See if you can find its equivalent.’
Eléni compared the two maps. ‘Elpizo Street?Elpizomeans “to hope”, doesn’t it? But why give it a new name? I don’t understand.’
‘Very few people living in that street survived and it was decided no one would want to live where so many had lost their lives. What if the street was doomed as the planners had said? So they renamed it Elpizo Street, and built shops and businesses there.’
Eléni could see that the long street led into the central square and was parallel to the one where her hotel was situated. She’d walked down there. Walked over the place where her parents and grandparents had lost their lives! She shivered.
‘It isn’t unusual to rename streets in a new town. In fact, we have one street named after the British ship that came to the rescue of the islanders so early on. HMSDaring.’ He pointed to the map. ‘Daring Street.’
Eléni was ready to leave. ‘Thank you for your help.’
She felt drained from viewing the shocking images and strolled back into Argostoli in the sunshine. She walked to the harbour and found a table at the taverna she’d visited on her first day. There was no sign of the handsome Christós, as the fishermen had all long gone for the day. It was good to sit witha coffee and survey the boats coming and going, dropping off tourists or taking them on excursions around the island.
Taking her sketchbook from her bag, Eléni jotted down what she had seen and learned that morning. She sketched the scene in front of her, capturing the busyness of the moment with people milling round, stopping to look at the more expensive yachts and schooners moored along the quayside.
Afterwards she made the long walk to the lighthouse at the top end of the Argostoli peninsula. The gleaming white construction was a replica of the original that had been destroyed in 1953. She clambered over the rocks and found a place to sit and draw. After mapping out the construction of its circle of white columns, Eléni used coloured pens to finish the drawing.
‘There you are, Gabbie. Is this enough colour for you?’ She smiled as she spoke aloud and thought about her friend back home in Wales. The turquoise and blue inks glowed on the thick watercolour paper of her sketchpad and helped her forget about the harrowing scenes in the museum photographs for a little while.
Chapter Forty-Five
The next day, Eléni visited the museum again. She was pleased to see it was Kýrios Petrakis sitting behind the desk in the foyer again.
‘Kaliméra,Thespína Beynon. What can I help you with today?’
‘Kaliméra, Kýrios Petrakis. I want to find out as much as I can about my family. Like I told you yesterday, my parents and grandparents were killed in the earthquake, but I want to know if I have any other relatives who survived. An uncle, maybe. Where would I go to find this,parakaló?’
The man picked up his pen and began to write down a name and address on the pad of paper on his desk.
‘I think I know just the man. You will need to go to the archives department, which is behind this building. Obviously, there are many gaps in the records now before 1953, but you should ask for this person.’ He handed her the sheet of paper. ‘Simos Georgatos. He is in charge of the Archives Department and is making a name for himself with people like yourself searching for lost relatives. He’s a young man, but already his reputation is very well respected.’
This was the first step in Eléni’s search.
‘Efcharistó,Kýrios Petrakis. You have been very helpful again.’
The office was easy to find. She’d noticed the blue-and-white Greek flag flying on top of the roof. Eléni entered and asked the receptionist if she would be able to see Simos Georgatos.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here today. May I ask what it’s about and I will get him to contact you?’ said the young woman.
‘Yes. I understand he could be the person to help me trace a relative who may have survived the earthquake.’
The woman smiled and handed Eléni a notepad and pen. ‘Kýrios Georgatos is always very busy. So many people are searching. Even after twenty years they search. Please write your name and address here.’
Eléni did as she was asked, hoping it wouldn’t be too long before the archivist contacted her. All she could do was wait. She walked down to the taverna on the quayside to sketch out some plans for more pen-and-ink drawings.
When Eléni arrived back at the hotel later, there was a message waiting for her.
‘Ah, Thespína Beynon. Kýrios Georgatos called to say he was sorry to have missed you this morning, but he is back at his office now and will be there all afternoon if you’d like to see him today.’
Eléni’s heart raced. From what the man at the museum had told her, if anyone was going to help her find her uncle, Simos Georgatos would be the person to do so.
‘Efcharistó. That is good news.’
She left the hotel and hurried along to the archive office. The streets were quieter now as most of the shops had closed for lunch. She ignored the growling in her stomach — right now. Seeing the archivist was more important than eating. Soon she was entering the cool interior of the building.
‘I’m here to see Kýrios Georgatos. He is expecting me. Eléni Beynon,’ she told the woman behind the desk in the entrance hall.
The woman smiled and picked up the phone. ‘Kýrios Simos. There is a young lady here to see you. She says you are expecting her. Eléni Beynon.’
