‘It’s a very common name here. But we can rule out lots of them. Look at the column with their dates of birth. Anyone born after 1953 is going to be a teenager or a child. You said your uncle was thirty-eight in the newspaper report written in 1955.’
Eléni worked out the maths in her head. ‘So we’re looking for anyone who’s fifty-six now, fifty-four two years ago.’
She scanned the list. The long list was narrowed down to fourteen men of that age.
‘But none of those fourteen have the name Kostas, I’m afraid,’ said Simos. ‘I know it’s disappointing. Ah, here comes our main course. We’ll look at it again later.’
He picked up the paper to make room for the food. ‘Efcharistó, Stephanos.’
‘Enjoy what we have prepared for you.’ The waiter placed two serving dishes on the table. ‘This is our speciality — bakalàos, accompanied by some horta.’
Eléni noticed the strong smell of garlic as Simos spooned the fish onto her plate. The dark green leafy vegetable served alongside it reminded her of spinach, but it had been drizzled with lemon juice and olive oil.
They ate in silence for a little bit, just stopping now and then to sip the cool white wine.
‘What do you think?’ Simos could see Eléni had left the horta.
‘Sorry, it’s a bit strong for me.’ She quickly added, ‘But I like the fish. The sauce is delicious.’
He laughed. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to like everything. You will find hortaeverywhere in the fields. They say it is fullof minerals and it grows like a weed. I think you like the wine, though?’ Simos grinned at her.
Eléni’s glass was empty again and she felt a little light-headed. She didn’t want the evening to end.
After the plates and dishes were cleared away, Stephanos returned. ‘With the compliments of the restaurant. Our mantola liqueur and honeyed baklavá.’
‘Efcharistó, Stephanos. The food has been exceptional, as always.’
‘Yes,efcharistó. This has been a real experience for me,’ said Eléni.
Simos took the piece of paper out from his pocket again. ‘Let’s get back to finding Kostas Koulouris. I think the next step is to put out a request in the local press to see if anyone knows him.’
‘A bit like he did, to try to find me.’
‘Yes. You never know. Some of these Koulouris families may be his relatives... and yours. In the meantime, we could go to Fiscardo and look up these men. There are three with the name of Kostas. Perhaps your uncle didn’t want to settle back here in the place where he lost his family.’
Simos became quiet. Was he thinking of his own situation?
‘It must have been hard for you to return to Kefalonia if you were taken to the orphanage on the mainland. Why did you come back?’
‘You’re right. There’s no one in the world I belong to but when the position for an archivist came up in Argostoli, the pull was too much to resist. I can’t explain why. It was the same at university. I chose to write my dissertation on the very disaster that wiped my whole family out. It was as if I had to know everything and yet I still know nothing.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Apart from my name.’ His eyes misted.
Eléni reached across and took his hand. ‘I’m sure you can find out more... when you’re ready. You can tell me anything you remember if it helps.’
‘Perhaps. When I’m ready.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
After their dinner watching the sunset, Eléni and Simos met most evenings. He would call for her at her hotel after he finished work. Usually, they went for a drink and something to eat in one of the tavernas along the harbourside. On other occasions, they went in the other direction to the central square, which was always buzzing with tourists and locals.
On one occasion, Eléni stopped about three quarters of the way along Elpizo Street. She looked up at the number etched in the glass panel over the door of the offices. Number twenty-five. She shivered. A strange sensation hit her. It was not quite a memory, but more a feeling ofdéjà vuthat she couldn’t explain. Yes, she had already walked down this street but that was before she’d known it had been the location of her family home.
‘Eléni, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’ Simos took Eléni’s hand.
Her throat tightened when she tried to speak. ‘I think I’m standing on the very spot where my parents and grandparents were killed. Where my baba rescued me.’ She closed her eyes and saw an image of herself as a little girl sitting on an old lady’s lap as she sang to her. Close by, a man with scant white hair and a full drooping moustache accompanied her with a haunting melody on a mandolin.
‘I can’t imagine what it feels like. We will find your uncle. I’m sure of it. It will be okay.’
Eléni nodded and they continued the walk to the square where they found a taverna with spare tables. She didn’t feel hungry — her mind kept returning to the image of the couple who she assumed were her grandparents and their song reverberated in her head.
