Simos checked his watch. They weren’t late.
Walking into the tiny house, Eléni noticed how tidy everything was. It was a little like Simos’s apartment but in miniature, and so unusual for an old lady’s home. She thought of all the ornaments, photographs and mementos on display at Auntie Gwladys’s house. But of course, Kýria Delia had lost all hers. Maybe they couldn’t be replaced.
She took them to the back of the house where the outside space was as immaculate as the inside. Again, there were lots of pots and an abundance of colour.
‘This is so lovely. Do you do all this yourself?’ Eléni looked around at the courtyard before sitting on the bench offered by Kýria Delia.
‘Nai.I have got to keep going, you know. This is nothing compared to my house up there.’ She nodded in the direction ofOld Farsa. ‘Twenty years since it happened. Pah! This isn’t my home. It’s just somewhere they told me I had to live. They should have rebuilt up there. It broke my heart.’ The old lady’s eyes shone with tears. ‘Now, what do you want to know?’
Simos was taken aback by her abrupt tone. ‘I’ve just found out from Lysander Favata I’m from Old Farsa. After all my family was killed, I was taken to an orphanage in Patras and my memory of what happened is very sketchy. Almost non-existent. He said you may be able to help me.’
‘Everyone left the village, mostly to live with relatives in the north where they’d escaped the worst of it. The children who were orphaned like you were rounded up and taken to the orphanage outside Argostoli, but soon it was so full they started sending the orphans to the mainland orphanages.’ Kýria Delia got up from her wooden chair opposite to look intently at Simos. ‘You remind me of someone. My old brain isn’t what it was but, when I saw you at the door, I thought it then too. What did you say your name was?’
He looked at Eléni. ‘Simos Georgatos.’
‘That’s it! Gerasimos Georgatos. The headmaster of the school. He looked just like you!’
Eléni hugged Simos. ‘He must be your baba.’
‘When it happened, he had a little boy about six — I remember he’d just started school the year before — and they also had twin boys who were about two. The family was well known in the village. Every one of them was wiped out apart from the little boy. So sad. Living next door to them was his sister and all of her family, if I remember rightly.’
‘Theía Maria.’ Simos closed his eyes. ‘She often looked after me and I played with her girls. My cousins. More is coming back. So the wall still standing with the large wooden door, was it where I lived?’
Delia nodded. ‘I haven’t been up there for years but if it’s the one I think you mean, yes. It was the old schoolhouse, and next to it would have been the school itself, and the yard, but there’s nothing to see of it now. It was lucky the school was closed for the summer.’ Her voice cracked. ‘All those children...’
The old lady sat back in her chair.
Simos looked again at Eléni, as if for reassurance. ‘One more thing, Kýria Delia. I can see this has been so hard for you and I’m very grateful. But do you know where my family is buried?’
‘In the cemetery in New Farsa. Everyone was.’
Eléni stood and went to the old lady. It was obvious she was exhausted by all the talk. ‘Efcharistó, Kýria Delia. Please don’t get up. You’ve helped Simos such a lot.’
‘Yes, Eléni’s right. I’ve shut away all that happened on that awful day. We can pay our respects to my family now.’
In spite of their protests, Delia Lourdata struggled to get up again with the help of her stick. ‘I offered to look after you and another boy who was orphaned, you know.’
Simos’s mouth gaped open.
‘I didn’t know either of you well, but I wanted to do something to help. They told me I was too old and you had to be taken away. Pah! I was only sixty then and a lot fitter than this.’
‘That was so kind of you, Kýria Delia.’ Eléni wondered what would have happened if the authorities had allowed Delia Lourdata to raise Simos. It would have been no different to the many orphans who’d been raised by their grandparents.
She allowed Simos and Eléni to hug her before they left to drive further into the village. They parked the car and walked into the cemetery where there were row upon row of stone memorials. Several of the newer gravestones had inscriptions with full names, dates all post-1953, and messages. On some were enamelled colour portraits of the family members lying beneath the soil. However, the vast majority were plain, squareheadstones of white marble, simply inscribed with a name and the date of the earthquake.
Simos and Eléni split up to try to find his parents’ resting place. After searching for some time, Simos found three headstones touching each other in a line.
‘I’ve found them! Come and see, Eléni.’ She found him kneeling on the ground in front of the first one, his hand outstretched on the top of the stone.
Gerasimos Christós Georgatos
Pelagia Darnia Georgatos
Alexander Christós Georgatos
Andreas Christós Georgatos
12 August 1953
