I climbed the slope to the basilica and on the right of the square found the mayor's house. No one answered my knock although I could hear hushed voices. I pushed the door ajar and called. The voices stopped. A man in straw slippers emerged from the shadows, suspicious at first, then, whispering to himself, he guided me inside. He tapped his chest, 'the man of the Mayor.' He lifted his face and kissed me on both cheeks. 'You are Mr. Godfrey - of Pantelis Lambrakis.' He tried to smile.
'Yes, and you must be Manoli. Please, is my aunt here, Madam Lambrakis? I
understand she is staying with you, since er, the …' my voice trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, saying nothing, guiding me through a dark corridor to a space outside. In a bare lime-washed yard behind the house, I found my aunt dressed in dismal black. She sat below a window at a weather-beaten table with her head slumped onto her folded arms like a schoolgirl made to stay in class when all her friends had gone. The scented air was still. A purple bougainvillea drooped from sunlight into shade, dead blossoms on the ground. My dear aunt, so wretched and forlorn, so defeated in her grief, I dared not make a sound. Her partner was gone for good.
I waited in a little room at the back and after a short while, heard her familiar voice calling my name, 'Godfrey? Is that you, lad?' She gave a brave chuckle when she saw me, but tired, swollen eyes betrayed her sorrow. She grabbed me and held on for some minutes, 'So you got here alright. That's the important thing. Well done. How was your journey? Isn't the ferry lovely?'
One by one, people in the house came over to us, kind and supportive, their voices low, nodding and queuing to shake my hand. They all knew who I was.
'Yes, lovely. Everything's fine. It's good to see you, Auntie. I'm so glad you're in good hands.'
'I am. Sit down lad, and rest yourself.' A mongrel with one eye came wagging his tail and pushing his head into my groin. 'That's Maska. He doesn't belong to anyone but Manolis feeds him so he's always in the house. He lies at our feet watching all that's going on with his good eye. Spends most of the day yawning but there are times when I think he understands every word we say.'
Maska blinked, or maybe even winked.
Hanging on the wall above an old chaise longue were two framed photographs; one of my aunt and uncle on their wedding day and the other of Manolis and his wife, the mayor, on theirs.
'We were married here as well as at home. Two couples, double ceremony. You know already that Maria and Manolis and Pantelis grew up together in the village. They couldn't be closer. I'll get you something to drink. Maria's due home any minute.'
I began to tell her about Yiannis the taxi driver, Kostas at the hotel, my swim and my singing on the ferry and although she nodded and shook her head at all the appropriate moments, I could tell her mind was elsewhere.
'I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on,' she pulled a face. 'I'll get you something to drink. Are you hungry?' and she shuffled off leaving me nodding and shaking more old brown hands until a voice sang out above the rest.
'Good day. Good day. Good day,' everyone looked towards the door.
'Maria!' Auntie's half-spoken whisper broke the silence.
I'd heard so much about her already and now we were to meet for the first time. Maska ran over to her, head lowered, pink tongue lolling, panting at the sight of his friend. Maria patted the dog's head, 'I'm here now, don't worry. Everything's fine. Mr. Godfrey, welcome,' her voice shook a little. Maria had been queen of Piraeus back in the fifties. In those days she was involved in all the comings and goings around the port and nothing moved without her say-so. She'd made a name for herself as a woman of honour, desperate to help her community gain self-respect and sometimes mere existence. She represented the good and the bad: the politicians, street-players, gypsies, police, drug dealers, prostitutes and priests - all in equal measure - and in between, the cafe owners and their ten-piece bouzouki orchestras. Her compassion and eloquence led her into politics and she could well have gone into parliament but her ambitions lay in the community, with the people. This background helped her make respected judgements and she was trusted by everyone.
I had seen her face in photographs at home; a strong young woman, a woman prepared, unflinching, a warrior in mountain clothes with shining, optimistic vision. It was obvious she and Manolis were a team. In their photo, her piercing brown eyes stare straight into the camera, unafraid, weighing and assessing everything. The groom, his back straight, is wearing an old-fashioned pin-striped suit, the jacket slouched across his shoulders like a cape with one sleeve in and one out. On his head, a gentleman's Italian 'Borsalino' hat with the brim curled over one eye. On his upper lip, a pencil-thin, moustache. Between the two of them, everything is worn with an eccentric disregard for the conventions of the day.
'Madam Mayor! After all this time,' I stood to shake her hand.
Maria moved around the room like a high priestess, touching the arm of every one there. Her simple presence drew respect from the whole room. She lowered herself into a chair with obvious discomfort and stared into my eyes. Water was poured into a tiny cup and placed on a table near the seat, and beside it a plate of macaroons. Maska lay down in front of her and put his head on his paws.
'Mr. Godfrey, welcome to Sophia.’ She spoke slowly, ‘It is such a very sad occasion for your first visit. Our Pantelis was a palikari, a hero, and very much respected in the whole of the islands. He was our guardian.' She struggled with her emotions. Manolis handed me a tumbler of water with a little plate of much needed bread and cheese and Maria placed her hand on my shoulder.
'I'm not clear just what that means,' I said. 'What is a guardian.'
'Every village has a guardian or a group of guardians. As the mayor I am the official representative of the people and the state but the guardian is something more, irrespective of the contemporary government. He guards the spirit of the village in times of anxiety and that's why your uncle was so important. Also, it's his unspoken responsibility to speak to the integrity of the individual. Now we have to find another, but it won't be the same. I'm sorry, I'm not being very clear, you might have to learn a little more Greek.'
'No, no. I think I understand. No wonder so many knew him.'
From time to time, Maria wiped her eyes before she continued. 'No matter where his life led him, part of his fundamental goodness and human dignity was his belief in himself and his love for Greece. That man taught us of the loving expression of our commonalities, the experience of his life. He was a hero of the people.'
'And what about the man he was arguing with when he died? Is there any more information about him?'
Maria stood and looked through the window in silence for some while. She sighed and lowered her head, 'The police have come to a full stop. They seem to have no idea who the person was.' She paused. 'I'm not making excuses but the person might not even know what they have done. Even if the police had a suspect, without the proof, what could they do?'
'Well, they could try harder for a start. I'm sorry everyone, but why must we let this go? We have to find that man.'
'Look, let's leave it to the police. Oh God, if anything happened to you as well...' My aunt took my hand.
'We have to go higher than the police. What about the government authorities in Athens?' I was angry.
'But the police say they have nothing to go on. Poor Pantelis. His heart gave out in the heat of an argument. Sometimes I wish we could go back in time,' Maria struggled to get the words out.
'Stop! Please stop. Let's just leave it there for now,’ my aunt got up from her chair. ‘We’ll get Godfrey installed in the villa and this evening, remember to show a little more discretion. You never know who's listening.”