Over to You Read online

  ‘Joannis Spirakis,’ and he smiled. The name seemed to have a significance for the old man and he smiled.

  ‘Where does he live?’ the pilot said. ‘I am sorry to be giving you this trouble.’

  ‘Where he lives?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The old man considered this too. Then he turned and looked down the street towards the sea. ‘Joannis was living in the house nearest to the water. But his house isn’t any more. The Germanoi hit it this morning. It was early and it was still dark. You can see the house isn’t any more. It isn’t any more.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He is living in the house of Antonina Angelou. That house there with the red colour on the window.’ He pointed down the street.

  ‘Thank you very much. I will go and call on the boat owner.’

  ‘Ever since he was a boy,’ the old man went on, ‘Joannis has had a boat. His boat is white with a blue line around the top,’ and he smiled again. ‘But at the moment I do not think he will be in the house. His wife will be there. Anna will be there, with Antonina Angelou. They will be home.’

  ‘Thank you again. I will go and speak to his wife.’

  The pilot got up and started to go down the street, but almost at once the man called after him, ‘Inglese.’

  The pilot turned.

  ‘When you speak to the wife of Joannis — when you speak to Anna… you should remember something.’ He paused, searching for words. His voice wasn’t expressionless any longer and he was looking up at the pilot.

  ‘Her daughter was in the house when the Germanoi came. It is just something that you should remember.’

  The pilot stood on the road waiting.

  ‘Maria. Her name was Maria.’

  ‘I will remember,’ answered the pilot. ‘I am sorry.’

  He turned away and walked down the hill to the house with the red windows. He knocked and waited. He knocked again louder and waited. There was the noise of footsteps and the door opened.

  It was dark in the house and all he could see was that the woman had black hair and that her eyes were black like her hair. She looked at the pilot who was standing out in the sunshine.

  ‘Health to you,’ he said. ‘I am Inglese.’

  She did not move.

  ‘I am looking for Joannis Spirakis. They say that he owns a boat.’

  Still she did not move.

  ‘Is he in the house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps his wife is here. She could know where he is.’

  At first there was no answer. Then the woman stepped back and held open the door. ‘Come in, Inglesus,’ she said.

  He followed her down the passage and into a back room. The room was dark because there was no glass in the windows — only patches of cardboard. But he could see the old woman who was sitting on the bench with her arms resting on the table. She was tiny. She was small like a child and her face was like a little screwed-up ball of brown paper.

  ‘Who is it?’ she said in a high voice.

  The first woman said, ‘This is an Inglesus. He is looking for your husband because he requires a boat.’

  ‘Health to you, Inglesus,’ the old woman said.

  The pilot stood by the door, just inside the room. The first woman stood by the window and her arms hung down by her sides.

  The old woman said, ‘Where are the Germanoi?’ Her voice seemed bigger than her body.

  ‘Now they are around Lamia.’

  ‘Lamia.’ She nodded. ‘Soon they will be here. Perhaps tomorrow they will be here. But I do not care. Do you hear me, Inglesus, I do not care.’ She was leaning forward a little in her chair and the pitch of her voice was becoming higher. ‘When they come it will be nothing new. They have already been here. Every day they have been here. Every day they come over and they bom bom bom and you shut your eyes and you open them again and you get up and you go outside and the houses are just dust — and the people.’ Her voice rose and fell.

  She paused, breathing quickly, then she spoke more quietly. ‘How many have you killed, Inglesus?’

  The pilot put out a hand and leaned against the door to rest his ankle.

  ‘I have killed some,’ he said quietly.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘As many as I could, old woman. We cannot count the number of men.’

  ‘Kill them all,’ she said softly. ‘Go and kill every man and every woman and every baby. Do you hear me, Inglesus? You must kill them all.’ The little brown ball of paper became smaller and more screwed up. The first one I see I shall kill.’ She paused. ‘And then, Inglesus, and then later, his family will hear that he is dead.’

  The pilot did not say anything. She looked up at him and her voice was different. ‘What is it you want Inglesus?’

  He said, ‘About the Germanoi, I am sorry. But there is not much we can do.’

  ‘No,’ she answered, ‘there is nothing. And you?’

  ‘I am looking for Joannis. I wish to use his boat.’

  ‘Joannis,’ she said quietly, ‘he is not here. He is out.’

  Suddenly she pushed back the bench, got to her feet and went out of the room. ‘Come,’ she said. He followed her down the passage towards the front door. She looked even smaller when she was standing than when she was sitting down and she walked quickly down the passage towards the door and opened it. She stepped out into the sunshine and for the first time he saw how very old she was.

  She had no lips. Her mouth was just wrinkled skin like the rest of her face and she screwed up her eyes at the sun and looked up the road.

  ‘There he is,’ she said. ‘That’s him.’ She pointed at the old man who was sitting beside the drinking trough.

  The pilot looked at the man. Then he turned to speak to the old woman, but she had disappeared into the house.

  They Shall Not Grow Old

  The two of us sat outside the hangar on wooden boxes.

  It was noon. The sun was high and the heat of the sun was like a close fire. It was hotter than hell out there by the hangar. We could feel the hot air touching the inside of our lungs when we breathed and we found it better if we almost closed our lips and breathed in quickly; it was cooler that way. The sun was upon our shoulders and upon our backs, and all the time the sweat seeped out from our skin, trickled down our necks, over our chests and down our stomachs. It collected just where our belts were tight around the tops of our trousers and it filtered under the tightness of our belts where the wet was very uncomfortable and made prickly heat on the skin.

  Our two Hurricanes were standing a few yards away, each with that patient, smug look which fighter planes have when the engine is not turning, and beyond them the thin black strip of the runway sloped down towards the beaches and towards the sea. The black surface of the runway and the white grassy sand on the sides of the runway shimmered and shimmered in the sun. The heat haze hung like a vapour over the aerodrome.

  The Stag looked at his watch.

  ‘He ought to be back,’ he said.

  The two of us were on readiness, sitting there for orders to take off. The Stag moved his feet on the hot ground.

  ‘He ought to be back,’ he said.

  It was two and a half hours since Fin had gone and he certainly should have come back by now. I looked up into the sky and listened. There was the noise of airmen talking beside the petrol wagon and there was the faint pounding of the sea upon the beaches; but there was no sign of an aeroplane. We sat a little while longer without speaking.

  ‘It looks as though he’s had it,’ I said.

  ‘Yep,’ said the Stag. ‘It looks like it.’

  The Stag got up and put his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. I got up too. We stood looking northwards into the clear sky, and we shifted our feet on the ground because of the softness of the tar and because of the heat.

  ‘What was the name of that girl?’ said the Stag without turning his head.

  ‘Nikki,’ I answered.

  The Sta