Chapter Seven
Seven
Katerina told herself not to fall in love with Stefanos, but it was like telling the sun not to rise. And as that same sun was lured each evening to the horizon, so was she drawn to him, hopelessly and irretrievably.
It had soon transpired that he was the cousin of her koúniados, Michalis, and had come from Ikaria, he said, in search of work, though he could not settle on anything.
Stefanos did not want to fish or tend to the animals or be shut away in a hot bakery—all he wanted, or needed, to do was spend time with her, his “katsikáki”; read his political books and essays; and indulge in lively debates with Zephyr and Atlas, two brothers who had been exiled from Athens the previous year for their left-leaning views.
Each night, Katerina would wait until she heard the low grumble of Baba’s snores before stealing silently from the house, up to the ridge where Stefanos was waiting, the orange bud of his lit cigarette guiding her across the mountain.
Together, they would sit, listening to the roaring sea, talking, confiding, laughing.
She longed for him to touch her but feared it also, aware of her body in new and thrilling ways, alert to even the merest contact—a brush of his knuckles, the sweet tobacco taste of his breath, his fingers grazing hers when they saw each other at church.
Nobody could know—of that, Katerina was adamant.
If Baba were to get so much as an inkling, he would lock her up.
She might have reached marrying age, but there were ways of doing such things, rules that must be adhered to, and Stefanos had given her no assurances.
For all she knew, he saw her as a little sister, someone to whom he felt affection but nothing more.
At twenty-one, he was only three years older than her, though he knew so much, had seen and experienced so much more than she.
How could she hope to impress him when he was a competent man and she a sheltered farm girl?
On the evening that marked one month since they had met, Katerina went earlier than usual to their meeting place below the ridge.
Her parents were in Thira, gone to visit Baba’s giagiá, who was ninety-seven and not expected to last another winter.
Leni had wanted to go with them, but Michalis would not allow it.
“Why can’t the stupid fool cook his own meals for once?” Katerina had fumed, only to be shushed by her elder sibling.
“Michalis works hard, agápi mou; it is up to me to look after him.”
It was absurd, this talk of looking after.
Katerina had long watched her mother do it, and now she must endure the fate of her sister following the same path.
Stefanos would never expect such coddling—he told her often that her life was her own, to live as she pleased, and that the old traditions were anchoring them in the past.
“Greece is a great ship, Kat, but I fear it is doomed to be moored forever in place while the rest of the world moves forward without us.”
Katerina sat down on the grassy slope and stretched her legs out in front of her.
The wind had quieted to a rare whisper, for once content not to tug and claw, though she could feel the weight of rain in the air.
Through the myriad hues of a burning sunset, storm clouds were gathering. She watched and she waited.
When the night finally came, it brought with it Stefanos, a sauntering figure trailing smoke and dust.
“Kalispéra,” Katerina said, nonchalant even as her heart began to beat twice as loud.
“Ti káneis?” he responded, easing down next to her. “How are you?”
“You missed the sunset,” she told him. “It was a good one.”
Stefanos took a long drag of his cigarette.
“I was talking. Time, it vanished from me.”
“Talking to the brothers?” she said as he blew several smoke rings into the air above them. Stefanos glanced toward her.
“Zephyr received news from the mainland,” he said. “There are rumors about an invasion.”
He spoke so casually, as if the two of them were discussing the plot of a play.
“An invasion where?” she asked. “By whom?”
The cigarette crackled as he inhaled.
“Into Greece, by the Italians. Mussolini thinks he can annex us. He will hitch himself like donkey shit to the tread of Hitler’s boots, but Metaxas is not a dog. He will not roll over and let the fat Italian dictator stick a knife between his ribs.”
Katerina’s mouth had gone dry.
“What will happen?” she asked faintly.
Stefanos sniffed.
“There will be a battle.”
“Not here?”
He turned to look at her.
“óchi, katsikáki, not here. In the north, far away from here.”
“If they tried to come here, I would fight them,” she said, sitting up straighter, pushing out her chest. “I will kill them if they dare it.”
She fell abruptly silent as Stefanos touched a finger to her lips.
“Hush,” he said softly. “It will not come to that.”
“You think I am too weak,” she challenged. “That I don’t mean it, that I’m nothing more than a silly girl.”
Stefanos began to laugh softly, shaking his head as he ground out the cigarette. Katerina had picked up one of the stubs once when his attention was elsewhere, put it in a box with other small keepsakes: animal bones and shells she had picked up along the shoreline.
“You are not weak, katsikáki,” he said, “and you are not a fool. That is why, if war ever does come to this place, you must use your head. Not your body but your mind—do you understand?”
“You said it would not come to—”
“Do you understand?” he persisted, any trace of sanguinity gone.
Katerina glared at him, and then, having withered under the intensity of his gaze, she nodded.
Stefanos returned the gesture, then set about constructing a second cigarette, removing each component from the small leather pouch he kept in his trouser pocket.
“You are angry,” he said, to which she sighed.
“I do not say these things to belittle you, Kat. It is because I want you to stay safe. If anything were to happen—” He paused, bringing the rolling paper up to wet it against his tongue.
Katerina felt a stab of envy; she was jealous of the cigarette, jealous of the earth he sat on, of the clothes he wore.
“There is a war,” she reminded him bitterly. “People all across the world are being killed—what does it matter so much about me?”
Stefanos took out his matches, struck one on a nearby rock.
The flame burned intensely white as it flared, the light flashing in his eyes.
Katerina’s hair had been braided since the morning, and in her agitation, she began to yank out the thin strips of cloth holding each one in place.
Her long dark curls fell loose around her shoulders.
Leni had taught her to rub olive oil through the ends to make it shine, though Katerina had never been fond of the scent.
It reminded her too acutely of Baba and of her mama, the constraint on her life that each represented.
When she looked again at Stefanos, he was staring at her, the cigarette burning away between his fingers.
Bending toward her, he half closed his eyes, breathing her in.
“Harvest,” he murmured, a smile playing around his lips.
Katerina looked stubbornly toward the horizon, saw the scatter of clouds bloom with light.
Nature was waging a war of its own to match that of the planet’s inhabitants and would continue to do so long after the conflict came to an end.
Why must these men—for it was always the men—seek to destroy one another in the pursuit of power or because of a difference in opinion?
In the end, they would all turn back to ash, and the world would swallow them whole.
“Katsikáki. Kat?”
She turned at the name.
Stefanos reached across and gently stroked a curl from her cheek.
“I want you to stay safe,” he said again. “To stay exactly as you are, for always.”
She scoffed, making his brow crease into a frown.
“Nobody stays the same, Stefanos. We all must change. Life insists upon it.”
In one swift movement, he had taken her hands in his. Katerina gasped as he squeezed her fingers.
“Promise me,” he said, urgency in his voice. “Promise that whatever happens, you will not let that fire inside you go out.”
“It is not up to me,” she said, barely daring to whisper. “You are the one who lit this fire.”
Stefanos drew in a breath, and then, with infinite tenderness, slid his hands up until they were cupping her cheeks.
Katerina wanted to close her eyes, but she made herself look at him—really look at him—the thud of her heart loud in her ears.
For a moment, she thought that he would laugh, make some joke as he always did, but instead, Stefanos moved closer.
The kiss, when it finally came, was accompanied by the first rumblings of thunder.