Page 118 of Villa of Secrets

Her eyes met mine and she turned away quickly. After a long silence, she said gently, ‘Have you heard anything from your family?’ She knew I hadn’t, and I should have realised what she was trying to tell me, that they might not come back. Hope was all I had. I shook my head and stared at the floor.

‘I’ll see what I can find out. At least you should get some money for the shop.’

My life revolves around my baby and there is no time for anything else. I spend every spare minute sewing for us or knitting for the winter, and I do some cleaning in the neighbourhood to put food on the table. Sometimes, I find a box of vegetables, fruit, or eggs on the doorstep. People are kind. They continue to give me their children’s outgrown clothes, and we survive.

Wednesday, 8 May 1947

Sonia is two years old today! I made her a rag doll with button eyes and yellow woollen plaits and she loves it. She’s fit and healthy and started walking at twelve months. Everyone says she looks like Mama, but I see Giovanni.

Recently, the newspapers announced that our beloved island of Rhodes, together with the other Dodecanese islands, is to be reunited with Greece. Since World War One, we have belonged to Italy, and everyone born between the wars has Italian citizenship. But now, we are about to become Greek once again.

I read the Jews who are still in Italy have the choice of an Italian or a Greek passport. They are able to choose their nationality. Out of almost two thousand people taken from Rhodes, hardly more than a hundred have survived Auschwitz, and many of those simply died of starvation or exhaustion days after their rescue.

The government said anyone choosing Greece would be returned to their island. Very few chose to return to Rhodes, and after what had happened, who could blame them? Almost three years have passed since my family were taken, and although there is still no news of them, I know they will be re-grouping in Italy. Now there is real hope that the Italian government will repatriate them soon.

I am so glad to have Sonia; a mother couldn’t wish for a more beautiful child. Her huge brown eyes gaze at me as I breastfeed her in the morning. The time has come to break that habit, although many mothers continue to feed their children for another year.

Mrs Spanaki gave me an aspirin bottle. She told me to put honey and water in it, and a teat with a small hole to pacify Sonia and help wean her off the breast. I tied her hair in ribbons and strapped her into the pram. She wanted to walk, but I had neither the time nor the patience to hang on to leather reins while she tugged in every direction. Proudly, I pushed her through the village to the general store.

‘Dora! Dora!’ A neighbour stood in the post office doorway, waving at me.

‘You’ve a letter from Italy!’ she called. ‘Come, quickly!’

Me? A letter? All the hopes of three lonely years welled up inside me. My family! Papa! It had to be them! They were coming home at last! ‘Hold the pram!’ I cried to a passing friend, thrusting the brake down then running towards the post office.

Papa!

They handed me a flimsy airmail, grey-blue with red stripes around the edges. I would always remember this gloriously happy moment. The stamp was a pinkish picture of a hand planting an olive tree, franked by a rectangle of wavy lines like a flag, free as the wind. The address: Pandora Cohen, Paradissi, Rhodes.

I ran my fingers over the shaky handwriting, amazed that thoughts could travel from the brain to the fingertips and then spill out of a pen onto a sheet of paper. In a rush of happiness, I pressed the correspondence against my chest. This meant they were alive and safe! What would Papa have to say?

Papa! Papa! Papa!

A hand rested on my shoulder, I realised I was sobbing. ‘I’ve been alone for so long, hoping,’ I cried.

I opened the mail, unfolding the delicate envelope to read the lines inside. Blinded by tears, it became impossible to read. I dragged my cardigan sleeve over my eyes. Word spread quickly. Friends and neighbours squeezed into the post office.

‘Read it out, Dora!’ someone shouted.

I nodded.

1st May, 1947

My Dearest Pandora,

I hope this letter finds you well. Sincere apologies for taking so long to write, but I have not been too good. However, I am on the mend now, and I want to let you know that you were in our hearts throughout the time of our separation. While we were in Auschwitz, thoughts of you and your escape kept us strong in our darkest hours.

If you are reading this letter, then you really did manage to stay safe on that fateful day, when we were taken from our beloved island.

I hope sweet little Evangelisa managed to avoid capture too, and you are both content and happy.

You must be nearly nineteen now, but being grown-up is no protection for the terrible news I am about to give you. I am so sorry to say, dearest Pandora, that as far as I know, I am the only one who survived the deplorable ordeal of Auschwitz.

My heart plummeted to new depths. I clasped my hand over my mouth to stifle my cry of despair as I scanned down the page. The writing became smaller and smaller, until I struggled to read the last line.

At the end of that unforgettable letter, my question was answered.

Your loving brother,