A Belated Apology

It was 1944, May, when they caught the people from Olympos with items from the airplane that crashed in Agnondia. They took them to the police headquarters in Olympos and we below could hear cries of distress. Too much beating. They beat them black and blue! I was a young man then and I waited with others in Platy to see them when they were released.

One moment we saw a German, Ernesto. He worked on Markolata, a caïque of my father-in-law. Maybe I did something and maybe he was disturbed. I wanted to show I was a strong man! And he gives me a slap, but not any slap, but a German slap, very hard! And this was not enough! He told me to take some blankets down to the beach of Olympos where Markolata was moored. I was crying from the slap and I could not refuse. He had his pistol in its case and it would have been nothing for him to take out the pistol and kill me. I picked up the blankets and carried them to the beach Fysses.

Then, when the war was finished, I went to Germany in 1962. After 2 to 3 weeks, they sent me to work in an uncompleted house with someone called Billie to act as an interpreter. He knew some Italian and I had learned a great deal. I went to the site and there were many labourers, skilled workmen and machinery.

It was time for the mid-morning break but I did not know about this and had brought nothing to eat. So I was sitting and gazing!

One of the skilled German workers sent for an interpreter, and he explained to me to bring food for the break. At that time an older German arrived. I felt my stomach turn over at the sight of this man. He reminded me of something unpleasant but I could not recall what it was. He told me to take bread rolls and eat them. He asks "Where are you from?" I say "Grecos (Greek). Apo tin Elada (from Greece!)" "From which place?" "Rhodos." "In the city?" "No. Karpathos." And the German says "Aaaaah!" I say to myself "Something is happening, Nikola! Let’s see!" "From which village?" he asks. And then I recognise him! Ernesto! My blood surged up my body as it had when he slapped me! But I was a new arrival in Germany. "I am from Olympos." I say to him. "Who was your father? Forest Ranger Manolis?" "Yes," I say to him, "Manolis." I no longer doubted it was him. "I remember," I told him. "you were in the boat. You remember the slap you gave me?" The others saw me getting angry but they did not know what had happened. Then Ernesto says to them "I know this boy, from Olympos, in the time of the war." And he tells me "Come with me." We go down and he bought a bread roll and salami for me and says to me "Come here every noon and I will take you to the kitchen."

I stayed one month, and more, and I never paid for food. Ernesto paid for it all. It was paying back for that slap. When I tried to pay, he would not accept in any way. I showed him my cheek where he had slapped me. I said "Il Schiaffo" - slap in Italian. He laughed and we talked about those years. He remembered very well the place and the people. Later I left that work and returned to base and I never saw him again.