“What do you think will happen to him?” Tasos asks, breaking the silence.

  “I don’t know,” I say, and my words are soft, I realize, even as I speak them.

  “Can you stay the night again?” Cassia asks.

  “Not with them,” I nod to the boys.

  “Why can’t we stay?” Tasos asks.

  “We have to get back,” Ikaros answers, and I look at him curiously because I’m surprised he feels this way and doesn’t want to stay in the city, too, like his brother does.

  “Just for lunch, then?” Cassia raises her eyebrows. “You can’t walk back on empty stomachs.”

  I look from Tasos to Ikaros, and Ikaros seems to be alright with this, so I nod.

  “Alright,” I say. “Just for lunch.”

  Tasos yells and runs back towards the limani and the Old Town, where he knows Cassia’s apartment is, and Ikaros starts to walk after him more calmly, as I’m sure he thinks someone who’s older and not a boy anymore should do. But then he forgets, just for a moment, and he starts to run, too, as I adjust the bag on my shoulder and follow after both of them, along with my oldest and best friend.

  * * *

  “What do you think is in it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So open it!”

  “He said not to, until we’re back.”

  “So, what, you’ve never broken a promise before?”

  The duffel is on the floor between us in her apartment, and I give Cassia a look and she laughs as we both then glance back down at the plates and leftover lunch she made: the grilled lavraki she bought near the limani on the way back, the simple horiatiki we have at every meal, and some fresh bread from the bakery a few blocks over, owned by a man named Fotis. We clean up the remains of our lunch then move out to the small balcony where we look down and watch all the commotion near the docks. Cassia has a new apartment that’s on the fourth floor of a bright and blue-painted building on the west side of the limani, with a spectacular view of the sea and lighthouse, and all the boats coming and going in the harbor. And that’s where Ikaros and Tasos have gone, to watch and be amongst the soldiers and fishermen and their hurried work and preparations for war.

  “So… is he single?” Cassia asks, lighting a cigarette.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “He had a ring on his right hand when he arrived. I told him what that meant here in Greece, and the next day he switched it to his left.”

  “So he’s single, and he’s handsome, too. Maybe I’ll see him again here in town.”

  “If he comes back to town.”

  “Trust me,” Cassia says. “They all come back to town.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re men. Whether they’re here or there, and no matter how buttoned-up and mannered they might seem, they’re still men, and can’t stay in their camp when the sun goes down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are no women there, Maria-mou.”

  “You could move to London with him,” I tease her. “You could live with him in the rain and under the clouds there with no sun.”

  “I think I could like London. The prams and clothes and all of the tea. Is that where he’s from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Really?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, I—”

  “You what?”

  “Nothing,” I say, then pause. “I should have, there just… wasn’t time, I guess.”

  She takes another puff of her cigarette and exhales smoke into the air above us.

  “Can you imagine me with a blue-eyed child?” she asks, through the smoke.

  “I can’t imagine you with children at all,” I tell her, and she playfully slaps my arm and we both laugh.

  “I need someone to bury me.”

  “Oh, is that it?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Perhaps more than that, too. But not yet. I’m having too much fun to have children yet.”

  “Of course you are. You always are.”

  “Don’t you want to stay the night? I’ve started a new job at a club and I could take you. The boys would love it.”

  “I’m sure they would. But we do need to get back.”

  “Of course,” she nods.

  I narrow my eyes and squint, trying to look closer below.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  She follows my eyes then sees what I see: amidst all the chaos on the docks and British soldiers loading and unloading all sorts of things, there’s an older man with a balding head and small eyes robed in the outfit of a priest. Only it’s not exactly like the Orthodox priests here in Greece; he’s dressed in clothes that are slightly different, and he looks different, too.

  “That’s Father Angelo,” Cassia tells me.

  “An Italian?” I ask, hearing his name, and frown, because aren’t the Italians who we’re fighting against?

  “Yes,” she nods. “He’s Catholic, too, and a cardinal.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I know everyone that comes to Chania.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “The thing that priests always do, I suppose. Saving lives. Or at least trying to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re Jews,” she tells me, and I look even closer and see that he’s helping people out of a boat that’s just docked: there are men and women, boys and girls, grandparents, families of all shapes and sizes and he takes hands and helps them from the boat and up onto the stone.

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t the Germans coming here next?”

  “Yes, or at least that’s what everyone thinks,” Cassia exhales again from her cigarette. “And so when they do, all they’ll find are simple Greek villagers, like all the rest of the Greek villagers that are here. Father Angelo’s been working with Archbishop Vasilios to have baptism certificates printed for every single one of them that shows up.”

  “And everyone here knows this?”

  “Of course. And when the Germans come, if they take the city, no one will say a single thing or give them up. Everyone will loudly tell the Germans that these are all our brothers and sisters who have lived here with us for their entire lives, and are Orthodox, and go to church every Sunday.”

  I keep looking down as I take that in.

  I watch Ikaros and Tasos as they talk to some of the British soldiers because there are no Greek soldiers, who are all still on the mainland, and the boys watch in awe and with wide eyes as the British unload a massive, large-barreled howitzer via pulley and crane, lifting it from a cargo ship then swinging it out and onto the level surface of the docks.

  “There sure are a lot of them.”

  “Who?”

  “Soldiers.”

  “This is the new capital of Greece.”

  “Surely the capital will be Irakleio, right? That’s where the royal family is and government has gone.”

  “Yes, for now. But Irakleio is large, and exposed, so they’ll all soon come here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Do you see him?”

  “Who?”

  “Him,” Cassia says as she finishes her cigarette and puts it out, then points farther down the limani towards a different group of soldiers and there’s one in particular that stands out because he’s taller than the others, with a thin build and thick glasses, and doesn’t wear a uniform at all, but a light-colored suit with a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  “Who is it?”

  “James Roosevelt.”

  “An American?”

  “Not just any American, Maria. He’s the son of Franklin Roosevelt, the American president.”

  “The president?” I ask, then look even closer.

  “The very same.”

  “And he told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He comes to the club you don’t want to go to, and he comes every night.”

  “Like the soldier by the fountain?”

  “Who?”

  “The one we saw you with, when we first arrived.”

  “Yes,” she smiles. “Like Henry, too.”

  “So what’s he doing here?”

  “Henry? He’s a soldier.”

  “No, the president’s son.”

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it? That’s the one that everyone, including Henry, has been asking since young Mr. Roosevelt arrived. So far, he hasn’t said anything. He’s just been here and watched and observed as preparations are made.”

  “And it’s Henry who told you about Irakleio, and the government?”

  “It’s an open secret among the British.”

  “So not very secret at all, then.”

  “No,” she smiles. “Perhaps not. But still secret from the Germans, I’d hope.”

  “We should get going, if we want to get back before dark.”

  We both hear the words from behind us and turn to see Ikaros standing in the doorway.

  He must have come up while we were talking, and we didn’t hear him come in.

  “Where’s your brother?” I ask.

  “Still down with the soldiers.”

  Cassia and I both stand.

  “I’m sure there’ll be news soon,” she tells me.

  “Efcharisto, Cassia-mou.”

  “I’ll send word if I hear anything at all.”

  I pick up the bag again that William gave me and sling it over my shoulder, then head to the door.

  “Do you want me to carry it?” Ikaros asks.

  “It’s alright,” I tell him.

  He hugs Cassia, and so do I, then as she waits in her doorway, we take the stairs back down and out of her building and to the harbor. When we get there, I look at the water that’s been churned by all the boats of various shapes and sizes that are docked. More and more boats keep coming, from the horizon, from the distance, past the lighthouse and into the calm waters here, just like I hope Demetrios will do one of these days soon. I wish I had Cassia’s optimism. I hope, and I pray, but with each passing day more and more doubt and fear creeps into my soul.

  I look farther down the limani.

  Tasos is near the mosque where men carry priceless artifacts and statues that must belong to the Archaeological Museum to store there, in the mosque, and he stands with the British soldiers and the American that Cassia told me is James Roosevelt. When Tasos sees me looking, he must let the soldiers know he has to leave, or something close to that, because the British nod and smile and hand him a tin of chocolates and the American reaches into his pocket and hands him something, too, which I can’t see, then Tasos comes running towards us.

  I look back at the soldiers.

  The British return to their task and the boat they’re unloading, moving our treasures into the mosque for safekeeping, but the American stays looking after Tasos as he runs towards us. My eyes meet his, and he smiles at me, also, and tips his wide-brimmed hat before he turns and walks in the other direction, towards the newer part of the city, where the streets are wider, and the place all foreign men and women here have claimed as their own.

  “Ready?” Ikaros asks.

  I turn to Tasos.

  “What did he give you?”

  Tasos opens his palm and shows us.

  A pair of fighter wings with an American flag between them.

  “They all loved I could speak English,” he explains. “They said most kids they’ve met can’t.”

  “That’s because they’re not you,” I smile.

  “They don’t watch enough movies.”

  “I’m sure they do. They love movies in America. They just need to watch some Greek ones, too.”

  He smiles at that, and I run my hand through his hair as we collect the donkey from where I’ve tied him to a brass ring near Cassia’s building, then start back the same way we came, through the Old Town and small, narrow streets, and past the kafeneios on either side with the men at the tables spinning and catching their kolomboi. We get close to the kastro and see the limani again, with all the boats there, and more that are coming, too, from the distance, and then soon the city is behind us. We go past the place where there’s sand, to the place where there’s rock, then come to sand again and the beach where I found William. We don’t stop, though. We keep going, keep walking, on and up the familiar path, past our groves of olives, then farther and towards the village we call home.

  * * *

  When we return, the sun hasn’t yet fully sunk behind the White Mountains, so Tasos and Ikaros quickly change and run down to swim in the river before dinner while there’s still some light and warmth. Once they’re gone, I go to my room and sit on my bed and set the bag I’ve been carrying down at my feet, and look at it as it rests there.

  I think of William again.

  What will happen to him?

  What will happen to us, all of us, and what will it mean for this island?

  I reach down and unzip the bag, then slowly pull it open.

  I look at what’s inside, and when I do, I realize that William knows, too, and that’s why he’s sent this with us, back to our home, small and unimportant as this village is to the British, as there is precious little still left on this island of what he’s given us, and which is surely why the other soldiers tried to stop him.

  But they couldn’t.

  Above us, I hear raindrops begin to fall, speckled on the roof.

  “Well?” I hear, and look up to see Giannis in the doorway.

  “What is it?” Angeliki asks from her place next to her husband.

  I open the bag wider and show them.

  I show them the rifles, pistols, and ammunition that are there, as well as grenades, a first aid kit, and even a few knives and bayonets to fit onto the ends of the rifles.

  They don’t seem to be surprised when they see this.

  Giannis comes over and sits next to me.

  Angeliki sighs and goes back to the kitchen, her head down and happiness gone, as rain comes even harder now. We sit there together for another moment, Giannis and I, then he finally stands and takes the bag and goes to the doorway. I let him. I don’t ask what he’s doing, because I already know; this isn’t the first war that’s come to these hills, and these aren’t the first enemies that will arrive on our shores and think they can conquer us, so this is a house that has hidden weapons before. It will now once again. I know that’s where he takes the great gift we’ve been given, to tuck and hide in the place where they won’t be found until they’re needed, the same as his father has done, and his father before him, and his father before that, all the way back until before any that are alive can remember and the time is almost here now; the time is almost here where we will all once again have to fight for our mountains, our sea, our homes, and our island.

  This island where we were born.

  This island we won’t ever leave.

  5 MAY 19, 1941

  As much of the rest of Crete has continued to prepare for a German invasion by sea, life goes on in the village, almost as usual, and I leave the sheep to be tended by Baba and go to help the boys with the olives. It’s the time of year to paint the trunks with a mixture of slaked lime and water that protects them from the insects that are about to hatch as it gets warmer. It’s a task that seems pointless with what’s going to come, but we do it anyway. April is a month of mixed weather in Chania; some days are hot and feel like summer, while others are cold and many layers are needed to protect from the wind and chill, but May is when summer finally comes and it’s hot every day and it’s under that hot May sun that we work. Tasos makes the mixture and brings it to me and Ikaros in wooden buckets, and we dip brushes into it and paint it onto the trunks. Tasos then takes the buckets when they start to empty back to where he keeps the lime and water, makes more, brings it back to us again, and we repeat this for weeks until nearly all the trunks are painted bright white. Just as we’re almost finished, with only a few more rows of trees to go in the lowest part of the groves—the part nearest the coast and sea and city—that’s when everything changes again.

  Our first sign an attack is imminent arrives the day before, though.

  We’d all heard that King George and the rest of the Greek royal family were now staying near the British base at Souda Bay; they’d fled Athens and the mainland when it fell to the Germans, but thought it important for morale they didn’t flee Greece entirely, so they’d come south to Crete with the rest of the government and first gone to a villa outside of Irakleio, near the ancient city of Knossos, but then, as the threat of invasion became more imminent, and just as Cassia had told me they would, they came west to be as close to the strongest British garrison as possible.

  Now, though, they’d left even Souda Bay, and started to move again.

  I’m not sure where else on the island I would have expected them to go, but I certainly didn’t expect them to come to our village. Or, well, the village next to ours, at least. The valley our village sits in is long and narrow, and at the opposite end there’s another village, named Elaionas, one that’s slightly larger than ours, and that’s where the royal family arrives.

  We hear rumors first.

  Then after the rumors, we see them with our own eyes.

  The wealthiest family in Elaionas is named Magarakis, and they haven’t gotten along with our family, or any in our village, for more generations than can be counted. And not getting along is perhaps an understatement. Giannis and Anastasios Magarakis hate each other. So did their fathers before that, and their fathers before them. Most think it’s just two families vying for control of the same valley, resources, and wealth, but it’s more: it’s a feud that’s ancient, and a feud that’s timeless, just like the land where it lives. It’s a feud that people write famous stories about and some say goes back ten generations to when someone in Giannis’s family called the Magarakis clan Turks because there were rumors that the Magarakis family had willingly sent their first-born sons to be Janissaries when the order was formed. Becoming a Janissary itself wasn’t frowned upon, as so many on our island and other Greek islands had been abducted and forced to join their order. The rumor and accusation, though, was the Magarakis boys had volunteered and gone willingly to work and fight for the Turks. There were many that did such a thing in exchange for the education it brought and positions of power and influence at court in Constantinople. The truth is, though, it was hundreds of years ago and no one really knows the truth, whether the Magarakis family sent their children, or if they were taken. It’s essentially a six-hundred-year-old rumor that only took one offhand comment to start a blood-feud that’s lasted since, and been sustained by the intermittent burning of olive groves, stealing of sheep, and many other things up until the present day. Even though the feud has continued to last, after we hear the rumors then see the caravan of soldiers and vehicles winding their way up the road towards Elaionas, on the far side of the valley, on their side of the valley, we go to pay our respects, anyway, and get a glimpse of the royals and hear any news they or any who travel with them might have.