Orthokostá by Thanassis Valtinos Page A

order was rescinded. Rescinded. They came back later, twenty-six men scared out of their wits. Because they’d realized what was really going on. And they executed them a little later. On Thursday. Wednesday or Thursday. They came in the evening, supposedly to pick out the convicted felons from our midst. They ripped off our insignias. They picked the men they wanted. Well, the rest tomorrow. We’ll take care of them tomorrow. Later they brought someone else who was in the hospital. They let him spend the night. Up until four in the morning they were dragging them outside. They used wire cable to tie them. There was shouting and cursing. Where are you taking us with no interrogation? This from Roúmelis, God rest his soul. They had promised not to hurt anyone, and now they were killing people. And they’d picked out women too. Alexandra Boínis. I heard her. Heard her voice in the night. Cursing. Iraklís came the next day. He treated me well. He hugged me between the bars. Don’t be afraid, he says. Iraklís Polítis. He hugged me and then he says to us, To save yourselves you need to go to Germany. Nothing else you can do. Myself, Panayótis Gagás, and so many others. Panayótis, Eléni’s husband. We left Trípolis before the Feast of the Virgin. But we stopped at various places. We had to. In Corinth we stayed six or seven days. At the Haïdári camp two or three days more. Pótis Lenghéris was in Haïdári too. Pótis Junior. But he didn’t go to Germany. People pulled strings back then too. Neither did Gagás. They, and I don’t remember who else, didn’t go to Germany. It was left for us to make the trip. About twelve hundred of us leftHaïdári. There were very few men from Kastrí. And very few from the villages below Kastrí. There was one man from Ayiórghis. 3 A man they called “Gaïdoúras,” 4 the Donkey. We were taken to Hanau, in the Frankfurt area. At Hanau they picked out two hundred of the less hardy among us for the crematoriums. The Lagerführer said no. We called him Fatso. He was chubby. Let’s find work for them, let’s improve the meals. Because the food was God-awful. The Lagerführer. We were very fortunate. From the death camp we were ordered to go to Opel. They had Russians there, making mud bricks. About two thousand men. They took us to Opel. A large factory but all bombed out. Also close to Frankfurt. Thirteen kilometers away, on the river Main. Quite a story. There were five of us from the Peloponnese. We went to Wiesbaden afterward. Toward the end. We were liberated in February. February of ’45. That’s right. The end of February. The Americans bombed us at Wiesbaden. Bombed the camp. There were large wooden shelters there, huge ones. Two bombs per shelter. They thought they were barracks. Fourteen dead. From Wiesbaden we were taken to Biblis. There were other Greeks there. Then the order came to relocate us. There were 800 of us when we started out, and now there were only 130. Some managed to escape. Mítsos Koutsoyiánnis, Eléni Zoumboúlis’s husband. A good sort. He had given me a lot of help. I don’t know if he’s alive. The Americans found us on the road. Near—I don’t remember the name of the place. I don’t remember. It took me seven months after that to get back. We reached Marseille in August. From Marseilles we went to Naples. The sea was full of mines. We disembarked at Pátras. I met a woman there. Evanghelía. Various state-owned cars arrived to transfer us. Something like the Red Cross. An Englishwoman was in charge, petite and blond. You thought she’d break if you touched her. She drove a monster of a truck. This young thing would get in and rev it up till it trembled. Repatriation service. She tells me, Wait. We’re going to give you clothes, food, and money. She had blue eyes, all teary. They wouldn’t let you