The First Prophecy
Sia, 17
Perth, 1945
Three weeks after Sia’s seventeenth birthday, she and her aunt sailed away in an enormous metal monster on a wine-dark sea. It wasn’t wine-dark exactly, but that was the line that came into Sia’s head on the first evening on the ship. Was she Odysseus? Or was she bad luck – a woman on the ship? But there were lots of women here.
Whole families were crammed into sweaty cabins, enduring the up and down of the waves and the strange, over-salted food (which she could hardly keep down). They left from Piraeus, a fishing port so jammed full of ships and boats Sia wondered how they would ever get out.
The ship slowed as they crossed through the Suez Canal, between deserts of yellow crumbling sand. And then across the foreverness of the Indian Ocean.
For a month she sat in a permanent state of worry for her travelling companion, Thea Tasoula, who had not taken well to it at all. Her aunt refused to come out of the cabin, and Sia fetched food for her and tried to get her up, but she would not sit for more than a few minutes at a time. She did not want to talk. She did not want to meet new people. Thea Tasoula mumbled and made the sign of the cross every time she woke and whispered a prayer to whoever was listening.
After she realised that Thea Tasoula really would stay in the cabin and pray for the whole journey, Sia ventured out and spoke to some other Greek people on the ship who were going to Australia to start new lives or rejoin loved ones. Her story was not unique. They spoke of how things in Greece had gone from bad to worse. Everyone had been touched by the war. Even if it did not pass their lips, Sia saw it in their eyes and how the skin hung off their bones. And now there was a chance to start something afresh. To give their children hope for the future. Sia nodded and fiddled with the máti on a string around her wrist and felt for the three others that were in a secret pocket she had sown into her underwear.
Sia kept thinking about her visit to the kafetzoú – the woman who read her cup, like an oracle. She remembered the earthiness of the coffee, the pattern at the bottom of the cup. The kafetzoú hadn’t said anything about the journey. But there were prophecies. Four.
Lining up to get breakfast one morning, a woman next to Sia started speaking to her.
‘Kaliméra,’ she said.
‘Kaliméra,’ replied Sia.
‘What’s your name?’
Sia introduced herself
‘I’m Thalia,’ the woman said. ‘Pleased to meet you. Are you on the ship alone?’
‘Oh no, my father’s sister is travelling with me. We are going to Australia to meet my father there,’ she said. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m coming to my husband,’ she whispered. ‘We have been married already by photograph. This is Michalis.’
Thalia showed Sia a faded studio portrait of a young man with a handsome face, standing with his shoulders back, staring directly into the camera.
‘Do you want to sit together for breakfast and play cards?’ asked Thalia.
Sia nodded. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, and she loved playing cards.
But every night, when Thea Tasoula was asleep, Sia cried when she thought about the fact that they were so far from home. How could they ever find their way back? She couldn’t imagine how to explain this journey to Trina or Eleftheria. There was a big, wide black-night ocean, a huge world, and their part in it was not even a tiny splash. Nobody in the village would have believed her story. How far they had come. How different it all was from their life. The forest with all its treasures, the mountainside, their playful goats, their Easter celebrations, her sisters. All her memories contained her sisters. She missed them already. She wrote them letters. Of everything she could do, writing was the most special thing.
‘I can teach you if you like,’ she said to Thea Tasoula. ‘We have the time.’
But Thea Tasoula shook her head, mumbled her prayers and made the sign of the cross. Sia was left with the up and down of the ship, the nauseating food, the strangers.
She spoke to Thalia, and sometimes they played cards, but Thea Tasoula didn’t like the look of Thalia.
‘She’s trouble,’ said Thea Tasoula. ‘Stay away from her. I have a feeling.’
And then Thalia seemed to drift away from Sia.
‘I’ve met someone,’ she whispered to Sia. ‘He’s on the ship too. He’s starting a new life in Australia. He is in love with me.’
‘What? You can’t do that, Thalia. You are already engaged to Michalis from the photograph.’
‘This is true love, Sia,’ sighed Thalia.
‘Well, maybe once you meet Michalis you will change your mind,’ Sia said. ‘Don’t let anyone see you. You know how people like to talk.’
But Thalia didn’t listen.
_____
When they finally arrived at the port in Fremantle, Sia peered out at this new sunny, faraway place.
Hundreds of people congregated in front of the ship, waiting to greet the passengers. She watched family members reunite with tears and hugs, fathers with sons, mothers with daughters. Men threw chocolates and held bouquets of flowers for the young women holding their pictures.
Thalia was looking from her photograph to the men in the crowd. An old man waved at her, started edging closer, and Thalia began to cry. The photograph had lied.
Sia scanned the crowd for her father, but the bright dust and salty air seared her eyes. Everything glinted and shone, but not in a sparkly way: in a blinding way. It wanted to kill you, this sunlight.
Thea Tasoula and Sia wore long woollen skirts and long-sleeved blouses, despite the penetrating heat. Her aunt wore a headscarf.
Sia had learnt how to say ‘thank you’ in English on the ship, but that was all. A few people tried to speak to them, but Sia couldn’t do more than shrug her shoulders and give a vacant stare.
She looked down at her clutched hands with bitten-down fingernails on the leather handle of her boxy brown suitcase. Flies tickled her face. Heat dampened every crevice. She had eaten a lot of salted crackers and tinned food on the ship. She thought of what she would plant in her garden. A tomato plant bursting with bright red, plump fruit. Too many to count! A grapevine that she would tend with love. An olive tree. Herbs. Sia imagined her fantasy garden as they waited for him.
Sometime later, a shiny black automobile pulled up at the back of the crowd. A grey-haired man emerged, white shirtsleeves rolled up, cigarette between his teeth. He slammed the door of the car. Sia knew it was him and for minutes she tracked him with her eyes, until he finally recognised Thea Tasoula.
‘My family!’ he said.
Thea Tasoula cried and they embraced in a crush of arms and long sleeves and sweat. But Sia didn’t remember this old man. He was a stranger and she would have to get to know him from the beginning.
‘I’m Sia,’ she said, surprised at his error. ‘Trina is my younger sister.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said, wiping his brow with a monogrammed linen handkerchief. ‘Now, I will take you to our home and we will be together again.’ He lifted their suitcases into the automobile.
Sia sighed in relief at being off the boat and inhaled the scent of her father’s cigarettes as he wove the car through the hot sun. He pulled up in the main street, where he pointed to a freshly painted café.
‘We are renting rooms up there,’ he said, rubbing his forehead. He indicated a white balcony over a row of shops. Her father and another man, Theo, had worked hard for many years when they arrived, before the war broke out. Theo had bought the milk bar and her father was helping to run it.
The floor was shiny black and white squares. Pendant lights hung from white ceiling roses. There were soft leather seats and beautiful English-speaking women with bouncy hair and red lipstick lined up to take orders. She couldn’t read the English menu, but when she asked her father he used words in English – milkshakes, hot chips, steak sandwiches.
Her father ushered Sia and Thea Tasoula into a black leather booth. He ordered everything off the menu for them. Sia drank the milkshake – sugary and nourishing – as she listened to her father and aunt talk between themselves. How do you have a conversation about the last fifteen years? Sitting here with them in this booth in this clean restaurant was so different to how she imagined it in her dreams. She knew her father was a good person, that he would take care of them. She knew.
‘Why did you wait so long to send for us?’ Sia asked him, finally. ‘Things have been so bad at home.’
‘I was working on the fishing boats. It was hard work. I lived in a tiny shed. I needed to save money for you all,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘But there was nothing else for me to do. It was the only job I could get. Greeks on fishing boats, that’s what they expect. It’s still good money. I may need to get some more work on the boats in a few months.’
Sia nodded, although she didn’t really understand.
‘You see how shiny it is in here, Sia?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘It will be your job to keep it that way,’ he said, winking at her. Sia watched the women taking orders. They spoke only English and all looked a certain way. Sia did not look like them and did not speak the right language. It was clear she would not be a dressed-up girl taking orders.
Sia would be cleaning the floor, again and again and again.
_____
The first week Sia lurked in the café, eager to speak to the staff, but she hadn’t learned any English yet. Her aunt stood in front of the sink and washed dishes all day. Tall, cloudy milkshake glasses. Oily white dinner plates.
When they had a break, Sia would walk down to the ocean, looking for ships, wondering if it was even possible to get back to her island again. They had come so far. She had not expected the distance, nor the destination.
But there was opportunity here. She felt it. They already had so much more to eat than they did at home. Everyone seemed to be hard at work on something. The lights switched on with a button on the wall. There were no candles or oil lamps. There was a tap in the house that flowed with water when you turned it on.
There were no mountains or hills. It was all flat and you could see the white coast and blue ocean up and down. There were no goats or lambs, but there were lots of birds.
A plump grey bird liked to perch on the railing outside the milk bar and look at her sideways. Its tail fanned out and its tiny eyes were ruby-red. Its head moved in jerky motions. She wished she didn’t envy the bird. But there was something about its confidence, its presence, that made Sia watch it. It was enjoying its life in this strange hot part of the world next to the ocean. It was home and had been home all along.
_____
‘Kaliméra, Sia,’ her father said to her, smoking on the freshly painted white porch at the back of the kitchen.
‘Good morning,’ she said, looking at him. She held a sweet biscuit in her hand that she had taken from the kitchen.
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Sia had her own bedroom, which was unheard of. Of course, when her sister arrived she would have to share. The rooms above the café were so close to the sea that she could even see it if she climbed onto the roof (her aunt always yelled at her to get down). From this angle, the sea reminded her of blue silk with thin white lace edging. Not that she had ever owned material like that! But she had glimpsed something like it once on a beautiful lady on the ship. There were women who had money and time for that kind of fabric. They were otherworldly. Regal. Not from the village. She imagined her sister learning to sew dresses made of luxurious fabric.
‘I’m not sure what to do with you, Sia,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you can’t speak English yet. How are you going to speak to the customers or the staff in Theo’s café?’
‘How long did it take you to speak English?’
‘It takes some time, but I wanted to learn. Your aunt does not want to learn.’
‘I want to learn.’
‘Sia, Australia is very different to life in the village. You will need to learn to adapt. And I have plans for our family. I have been saving my money. I am going to buy some farmland, then I am going to set up a yoghurt factory. This is an opportunity. This is my plan for our family. You are next to be married. I will choose someone for you who will help me with the business.’
Her father coughed as he put down the cigarette and went inside. Sia sat on the verandah watching the still-smoking ashtray and the little bird.
_____
With her father’s permission, every day Sia went to English classes in a stuffy room that overlooked the main street.
In the classroom there was a teacher with big blue eyes and a bun knotted at the back of her head. The teacher didn’t really like Sia all that much, but she seemed to be good at her job. It turned out that English was easier to learn that she thought it would be and the writing was fun. She liked learning how to form the letters. Sia knew that she held her pen well and wrote her letters correctly. She followed the rules.
She watched people from her window and observed how they behaved. She noticed how some women looked very elegant, not necessarily from their clothes, but from the way they walked. Their backs were upright. They spoke softly with their voices, not with their hands.
When she watched Thea Tasoula walk, she realised it would be difficult for her here. Maybe she had known all along. It was too late for her to adapt, to change, but it would be easier for Sia, and then for Sia’s children. Sia thought about what the kafetzoú had told her that day. Was it already written? Could she change it?
Every afternoon the sun dipped into the sea like a golden ball of fire. She thought of Helios storming across the sky. He even made it this far. Was it really possible that it was the same sun she’d seen from her home?
Sia wondered when Trina would get here to see the sunset in the ocean. Surely when Trina arrived things would improve. Sia wouldn’t be so lonely, always wishing to be back in the village.
The sun was completely gone now. There was this point in the evening, between the sun going down and night beginning. It felt longer here, that in-between part, neither day nor night. Astraeus. God of the dusk. She liked that story. Sia watched as evening swept over the sky. The stars came out. The drinkers would go to the pub. Sia closed her eyes and tried to be taken back to her island with her sisters, running up the mountain.
_____
‘Sia,’ said Thalia, tapping at the window of the café. Her face was streaked with tears.
‘Kaliméra,’ said Sia, opening the door.
‘Sia, you must help me,’ said Thalia. ‘I have to get away from here. I cannot stay with that man. I cannot marry him.’
‘Thalia, you must,’ Sia whispered. ‘Your family has decided.’
‘I can’t,’ she said simply. ‘I’m in love with Nikos from the ship. I have to go to him. I will send you a letter.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Thalia,’ whispered Sia. ‘Don’t do it.’
But Thalia didn’t listen. She squeezed Sia’s hands in farewell and then took off down the street. Sia felt someone watching her. She turned around and Thea Tasoula was standing behind her, arms folded.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ Sia said.
‘That girl is trouble,’ said Thea Tasoula. ‘It doesn’t take much to ruin a family’s reputation and honour. Don’t get any ideas. I will not let you ruin your father’s name. He is my brother and he has always looked after me. I will look after him.’
_____
That black-and-white checkered floor. Oh, it was her penance for this new life. Every day and every night she scrubbed it, mopped it. Her hands were raw from the hot water. Their café had the cleanest floor of any floor in the whole of Perth. The white squares were the worst. They always showed the grime. She did the best she could. It was the cleanest floor in Australia. And every morning she silently cursed the customers when they walked in with their boots and shoes, putting dirt on her work. She tried not to look at the floor during the day, as the rage would simmer up. She looked up at the ceiling and stayed in the kitchen until it was time for her classes.
And then, after lunch, she would be back on the floor, scrubbing until her hands were raw. Mopping until it glistened. It was the cleanest floor of any floor in the whole world.
Sia didn’t understand why these people didn’t have mesiméri, their nap, in the afternoon. They just kept going. She helped with the tomatoes and zucchinis in her father’s garden. She smiled when she saw the first flowers of the season on the tomato plant. Bright yellow stars.
_____
It was a day like any other day. Sia went to the café and started her jobs. Thalia’s father and her father burst in and asked her to sit down.
‘Thalia has disappeared,’ said Thalia’s father. ‘Do you know where she is?’
Sia’s blood ran cold. She looked to her father, whose eyebrows were raised.
‘We can’t have this kind of thing going on, can we? So, Sia, do you know where Thalia has gone? Do you know where she is?’ asked Thalia’s father.
‘No,’ said Sia. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Sia,’ said her father gently. ‘You have to tell me. If you don’t tell me the truth then you are lying to me. You will also bring shame to the family for your lies. Now, can you please help Thalia’s father? Where has she gone? Who is she with?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sia said, thinking of the letter that Thalia had sent her. It was under her pillow.
‘She is going to ruin my family,’ said Thalia’s father. ‘I will never recover from this. I’m sure you don’t want to bring shame on your family.’
Sia shook her head, staring at her father.
‘Where is she?’
‘I told you, I don’t know,’ said Sia.
And then Thea Tasoula came in with the letter in her hands. ‘This is where she is.’
Sia’s heart lurched as Thea Tasoula put the letter in front of the men.
‘You did know!’ said her father, slamming his fist down.
They tore the letter out of the envelope and found the address.
‘We will go there now,’ said Thalia’s father, standing up.
‘I will deal with you later,’ said her father.
Her heart skipped a beat as she realised that the kafetzoú was right. She had disobeyed her father.
‘How could you tell him?’ Sia yelled at her aunt. ‘How could you do that to Thalia?’
‘She’s bad news,’ said Thea Tasoula. ‘She has brought great shame on her family. She is not your friend. You will bring shame on us too if you don’t start behaving.’
_____
They found Thalia with Nikos living at his cousin’s house, near the church. He refused to marry her, and the husband Thalia’s father had chosen for her, Michalis, did not want her now she was damaged goods. Thalia was sent back to Greece in shame. Sia cried for her.
‘You will marry the man I have chosen for you before you cause any more trouble,’ Sia’s father told her, after he had calmed down. ‘But if you do a stupid thing like that again I will kill you myself.’
That afternoon Sia got ready to meet her future groom, but as her father walked up the street with Michalis, she felt sick. A chill swept over her, like a cold mountain wind. She looked at the slits of his eyes, his crinkled face, his toothy grin. She knew he was a monster before he’d even spoken a word. It was the way he looked at her, more shadow than light.
And he was old. Old like her father.
Sia didn’t know how to write and tell her sisters about the husband that their father had chosen for her. Sia wanted to tell them that the new life in Australia was bountiful in food and opportunity but part of her soul had been left back on the island. She wasn’t sure she would ever get it back.