The Second Prophecy
Sia, 18
Perth, 1946
It was a cloudless day when Sia and Thea Tasoula travelled by bus to Fremantle to wait for the ship. Sia had an urgent fluttery feeling in her stomach. She looked out at the same water that had carried them here, to Perth. Now it was Trina’s turn to join them. Trina had been in Athens learning how to be a seamstress. But Sia had the feeling that something had happened. Trina had not been back to Aeaea and there hadn’t been much news of her.
Sia couldn’t wait to see her sister again. She had been waiting and waiting for her ship to finally arrive. Sia had so much to tell her that she wasn’t sure how the words would come out or in what order. There was so much to say of the last few months – of Perth, of their new life, of her father, of Sia’s arranged marriage and wedding. There was so much to say and some things that were better not committed to paper. Especially about her husband. The wedding night. What her husband expected. How could she ever write that down? She wasn’t sure how that conversation would play out with Trina. Sia had never been good at talking about those sorts of things. She remembered the day when Eleftheria told her how babies were conceived. The colour had drained from her face, like she was going to be sick. At least she now had a reprieve, with Michalis away for a few weeks on a fishing trawler. Her father too. They needed more money.
From when they first glimpsed the huge metal whale, it seemed to take ages for it to slowly, slowly, come to shore. Ages for the captain to moor the ship. Ages for the gangplank. Ages for the people to walk off. The crowd seemed quieter than when Sia had arrived. Quieter and expectant.
Sia’s stomach twisted in knots as she waited to see Trina’s face. But when it was finally her turn, she saw a different version of Trina walking off the ship. She was not the Trina she had left behind.
It was another age from seeing Trina’s small frame moving off the ship to her being right there in front of Sia and their aunt. The embrace, the tears. And as the three of them hugged and cried together, Sia had the feeling that there was a fourth person there. Did she see a small bulge in Trina’s stomach or was she imagining it? She looked at Trina, but she widened her eyes and shook her head.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Trina said, brightly. ‘I want to go to our new home.’
Sia grasped her hand, picked up her peeling leather case and followed their aunt out through the crowd.
_____
When they arrived home, Trina described her journey, which had been interrupted by bad weather. Sia served Trina a bowl of soup and a piece of píta. Trina ate as much as she could, while she gave as many details as she could manage about the ship and the people on it.
When Thea Tasoula finally left Sia and Trina alone in the kitchen, Sia made Trina coffee with extra sugar. She set it in front of Trina. An invitation to begin.
‘What happened?’ asked Sia, reaching for her arm. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I fell in love in Athens. I thought he loved me, that he wanted to marry me. I was trying to keep it a secret. I was trying to sort it out, but it didn’t work. I fell for the love match. What am I going to do? Do you think Thea Tasoula noticed?’ Her eyes were wide and more sunken in her face.
‘Are you okay? Who was he? Can we sort something out? What are we going to tell our father?’
‘Oh, Sia,’ said Trina, her eyes somewhere else. ‘He was so amazing. He played the mandolin. He sang to me. But now I am ruined.’
‘I’m so sorry, Trina,’ whispered Sia, stroking her arm.
Her sister stared into the coffee cup. Sia wanted to reach over and hug her and tell her everything was going to be alright, but she knew it couldn’t be.
‘So, when’s your new husband getting back?’ Trina asked.
‘Both him and Baba will be gone for another two months or so.’
Sia shook her head. How could she help Trina? And then it came to her.
‘Trina, how far along are you?’
‘It’s nearly time I think. A few weeks maybe?’
‘I’ll pretend I’m pregnant,’ Sia whispered. ‘And we’ll hide you until the baby comes. We’ll have to tell Thea Tasoula though… And then when you have the baby, we’ll say it’s my baby. And then everything will be fine. This is how we must do it.’
‘It will not be fine,’ said Thea Tasoula from the doorway.
The scene froze. Sia would always remember it as the three of them, stuck in the kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee, yellow afternoon light sliding in through the window and their father’s sister the decider of their fates.
‘So it’s true,’ said Thea Tasoula. ‘You think I didn’t notice? Of course I noticed.’
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Sia. ‘You know what happened to that girl down the road who wasn’t married? She had to go to a bad place for unmarried women. They took the baby away from her and gave it to a stranger. We can’t let that happen to Trina’s baby.’
‘It will bring shame on your father and on our family,’ said Thea Tasoula, shaking her head, tears in her eyes. ‘How could you Trina? How could you?’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she cried. ‘I loved him. I’m sorry. I don’t want to bring shame on the family. But please don’t let them take the baby. Sia can look after the baby. Sia will be a great mother. She is already married.’
‘Thea, listen to me now,’ Sia said, in a strong voice. ‘You didn’t help me last time, with Thalia, so you have to help us now. Let me do this. Let me pretend it’s my baby. And then he’ll come back from the fishing boat and – and we will have the baby. Trina will be living next door with you. Trina can be married and everything is fixed.’
‘He’ll know it’s not his baby. Your husband isn’t stupid, Sia. And your father. What am I meant to say to him? You want me to lie? Sia, you cannot fix this. You cannot,’ said Thea Tasoula.
‘Please, Thea, it will be fine,’ Sia said. ‘Don’t let Trina’s and the baby’s lives be ruined because of this. She can still meet someone and get married. It will all be okay. She won’t bring shame on the family if we do this right.’
‘It will not be okay. You can’t lie to your husband and your father, Sia. This is Trina’s baby,’ said Thea Tasoula, raising her voice. ‘She has shamed us.’
‘You haven’t even asked me what happened,’ Trina cried.
‘I don’t want to know,’ their aunt said, shaking her head slowly and walking over to a pot on the stove. She turned off the heat and put the lid on.
‘You can run but you can’t hide,’ Thea Tasoula said as she washed her hands in the sink and then shook them dry. ‘You lie like this, it will come back later. How do you think Michalis will feel when he discovers that the baby is not his? How do you think that will go for Sia?’
‘But Thea, we have to do this for Trina,’ said Sia.
‘No,’ Thea Tasoula said.
‘Please, Thea,’ said Sia, taking a deep breath. ‘I think it’s already happened anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’ Thea Tasoula stopped and stared at Sia.
‘When I went to see the kafetzoú. She said this would happen,’ Sia said.
‘She did?’ asked Thea Tasoula.
‘Really?’ asked Trina.
‘I think it’s what’s meant to happen. Please, Thea, we need your help. There will be a baby soon,’ said Sia. ‘I’m meant to say that it is my baby. That’s what she said to me. Please.’
Sia looked over at Trina, but her sister’s eyes were elsewhere, out the window, watching the sky darkening, the day emptying.
_____
‘Thank you for convincing Thea,’ Trina whispered to Sia that night. They were lying side by side in Sia’s bed, just like they used to as children.
‘It’s the right thing to do. Baba and Michalis won’t know. They won’t be back for another few weeks. If they come home sooner then we will have a problem. But we can worry about that later. Let’s keep you hidden for now. And later you can start your life and get matched up and everything will be fine,’ Sia said, squeezing Trina’s hand. ‘Nobody has to know what happened in Athens.’
‘I’m so pleased to be here with you,’ Trina whispered to Sia. ‘And off that ship. The journey was so long. I thought I was going to die.’
Sia nodded.
‘So, do you love being married? Is Michalis a nice man? Do you think he’ll be a good father to the baby?’ Trina asked.
Sia nodded, and hoped that Trina didn’t guess that Michalis was not a nice man; he was Sia’s punishment. But maybe he would be different once there was a child. Maybe.
_____
Sia spent a lot of time cooking for Trina. She sautéed horta, adding garlic to the leafy greens. She bought whole almonds from the grocer. She made soup.
Trina did not have long to go now until the baby arrived. None of their neighbours and people in the community had met her yet. Sia and her aunt had told everyone that Trina had caught a bad virus on the ship and so was being quarantined at home. Yes, Sia was expecting and had only just started to show! Any day now. She was indeed blessed. Yes, they were keeping separate.
Sia watched Trina’s belly grow and Trina become rounder and softer. As Trina could not leave the house, they opened the window that faced the backyard and let the sun and the eucalyptus air brush over her. She loved the sun on her face, on her belly. Sia and Trina put their hands on Trina’s upturned belly button and felt the baby kick.
It was a good plan. Trina would be able to be with her baby all day and could help look after it while her father sorted out a match for her. She could still get married. She still had a future. Nobody in their community had to know the truth, the truth that endangered all of them.
During those weeks Sia reminded herself that it could be a lot worse. They could be back in Aeaea with nothing to eat. They could be captured by the soldiers. They could be accused of being on the wrong side. But they could always be caught. Sia tried not to think about the plan not working or if they came back early, or how their father and Michalis would feel about it. Or what Michalis would do to Sia if he found out.
It was more difficult than Sia had thought it would be to pretend to be pregnant. As well as the belly, she had to increase her breast size. She stuffed handkerchiefs and small crocheted circles in her brasserie. She made a pillow as her pretend belly. And she adopted a slower walk, occasionally put her hand on her hip as Trina did. When she walked to the market, she tried to stay slow and not speak to too many people. But by now she knew everyone in her street and the whole Greek community were very aware of everything and everyone. It was comforting when she first arrived, but now she wanted fewer questions. Especially the older ones, the yiayias, they looked at her as if they could see straight through her dress to the pillow stuffed beneath. But if people suspected, they didn’t say anything.
There was no room for not doing the right thing. The great, permanent shame on their families, like poor Thalia. Sia knew of an Australian neighbour who had got pregnant and had to give up her baby to another couple because she was not married. And she wasn’t even Greek. With the Greeks it would be much, much worse. She could not let this happen to Trina.
A letter arrived from Eleftheria. Pages of news, of births and deaths and matches made, their brothers hard at work on the land, difficult times with the government and the rebels. It was bad and getting worse. She’d hoped that Trina arrived safely. She had questions for Trina about what had happened in Athens. Eleftheria apologised that Peter, their brother, who had been meant to accompany her on the ship had changed his mind at the last minute about leaving the village. But now he was working on the farm and wanted to fix things up to stay in Greece.
Sia shook her head. Before Sia had stepped onto the ship, on the wooden plank at Piraeus, she hadn’t appreciated how far they would travel, how they would probably never go back. Surely, surely, they had to. One day.
Sia thought of her treasure, buried in the mountainside. So much had happened since she put it there. She didn’t feel like the same person anymore.
She added white beans to the pot of simmering broth for Trina, and stirred them in.
_____
One morning Sia woke earlier than usual. She started cooking for the day but something stirred inside her and when she went to check on Trina, it had already started.
Her sister’s cheeks were flushed and her breathing was irregular. She was grasping her belly and grinding against the bed.
Thea Tasoula prepared hot water and clean towels, muttering and not looking Sia in the eye.
Trina’s eyes were wide and she sweated right through the sheets. Blood dripped out of her, a little at first, and then a lot.
‘This is not like the other births I’ve seen,’ Thea Tasoula said.
‘We need a doctor,’ said Sia.
‘No, Sia,’ said Trina. ‘I don’t want to go to the hospital. What if they take the baby away? They won’t let me keep it. And the shame on the family. Anyway, it’s too late. Just keep going. Just make sure the baby is okay. Look after the baby.’
Trina’s contractions stopped and started. The sweat, the agony, the crying and the blood. There was so much blood. Sia knew she could never do this. She had always been ushered out of the room when it got serious at home. And here it was, blood gushing and Trina in so much pain.
‘I’m sorry, Trina. I’m sorry,’ Sia said.
And after what could have been hours or seconds, and Trina’s face writhing in agony, out came a perfect baby girl, crying and red.
‘Well done, Trina,’ said Sia. ‘The baby is here. You’re going to be okay. Ftoú ftoú ftoú.’
‘The baby, Trina,’ said Thea Tasoula.
Trina’s eyes floated towards her baby girl. ‘Look after her for me, Sia. You are her mother now. Promise me you won’t tell her it was me. You are her mother.’
Trina closed her eyes and her limbs slackened.
‘Trina!’ Sia called out. ‘Trina, wake up. Wake up.’
‘She’s not breathing,’ said Thea Tasoula.
‘We need to call the doctor,’ said Sia. ‘Trina, please wake up!’
‘No,’ said Thea Tasoula. ‘It’s too late.’
Trina didn’t wake up. There was nothing Sia could do but hold the whimpering baby and be witness to her sister’s spirit leave this world. Only her broken body was left, streaming with blood.
Sia and her aunt sat on the wooden floor, covered with fluid and blood, numb, holding the baby, until they realised they would have to call someone. That Trina was dead. That the baby was here.
There was a moment which never again replicated itself in Sia’s life: a feeling of absolute and total despair. That nothing could get any worse or any better, and that she would forever be in this well of darkness. Thea Tasoula began to wail. Sia had to get things sorted out. Trina was gone. They were running out of time.
‘Sia! What are we going to feed her with?’
‘I haven’t thought of that yet. I just—’
Sia unbuttoned Trina’s nightgown at the front and tried to latch the baby on to her breast.
‘I’ll do it,’ Thea Tasoula said, shoving Trina’s nipple in the baby’s mouth.
Sia and Thea Tasoula looked at the image before them, unable to speak.
‘What have we done?’ cried Thea Tasoula, crossing herself. ‘God help us.’
‘We can’t call anyone now, don’t you see? What if they take the baby away to an orphanage? What if we get in trouble with the police for not taking her to a hospital? We don’t know what the rules are here. We have to sort this out ourselves, Thea. We have to. Right now,’ said Sia. ‘Or it will be too late.’
Thea Tasoula sobbed on the floor next to Trina.
Sia scrubbed and washed and changed sheets and clothes. For hours she cleaned, starting with the floor and leaving Trina until last. She washed off all the blood from Trina’s body and changed her clothes, reluctantly putting on Trina’s bloodstained nightgown. She pulled Trina into her bed and closed her eyes. She was all white, in white clothes, white linen. She could have died from flu. She could have just been sleeping. Every so often, Sia shook her head. Was she really doing this? But also, did she have a choice?
‘What will we name the baby?’ asked Thea Tasoula, rocking the baby. ‘What is Michalis’s mother’s name? Kyriakoula, yes?’
Sia nodded, and then something flashed into her mind.
‘Remember how Trina had her little doll,’ Sia said, ‘and she gave it to me when Baba left?’
‘Why do you want to talk about a doll?’
‘She had the same name. Koula,’ said Sia. ‘Her name was Koula.’
Sweaty and covered in blood, Sia returned to her bed and held the baby while her aunt went outside and asked the neighbours for help – to call a doctor for Trina. Sia was fine, a very quick birth, but Trina. Trina was not fine.
The doctor came quickly and surveyed the tears and the hysterical Greek women. Sia watched him look at the baby. She said she’d had an easy birth and made a good recovery (but refused to be examined). But Trina had been unwell since she arrived in Australia and then she stopped breathing in her sleep. She recognised a flicker of doubt in his eye and knew he could have asked more questions, but instead he nodded at Sia, voiced congratulations and commiserations and issued the certificates.
And with the two pieces of official paper, that part was over.
_____
‘This is for you,’ Sia said, taking out a máti from her little pouch and pinning it onto a cushion in Koula’s cot.
Thea Tasoula sat in Sia’s kitchen, looking out the window.
‘Did you know?’ Thea Tasoula asked. ‘Did you know that Trina wouldn’t make it?’
‘I didn’t know that part,’ Sia said. ‘I just knew the daughter would be mine to look after. That’s what she said. I can’t believe it. But we must go on, somehow. We must keep going with this, or it will be much, much worse for all of us.’
Sia sent the news to her husband and her father.
Sia and her aunt made the kóllyva for Trina. They boiled wheat, mixed it with pomegranate seeds, sesame seeds, raisins and sugar. They wrote Trina’s initials on it. Lit a candle, had the funeral.
For forty days Sia stayed home with the baby with no visitors. She stroked Koula and kissed her and fed her from a bottle. She was an Australian, Koula. Born in Australia.
_____
After a few months, they welcomed Koula into the world with a christening.
Every night she prayed to God and said prayers for Trina.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here when Trina arrived or when Koula was born,’ said Michalis.
‘It’s okay,’ said Sia, shrugging. ‘We need the money and it’s all done now. Koula loves you. I think she looks like you.’
‘Maybe next time it will be a son.’
Sia could not bear to think of a next time. But he hoped and he carried on about it. Sia couldn’t believe how easy it was to lie to him.
‘I don’t know if I can have any more children after the birth,’ she said.
‘Well, we need to have a son,’ he said. ‘For the yoghurt factory.’
Sia resisted him so much, but most of the time it was too difficult. He was too strong and she was his wife. She often lay there, pinned to the bed, trying to think about the treasure buried on her island, in her favourite place. Everything was so simple back then. When Australia was a dream, the name of a foreign fairyland on an ink-written letter. It wasn’t that long ago that she and Trina were playing in the forest, looking after their baby goats. And now Trina was gone, Koula was here and Michalis was trying to impregnate her with sons she didn’t want.
The most difficult part was the letter she wrote to Eleftheria. The fact that she had to lie. News of Trina’s death and news of the birth of Sia’s first child, Koula.
Should they have called a doctor? Should Trina have gone to the hospital? Yes, they should have. But what would have happened to Koula? Imagine if Trina had been saved but the hospital had taken the baby away? Or if they had sent Trina and Koula away somewhere else? Sia didn’t know how these things worked in Australia, but the shame on the family within their community would have been enough to kill all of them.
Sia decided that she wanted Koula to grow up speaking English first and Greek second. Koula would go to school in English. She would be one of them. It would be easy for her. She would blend in and wouldn’t be called the horrible names she heard some people say when she walked past them in the street. Koula would know how it all worked.
It was a hard life in Greece. The stories in Eleftheria’s letters got worse and worse. And now there was another war. A civil war. People helping the rebels were being questioned and taken away. It would get worse before it got better.
But here they had their own difficulties. Every day Sia stared at the spot on the floor where Trina had died. Koula would cry out and then Sia and Thea Tasoula would jump up and both try and comfort Koula, fix her problem.
It was the three of them for a long time. Most evenings after Sia’s aunt finished work, they would have dinner together, sometimes in the garden at the back. They would pray and do the sign of the cross before their meal. They would thank Panayeia mother of God, for the beautiful baby, Koula, and pray for better luck. They prayed that Sia’s father and husband could buy up some land and that they could live prosperously and bring more of their family here. There was always so much to pray for. But nothing they could do or pray for would bring them the one thing they wanted most of all.
_____
Sia and Koula often went to Trina’s grave and spoke to her. They brought fresh pink roses, big blooms. Sia showed her how well Koula was doing and that she was looking after her as best she could.
Nobody ever asked questions about what had happened. Trina was remembered as a beautiful, virtuous young woman. She had not shamed the family. If her father or Michalis had suspected anything, they never said.
Sia hoped that Koula wouldn’t ask her too many questions in the future. She imagined her asking in years ahead why the date of Trina’s death on her gravestone was the same day as her own birthday.
‘Mama, let’s pretend we’re sisters,’ Koula said to her one day when she was three years old, playing with her dolls in the afternoon light on the floor where Trina had died. And Sia cried for her sister.