Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

Her mother was sitting in front of the vanity, admiring herself in the mirror. Outwardly, she looked as cool and elegant as ever, but her gaudy green dress was a bit much. So was her denial of what was happening to the family. The occupation had turned them into pathetic figures, and Aphrodite felt more sorrow for her parents than anger. The latter emotion she reserved exclusively for the Nazis.

“I’m not fine,” Aphrodite replied, placing the nightgown in the top drawer of her dresser. “Nothing is fine as long as Kostas is in prison and Christos is in America.”

She noticed that the picture of Chris she kept on her dresser was missing. “Mama, where’s my picture of Christos?”

“I put it away in the bottom drawer,” her mother said.

Aphrodite turned sharply to face her mother. “Why?”

Her mother held up her hands in a pleading gesture. “It makes the Baron jealous.”

Aphrodite knew it was her mother who had always been jealous of Chris and her daughter’s happiness. “Good,” she said. “He should know that just because he holds my body doesn’t mean he holds my heart.”

“Aphrodite!” cried her mother, biting the knuckle of her clenched fist. “You mustn’t say such things.”

“But it’s true, Mama.” Aphrodite pulled open the bottom drawer and found the picture in the back, lying facedown. She took it out, wiped it clean, and placed it on top of her dresser, where it belonged. “We all know the arrangements of this estate,” she went on. “You get to live here as long as I sleep with Ludwig. If I stop, then you two are out on the streets, where I don’t think you’d find much sympathy from the ‘peasants,’ as you call them.”

“See here,” said her father. “Don’t talk to your mother that way. She loves you, and so do I. We don’t want to do anything rash. Yes, if we all keep calm, this whole thing will blow over.”

“Blow over, Papa?” she repeated. “In case you haven’t noticed, the old days are gone for good: Metaxas is dead, King George isn’t coming back, and this country is going to hell. When is this all going to blow over?”

“After the war,” he said resolutely. “You’ll see.”

She plopped down on the bed. “After the war, I’ll be an old maid,” she lamented, “despised by everybody.”

“You’ll be a beautiful, rich young woman, the envy of Athens, and the best catch,” said her mother, admiring herself in the mirror one last time. She turned from the vanity and came over to the bed with a gold brush and began brushing Aphrodite’s hair. “Love? What is that? You think I loved your father here? It comes in time. Hold your head still.”

“Ludwig isn’t even Greek, Mama. We’re collaborators, traitors-”

“We are not traitors,” her father insisted. “We are simply waiting for this godforsaken war to end. What other options do we have? Sit and do nothing while the Germans commandeer everything we’ve worked for? Risk our lives to escape the country on some ramshackle caique piloted by a Communist pirate who would probably slash our throats, steal our money, and throw us overboard for shark bait? Fight the enemy and die like so many other simple, misguided peasants who want to be heroes? No, I say we stay right where we are, where it’s safe. We mustn’t do anything drastic.”

The truth, she feared, was that her father, ever the shrewd businessman and speculator, was simply hedging his bets. He didn’t know there was a difference between finance and morality.

“Yes,” her mother agreed. “Family loyalty is more important than anything, Aphrodite, more important than laws or love or even the church. Don’t put your faith in some young fool who’s never going to come back.”

T hat evening the Vasilis estate was awash with light. Andros could hear the sound of music and laughter when Nasos stopped the car at the gate.

A German sentry emerged from the guardhouse, built since Andros last saw the estate. In awful Greek, the sentry demanded to see their papers before signaling to another sentry to lift the swing bar.

As they drove through the gate and up the long drive, a nervous Nasos asked, “You’re sure you want to do this?”

For years Andros had dreamed of this night, of seeing Aphrodite, and already his mind cast forward to the moment they would see each other and he would know if she still loved him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, old friend.”

He realized that Aphrodite had been the most influential person in his childhood, next to his father. Perhaps that was because Aphrodite had never compared him to his father; she lavished him with unconditional love and affection. She had changed his life and the way he viewed himself because she didn’t expect him to change or want him to. That was inconceivable to Andros, who felt that love was given to those who earned it. Yes, he thought joyfully, Aphrodite simply loved him for who he was. Her parents, meanwhile, had loved him for what he was-heir to the Andros Shipping dynasty. Every time Andros shook her father’s hand, he could sense Vasilis mentally calculating his family’s future good fortune and adding up the interest. Aphrodite’s mother, an arrogant woman who shared Aphrodite’s beauty but none of her warmth, had expressed her approval with a cool tolerance of the relationship.

Nasos pulled up to the entrance, where two SS footmen in spanking attire welcomed them. A white glove opened the door for Andros, and another directed Nasos to park farther down the drive with the other cars. Andros, dressed in black tie and tuxedo, bade Nasos farewell and went up the steps.

Standing at the top of the steps, greeting their arriving guests, were Aphrodite’s parents, the official hosts of the party. Vasilis, a short, meaty man stuffed into a tight-fitting tuxedo, was enthusiastically pumping hands while his taller wife, in a long, gaudy, bejeweled gown, welcomed them with an artificial, ingratiating smile. Upon seeing Andros, however, their jaws dropped and the blood drained from their faces, as if they had seen a ghost.

Finally, Vasilis found his tongue. “Christos? What are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest of the Baron’s.”

Vasilis and his wife exchanged nervous glances, and Andros thought they might physically bar him from entering the house. “Is Aphrodite here?” he asked.

They didn’t answer but simply stared at him in denial, as if they hoped he would go away. Clearly, Vasilis now considered him a bad investment come due.

Andros, seeing that he wouldn’t get very far with these two, said, “I’ll have a look around,” and left them standing there while he went inside.

In the main hall was a well-stocked bar, toward which Andros gravitated as he took in the surreal spectacle of German and Greek officers, politicians, and other dignitaries strolling about with lavishly dressed girls on their arms. The air seemed unusually carefree, he thought, considering the mixed attendance of victors and vanquished.

At the other end of the bar, he saw Werner, the Gestapo man who had greeted him at the docks that morning. He’s been watching me, Andros realized, ever since I walked through the door. Werner smiled and waved like an old friend and walked over. “Hello!” he said, handing Andros a glass of champagne. “See any familiar faces?”

Andros took a sip from his glass and looked around, indeed recognizing some of the more prominent families in Athens.

Werner said, “Over there is Prime Minister Rallis, talking with Dr. Hermann Neubacher, the Reich’s charge d’affaires in Athens. And in the corner arguing with General Wilhelm Speidel, commander of southern Greece, is General Vecchiarelli, the commander of the Italian Eleventh Army headquartered here. Most of the guests are outside in the garden. Let me show you.”