Chapter 6: Psychro

The idea of going to Greece had lodged itself in Niko’s mind, despite his initial resistance. Now, as he stared at the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, he couldn't shake the thought.

He pulled out his phone, hesitating for a moment before typing "Yannis Papadakis Crete" into the search bar. It felt strange, like reaching out to a part of his life he had never known, but something pushed him forward. The search results loaded slowly, and his heart pounded as he scrolled through the links. Articles in Greek, local festival announcements, and a few social media profiles appeared.

Then, he found it. A page dedicated to the Panagia tis Anoixis festival, with Yannis's name prominently featured as the founder and organizer. There was a picture of Yannis, older now but still with the same strong jawline and intense eyes looked so familiar from that little photo on the fridge. Niko stared at the image, feeling an odd connection to this man he had never met.

He clicked on the "Contact" link, which led him to an email address and a phone number. Niko's hand trembled as he copied the email address into his phone and started typing a message:

Dear Yannis,

My name is Niko - I'm Helena's son. I know it's been many years, and you may not have expected to hear from us, but I feel I need to connect with you. There's so much I don't know about our family, and I believe it's time I learned. If you're willing, I would love to come to Crete and meet you. I hope this message finds you well.

Niko Angelopoulos

He read the words over several times, wondering if it was too forward, too abrupt. But there was no other way to say it. Taking a deep breath, he hit send, watching as the message disappeared into the digital ether.

Now all he could do was wait and hope that Yannis, somewhere across the sea, would respond.

 

---

As Niko settled into his seat on the plane, he found himself scrolling through a language app he had downloaded at the last minute. He had never intended to come to Crete, but now that he was on his way, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to know a few basic phrases.

He tapped through the lessons, practising the simple words: “Kalimera” for good morning, “Parakaló” for please, “Efcharistó” for thank you. He repeated them under his breath, trying to get the pronunciation right. “Nai” for yes, “Ochi” for no. The words felt strange on his tongue, but he was a fast learner. As he practised, the unfamiliar syllables started to feel a bit more natural, even if just a little.

Heraklion Airport was a whirlwind of noise, movement, and people. Crowds of travellers jostled for space, dragging suitcases, and navigating the labyrinth of customs. It was a far cry from the quiet introspection that had consumed him for so long.

Yannis’ response to Niko’s email had been almost instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for years. Niko supposed he must have been. When Yannis had called Niko’s number - listed at the bottom of the email - his voice had been a torrent of emotion, overflowing with warmth and joy. He had made generous offers of where Niko could stay, when would be best for him to visit, or better yet, why not come right now? "I'll be at the airport when you arrive," Yannis had said, his enthusiasm palpable even over the phone.

Now, here Niko was, walking through the glass doors of the arrival terminal. His eyes scanned the throngs of people until they landed on a beaming face holding a large, hand-written sign that read "NIKO." It was Yannis, looking older but instantly recognizable, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Beside him were two children, Yannis' grandchildren, who were bouncing on their toes with wide, eager smiles.

"It’s their holidays," Yannis explained as he wrapped Niko in a bear hug. "And we're all so excited to meet you. Alexa! Gorge! Say hello to your uncle Niko.”

Two coy angelic faces beamed “Hello”.

Niko instinctively extended his hand and said, “Kalimera.” The word came out a little too formally, but Yannis’ smile grew even wider.

“Come, come!" He ushered Niko outside, the children chattering excitedly in Greek.

“Kalimera, Niko!” Yannis boomed, clearly pleased with the effort. “You’ve been practising, eh? Very good. But you must know, here in Crete, we have our own way of speaking. It’s not just Greek, it’s something older, something richer. If you really want to impress the old folks, you’ll do them the honour of learning a few words in our dialect.”

Niko nodded with a smile, feeling a mix of relief and amusement. “I’ll do my best,” he said in English, knowing that his attempts at the local dialect might be a bit beyond his grasp for now.

“You’re doing just fine,” Yannis reassured him, his tone warm and encouraging. “But remember, it’s not just about the words. It’s about the spirit behind them. Speak from the heart, and the people will understand, no matter what language you use.”

The van in the car park was old, the kind of vehicle that had seen better days, but it was spacious. They all squeezed into the front, Yannis taking the wheel as they pulled out of the airport. The city of Heraklion quickly gave way to the Cretan countryside, the narrow roads winding through fields and past olive groves. The air was thick with the scent of wild herbs, and the sun cast a golden hue over everything, making the island seem almost magical.

Yannis continued to speak, mixing Greek with the occasional Cretan phrase, pointing out landmarks, telling stories of the island’s history. Niko listened intently, catching words here and there, slowly piecing together the meaning.

“We live in Psychro,” Yannis explained as they drove, his voice filled with pride. “It’s about an hour and a half away, but it will be a very scenic introduction to our wonderful Crete, and yes, Niko, your true homeland.”

The road meandered through the hills, offering glimpses of the deep blue sea in the distance. They passed tiny villages, their white-washed houses clustered together like pearls on a string, each with its own little church. The landscape was a patchwork of olive trees, vineyards, and fields dotted with grazing sheep. The occasional goat perched precariously on rocky outcrops, adding to the rustic charm of the scenery.

Once they found a rhythm to their journey, Yannis couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. He wanted to know everything about Helena - his magnificent sister - and her handsome husband, Nicholas. Niko found himself recounting the life his parents had built in London, the trials they had faced, and the quiet strength of his mother after Nicholas’s death. As he spoke, Yannis’ joy turned to sorrow, tears welling up in his eyes as he listened to the hardships his sister had endured.

“I wish I could have been there for her,” Yannis whispered, his voice breaking. “I never stopped thinking about her, wondering if she was happy, if she was safe.”

Niko could feel the weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air, the most pressing of all - why hadn’t Helena returned? But Yannis didn’t ask. It was as if he understood that the answer was too painful to voice, too tangled in a past that could not be easily unravelled.

As they neared Psychro, the road became narrower, winding up into the hills where the air was cooler. The village came into view, a cluster of houses nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains. The moment they arrived, it was clear that something big was happening. People were bustling about, preparing for what looked like a festival. Yannis was greeted warmly by everyone they passed, though he tried to maintain a humble demeanour.

“In a week, we’ll be celebrating Panagia tis Anoixis,” Yannis explained, his eyes shining with pride. “It’s a festival I took on five years ago, a celebration of spring and the coming summer. You must stay for it, Niko. It would mean so much to us.”

As the van bumped along the winding, narrow roads of Psychro, Niko stared out the window, taking in the sights of the village. It was a place that seemed to exist in a different time - whitewashed houses with blue shutters, climbing bougainvillaea spilling over stone walls, and narrow streets where elderly men sat outside cafés, sipping thick coffee and chatting in the shade. Children chased one another in dusty alleys, their laughter echoing off the walls. It was a scene out of the stories his mother used to tell him, a world so far removed from his life in London that it felt almost unreal.

Yannis manoeuvred the van through the heart of the village, where everyone seemed to know him. He waved and called out greetings in rapid Greek, his booming voice filled with warmth. Niko noticed how people’s faces lit up when they saw Yannis. Clearly, he was a well-loved figure here, someone who belonged in every sense of the word.

Finally, they turned down a dirt road that led away from the village centre, winding through groves of olive trees that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The van shuddered over the uneven ground, and Niko could smell the earthy scent of the olive trees mingling with the warm, dry air. The landscape was rugged and beautiful, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon.

Yannis steered the van down the final stretch, where the road ended at a stone courtyard. The buildings were weathered, their lintels low and worn smooth by centuries of use. Niko noticed how Yannis instinctively ducked his head as he stepped out of the van, a practised motion that spoke of years spent navigating these spaces. He could imagine the low doorways causing the occasional bump on the head, especially after a few glasses of raki.

As they approached the entrance, Niko heard the sounds of laughter and conversation coming from a garden area just beyond the main house. The family had gathered for a late lunch, seated around a long wooden table under a pergola draped with grapevines. The table was laden with platters of grilled meats, fresh vegetables, and baskets of bread. Jugs of wine and water were passed around, and the air was filled with the scent of roasted lamb and garlic.

The family greeted Yannis with the same warmth Niko had seen in the village. They were an animated group, speaking in rapid, cheerful Greek as they welcomed him. But as the introductions were made, Niko couldn’t help but notice the faintest tell of something else in their eyes - a brief, almost imperceptible pause when Yannis introduced him as Helena’s son. It was as if a shadow passed over the group, a reminder of something unspoken.

Yannis, ever the gracious host, led Niko through the garden and towards the buildings. “We’ve lived here for generations,” Yannis explained, gesturing to the stone walls that seemed to hold so many stories within them. “This land, these buildings, they’ve been passed down from father to son. I took over after our father passed, just as he did before me.”

The main house was simple but full of character, with low ceilings and thick walls that kept the interior cool even in the heat of the day. As they walked, Yannis pointed out various details - a stone hearth that had warmed generations, a shelf filled with old clay pots, each one with a story.

They came to a small room at the far end of the house, its door slightly ajar. Yannis pushed it open, revealing a modest but well-kept bedroom. The walls were whitewashed, with a single window overlooking the olive groves. A simple wooden bed stood against one wall, and beside it, a small dresser and a chair. The room was sparsely decorated, with a few personal touches that hinted at its previous occupant - a stack of well-read books, a small icon of the Virgin Mary on the wall.

“This was my son Christos’ room when he was a boy,” Yannis said quietly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “He’s about a year younger than you, Niko. It would be an honour for you to stay here.”

Niko felt a mixture of emotions as he stepped into the room. There was something sacred about the space as if it held the essence of a life lived. He could see traces of the boy who had grown up here, the books he’d read, the prayers he’d whispered before bed.

As Niko set his bag down, Yannis lingered in the doorway, his warm smile not quite reaching his eyes. “This is your home now too, Niko,” he said, his tone friendly but with an undercurrent that Niko couldn’t quite place. “We are family, and we’re glad to have you here.”

There was sincerity in Yannis’ words, but Niko sensed that there was more beneath the surface. Perhaps it was the shadow of the past, the lingering suspicion born from the stories that had circulated in hushed tones after his parents’ sudden departure. Though Yannis appeared open-hearted, welcoming him with a show of unconditional love, Niko wondered if there wasn’t a part of him that still held onto the old doubts and fears.

As Yannis left him to settle in, Niko sat on the edge of the bed, trying to absorb it all. The room, the house, the village - it was overwhelming in its history and its connection to him, yet he felt like an outsider, stepping into a world that wasn’t quite his own.

Outside, the sounds of the family continued, their voices carrying through the open window. Niko took a deep breath, the scent of the olive trees mingling with the cool air of the room and a deep sense of bittersweetness settled over him. The family had been so welcoming, so full of life and love, that it was impossible not to feel the pull of their warmth. He could imagine Zoe here, her laughter mingling with theirs, her eyes wide with curiosity as she learned about his roots. She would have loved it - this vibrant, close-knit family, the beauty of the island, the stories of old.

He could almost see her sitting beside him, her hand in his, as they reflected on this new world. Zoe, who had always been so open, so ready to embrace new experiences, would have fit in perfectly. She would have charmed Yannis with her easy smile, asked a hundred questions about the myths and the history of Crete, and made friends with everyone she met. Niko would have been so proud to introduce her to this part of his life, to share with her the joy of discovering his heritage, to watch her light up as she explored this new world with him.

But as he glanced at the empty space beside him, he had to accept she would never be here. Never. What a word. So final. No matter how welcoming this place was, no matter how much he might grow to love it, he was experiencing it alone. Zoe would never know these people, never hear the stories, never walk the paths of his ancestors.

Niko felt a tightness in his chest as he fought to keep his composure. He was surrounded by life, by the kind of family connection he had never truly known, yet he felt more alone than ever. He knew he had to come to terms with this new reality, had to find a way to live in the present, to embrace the life that was still ahead of him. But he couldn’t - and wouldn’t - let go of Zoe. She was a part of him.

He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself in the moment.