Εξωφυλλο
cover
Photo courtesy Kostas Koutoulakis
story
Greek Mother
T
he great German writer Erhart Kastner made the following confession:
In 1952 I visited Athens for the first time after the war. At the German embassy, when they
heard that I intended to go to Crete, since they knew the wounds from the German occupation
were still open, they advised me that I should pretend to be Swiss. But I knew the Cretans.
From the very first moment I said I was German, not only did I not encounter ill will, but every
place I visited, I experienced the legendary Cretan hospitality.
One late afternoon, as the sun was setting, I visited the German cemetery (at Maleme). I
thought I was alone, with only the setting sun’s falling rays as my companion, but I was wrong…
There was a living soul, a woman, dressed in black. With great surprise I saw her lighting candles on the graves of the German soldiers. I approached her and asked, ‘‘Are you from here?’’ ‘‘I
am,’’ she replied. ‘‘Why are you doing this?’’ I asked. ‘‘Those men killed so many Cretans during
the war.’’
The w