War Games by Audrey Couloumbis

window and know a boy was up to something. More than that, it wouldn’t be easy to hide the flag in another such excellent place.
    Zola sat, then fell into his bed as if it swallowed him up. He didn’t even move to make himself more comfortable. Petros waited five minutes more, until Zola was sleeping deeply, before feeling his way through the dark hall and kitchen, carrying his sandals. He put them on after he’d crossed the veranda.
    There was no morning light, but the inky darkness of night had given way to a strange purple color in the air. Petros plucked the flag from its hiding place. He hurried to let himself into the pump house, careful not to wake Old Mario, whoslept nearby. Petros wrapped the roll of paper in a scrap of oilcloth he found in a pile of useful things.
    Climbing the rough shelves in the pump house, Petros placed the flag at the top. Anyone who looked there would pay the oilcloth no attention at all. He got only one small splinter for his trouble.
    He went back to the kitchen for the key to the padlock on the gate, then unwound the chain. The sun was coming up as he crossed the road, heading to Elia’s. Behind him, Old Mario’s door creaked open.
    Petros tossed a pebble at Elia’s window to rouse him. When Elia looked out, Petros beckoned and crept away again, to wait for him at the road. A truck passed, filled with soldiers.
    Elia came out his back door.
    “We must pick as many of the mulberries as we can,” Petros said, “and we must keep our hands clean.”
    Elia nodded, catching on. He said, “Use the mulberry leaves like a potholder, pick the fruit, and drop it into the bucket without touching it.”
    Soon the smell of coffee wafted on the air, making their bellies grumble. Old Mario crossed the yard to feed the goats. Fifi got loose and trotted over to stand below the tree. The boys picked a bucketful of berries before their mamas began to wonder where they were.
    Only a bucketful, because the leaves made them clumsy. Even without trying, they dropped enough berries to keep Fifi contented. She ate a leaf as happily as a berry. The only troublecame when Petros had to put her back into the pen, and then tie the rope to her collar once more. He got many bites.
    Going into the kitchen, he heard Mama say, “He treats that animal like a dog.”
    “A good farmer keeps his animals content,” Papa said as he dipped a crust of bread into his coffee. Petros let his chest swell just the littlest bit. He did keep Fifi content.
    German troop trucks rumbled past the house while the family was still at breakfast. The family hurried to the front windows.
    “Men and supplies,” Papa said. Officers rode between some of the trucks in jeeps. Everyone drew a breath in relief whenever a jeep didn’t stop at their gate. Then came the realization: the German army had come to Amphissa. Petros glanced at Zola, who pulled a wadded note out of his pocket to show Petros, shoved it back down.
    “Some of these trucks must be going straight through,” Papa said.
    “Through to where?” This was Sophie.
    Papa said, “Perhaps to the railroad. Or to follow the coast around to the Corinth Canal. To get to Crete.”
    Papa and Old Mario agreed the commander would settle his men in the village before they’d see him. They still had their house to themselves and were free to speak as they pleased. Yet they lowered their voices to speak of the commander.
    They stopped counting the trucks that passed by. It was more like they’d decided not to look.
    During the day, people came to the gate to sell things. Villagers, leaving Amphissa for any place more hospitable than their home had just become. Papa said the boys weren’t to open the gate.
    Mama was lucky to buy a pair of shoes for Zola, who’d outgrown his work boots. This pair had been worn but didn’t have any holes. The shoes were taken out of a feed sack, and money stuffed to fill it.
    Mostly Mama shook her head—she wanted nothing but shoes, even if they were