by Sara Alexi
How quickly that dream had vanished when it was made clear that his mama was now his responsibility. How lucky she was, they said, her cronies at the church, to have a son to look after her, whilst others referred to him as ‘poor Cosmo’, who could never marry – not with the responsibility for his widowed mother on his shoulders.
So Marina and her shop became a symbol, an example of what might be possible. She was married off as a young girl to an old goat of a man twice her age, who provided nothing and took everything, and then left her widowed with two children and a pile of debt, yet here she was, turning the situation around and in doing so becoming the life and the very soul of the village with her corner shop. She is living proof to Cosmo that everything can change.
He trots up the step and is met by a blast of cool air from the unit over the door. Inside is in darkness, the light from the window obscured by promotional stickers and boxes of cotton reels, hairnets and paperclips piled on the ledge. The roof beams are hung with fly swats, beach balls in plastic net bags, mouse traps – both humane and the other kind. Cosmo does his best not to look at the latter. Since the episode with the fish, the thought of an animal in pain is more than he cares to entertain. The shelves overflow with tins and bottles and household necessities such as mop heads and dustpans. Brooms and shepherd’s crooks lean in the corners. Sacks of rice, lentils, pasta and flour take up most of the floor space, but there is still a spare chair for any customer who wishes to stay for a chat.
‘Hi, Cosmo.’ Marina is behind the counter, which itself is stacked with biscuits, sweets, bubblegum and lighters standing sentinel in a cardboard display stand. Behind her, against the wall and reaching to the ceiling, are towers of cigarette packets, kept within easy reach. Sometimes it is Marina who serves, sometimes it is Irini. Petta, her son, helps out too, but since he has started to build a boat with his baba down by the jetty he spends little time in the shop.
‘Hi, Marina.’
She puts her hand out for the letter and reads the address.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Irini’s in the back, or I can take it.’
‘Marina?’ The call comes from the narrow back door by the shelves where the bread is stacked, covered with a light nylon gauze net.
‘Oh, hi, Cosmo.’ Irini is silhouetted as she enters. ‘Marina, do you want some food now?’ she asks.
‘Yes, sure, it’s been quiet for the last hour. Cosmo, have you eaten?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Come on then. We haven’t seen much of you since you got so busy with your oranges.’
Marina leads the way to the courtyard that divides the shop from the house, where a lemon tree dominates and the smell of roast tomatoes is only interrupted by the occasional whiff of the wisteria that trails over the courtyard walls.
Cosmo is repeating in his head what Marina just said – ‘busy with his oranges’. In other words, not ‘lazy’!
‘Is Petta here?’ Marina asks, and just as she speaks Petta strides out into the courtyard through a side door. Cosmo finds Petta’s size a little intimidating, and he is always so powerfully jolly that Cosmo is often left wondering if there is a flip side to his nature, if there is equal force in all his moods. Not that he has ever heard any rumours to back this up. It might just be his own fears, as the size of the man does catapult him back into feeling like a small boy.
‘Is Miltos with you?’ Marina asks.
‘No. Baba went to Juliet’s for lunch.’ Petta leans down to kiss them, first Irini on the mouth and then Marina on the forehead. Cosmo tries not to watch too intensely. He cannot ever remember kissing his mama on the forehead, or anywhere else for that matter, not since he was a child. But it is the kiss from Petta to Irini that lingers in his mind and causes him to feel unsettled.
‘Little Angelos.’ Marina opens her arms wide and squats down by the wooden table that is set with food. A toddler comes running from inside the house and throws himself into her arms.
Angelos then spots Cosmo and runs to him, and he squats just in time to catch the boy as he throws himself into a hug.
‘Hello, little man,’ Cosmo says, wondering if his nervousness shows. He does not have much contact with children and he is really not sure what to do with them. He also wonders if Petta will feel peeved that his son ran to this stranger, rather than to him first. But before his thoughts can take him any further, Angelos has prised himself away and is holding out a small red car …
‘Oh, what have you got there? Now that is a fine car,’ Cosmo says, feeling rather self-conscious.
But the little boy has lost interest and he runs to his baba, who bends down, scoops him up and lifts him high in the air.
‘Come on then, let’s eat,’ he says, with Angelos held above his head as if he weighs nothing at all.
‘But wait.’ He stops and looks around. ‘Where is my son?’ Angelos giggles and squirms. ‘Angelo? Where are you?’ The child giggles and squirms even more.
‘I can hear you,’ says Petta, ‘but I just can’t see you … Ah well, I will eat by myself then.’ And the big man sits, the child still held high.
‘I think you will find your son above your head,’ Irini says, as if this game has been played a thousand times before. She begins to put food on the plates. With the door to the shop wide open, the courtyard catches a slight breeze and the leaves of the lemon tree flutter.
Petta looks up. ‘Oh, there you are! Well, you come down here and sit next to me … There you go.’ And he carefully lowers Angelos into his high chair. ‘So, how are you, Cosmo?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Cosmo says non-committally.
‘Well, I’m sure it has been tough,’ Petta says, and he offers the basket of bread.
Cosmo grunts his reply. He cannot put into words the mess of emotions that have been, and still are, swimming around inside him. They seem to change so quickly at the moment. It is hard to get a handle on how he truly feels about his mama. This family seems to genuinely enjoy each other’s company as human beings, and by comparison his own family dinners were awkward, his baba always silent and giving the impression he was resenting every moment. His mama would press for her husband’s attention, describing the trials of her morning – again – whilst he, Cosmo, sat silently, not quite understanding what was going on.
When he was very young, he did not realise that in fact they both wanted to avoid talking about certain things in his presence, but he would hear them hiss and snarl at each other after he was in bed, and these terse exchanges that he was not supposed to overhear somehow made him feel very unsure of his safety. As he got older, however, he realised that it had nothing to do with him.
Irini passes him a plate of stuffed tomatoes and wine is poured in his glass. It is a welcome change of fare. Not that he would ever say anything against Stella’s chicken and lemon sauce, but for variety this is such a treat.
Petta dips his bread into the olive oil that has mixed with tomato juice in the bottom of the salad bowl in the centre of the table. Marina makes a noise as she chews. Angelos sits on Irini’s knee, and she feeds him little bits of food that she has dipped in the juice on her own plate. She forks mouthfuls of food for herself in between feeding her son. No one says much – they enjoy the space, the food and the company without much chatter and the whole experience is very relaxed.
Just for a moment, about halfway through the meal, Cosmo is touched by sadness. He could have had this. If his mama had allowed him to get close to some girl in the village, maybe she would have taken him as a husband and this life could have been his. Maybe it would be his daughter in Irini’s seat, with his grandchild on her knee.
After the plates are all cleared, Cosmo chats about Petta’s boat and Marina and Irini talk about Angelos’s morning as they drink a coffee. When Petta has drained his cup to the grounds at the bottom he suddenly seems anxious to be going.
‘You understand, it needs to be waterproofed inside and out before any bad weather comes,’ he tells Irini, speaking of his boat, with
a kiss and a ruffle of Angelos’s hair. Cosmo stands to shake the man’s hand. Petta grins at him broadly and suggests he comes down to see the boat. Cosmo feels slightly less afraid of him but he is not sure he will go – maybe one time with Thanasis, perhaps. He assures Petta he will and the big man leaves.
Angelos starts to whinge, and Irini excuses herself and takes him inside, then comes back out and tells Marina that she is going to start on the stocktaking, before going into the shop.
Cosmo sits back and lets his stomach expand. Angelos begins to cry and Marina is quick to fetch him.
‘You’re not ready to sleep, are you, my little man?’ she coos to the baby, and she sits back down opposite Cosmo.
‘I never thought I would love again as I love this little man,’ Marina says to Cosmo. ‘How are you doing?’
She looks him straight in the eye and Cosmo squirms.
‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ she says, and a little frown appears, knotting the skin between her eyes. ‘If you love them, then there is nothing but pain. If the love was mixed with – well, other things, then it gets to be complicated.’
She takes a half breath. ‘It is no secret that I didn’t love Manolis. I didn’t even like Manolis, but after he was gone it was like he was still here’ – she looks around the courtyard – ‘and I didn’t dare do things in case he came back or rose from his grave or something.’
Cosmo smiles, but only because he is not sure what else to do.
‘You smile, but I know you know what I am talking about. Your mama was not an easy woman.’
Cosmo feels the blood drain from his face.
‘It was visible?’ he asks.
‘Were we not babies together, growing up together, seeing each other every day for the entirety of our lives?’ she says. ‘Besides, God bless her soul, it is not a secret that I never had any love for the woman. Not that I had strong feelings against her, as you know. It was just – well, not everyone suits everyone. Besides, once I was married to Manolis I saw who she was all the more clearly. But then I would, wouldn’t I? I had another like her to judge up close!’ A glazed look passes across her eyes.
Cosmo nods as if he has always thought so, but this is all coming as news to him.
‘So, how are you?’ Marina asks again. Angelos is playing with her necklace, an evil eye made of blue glass, on a gold chain.
He shrugs and tries to pin down one emotion … But he cannot speak its name – that would be terrible.
‘Go on,’ Marina says gently, ‘I can assure you I had all your feelings and more when Manolis died. I thought I would burn in hell forever for some of my thoughts.’
‘Well, I am beginning to think she did not suit me,’ Cosmo says quietly. Saying these words gives him the same feeling as the time he swore by accident in church. ‘Mostly what I feel is relief,’ he adds, and all the blood that drained from his face rushes back and makes his cheeks feel hot.
‘Oh yes, relief,’ she says, as if she remembers the feeling only too well. This gives Cosmo courage.
‘I thought I would miss her more, but as time goes on I feel this increased sense of …’ He stops to consider, to choose a word that fits. ‘Freedom. Yes, freedom.’ He thinks some more, before adding, ‘And anger, I think.’
‘And how much! I think I didn’t dare to be angry with him when he was alive – I was too scared of him. But after he was gone, oh yes! Well, the shop is proof! So angry I opened his precious little apothiki to the world and sold off all that was his! Ha ha!’
Cosmo finds he is smiling with her, but the anger turns his mouth to a snarl.
‘Yes, anger.’ Saying the words feels easier this time.
‘And of course – guilt,’ Marina offers.
Cosmo focuses his attention inside his head, then his chest and then his stomach … Oh yes, there it is, churning his lunch: guilt.
‘Well, it was for the world to see that she suffocated you.’ Marina kisses the baby’s hand that is reaching to her face.
But Cosmo is left reeling. ‘Suffocate’ is a very daring word, but it feels like such a good fit, and all the time he just thought that was how all mamas were behind closed doors.
‘Yes, she suffocated me, and I feel guilty that I am happy that she is gone.’ The words feel like the bravest thing he has ever said and he worries that Marina will consider him to be a sinner.
‘Well, take it from me, let go of that one first. You have no reason to feel guilty for anything. You gave up your life to look after that woman, a duty you could have turned your back on.’
‘Not if I wanted to stay in the village,’ Cosmo observes.
Marina nods in agreement and Angelos reaches for her earrings; he finds that his head is near her shoulder and rests it there, his eyelids flicking for a moment before closing.
‘I’d better lay this one down,’ she says.
‘And I’d better go,’ Cosmo responds. A part of him wants to stay. Marina makes talking easy – he feels like some of his sins have been forgiven and he feels lighter.
‘Well, I am here,’ she says by way of goodbye, and she invites him to come again, before standing and going into her house. Cosmo lets himself out by the side gate, noting on his way out that her wisteria needs watering. He hopes she notices too.
At home, the warmth of the day and his full stomach guide him to lie down on the daybed for a sleep. The sadness he felt during lunch is still there.
The orchard is fenced around the sides and at the back, where it borders Vangelis’s olive grove. The fence, although a little rusty in places, is in good condition generally, and it is certainly not old enough to have been erected by Cosmo’s baba. Oddly, the front of the orchard, on the road side, is open for its full length. Cosmo wonders if his mama fenced the back because of some dispute with Vangelis. That would fit. She often complained about him, for some reason or another. But last week he seemed friendly enough, leaning over from his side for a chat.
At the back, in the far corner, a hole has appeared in the wire, perhaps made by a dog, and Cosmo squats to examine it. In a way, it seems pointless to do anything about it, since the whole property is not secured and dogs can just wander in from the road if they want to, but seeing as he is responsible now Cosmo feels he should maintain it. The flexible wire he has brought with him will be perfect for the job.
The rusty metal seems to bite into his fingers, resisting his efforts as he pulls at it, coaxing the two sides back into position to try to close up the hole. The hole continues to gape, reluctant to close up, so he threads the wire back and forth, pulling on each return. Finally, he bends the wire this way and that to break it, and the heat it builds up burns his fingers.
‘Oh, come on,’ he mutters, and at last the wire becomes soft and breaks. ‘Thank you,’ he says.
It won’t be dark for a few hours yet, and it would be a good time to get on with any other jobs around the orchard that need doing, but he seems to have done them all and so he wanders his way home.
As he approaches the church he can see Maria carrying her rubbish to the bins. She holds the bag at arm’s length, and a procession of cats trail behind her. If he were closer he would be able to hear her talking to them, in the soft, sweet voice she used before the time of the rejection letter. A group of boys, brown-skinned and shirtless, pause in their game to let her pass, but as she turns back in the direction of her house, one of them kicks the ball across her path. They will be taunting her, Cosmo realises – thoughtlessly and without real malice, but to Maria it will feel so unkind.
They get a rise out of her, and so of course it is natural that they tease her. They stole her bicycle once and hid it in an orange grove. Maria blamed the papas, certain it was he who took the bike, and there was no telling her otherwise even when it was found and returned to her.
By the time he reaches the church she is back in her house, and Cosmo turns down his lane and slows his bike to a stop.
Poppy has left his clothes, pressed and neatly folded, on the kitc
hen table. He will have a shower and change. He feels sweaty and dusty.
The cold water runs over his face and down his back and feels very refreshing. The searing heat of August has lessened but the beginning of September can still be warm. Outside the bathroom window, the grapes hang from the pergola, plump, heavy and deep red.
‘Ah, I can try to make wine with them this year!’ he says out loud. ‘No more of her damned cordial!’
He dries himself briskly with a small towel but the heat has already done most of the job. Naughtily, he wanders naked into the kitchen. It is not likely Poppy would drop round for anything at this time in the evening, and anyone else would knock, so he enjoys the feeling of the air on his skin and he takes his time to put on fresh clothes.
Inspecting the cuffs of his shirt, he wonders if he would be better off taking out the large stitches his mama put in. The colour of the cotton is wrong and it does not do a good job of hiding the frayed edges.
Petta won’t have any such worries. Irini will sit and stitch his shirts, no doubt, or Marina. What must that be like, to not have to worry about these things? He could try to restitch them himself, but he doesn’t even know where she kept the sewing box. Probably in her room. He has not been in there since the funeral, and it was not a place he can remember being invited to enter. At some point, of course, he will have to go in there and sort through her belongings. But not yet. He is not ready to face that yet.
He takes a pair of scissors from a nail on the edge of the kitchen shelf and cuts away the thread and then, very carefully, with his arm resting on the table, he trims the ragged edge of the cuff. Even by his standards, the shirt is fit for the bin. Of course, he agrees with his mama’s frugal attitude, in principle at least. It is best to make do with what you have, and there is no point in throwing away things that are serviceable, then wasting money buying new.
