The Water and the Wine

by Tamar Hodes

  ‘Maybe we should leave them, Magda, and go and join the nuns in the monastery on the hill?’

  ‘The peace and quiet would be good!’

  The women laughed and hugged each other. Marianne was so pleased to have Magda as her friend, the older sister she had never had.

  That evening in Douskos’ Taverna, the usual conversations were flying around. Leonard hadn’t come, wanting to stay at home and write. Axel wasn’t there either, obsessed by his new love. Marianne wasn’t enjoying the evening. She missed the strumming of Leonard’s guitar beneath their words; she usually enjoyed the conversation but tonight it felt flat.

  ‘Jeez, Charm, you say you want to write. Just darn well do it. Stop complaining about it.’

  ‘Me? Complaining? It’s you who is always moaning about your writing.’

  ‘Moaning? Me?’

  She turned to talk to Norman but she found him uninspiring; his passion was in his work, not his words. It seemed as if the exhibition had worn him out.

  Jack was talking to Gordon and Chuck about Buber (Frieda having an evening at home, he said), John asking Olivia about Buddhism; Magda singing to herself, her voice thin without the guitar chords to support it.

  ‘I’m rather tired tonight,’ said Marianne. ‘Excuse me,’ and she left early.

  Walking along the harbour, she saw that the lights in Frieda’s shuttered studio were on. That’s unusual, thought Marianne, and made her way slowly home.

  Frieda and Carl usually only saw each other in the day, but they had decided to meet that evening. They were resentful that only parts of the day’s cycle belonged to them. It felt different being together at night, the room cosy, shutting the darkness out and keeping their light inside. Carl had brought a bottle of white wine and two glasses and a candle in a jar.

  Frieda had written Carl another poem and he listened carefully as she read it aloud:

  We shared a peach and it was good,

  The juices running down our loving arms.

  You asked me if I wanted to fly away

  And I said I did

  If it was with you.

  So we laced fingers

  And mounted the sky

  And looked down on the earth and on the sea

  And the land we had left behind.

  Now, high above the world,

  We laugh and love

  And eat our juicy peaches

  And see how the juice runs down our arms.

  ‘That is so beautiful, Frieda,’ said Carl, and they sipped their wine. ‘I see a real change in you of late. Your poetry, your painting, your loving. And even your skin is glowing.’

  ‘It is because of you, Carl,’ she whispered. ‘You have given me such self-confidence. I never thought of myself as talented. The focus was always on Jack: so clever and charismatic. I thought I was ordinary, but you have made me feel that I do have a gift for painting and that I am worth something.’

  ‘There is nothing ordinary about you, Frieda. You are very special. It is sad that no-one has ever made you aware of that before. I sensed it that very first evening that we met. It was obvious how wonderful you were, but it was hidden, like a flower under leaves which just needs someone to uncover it.’

  They kissed and drank wine and for a few hours, Frieda allowed herself to believe that they were living together and that they were in their home. They were having an evening together, that’s all, sharing some wine and doing what couples do. It was only when the bottle was empty that they needed to leave.

  They locked up the studio and Carl walked her a little way up the hill. Then they kissed goodbye and she continued, light-headed, back to her house.

  The children were fast asleep. Jack returned late from the taverna, and settled for the night on the sofa.

  In her bed, Frieda closed her eyes and felt dizzy with love, sick with deceit.

  xvi

  As soon as Marianne heard the jingle of the goat bell, her heart sank. ‘She’s here,’ she called to Leonard. ‘You’re going to have to make an effort.’

  She smoothed her hair as she ran down the stairs and opened the door. In front of her was a small woman, dressed in layers, a cardigan draped over her shoulders like wings, in spite of the oppressive heat. Marianne could immediately see the features that she and Leonard shared: dark hair, high cheekbones, beautiful eyes.

  ‘That ride was the most uncomfortable experience of my life,’ she said, struggling through the front door with so many suitcases that Marianne worried for the donkey’s welfare. ‘I’m Masha, Leonard’s mother.’

  ‘How do you do? I’m Marianne.’

  The mule boy tapped the animal and led it sulkily away.

  For a few moments the women stared at each other and tried to take the other in, like acclimatising to a different country: a slender, blonde woman and a dark-haired short one; a Norwegian accent and a Russian-Canadian one; his lover and his mother.

  Leonard came down the stairs. He was still gaunt, but he had shaved and washed for his mother’s sake. Marianne wondered why he couldn’t do the same for her. The last few weeks had been hell with Leonard fasting, addicted to his amphetamines, working obsessively day and night, sweating, hallucinating, neglecting her and Axel Joachim, which had puzzled the boy and made him tearful, confused as Leonard had changed from a friend to a stranger.

  ‘Hello, Mother.’ Leonard kissed her politely on the cheek and carried her cases miserably upstairs.

  ‘Ach! The heat! I’m telling you, it’s gonna kill me!’

  Don’t give me cause for hope, thought Leonard but he smiled and said, ‘Let’s get you inside, Mother, and cool you down.’

  They led her into the living room, the shutters keeping the sun out. Books lined the walls, and the only furniture was a sofa, chair and a small table. Leonard liked to live simply, fearing that too much clutter would impede his ability to write. Masha looked round disapprovingly. It made a monastery look lavish.

  Marianne gave her a cold drink, and Masha had a chance to see her son clearly. ‘Leonard,’ she began, shaking her head. ‘You look terrible. You’re wasting away. I can see you aren’t eating properly.’ She turned to Marianne. ‘When he was a child, he loved to eat, and I fed him chicken soup, kneidlach, lokshen pudding, doughnuts. I’d spend half the night cooking for him. That’s what you do when you love someone.’

  ‘Leave it, Mother. I’ve been busy with my novel.’

  ‘Novel shnovel! You should have taken over the clothing business when your father died. That would have been better for you, not writing these terrible, depressing books that make people lose the will to live. What’s the point of it? You’re too sensitive, Leonard, I’ve always told you that, haven’t I?’

  Leonard covered his face with his hands and it seemed to Marianne that Masha had, within minutes, transformed him from a brooding, sexy man into an agonised adolescent.

  Masha turned to Marianne. ‘You know what happened when he lost Tinkie?’

  ‘Tinkie?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mother.’

  ‘Leonard, don’t blaspheme.’

  She turned again to Marianne. ‘His Scottish terrier. Ach, did he adore him! And then Tinkie died, was lost in a snowstorm, and the following spring he was found, dead, under the neighbour’s porch. Oy, was Leonard broken-hearted? I’ll tell you something, that boy was devastated, cried for days. Isn’t that right, Leonard?’

  ‘Mother, I’m sure that Marianne doesn’t want to…’

  ‘What? Are you embarrassed that you cried for your dog?’

  They heard Axel Joachim wake from his sleep. ‘I’ll just go and fetch my son,’ said Marianne, feeling quite worried about Masha’s stay.

  Once she was out of the room, Masha leant forward to her son: ‘Are you and that woman…’

  ‘Marianne.’

  ‘Yes, Marianne. Are you with her?’

  ‘Yes, I am, Mother.’

  ‘So that’s what it’s come to, Leonard, a blonde shiksa with a baby living on a Greek isla
nd with drug addicts and painters who can’t earn a decent living?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve chosen. Yes.’

  ‘But why, Leonard, why? I can’t understand it. You could have stayed with Freda Gutman, a lovely girl, and joined your uncles in the business. You could have lived in Westmount and been company for me, Leonard. Since Harry and I separated, it’s been lonely for me with Esther now married to Victor and busy with their own lives and I miss you so much and…’

  Into the room came Marianne carrying Axel Joachim. He had just woken from his nap, his cheeks pink and soft, rubbing his sleepy eyes, his blonde hair ruffled.

  ‘Oh hello, sweetie,’ said Masha, jumping up to see the baby. ‘What a beauty.’

  To the surprise of Leonard and Marianne, Axel Joachim let Masha hold him and she fell in love with the baby at once.

  ‘Ach, is this baby a doll or what? I’ll tell you something. I’ve never seen such a beautiful child in my whole life.’

  Axel Joachim leant his head against Masha’s chest and fingered the beads around her neck.

  ‘You are something else,’ she said cooing. ‘What a little angel,’ and she held him tightly.

  Over the next week, Marianne took Masha around the island, leaving Leonard at home to write. Axel Joachim continued to woo Masha and she fell more and more in love with him. One day, they took a picnic in Kamini where the water was so clear that they could see the rocks and coral on the seabed, as if they had been preserved beneath glass.

  Another time, Mikalis and Spyros took them on a beautiful boat trip around the coastline, pointing out the dolphins and turtles gracing the emerald sea. As they sat on the boat, Masha’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I have really enjoyed today. Thank you. Let me tell you, Marianne, I am very lonely,’ she sobbed.

  Marianne put her hand gently on the older woman’s arm.

  ‘For many years, I was on my own but then I married again. Harry, a pharmacist. He got MS, sadly – I think he knew he was developing it when we got married – and I nursed him, that was my training after all, but we weren’t happy and we decided to go our own way. He moved to Florida, better for his condition. Your children grow up, your friends are busy and the next thing you know, you are totally alone.’ The tears fell softly down her face. ‘I do read and go to concerts, but I miss Leonard so badly. After his father died, he was the man of the house, doing the Brachot, helping me. He is very special.’

  ‘I know,’ said Marianne kindly. ‘You can come and see us whenever you like, Masha.’

  They embraced while Masha sobbed. ‘Thank you, Marianne. You have a very kind heart.’

  Marianne showed Masha their special landmarks, letting her wheel Axel Joachim in his pushchair. They went to Demi’s bakery where Masha bought bread for the baby to suck and Marianne showed her the communal ovens. She introduced Masha to some friends on Hydra who she thought she would like: Olivia, always warm and gregarious, and Gordon and Chuck, without explaining the nature of their bond. When they saw Axel and Sonja, in the distance, Marianne waved without telling Masha that it was her husband and his lover. She wasn’t lying, she told herself, just holding back certain pieces of information that might shock her.

  One day, they were in Katsikas’ store, buying chickens for Masha to cook for their Shabbat meal. Masha was rather horrified when Katsikas brought out two, their drooping heads and clawed feet still attached. Marianne made a chopping signal to Katsikas and he understood, carrying them out like limp puppets and bringing them back a few minutes later, amputees.

  ‘Hi, Marianne,’ said Magda, her bright red hair matched by a crimson dress and orange beaded necklace so that she looked like she had been set alight.

  Marianne embraced Magda. ‘This is Masha, Leonard’s mother.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely to meet you, Mrs Cohen,’ said Magda. ‘I see where Leonard gets his good looks from.’

  ‘Oh, why thank you.’ Masha put her hands coyly to her face.

  ‘I’m so pleased I bumped into you. It’s the opening of my new wine bar, Lagoudera, tomorrow. You are all invited.’ She turned to Masha. ‘You too, of course. I have bought the old boathouse and renovated it. It’s amazing. I’m so pleased with it. Please come.’

  Back at the house, Leonard prepared the Shabbat candles, wine and bread from Demi’s (no challah, but a sweet white loaf) and Masha worked side by side with the maid in the kitchen. The arrangement didn’t work out well, Kyria Sophia annoyed at having her space invaded and Masha restricted by what she could prepare on the two-ringed cooker. Leonard and Marianne spoke in hushed voices in the living room.

  ‘Thank you, Marianne,’ he said. ‘I am very grateful to you for looking after my mother so well and giving me time to write.’

  ‘That’s okay. Axel Joachim has helped so much, Leonard. She adores him. But when she goes, you need to pay more attention to us. We are your family here.’

  ‘I know. I will. Has my mother said when she’s leaving?’

  ‘I don’t know. She says she has an open ticket, but I don’t think she’s in any hurry to go.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘When we were in Katsikas, we saw Magda and she invited us all to go to the opening of her new wine bar Lagoudera tomorrow. Even your mother.’

  ‘Shit again.’

  ‘Exactly. What are we going to do?’

  ‘I will talk to her.’

  Masha was so happy to be with her son on Shabbat, the first time in years. He lit the candles, sang the blessings and she beamed with happiness. Marianne’s heart went out to her. She knew how lonely she had felt with Axel before she had met Leonard: isolation could eat you away. She felt a pang of guilt but then she consoled herself: even if Leonard were not living with her, he would not be living with his mother.

  Masha proudly brought out the pot of chicken soup. It was a hot meal to eat in the July weather, but it tasted good.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Leonard. ‘It’s got a lovely flavour.’

  ‘Well, I found some herbs on the terrace, oregano, I think, and I added a few leaves in.’

  Marianne and Leonard looked at each other in horror: the marijuana plants.

  ‘Mother,’ said Leonard tentatively and Marianne noted that he seemed afraid of her. ‘I don’t think you would enjoy going to Magda’s wine bar opening tomorrow. It’s not really your thing.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what my thing is, Leonard. If I want to go, I’ll go. Anyway, Magda’s invited me.’

  Lagoudera was lit by candles and kerosene lamps so that from the outside it looked like it had been overtaken by pyromaniacs, albeit romantic ones. On the roof, two dinghies had been positioned to acknowledge its sailing history. Friends had worked for days to help Magda prepare: little tables and chairs; more comfortable seating areas in the corners with sequinned cushions; rugs and fishermen’s nets hanging on the walls; a bar made of rough wood from discarded boats; and jars of burning incense.

  Masha hardly knew where to rest her eyes. It was a world away from her home in Montreal which was large and light and spacious. Rooms were divided by frosted glass and she had subtly lit display cabinets with Judaica, silver artefacts, and photos of her family.

  ‘Let me get you a drink, Mother,’ said Leonard, sounding grumpy and resentful. She had been with them for a fortnight now and he had felt himself struggling to breathe. Marianne would not sleep with him in case his mother heard them.

  ‘I think she might have guessed that we are together now, Marianne,’ Leonard remonstrated, but she would not bend.

  ‘It’s not respectful,’ she said.

  Leonard thought: we are so alike. We both carry the bourgeois conventions of our childhood like a cloak and have not, in spite of trying, shrugged them off.

  They knew most of the guests at Lagoudera: Norman Peterson, happy after his exhibition but still thin and malnourished; Gordon and Chuck who she had met before (‘Are they brothers?’ asked Masha); Charmian and George; Jack and Frieda, and Olivia; John Dragoumis, his long white be
ard and squashed pudding hat fascinating to Masha. Everyone was friendly to her and soon she was dancing in the centre of a circle with the group clapping around her and the music blaring from a radio.

  Dazed and excited by her newfound popularity, Masha twirled and spun, her short figure dressed more for synagogue than a wine bar. They passed her drinks and she swigged, then danced, then smoked a joint, then danced again.

  Leonard pulled Marianne aside. ‘Tell me I’m having one of my hallucinations, Marianne,’ he whispered, ‘or is my mother really dancing in the middle of Lagoudera with everyone watching?’

  ‘Calm down, Leonard. She’s having a great time.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not.’

  Leonard went over to his mother who seemed to be spinning in a kind of frenzy now, a whirling dervish. ‘Mother,’ he pulled at her sleeve, ‘I think we need to get you home now. It’s late.’

  ‘Leave me alone, Leonard.’ She shrugged him away. ‘You know what? I’m enjoying myself for the first time in years and I am not going.’

  Suddenly, to Leonard’s horror, many hands lifted her into the air, where she spread her limbs out like a starfish and allowed herself to be twirled.

  When Masha was returned to the floor again, she lost her balance and collapsed and Leonard and Marianne had to put her, slumped, onto a donkey and walk it slowly up the dark velvety hills of Hydra, one of them at each side.

  The following morning, nearer lunchtime than breakfast, Masha awoke with a terrible headache. Her face was drained of colour. She summoned Leonard and Marianne.

  ‘Thank you for having me to stay,’ she said carefully, ‘but I think it’s time for me to go back home. Let me tell you something. Your friends are very nice but it’s not quite my scene.’

  xvii

  A few weeks later, a parcel arrived at the post office and Marianne brought it back to the house. Inside were gifts from Masha: a toy panda for Axel Joachim, rubber gloves for Kyria Sophia, Leonard’s father’s old Kiddush cup for Shabbat wine, and a floral headscarf for Marianne.