by Sara Alexi
‘Ta-dah!’ Christos reappeared, triumphant, shaking a box of matches.
He fumbled with the first match and it broke, but the second lit and, carefully, hands around it, the flame lighting up his features, he took it to the wood and gently pushed it beneath the logs. They burst into flames, causing him to jump back.
‘I think they have been doused in fuel!’ he exclaimed, more to himself than to Rallou. Then he stood with his hands on his hips, admiring what he had achieved.
‘Did you have a good time with Theo?’
‘Yes, indeed. We must come down here, Rallou. You know, take a weekend, every now and again.’
‘I was just saying to Stella, who is lovely by the way, that until now it has all been about the children. But now it is our time. I would like to come down once in a while. The two of us.’
He took a step, head forward, for another kiss. But as he did so, he staggered again, lost his balance again.
Time slowed down and Rallou saw what was about to happen before it happened. She reached to save him but the table was in her way and, as her legs pushed the table, the table pushed Christos, and he staggered, towards the now roaring fire.
Inside her head she was spinning down long-forgotten pathways to memories storied in safe and dark places.
‘Pass me more flour,’ Harris demanded, and Rallou wrapped both her hands around the bulging packet and cuddled it against her chest to take it from the far end of the table to where Harris was making the bread. Evgenia was watching, wrapping a strand of her hair around her little finger. ‘I need water,’ Harris snapped, as if little Rallou should have known and already acted upon this.
‘Sorry, Evgenia,’ Rallou said as she pushed past her little sister to get to the pail of water to fill a jug she had taken from the shelf.
‘Can I do it?’ Evgenia asked in her high-pitched tones.
‘Be quiet, and don’t stand so close to the fire,’ Harris commanded. Rallou allowed Evgenia’s little hands to cover her own and together they put the pitcher of water on the table, out of the way of Harris’s kneading. Harris punched and pummelled the dough hard until the sound of the jug smashing on the flagged floor echoed in the room, making them all jump.
‘What did you put it there for?’ Harris shouted as the water spread dramatically across the floor, staining the pale flags dark, and Evgenia started to wail.
‘Be quiet,’ Harris barked, her young muscles flexing as she kneaded. She had been especially bossy since her birthday last month, which made her just nine now, to Rallou’s six and little Evgenia’s three.
‘I will get more water,’ Rallou offered and she took the pail and left the kitchen, glad to be out in the fresh winter air.
The climb to the well was steep and the bucket, even when empty, was heavy. Rallou could only manage to carry it half full. The well handle was stiff to turn but she took her time and filled the pail, testing its weight every now and again to make sure she did not fill it so much that she could not carry it. She braced her back and countered the weight with an outstretched arm. Some spilt on the return journey. As she neared the house again, Rallou could hear Evgenia wailing. She needed a cuddle. It was not unusual in those days for Harris to upset Evgenia and for Rallou to comfort her little sister. But as Rallou turned her concentration back to the bucket, from the corner of her eye she saw the table move, pushed by Harris, her hip against its edge, a sneer on her face. The other end of the table nudged tiny Evgenia and she lost her balance. After putting the water down as quickly as she could, in haste, but at the same time trying not to spill it, Rallou ran towards the house, to pick Evgenia up, to soothe her crying, check her for hurts and protect her from Harris. But as she reached the back door it opened outward, nearly hitting her in the face.
‘Come,’ Harris commanded. ‘We’ll get the eggs.’ And she grabbed Rallou’s arm and pulled her in the direction of the chicken coop. Neither of them had the apron on to gather the eggs.
‘But Evgenia?’ Rallou protested.
‘Evgenia’s fine.’ But as Harris said this, a wail screeched from the house, so loud that Rallou turned, ready to run towards home.
‘Leave her.’ Harris was sharp and she held Rallou fast by her forearm. ‘It will do her some good to cry for a bit. Make her realise we are not going to put up with every little tantrum.’
‘But–’ was as far as Rallou got. The wail continued, a horrible, blood-curdling, shrill sound.
‘Evgenia is hurt!’ Now she tried to pull away.
‘She is being her usual dramatic self. Get the eggs.’ Harris shoved her into the chicken enclosure.
‘No – she is hurt.’ Pushing past Harris, Rallou began to run. From the trees she saw her baba, who was also running. Harris overtook her and pushed her back, so she was the first to enter the house, the first to pull little Evgenia out of the flames. But it was Rallou who threw what was left of the water, drenching both Evgenia and Harris. Their baba crashed through the front door after them, but it was too late to alter what had happened.
The doctor said there was nothing they could do, as he opened windows to let out the smell.
Baba’s eyes were red-rimmed. ‘There must be something.’
He sat by her day and night. At night, Rallou’s poor little sister would groan her pain, and by day she was silent in a way that could mean nothing good. Their baba sat there until little Evgenia’s last breath was drawn and then he rose from where he had sat, having neither eaten nor slept, looked hard at Harris and walked out to meet the dawn. They did not see him for two days.
Chapter 34
Of course, Christos did not need her help, and he leapt back to his feet unscathed. The fire, the initial roar of the fuel having subsided, was only just catching and the flames were easily extinguished by his size and weight.
The episode sobered him up a little though, and he tried to look nonchalant as he brushed his sleeve and shoulder and retrieved the logs that had fallen on the courtyard floor.
‘Christo, I think I’ve just realised something,’ Rallou began.
It was as if her legs suddenly could not support her weight, and she groped for the chair behind her. ‘Hm?’ Christos replied. He was busying himself with the fire now, trying to get it alight again.
‘Christo?’ said Rallou, and something in her voice must have betrayed the panic that was rising within her, because he stopped what he was doing and stood facing her.
‘What is it, moro mou?’ he asked, but Rallou could only stare up at him, and the words would not come.
In an instant he was beside her, kneeling by her chair, his arm around her.
‘What is it?’ he asked again, and then, when she did not answer, he held her, and his strong arms around her seemed to give her the permission she needed to feel the emotions and to remember.
They sat like that for what seemed like a long time, and finally Rallou allowed herself to voice the horror that Christos’s antics with the fire had dragged from the depths of her memory.
‘Harris …’ she began, and slowly, with much effort, she related the whole story to Christos.
He listened without interruption, and without taking his arms from around her.
As she spoke, her heart thumped and her vision blurred. She could feel a pulse in her temple and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her saliva thick and dry. When she reached the end she added, ‘She knew why Evgenia was screaming. Baba, from the pine trees, saw she had left her. We all ran. She did it, Christo. She pushed Evgenia into the fire, and she didn’t let me go to her. Harris knew Evgenia was hurt, and she made me stay away.’ The dark part of her mind was in the light and it hurt more than she could ever have believed. Colours flashed in front of her eyes and there was a high-pitched whistle in her ears. The world seemed to be rocking and rotating. Christos’s arms around her made no impact, the pain was too intense, too all-consuming. The memory finally made sense of her overprotective attitude to her own children. And was Harris trying to relieve her gu
ilt, to compensate, with her constant but insincere kindnesses? Rallou’s sobs came in spasms, each taking more of her breath than the last until she thought she would suffocate, and her fingers spread on the tabletop and she leaned forward.
‘Breathe, my sweet, breathe.’ Christos’s voice penetrated her pain, made contact with the part of herself that still functioned, and she breathed.
‘She killed her, Christo,’ Rallou snivelled like a child, a child of five.
‘Shh, my love, shh.’ He rocked her.
‘Baba knows.’
‘It’s okay, Rallou, you are safe. It’s not happening now.’
‘Harris knows.’
Christos kissed the top of her head, her forehead, her nose, gave her a peck on her mouth and then hugged her into himself again.
They sat like that for so long. Tears kept coming and then going, leaving her blank and spent. Then the tears came again and Christos hugged her even tighter until they subsided. She cried all the way through the dogs’ evening chorus, the sounds of the shutters around the village being closed, the lights in neighbouring houses going dark, the dogs quieting down and then, finally, the village falling asleep.
A while after that, Christos asked, ‘Are you all right?’ and she pulled out of the safe harbour of his arms and nodded her head. They continued to sit in the quiet of the night. At one point the outline of a cat walked slowly across the top of the back wall.
‘How can she live with herself?’ She finally voiced the most pressing question.
She felt Christos’s shoulders twitch, ready to shrug, but then they became still and she knew he was contemplating his answer.
‘It explains why she behaves towards you the way she does.’
‘How do you mean?’ There was no haste in their talk. Somewhere in the village, outside the confinement of Toula’s garden walls, an owl hooted.
‘The way she puts you down – you know, sounding so concerned, when actually she is finding fault with you.’
Rallou blinked several times. She had thought the way Harris treated her was invisible to anyone but herself – maybe even that it was in her head.
‘But …’ she began. Somewhere over the garden wall the owl hooted again.
‘All that pressure she put on you over the children. It makes sense now. Compensating, pushing the blame somewhere else.’ His arm around her shifted, tightened, and he turned his head and kissed her hair, just above her ear.
‘It pushed us apart, you know.’ He did not say it as an accusation or unkindly. ‘When Natasa was born, I was over the moon. You remember teaching me how to change her nappy?’ They chuckled quietly at the joint memory. ‘We were still close then. But then the second was born and Harris moved in and things changed. She was full of opinions of how you should do this or that for the little brood and you responded.’
She shifted uncomfortably on her cushion.
‘As you would, Rallou,’ he reassured her. ‘She was your mama as well as your sister. You trusted her. But it squeezed me out, you wouldn’t let me help.’
‘I am so sorry,’ she said, and the tears came silently this time.
‘Don’t be sorry, my little Rallou. You did what you thought was best.’ He kissed her ear again.
‘And then you got completely squeezed out when they started school and needed help with their homework. I was not going to let them learn only cooking and cleaning and become like Harris!’ There was a harshness to her voice, and her insight over this shocked her.
‘Quite right,’ Christos confirmed, but there was sadness in his voice. ‘You know, when I got to Natasa’s bedside first in Corfu she was amazed. “Where’s Mama?” she asked. I said you were following, but it was very nice being there, just me and her. After the little one was born, we talked for ages, and there was nothing missing from our relationship, Rallou, nothing.’ He sounded all wistful.
‘But you felt so squeezed out that you spent all your time in the hills.’
‘I couldn’t stand it, Rallou. The way Harris talked to you, and your love of someone so unkind.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘What could I say? Such things must be said gently, and I did try… But she was your sister and your mama. If I had said too much it would have been me you would have turned against.’
This time it was she who hugged him tighter.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked, turning to look at her.
‘I don’t know how she can live with herself.’
The owl hoots again, a faraway dog barks twice and then all is quiet.
Chapter 35
Rallou has just about reached her baba’s house when he comes striding around the side of the building, calling out a cheery, ‘Good morning!’
‘Oh,’ says Rallou, ‘I thought you weren’t up.’
‘Course I’m up. I was just about to take the goats out.’
‘Great.’ The goats are back up the way she has come, and they walk up together, following the track round to the right, where the enclosure is tucked behind a rocky outcrop. He kicks the stone that holds the chicken-wire gate closed and the goats jostle for freedom, noisy in their excitement, jumping over one another, the bells around their neck clanging and clonking their dull resonance, a ballad Rallou knows so well. They follow the herd in silence towards the southern side of the island, along a path that has been worn smooth by the goats’ hooves and her baba’s feet, and the boys’ when they still lived up there. The path leads only to a scrubby plateau at the island’s summit.
‘So, how are the olives this year?’ Baba asks, his hand raised to his mouth, trying to stifle a chuckle.
‘You have a lot to answer for!’ Rallou retorts, pretending to be cross.
‘I just can’t figure out how you didn’t know! You must have worked it out, suspected, something.’ He no longer seems to shuffle these days. His shoulders are no longer hunched over as they were before the earthquake and his influx of neighbours.
‘Don’t tease!’ she chides, but jokingly, as she looks at her feet, picks her way forward, Baba’s worn trouser bottoms just a step in front. If she can avoid it she will not admit that she had thought Christos was just too lazy to collect the olives. On reflection, this notion had been planted by Harris anyway. A twinge of sadness passes through her.
‘Didn’t you miss the income?’ he asks, but there is no teasing now, just concern.
‘It was not a good couple of years, Baba. The children no longer children, and I was working all the hours I could for the Americans … Christos and I had grown apart a bit. But you, Baba.’ Her tone lightens and she laughs. ‘You knew, and said nothing! For three years!’
‘Well, no, that is not entirely true. I knew he would come up hunting and stay at his family home. I did say he could stay here, because I knew what a state time had left his place in. But he refused. So for the first year I thought nothing of it. Then when I began to hear noises I went over to investigate. He hid, you know.’
‘What?’
‘Yup. The first time I went to investigate, he hid when he saw me. But I saw him first so I called him out.’ His laugh is relaxed. They have reached the grazing ground and he sits on a flat stone that he put there for the purpose more years ago than either of them can remember. Rallou leans against the slanting boulder, one arm across her waist and the other over her eyes for shade as she looks south to see if she can see Crete.
‘But it was obvious what was going on. There were window frames in various states of repair and a pile of roof tiles outside stacked up ready to be used.’
‘Yanni must have known too.’
‘Of course he knew! He was delivering what was needed. Glass for the windows, a new sink for the kitchen, piping for the water. How is the water, though, in the summer – do you have it year round?’
‘The well dries up in the summer,’ says Rallou, ‘but he has built a sterna now to hold the rainwater we collect from the roof. If we’re careful it lasts. But I am amazed Yanni never
said a word.’ The goats are slowly eating their way towards them. Her baba picks up a handful of dust and throws it at the feet of the lead goat, which jolts its head up, displaying its curling horns, and runs to a safe distance. The others follow.
‘Yanni is a man of few words, unless you get him on a subject that interests him. I’m glad he has found someone to share his world with though. It’s not good for a man to spend years alone, which is what would have happened when his parents passed on.’ There is just the slightest note of regret in his voice.
‘Sophia is lovely, perfect for him. I didn’t believe it when they told me he had come back from the mainland with a wife. Yanni! Choose a mainland wife and bring her home! It seemed so unlikely. But to find his childhood sweetheart and bring her back to her roots, now that fits.’ She thinks for a moment and then, returning to the first subject, adds, ‘But I still think he should have told me what was going on up here.’
‘I can imagine your relief, one minute thinking you have no home and the next Christos telling you how he had fixed up this place.’ He nods towards her house.
‘Yes, that would have been a relief. But do you know what, he didn’t tell me!’
‘How do you mean?’ He is watching a lizard that has paused in the dust by his feet. He stays very still so as not to frighten it. Its tongue darts out and then, with quick, jerky steps, it runs right over the toes of his boot. Once it is gone, he stretches out his legs.
‘We came back and went to our old home, sifted through the rubble, and then came here. I thought we were coming to stay with you but he walked straight past the track and kept going to the village. I can tell you, Baba, I’m so glad I did not speak my feelings at that point.’
