by Sara Alexi
‘Land?’ Bobby asks.
Marina nods. A picture of the village house where she grew up comes to mind, with its rough stone walls and packed earth yard where chickens pecked at worms and beetles. Her parents toiled thankless hours in the hot sun, planting potatoes and picking grapes for a labourer’s wage. They owned a little land but it wasn’t big enough on its own to make a living, not big enough unless they could merge with the farmer next door, Manolis’ father.
The family moved to a nearby town briefly, just before the merger, and Marina’s parents got jobs in offices. But then cuts came, and Marina’s mother lost her job. Soon after that they returned to the village.
‘Ah, so not for love, then?’
‘No, not for love. Just the same old tale of many women in Greece.’
‘A fine woman like you needs love.’ Bobby shuffles in his seat and his jacket falls off his bony shoulder again. Marina pulls it back on. His face is back in the shadows and she can picture him in his youth, and she smiles.
‘We all need love,’ she answers.
‘So, did you find love?’ Bobby gives her a lingering look.
‘What, with Manolis? Ha! There were times when I was fond of him, but I think I was just used to him being around. He wasn’t exactly what you might call a good provider! He was never home much.’
Marina’s mind reels at the recall of all the mad schemes Manolis engaged himself in. He always had something on the go, some iron in the fire. Just putting his back into an honest day’s labour in his olive groves was not his style. The olives suffered from the lack of attention and the crops dwindled, so his search for alternative sources of money became more and more frantic.
‘Here’s a story that will describe my “loving” husband to you.’ Marina feels Bobby settle, ready to be transported.
She relates the story of one of his first enterprises, when he diddled his brothers out of the family fishing boat in a game of cards, combined with a large amount of whisky. The brothers had been invited for dinner with his new wife and they came to taste her cooking. Marina and her mother baked all day so as not to disappoint, and the brothers relished every mouthful.
After dinner, out came the whisky and Marina took herself off to the kitchen to wash up and generally stay out of the way. Manolis played the generous host, and invented toast after toast, until out slipped his cards, and before the brothers knew where they were they were involved in a riotous game, first betting for this and that old bit of furniture, then on to betting olive trees one by one until whole orchards had passed hands. Finally, everything was put into a pot and the deal was the sole ownership of the family fishing boat which, at the moment, they took turns to use. If you have a fishing boat you always eat; it was a heavy bet.
This was the first time Marina had seen Manolis pull this card game trick and she thought it was just how the boys behaved. It was only later she found out that he had used sleight of hand, as well as a lot of whisky, against his own family. She lost all trust in him that day. She was his wife but he treated her as a maid, to cook and clean for him. If he could treat his brothers in this way, how could she imagine he would be any more loyal to her? Before the marriage ink was dry, they had grown apart.
He swapped the traditional wooden fishing boat for a big covered hulk of a vessel with no seagoing capability, and the villagers had laughed. His brothers had ranted. It was his friend who put him up to it, Mitsos. Even his mother had said that Manolis and Mitsos were trouble, from the moment they learnt to walk in the village square together.
Manolis and Mitsos spent weeks working on that old boat, gutting the insides and installing padded seats and a fancy music system, and divulging the details of their plan to no one. The villagers thought they had gone mad, and came to see the work in progress and to poke fun. Were they planning to woo the fish into the boat with music from the speakers, or did they expect them to die laughing?
Bobby is chuckling away by this point and encourages Marina to continue her narrative. She is a little sad that she has no need to embellish. The truth is ridiculous enough.
When he painted the whole thing pink Marina thought she might never leave the house again, lest she die of shame. And when they manhandled the barge into the water, Manolis pulling at the front, and Mitsos pushing at the back, the whole village turned out to help, and to watch it sink. But it stayed afloat, and they slowly towed it through a calm sea to a nearby town behind a borrowed rowing boat. The village children ran along the shore shouting and jeering until they reached the town.
There Manolis and Mitsos stocked the shelves inside with glasses and bottles and put up a sign outside which read ‘The Love Boat’. People stopped laughing then, as young tourists filled the boat night after night.
The villagers had been kind to Marina who was seven months pregnant with Eleni then, with Manolis out night after night running his floating bar. At least they had money for a while. But like everything else Manolis did it all turned sour, and he got crosser and crosser, and they were penniless again within months.
‘But I got used to being on my own.’ Marina closes her mouth and lets her hands, which had been assisting with the telling of the tale, rest in her lap.
‘Well, if he left you alone I would be calling him foolish, not unlucky!’
‘Well, we must call him unlucky because it does nobody any good to speak ill of the dead, and it really was a ridiculous way that he died.’ Marina becomes grave and picks imaginary bits of fluff off her black skirt.
‘We’ve all got to go sometime, and we all have to die of something. Not everything is curable. I keep my hopes up.’ Bobby sounds cheerful.
‘What, that they will find a cure for you?’ Marina asks.
‘No! That I’ll die before they do find a cure! I don’t want to become even more of a burden to Zoe! She has enough with Grandma and Roula, never mind taking care of Aunt Eleftheria and me.’ He nods towards the large sleeping woman.
They both look at Eleftheria, who remains motionless, snoring ever so quietly.
‘Ah. They should make it longer! Three Two One. Three Two One. Does anyone want some water?’ Roula is up and jigging to the closing music.
Marina has forgotten she is there.
‘Yes, please, Roula.’ Bobby shifts in his seat.
‘Do you need a hand?’ Marina asks.
‘No thanks. Grandma?’ Roula raises her voice. ‘Do you want some water?’ There is a low sound from the room beyond, and Roula takes some glasses from a cupboard and fills them from a plastic bottle by the door.
‘I can’t understand a word Zoe senior says. Zoe can’t understand a lot of what she says either, although she pretends she can. But Roula has whole conversations with her,’ Bobby whispers to Marina.
Roula puts a glass of water on the table for each of them.
‘Oh brilliant, I love this!’ Marina follows Roula’s gaze, which is fixed on the screen again, now showing a Turkish soap opera badly dubbed into Greek. The synchronisation is so bad that the man looks like he is speaking the woman’s words, and vice versa. Marina laughs. Roula tells her to ‘Shh’, and sits enraptured.
Marina indicates the water and asks Bobby if he needs a hand, and he nods. She puts it to his lips and lets him drink before taking a drink of her own.
‘So did he die by the might of God, or the might of man?’ Bobby asks, licking water from his lips.
‘Who?’ Marina looks at Bobby and back to the television to see if she has missed something. She doesn’t know the series and has no idea who he is talking about.
‘No, your husband, you dizzy flower,’ Bobby says.
‘Oh, him. It was another daft idea he had with Mitsos. They were always scheming to make money. The last scam was fishing. Using dynamite. They thought they were so clever. Drop the dynamite in the water, boom …’ Marina adds some hand gestures to bring to life the image of the explosion, spilling water on her skirt. It feels cool as it soaks through to her thigh. ‘And the dead fish float
to the surface, and you gather them in a net.’ Marina sighs wearily. ‘So they were at Mitsos’ house getting ready for the first trial, and they bound this dynamite up in a package, and as a joke Manolis threw it to Mitsos and said, and these were his last words mind you, “English Rugby!” So Mitsos threw the dynamite back and Manolis missed the catch and that was that. Mitsos lost one arm and three fingers off his other hand, and an eye. I lost my husband, and Eleni and Artemis lost their father.’ Marina’s voice is very matter-of-fact.
‘Oh, I am sorry. That must have been hard.’ Bobby shifts uncomfortably and his jacket begins another descent from his shoulder.
‘Harder for the girls than me. I had grown wise to him. They still thought he was wonderful, swinging them in the air, telling them his mad schemes with such excitement. Poor girls, it is amazing more harm wasn’t done.’
Roula stands up suddenly. ‘He did it, him, I never liked him. I don’t know why she is crying, he wasn’t nice.’ Roula is pointing to the man on the television and shouting to no one in particular. ‘Good, it’s finished, stupid programme.’ She picks up the remote and surfs channels. ‘Yes, brilliant! I love this.’ She sits down again.
It is a cartoon dubbed into Greek; the voice weirdly accentuated, adults pretending to be children, pretending to be monsters.
‘So, your mission here?’ Bobby has the teasing tone in his voice again.
‘Ah yes, my mission here.’ Marina shifts in her seat.
‘Will it be a straightforward mission, or will there be some jiggery-pokery?’ He chuckles and begins to cough. Marina helps him drink some more water.
Whilst she is close to him she looks him in the eye and whispers, ‘It is a mission of the utmost secrecy. My daughter will never forgive me if she finds out. I must move like a shadow and gather the facts before I know if I need to strike.’ Marina puts the glass of water down and waves her fist as a dramatic end to her exaggerated speech, and rocks back laughing.
‘So, much jiggery-pokery, then! And how will you begin, or have you begun already?’
There is a moan from the back room.
‘No, she’s not back yet, Grandma,’ Roula calls.
‘I have begun, but I am not sure how to continue. I need some help,’ Marina says.
‘Then I am your man!’ Bobby’s jacket slides even further off his shoulder and Marina hooks it back on. He twists his upper body a little to try to keep the jacket from sliding again.
‘I think, Bobby, that perhaps you are not the man,’ Marina says, patting him gently on the shoulder.
‘How do you know? What help do you need?’ Bobby looks offended.
Marina drops her voice to a whisper. ‘What would be most helpful would be a list of all the men aged thirty-five on the island, who have been here all their lives. But there will be no such list. I think I will need to gather from far and wide.’
‘Like I said, I am your man!’ Bobby says loudly.
‘Bobby, I think that I need …’ Marina is cut off.
‘Hello, everyone, is everything alright?’ Zoe clatters up the steps and comes through the door with a bundle of bags which she dumps on the table.
Roula drags her gaze from the television and hastens to the table, picking through the bags. Zoe puts the larger items away.
‘Hi, Grandma. I’ll be in in a minute,’ she calls to the back room. ‘Everyone OK?’ She puts a few items on the hatch through to the kitchen.
‘Fine,’ Marina answers.
‘Have you been behaving yourself, you old rascal?’ Zoe smiles at Bobby who grins wickedly back but doesn’t say a word. ‘They had to lock their daughters up when he was a young man. A leopard never changes its spots, does it, Bobby?’
‘Tyropita – cheese pies – yum! Is one for me? Can I have one, please, I am starving, please.’ Roula is hopping from foot to foot.
‘Quiet down, yes, of course there is one for you. I thought we could all have a little treat.’ Zoe separates the cheese pies from the rest of her shopping.
‘Right, well, I’ll be off then. I had planned to go for a little walk and I don’t want to leave it too late.’ Marina looks through the door. It is late afternoon and the sun slants golden.
‘Oh, I got you a pie too. Will you not stay and eat with us? Roula, wait until I have made some salad to go with it, and we need to see to Grandma first,’ Zoe says.
‘But I am hungry,’ Roula replies.
‘Thank you, Mrs Zoe, but I think I will take my walk. Bobby, it has been a pleasure. Roula, thank you for the water.’ Marina turns to Aunt Eleftheria but she is still asleep.
‘Well, take your pie with you. It is the least I can offer for your kindness,’ Zoe says.
Marina’s stomach responds appreciatively; she has only eaten a slice of Irini’s cake since breakfast. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you. See you all later.’
No one replies. Roula is back watching another programme. Zoe is arranging what she needs to take into Grandma. Marina looks at Bobby, who winks and mouths, ‘I’m your man.’ Marina smiles. He has kind eyes, but he is a bit of a silly old fool. She closes the door behind her feeling twenty years younger than when she entered.
Chapter 6
Out on the balcony it appears the town is still sleepy from the afternoon mesimeriano, the siesta. Not many people are stirring yet and few sounds can be heard. Marina feels lighter for her chat with Bobby and heads for the steps, which the cats have now deserted. She begins her ascent at a steady pace and rests every few steps. It is a great deal easier this time and she wonders why she made such a fuss of it earlier.
She stops halfway up and admires the view, but decides not to sit down. At the top she will rest, when she reaches the doorstep of the building she once knew. But when she gets there she is invigorated, not tired, and she pushes on, trying to ignore the memories the lonely building evokes. Unwillingly, she is catapulted back through the years and remembers the loneliness she felt then, the months that ticked by. Aunt Efi was kind but Marina wanted to be outside, and she felt scared, constantly.
A little further on, the shop that was in someone’s front room has grown and extended and occupies three of the whitewashed building’s rooms now, and extends into the street. The vegetables on trestle tables are covered with a cloth to show that the shop is closed, but the hessian sacks of rice and beans sit with their top edges rolled down, ready for business.
On the left Marina sees a door she remembers. It is low with no handle and no keyhole, painted a thick, shiny brown. It hasn’t changed at all, not even the colour. It had been ajar back then. Marina had snuck out just for a change of scenery, unbelievably bored with being cooped up. She estimated she had an hour or so before Aunt Efi would wake up from her afternoon sleep. She need never know she had been out.
It was the smell that made her curious back then. A rich smell of honey and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. She had gone closer to the door to breath in the sweetness more fully. It was dark inside, but through the open crack she could see a flickering light. She pushed the door open slightly. The smell got stronger. The room was dim and it took a minute for Marina’s eyes to adjust, and she could see candles hovering. She stepped in, mesmerised by the apparition. The sweet honey aroma, mixed with the smell of wax, was almost overpowering once inside, and she felt pleasantly dizzy.
The room was lit by candles distributed unevenly around the walls, lodged on ledges and in niches between the stones. Years of dripping wax from these crevices had created stalactites and frozen wax rivers that ran to the floor.
The brightest light, though, came from a small fire in a pit in the floor in the middle of the room, over which stood a wide black cauldron full of gently shimmering wax. Marina took all this in but was most intrigued by a ring of metal suspended horizontally over the cauldron. It hung by chains from the rafters and had tails of string evenly spaced around it, the ends dangling just above the molten wax. The white string appeared to glow in the dull light.
The a
tmosphere was reminiscent of that of a church, and Marina held her breath in awe. She had turned to leave when she heard a small soft voice.
‘You can help a little if you like?’ Out of the dark shadows a woman appeared, shorter even than Marina. Her grey hair was pinned up at the back of her head in a rather chic French roll, but wisps of hair escaped around her face, which appeared leathery and taut in the candlelight.
Marina mumbled some excuses, but the old lady shuffled forwards and whispered the word ‘Stay’, in a conspiratorial tone. Marina hesitated and turned to look once more at the candles and the pot of shimmering wax, to find the old woman had produced a wooden stool from somewhere, which she patted in invitation. She then turned, before Marina had made her decision, and took, from a wooden peg on the wall, an apron stiff with wax. Pieces flaked off as she moved it, the wax shards disappearing into the well-trodden straw that covered the floor.
The young Marina edged to the stool and sat cautiously and curiously on its time-worn wooden seat. The old woman continued without looking at her. She bent from the hips and took up a jug that had been all but buried in the straw, its edges strangely softened and its contours oddly smooth. Marina had been transfixed as the woman dipped the jug into the cauldron of wax and the jug seemed to melt, its contours becoming crisp as the dried wax turned liquid. She used the jug to swirl the lava before lifting it, full of hot wax, to the height of the hanging metal circle. Then she steadily and slowly poured the wax down one of the hanging strings. She turned the metal circle a fraction and poured wax down the next wick before bending to refill the jug and turning the ring another fraction.
