by Sara Alexi
‘Why did you go to the island?’
Marina swallows hard. ‘You weren’t meant to know. I was …’
‘Yes, I realise that I wasn’t meant to know. Costas told me that you weren’t telling anyone.’
‘Oh Costas, you silly …’
‘You call Costas silly? Why? Because he thought your secrets didn’t apply to family? So what were you there for, what piece of interfering were you planning?’
‘Eleni, my precious …’
‘You know what, Mum? It doesn’t matter. I’m going.’
Marina hears her stomp to her bedroom. The general opening and shutting of drawers indicates that she is packing.
Marina knocks quietly. Eleni does not answer. Marina waits. Eleni storms out of her room, past her, bag in hand.
‘Eleni, I was trying to save you from some very real pain. If you choose the wrong person …’
‘That’s for me to decide, it’s not up to you who I choose.’ Eleni strides past her into the outhouse and pulls her wet washing from the machine.
‘No, no. Of course, you must choose, but there is someone there who you must not choose.’
‘You see, you have just proved my point! In one sentence you say yes, I must choose, but I must not choose those that you decide are not right. It is just hypocrisy, Mum. You say one thing and mean another. Like you say you want me to be happy, but only under your terms. I can be happy with so and so’s son, and only if I make the babies that you want. There is only one scenario for you. Any permutation of this and you are interfering. Artemis said that you hardly left her and Sotos alone to get on with their courtship, spying out of windows, arranging for his family to come over for Easter and dinners. For our sake, just back off.’ She takes a breath as she stuffs the wet washing violently into her bag. ‘I don’t know why I bothered coming home, let alone thinking I could talk to you.’ She finishes bundling her washing into her bag. Marina is concerned it will make all her other clothes wet.
‘Let me get you a plastic bag for your washing.’
Eleni stands straight, fists bunched, shaking. She stamps her feet and lets out a growl before sweeping up her bag and grabbing her coat from the back of the door. She dumps her things outside the courtyard door and returns, past Marina, into the hall. She closes the partitioning door between them and Marina can hear the jingle of the phone being picked up.
Artemis has never said a word to her about this. She had been just helping, she wasn’t interfering. Her lower lip pushes out and she feels it tremble. This is not what she wanted at all. Artemis telling Eleni that she interfered, why did she not talk to her directly?
Marina doesn’t wish a bad marriage on either of her children. She knows what a loveless marriage is like. Artemis already suffered one failed marriage before she was even twenty-two, and she has the very heavy burden of not being able to have children. It is natural, Marina reasons, for a mother to try to help. She knew Sotos would adore Artemis, he did and does adore her, she was right. But if Artemis has talked to Eleni about her interfering then she has not been right. A tear drips from her chin and she watches it create a dark circle on the stone flags, pushing out a tiny rim of dust.
In the quiet she can hear the tone of Eleni’s voice. She has quietened; whoever she is speaking to is soothing her. Marina takes a small step closer to the dividing door. Eleni’s voice is muffled. She can make out ‘S’agapo’, ‘I love you’, every now and again. But what she hears most is a quiet, light tone from Eleni that she has not heard for years. She sounds deeply content and just a little playful. Marina takes a deep breath, her throat un-constricts and her chest expands. Her lip stops wobbling and she lightens with a joy that only the well-being of a loved one can bring. She prays to her God that this person is safe for Eleni to love.
The door opens suddenly and Marina steps back.
‘Listening in now? Hear anything you want to interfere with?’ Eleni brushes past her out into the courtyard, and through the side door. Marina hurries after her. She is standing at the bus stop.
‘Eleni, please don’t leave. Let’s talk about this?’
‘Just leave me alone.’
Marina can see the man inside the kiosk leaning forward to get a better view.
‘Eleni, please?’
‘I am going to the island, I don’t need to stay here.’
The lady in the pharmacy by the bus stop moves towards the window, her arms folded over her white coat. Stella, the lady who runs the fast-food shop, has turned in her chair outside her shop. She takes a long suck on the straw in her frappé. Marina thinks that she of all people should understand the importance of making a good match. Stella’s husband is a pig. Marina turns back to Eleni.
‘Come back inside a minute?’
The bus pulls round the corner into the village.
Eleni picks up her bag. Marina feels a wave of panic.
‘Eleni, there is something very important I have to tell you. It is imperative for your future happiness.’
‘You have about two seconds before the bus stops.’
‘I can’t tell you here on the street, it is …’
The bus’s hydraulics hiss as the baggage compartment opens.
‘I will give you a lift. Just come inside now, it is very important. Please Eleni? We need to talk.’
But Eleni throws her bag into the hold and the door closes on it as she mounts the stair into the bus.
Marina catches the back of her jacket. Eleni pulls it free with a fierce look. ‘I tried, Mum! Remember that!’ she hisses. The door closes and the bus pulls away.
The man in the kiosk sits back in his chair and turns to his television screen. The lady in the pharmacy rearranges things in her window. Stella stands to go inside as a car pulls up in front of her door.
Marina tries to control herself and scuttles back into her courtyard. Costas calls her from the shop but she ignores him. She rushes to her bedroom, picks up her holdall, and hugging it to her chest she flings herself on the bed, letting out a loud wail.
‘Right, Costas, I am going to see a friend in Athens. I may be gone a while.’ Marina has arranged for Mrs Sophia to take on Costas’s afternoon shifts, and Costas is glad of the extra money he will make doing Marina’s long shifts.
Costas nods his head but does not look up from his phone. Marina throws her hands up in despair. It is bad enough not making any profit with all this, but it is worse that she has to worry too.
‘Costa!’
‘What? Yes, you are going to Athens and Kyria Sophia will do my shift. There is to be no credit over five euros, and the man is coming tomorrow to look at the fridge that is on the blink. You will be back when you are back.’
‘And make sure you charge the Albanians, Russians, Romanians, Pakistanis, you know, all that lot, an extra ten cents on beer because they never bring the bottles back.’
‘Will do. Yes! I am on the next level!’ Costas shows the phone screen to Marina, who ignores it.
She goes back to the courtyard and waters the jasmine. She returns to the shop and locks the door through to the courtyard and leaves by the shop door. She walks around to the mechanic’s garage where her car waits for her. He is not there but the keys are in the ignition, she’ll pay him when she gets back. She is just driving away when she sees him returning in her rear view mirror. He waves at her cheerfully and Marina honks her horn – twice, because it’s such a good sound. He was very kind to retrieve her car from where she abandoned it, and to fix it so quickly.
From Marina’s village, halfway to where the taxi boats dock to take people to the island, there is a village large enough to have two clothes shops. The first half of the journey has passed swiftly, but Marina is glad to pull the car to a stop outside one of the shops, the one whose clothes in the window do not look too extreme. What the girls wear these days shocks Marina. She thanks heaven Artemis and Eleni do not dress like that.
Looking in the changing-room mirror Marina cannot believe it is her. For so l
ong she has worn nothing but black. The shift dress in pale blue the lady has offered actually looks very nice, but quite ridiculous with her old black shoes and black socks.
It is also a bit surreal. It is like carnival, dressing up, a disguise.
She buys some blue ankle socks and throws her old black ones in the bin.
Marina feels like a peacock in her finery and struts her way back to the car.
The rest of the journey passes in a variety of daydreams involving her blue dress.
She parks the car and, still with a bit of a swagger, takes her black holdall down to the pier and sits on the bench.
The island is misty blue, undefined, floating like a mirage in the heat. The water is smooth, beckoning with beauty, giving the illusion that she could swim there. Actually she would quite like to swim in the sea. Perhaps there will be time once she is on the island.
The sun shines without a care, lazy, hot. No sound except the lap of the water and, thank goodness, there are no snuffling stray dogs. The island lies in the distance. Not as threatening as the last time. This time it’s just a job that must be done. No memory-bubbles of the past bursting to the surface. This time her memories are diluted with the present danger of Eleni recognising her. Eleni’s needs eclipse her own, whatever the personal cost. She must do what she must do, and there is just no avoiding it. It is not interfering, it really is a mission of mercy, albeit at the cost of Eleni’s being irreconcilably furious with her.
She can see the taxi boat setting out from the island. She watches it as it grows nearer. It is not until it is quite close that she recognises it as the one her friendly dancer drives. She must find out his name. Such a nice young man.
He pulls alongside the pier and Marina stands with a smile. The boat, she notices, is called Hera. He does not greet her.
‘Won’t be leaving for five minutes, lady.’
‘Maybe we could dance the time away?’
‘Sorry?’ He turns to look at her. ‘Ah! Is that you? Oh my, would you look at you all dressed up like a peacock! My, oh my, you take a man’s breath away! Come here, pretty lady, and give me a twirl! So fine! And to what honour do we owe this transformation?’
Marina giggles and keeps her head down, feeling quite bashful.
‘Oh! Uh oh!’
Marina looks up at the negative sound the man is making. He gives her a sideways glance, and tuts and shakes his head.
‘What?’ Marina asks.
The man makes an exaggerated head movement to look down at her shoes. She too looks down at the old worn black flat boats on her feet.
‘Well, they are comfortable!’
‘Lady, you are like a peacock with clogs on! Wait!’
He jumps into his boat and Marina can see seats being lifted, the man scrabbling in the storage areas underneath.
He comes back smiling, swinging something in each hand, and throws one of them at her feet.
It is a leather flip-flop with coloured plastic jewels stuck on the top. Marina laughs and shakes her head.
‘Try them.’
Marina peels off a sock and pushes her foot into the flip-flop. The thong between her toes feels very odd but not uncomfortable. She stands and looks down. She cannot deny that, even in all their crudity, they look better than her old shoes.
‘Now why would you be travelling with ladies’ shoes in your locker?’ she asks.
‘Why would ladies I keep taking from harbour to beach and back again not be taking them with them, I wonder?’
‘You mean they forget them?’
‘Bags, shoes, jackets, towels, I could open a shop!’
‘No, you wouldn’t want to do that.’ Marina walks up and down the harbour. The flip-flop is very comfortable.
‘I’m afraid they are last year’s style, but at least that assures you no one will claim them back!’ He throws the other one, which lands at her feet. She pushes her other shoe off and peels off her sock and pushes her toes in the gem-encrusted creation.
‘They’re great!’ She wishes she hadn’t spent money on the blue socks now.
‘Are you going across for the festival?’ He offers her his hand to help her on board and lowers her bag in after her.
‘What festival?’
‘Panayia, mother of God, this is the biggest night of the year. We celebrate the island’s most famous captain who single-handedly defeated the Turks in the war of Independence!’
‘Single-handedly? Along with the Greek army and navy, and every man, woman and child!’
‘Well, he defeated a lot of pirates and sunk Turkish ships. Anyway, it’s a good show and I will be in it! I will be part of the Greek fleet, attacking the Turkish galleon.’
‘What? On the water?’
‘Just find yourself a good view of the harbour after it goes dark, then wait and see!’ The engine engages and his chair swivels and bobs. He leans across and flicks the switch on his plywood box. The Greek singer Anna Vissi joins them in the boat, the captain singing in his own tongue, loud and proud.
He takes Marina straight to the little harbour so the walk to Zoe’s is much shorter. The walk feels familiar and the steps up to the rooms are welcoming. She anticipates a warm reception.
Zoe is very excited to see her and Roula wants to try her dress on. Uncle Bobby keeps trying to wolf-whistle, but manages little more than a dribble of saliva on his chin. Zoe cuts them all a salad of tomatoes and cucumber and she spoons from a pan of butter beans in a tomato sauce. She pauses her spoon over Marina’s plate.
‘Gigandes?’ she asks. Marina nods and Zoe spoons.
‘I had an uncle once who had in a restaurant in Athens,’ Marina begins as she tears a slice of bread off the half-cut loaf. ‘One day he was serving gigandes and someone called out that there was a cockroach in his bowl of beans. My uncle realised that if it was a cockroach he was finished. Everyone in the taverna had heard the complainer and it would only be a matter of time before word spread across Athens. The customers turned to see what my uncle would do.’ Marina forks a bean and hovers it by her mouth. ‘So he walked over to the customer who had complained, and looked into his dish. He saw the black thing in the beans and with his fingers he quickly picked it out and ate it. “It’s just a burnt bean!” he declared, and no one could argue because the evidence had gone.’ Marina pops the bean into her mouth as if to re-enact the story. Roula laughs through her nose and puts her paper serviette over her mouth. Zoe, who has put down the pan of beans, slaps her aproned thighs and laughs, throwing her head back. Bobby nearly chokes.
The lunch lasts until mid-afternoon and finally everyone is feeling sleepy. Bobby is already asleep. The aunt still hasn’t woken up and Marina wonders how she can be so big if she is never awake to eat. She helps clear the plates before picking up her bag and taking her leave.
It feels good to be back in the rented room. ‘My room!’ Marina chortles to herself. ‘It is amazing how quickly we become familiar.’ This leads to a series of thoughts about Eleni becoming too familiar with the wrong person. She pulls the list out of her bag.
Costas Voulgaris – The Cockerel – because he was noisy – Father owned Kafenio by the port.
Panayotis (Panos) – His father was a barber. Grandma has seen young Panos walking past the house.
Socrates Rappas – Always fiddling with things, quiet.
Yannis Harimis – Known as ‘Black Yanni’ because he is so brown in the summer – his Grandmother was the midwife.
Aris Kranidiotis – Very naughty – his sister married the Papas from the church across on the mainland.
Apostlis (Tolis) Kaloyannis – His father owned the boatyard on the mountain village path.
Alexandros Mavromatis – She says he made her laugh. Known as ‘The Butterfly’ for his flitting from one girl to the next.
She has drawn a line through Panos and Yanni.
The kafenio owner’s son should be easy to find, and the boatyard man’s son.
Also Panos was such a sweetie and she re
ally did enjoy her brief visit to him, so she thinks she might return to him and ask him if he knows the other people on her list. She suspects he is good at discretion. Maybe he could also cut her hair? And she liked the girl: cool, calming. Interesting people.
After her afternoon sleep Marina takes the back route across to the main town and down to the harbour. She passes what she now thinks of as Aunt Efi’s place, without too much heartache. She passes the little shop that has spread onto the narrow lane. Further along there is a crossroad of paths with a shop almost as cluttered as her own, but with no goat bells or shepherd’s crooks, although it does have exotic fare such as brown bread and avocados.
It is all downhill after that. Shallow steps and steep steps, winding and turning. Dodging onto the shady side as she turns corners. Some of the houses near the port are now used as shops. Nothing has really been done to effect this conversion. The windows remain house windows, but the front doors stand open. Electrical goods crowded into a space as big as her own front room. Galleries, all clinical and white with odd, nonsense paintings, splodges and drips, that sort of thing. A book shop which looks as if it never opens, with a mobile phone number pinned to the door.
Round the corner and the final lane. Tourist goods on narrow benches in front of shops create an aisle that leads to the heightened sights and sounds and smells of the port itself.
Ropes slap rhythmically against the masts of the yachts; the port is no less busy than when she left. Now there are some larger boats anchored on the outside of the far pier, too large to enter the crowded harbour. The goods boat is in, its rear wide metal gangway laid flat onto the stone quay and its guts emptied of cargo. A few cats sit contentedly licking their paws. Maybe there were some fish on board.
‘How do?’ A gruff voice addresses her. Marina turns to see Yanni disappearing up the lane she has just come down. He has sacks of sand, or possibly cement, roped on to his beast.
