by Sara Alexi
‘Marina, stop the car.’
Marina loses her smile and stops.
‘I will wait here. I want you to go back and get the box out of the back of the bike that was standing by the boat.’ The car seems to be moving even though they have stopped. She puts her hand on her forehead and can feel the heat.
‘Box, bike? Irini, what bike? Do you mean boat? What are you saying? You have just escaped. We thought you might be dead. You are alive! Everything else can wait. Relax!’ Marina stops to look at Irini and takes a breath. She puts her own hand on Irini’s forehead and a frown replaces her smile but she says, ‘Everything is fine now. You are back. Your son has a mother. My son, your husband, has a wife. Everything is as it should be. Nothing is more important than that, is it?’
Irini hears her words and they sink in. She does not have the energy to argue. Besides, Marina is right. Thirteen or fourteen hours ago, she wondered if she was going to ever see her son or husband again. Thirteen or fourteen hours ago, a gun was thrust in her face and everything changed. The most important thing was her freedom. But six or seven hours ago, a man was shot and everything changed again. The most important thing is that she is alive.
No box, no matter what it contains, is as important as being back with Angelos and Petta. Where is Petta? Why did he not come in the car with them? She suddenly feels very tired and even answering her own question takes more effort than she has left. Every swallow emphasises how unwell she feels and she wonders if she will ever be well and energetic again.
‘You must be hungry. Have you eaten anything at all today? I’ve nothing ready; been at the port police office all day. Not a moment to cook. I’ll stop and get a chicken from Stella’s,’ Marina says. Irini loves the small eatery in the village that fills farmers’ stomachs with grilled sausages and chicken with lemon sauce, chips, and ouzo, but right now, she is not sure if she could eat a thing.
As they enter the village, the eatery is lit up. The fairy lights wrapped round the tree in the middle of the tables on the pavement are inviting, and a group of farmers sit at one of the tables, a large plate of chicken, sausages, and chips in the middle. There is also a bottle of ouzo on the table, and they are picking hungrily at their meal. In one way, Irini is surprised that Stella is still there, carrying on, doing something as ordinary as cooking chicken and chips when in other places in the world people are being shot, their lives snuffed out. But of course it is still there; why would anything have changed since she left the village? It is she who has had her life changed.
She wipes sweat from her eyes. The night is warm but she is sweating as though she has a fever.
The car bumps to a stop. Stella comes out and runs toward them and, leaning through the open window, she kisses Irini firmly on each cheek.
‘Oh how wonderful you are back. You feel a little hot; are you alright? I would not be surprised if you had a little fever after such an ordeal. But now you are home and we are all glad you are.’ She has more to say but the ringing in Irini’s ears drowns her out and it does not seem very important to listen to her. Stella’s talking quickly exhausts her. Stella’s husband Mitsos wanders out from the eatery at a leisurely pace, grins at Irini, and offers Marina two large silver foil boxes. Dinner is on him, he says, and he is glad Irini is back.
Leaning back against the car seat, Angelos curls up on her lap but it is only a couple of car lengths before Marina pulls the car to a stand in the square. The men in the kafenio must recognise the car as they begin to trickle out of their smoked-filled domain towards them. The lady from the kiosk, Vasso, comes out of her hut and the people in the pharmacy leave their tinctures and bandages behind and join them as they all crowd around the car, delighted to see Irini, hoping she is well, offering her coffee and chats when she is ready, pressing in on her, enclosing her, stifling her. With brisk but quiet thanks for their goodwill, she pushes though them, cradling Angelos, to the corner shop, through to the courtyard and up to her son’s room, where she joins him on the floor with his favourite wooden train, making it go back and forth and round and round and she tries to ignore her pulsing forehead and her raw sore throat, tries to forget everything as she focuses on nothing but the sound of Angelos’ giggles.
‘Irini, wake up, agapi mou.’ The heaviness that is Angelos is lifted off her.
‘Irini, it might be best if you come and have a little to eat before bed.’ His voice is coming from by the crib. He must be laying the sleeping boy down for the night. ‘Rini?’ His arms are around her, lifting her up. ‘My love,’ he says and pulls her head into his chest, wipes her fringe off her forehead, and kisses the top of her head, whispering, ‘As if you have not been through enough in your life,’ almost as if he is talking to himself.
He is so big and powerful compared to her slight frame that he could lift her and carry her as easily as she lifts and carries Angelos, but she would not like to be treated like a child and he knows it. He has a respect for her toughness, her independence.
She struggles to get to her feet. She has no energy left and her head is pounding. Petta’s arms are still around her and he looks her in the eyes, his liquid brown eyes saying more than his words ever could, all his love openly displayed in them, all his care. His hand slides down to the back of her legs and he scoops her up without breaking contact and carries her from the room. He doesn’t make her feel like a child. Instead, she feels loved, cherished, protected. He carries her down the stairs and out into the courtyard where Marina has put out plates on the table under the lemon tree. The sky is black now, smeared with the Milky Way, the moon haloed by its own glow. The wisteria scrapes gently against the wall as a cat rubs its cheeks against the stem. The jasmine perfumes the night. The warmth is a perfect temperature.
He lowers her into a chair and Marina serves her some chicken which she pours lemon sauce over and then heaps on chips.
They all sit and look at each other without speaking, everyone a little shocked by the normality of the meal after such an extreme day. Almost as if it is an agreement, they eat in silence and then Marina is left with the dishes as Petta carries Irini back up the stairs and slides her under the covers of their own bed, where he pulls her against him and holds her as sleep comes to them both.
Chapter 22
The cockerel crows and Irini is awake. It must be time to get up, go to clean Captain Yorgos’ boat, make enough money to get through another day. The sun streams through the curtains where they do not meet the ceiling. Another thought unsettles her, turns her stomach. It is not fully formed and then her time with Sam and the police grappling hook on the ballooned t-shirt rush into her consciousness, causing her to groan. Her throat is still sore and her ears are still ringing.
Petta’s big arm is around her, pulling her back under the covers. Curling side by side, he lifts his knees higher and tucks his head over her. She is encircled by him. It is so safe and warm and cosy, she would love to stay cuddled in his embrace, trusting that everything will be alright. But what happened to Sam does not alter their position in life and they still need the extra money she brings in to ensure they can keep paying the loan against the shop, put food on the table, or whichever way they divide up the income.
‘Where are you going?’ Petta asks, his voice rough with sleep.
‘Work,’ Irini says, her own voice cracking in response to the soreness in her throat, and she struggles to free herself. As the covers untwist from her legs, a second memory rushes her. Her limbs freeze as she remembers the box, Sam’s – no, Peter’s, she corrects herself – safety net. Why had she not hung onto it more tightly? What on earth possessed her? Trying to recall what happened feels like walking through glue. Yesterday has all the qualities of a dream, the sort where she runs and runs and gets nowhere, the sort where she finds herself back on the street at the age she is now and she isn’t quite sure how she got there, the sort that wakes her in the early hours of the morning in a cold sweat and leaves her unable to go to sleep again.
She will u
se the cover of work to go and try to track down the box. If the authorities have it, she will put up a good argument as to why it is hers. The notebook with the drawings and the letter to her may be persuasive, even considered to be a will? If the authorities don’t have it, then who has? Whose moped was it? It seemed familiar.
‘Irini, agapi mou, there is no work today.’ Petta nuzzles into the back of her head.
‘It is another day and money needs to be earned.’ She tries to move again. Her head throbs. Another groan escapes her rasping throat.
‘Are you alright?’ Petta’s voice is alert now, concerned.
‘I screwed up.’ Irini lays lifeless until a wave of tension urges her into action. She would like to tell him about the money, the gift, but why give him a glimpse of how unstressed their lives could have been, just to snatch it away again? ‘I’d best go,’ she says.
‘Irini, what happened yesterday was in no way your fault, you know, and there is no boat to clean this morning.’ She half-turns to look at his face as he speaks.
‘You think he will have sacked me?’ Her eyes widen. If she cannot find the box, she will still need the job.
Petta smiles and places a gentle kiss on her unresponsive lips. ‘Captain Yorgos will be strutting about demanding compensation for the bullet holes and the police will probably want to look over the boat to do whatever it is they do in the aftermath of such things. I don’t think anyone is going to let you, or anyone else, go near the boat today.’ He strokes her arm. His legs over-lock hers, trying to keep her close. ‘The last thing you need is to go to the boat, or to go anywhere else today, for that matter. How are you feeling?’ His puts his hand across her forehead.
‘We have bills,’ Irini begins.
‘Shhh,’ Petta whispers and kisses the back of her head. ‘You worry too much.’ But Irini cannot lay still. She kicks his legs off hers and she is up and dressed before Petta’s feet are even on the floor. With a quick look in to check that Angelos is still sleeping, she trips lightly and quickly down the stairs and through the kitchen to sit, arms folded, under the lemon tree. Her phone is there, showing three missed calls and a message. All are from Stathoula. How could she so completely have forgotten about Stathoula?
With agile thumbs, the message appears.
There’s been a delay. I have not left Germany yet. I tried to call but got no answer. I will try again.
Irini feels a relief from tension she did not know was there. She has not missed her. A tightness across her chest reminds her how much she wants to see Stathoula, but the desperate need to talk seems to have diminished now. It will be enough to hug her, drink coffee with her, be with her. Maybe if she can get things sorted today, there will be time for all that.
The relative cool of the early morning air under the lemon tree feels like it is helping her think. She needs to find the box and get it back.
The slap of Petta’s feet resounds in the kitchen, followed by the creak of Marina’s door. They try to talk quietly but she can hear them.
‘It has probably opened old wounds,’ Marina says. ‘Reminded her of the uncertainty of life.’
‘I want to make her feel safe,’ Petta says, almost a whisper.
‘Unfortunately, we are not in a position to do that. But maybe we can take more of the strain. She is not going to go back and work for that Captain Yorgos, for a start. He is a revolting little man. You need to find a job, or maybe I can get work in a hotel in Saros making beds or something.’
There is a tapping at the front door.
‘Just a minute, Mama,’ Petta says and his feet slap on the flags in the hallway to the door.
‘Kalimera?’ Irini can hear Theo’s voice, the man who runs the kafenio. What would he want so early? The talk is low, but she hears her name mentioned, then Petta says ah as if he understands.
‘But she is not going back there,’ Petta insists.
‘Is that anything to do with me?’ Irini shouts.
‘I was just explaining to Theo that you won’t be going back to Captain Yorgos,’ Petta soothes.
Irini is on her feet. ‘Who are you to decide that!’ She marches through the house to the front door, her head throbbing in response to each step. ‘How can I help you, Theo?’
He is a man with a frizzy halo of hair and as he stands there, the halo, lit up in the early morning sun, is more appropriate than he knows. He is nothing short of an angel as far as Irini is concerned because in his hand is the first aid box.
‘Hi Rini. Glad you are back on dry land.’ He gives her a smile that expresses his relief. He is one of the many people who comes to the shop to talk to her, confide his secrets. ‘Found this in the back of the bike after Petta borrowed it yesterday. Well, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. It has the name Artemis on it, so I thought… but I can take it back to the boat if you are not going back.’ He smiles again and begins to back away so as not to intrude.
Irini controls herself not to snatch, but once the box is in her arms, she closes the door perhaps slightly quicker than is polite and rushes past Petta and Marina and back to the table in the courtyard. She rips the lid off. The book lays on top. She grabs it and hugs it to her chest and closes her eyes, squeezing out the tears of renewed sadness for Sam, but also of relief.
‘You alright?’ Marina asks. She comes from the kitchen, a coffee cup in each hand.
Irini opens her eyes and with a shaking hand feels the plastic bag in the box. It is there, the bundles of notes, the escape from their struggle.
‘Irini, what is it?’ Petta reacts positively to Irini’s animation. But she has no time to answer. Running into the kitchen, she takes the basket out from under the table with the coffee stove. It is heavy but not too heavy to be lugged out to the table beneath the lemon tree. With a quick movement, she upturns it and the bills and notices they have been struggling to meet fall out.
‘What on earth?’ Petta begins. Sifting through the papers, she puts all the most recent bills in a pile, the agreement for Marina’s loan on top. It makes her cross just to see it. If she had been living here when the storm happened and the tree fell through the roof, she is pretty sure she could have found a loan with better terms. Some shark just took advantage of Marina. Her movements grow sharp with the anger it generates in her.
‘Rini?’ Petta asks again. But her mouth is set hard and without another word, she runs from the house with the box, grabbing a basket from the kitchen for the bills along the way, and with sweat of her breaking fever running down the sides of her face, heads for the car. It has always been her way to take action and tell people what she has done afterwards but this time, there is no way she is letting anyone know what she is doing first. She is not sure what Petta will say about the money. He may well claim it is dirty, even if it was legitimate pay. Well, she is not going to take that chance. Damn it, after all she has been through, life owes her!
Driving to Saros, the oranges trees speeding past, it is hard to believe that it was only twenty-four hours ago that she was making the same journey, completely unaware that the day’s events would be taken out of her hands.
Today is different. Today she will control all the events in their lives. Her first stop is the bank. Much of what she intends to do today can be done there.
Chapter 23
Her instincts tell her to go to more than one bank to change all the foreign money, but in reality, as she goes to each teller, no one bats an eyelid. Someone waiting in one of the queues to be served makes a quip. Something about ‘Has she been working abroad?’ but she replies that she has a shop and there have been tourists, and this seems to satisfy their curiosity.
Relief is what she expects to feel as she pays off bill after bill. She pays the straightforward ones first; the water and electricity, a handful of cash and a stamp from the official and they are done. Then she goes to pay the outstanding TEVE, the social security contributions. She knew this would be exasperating. She is danced from one desk to another, trying to find the right paper
work and the right person. At one point, she wonders if they even want her money and feels inclined to leave but then the right person is found. Another handful of cash and a stamp and their insurance is up to date.
The last bill she goes to pay is the loan against the shop. For some reason, even paying this off feels like a heavy chore. The whole issue is so loaded with emotions, it is hard to distinguish appropriate feelings from imagined fears. But after finding the right office in the right building, the man could not be nicer and as she walks from the building, it hits her that her family is no longer in debt to anyone. With a huge exhale of air, a thousand knots seems to release from her back. Her brow, which she thought was relaxed, smooths flat and a bounce that has long been absent from her walk returns. The uppermost feeling is that of satisfaction.
And there is money left.
‘Thank you, Sam,’ she whispers into the air.
It crosses her mind to go to the main square in Saros to have a coffee in celebration and watch the people purposefully marching here and there in their morning work, but really, she wants to be back at the village. Back amongst the people who genuinely seem to care. To tell Petta that they can return to the carefree couple they were before they moved here.
She puts the basket, which just a few hours ago contained months of unpaid bills but now holds the plastic bag with the remaining money, on the passenger seat. It was the interest rates that were slowly crippling them. Each month, paying off the required amount was not enough, the total amount owed forever, silently, creeping upwards. But now, all that is gone.
Having parked by the harbour, the view in front of her is the sea, sparkling in a very similar way to the way it had sparkled yesterday, the same water, the same colour, the same waves. Irini stops and just looks.
Sam is dead. The man she knew so briefly has given her more security than she has ever felt in her life. She puts her hand on the plastic bag of the remaining money. There is still a lot left. The time she was with him was so short, she partly feels she never really met him at all, but another part of her cannot believe that she won’t see him today and every day for the rest of her life. She would like to honour him somehow, but she has no idea about that sort of thing. She would like to tell Petta about him. In fact, she would like to tell Petta about all the things she has held back from him, the bits that show her in a bad light and the bits he cringes to hear. All of it, her whole life, and she would also like to tell him how Sam made her feel and how, for that, she loved him.
