by Anne Hampson
Her thoughts reverting to his mother, Julie said hesitantly, "How is it that you and your mother live apart?"
"I would have liked my mother to live with me, but she prefers to live alone." The finality in his tone convincing her that he desired the subject to be dropped, she made no further reference to it, and in any case a moment later Doneus was saying, "I don't know how you feel, Julie, but I'm for bed. I've had a long tiring day today."
She rose, and began putting the dinner things on to a tray in preparation for removing them to the lean-to.
"What do you do all day?" she enquired curiously. "There are all sorts of jobs. The castle's a big place." "Yes, of course." She took the tray out and called over her shoulder, "You do gardening mostly, though?"
"Not till ten at night, my dear," he returned non-committally.
She put the pots in a bowl of cold water. There was no hot water and she could not be bothered heating any. Besides, she was excited and expectant. She realized, without the least sense of shock, that she wanted Doneus tonight, wanted nothing more than to feel his arms about her, his body close, comforting and gentle.
That this was complete surrender she freely owned. There could be no going back a second time, and she had no desire to go back. Only now did she face the truth and admit to the real reason why she had been so averse to returning home when given the chance of her freedom. She never would be free, and in one moment of calm introspection she knew she never wanted to be free again. If pity drove her to these lengths then she was lost and she might as well admit it. She no longer cared that Doneus was only a peasant, a poor spongediver. He was her husband and at last she was willing to be his wife.
She suddenly realized he had evaded giving a satisfactory answer to her question about his work, but she let it pass. At this moment she was not particularly interested in his work at the castle, and there was a rather sweet and inviting smile on her lips as she came from the kitchen into the living-room. It told him she was glad he had softened towards her; it told him she was willing to come to him and she waited eagerly to see how he would react. He had let Jason out a few minutes previously and now that the dog was in again Doneus turned to lock the door, seemingly unaware of the expression on his wife's face.
"Good night, Julie," he said, and to Jason, "No barking in the night. It's only a donkey on the hillside you can hear. Mali nikta."
Julie stared at the open doorway through which her husband had gone. After the tenderness of him when he held her while she wept; after the pleasant companionable meal and the quiet talk.... He had gone, just like that. She had taken it for granted that their quarrel was made up and that they would return to where they were before she had so foolishly uttered words which she had instantly regretted.
Slowly she went to her bedroom, undressed and got into bed.
But again sleep eluded her and she tossed and turned. Doneus was still hurt, that was obvious, and as she had hurt him she should apologize. Yes, she must.
His door was ajar, as it had been when she passed half an hour ago. She touched it and it began to swing inwards.
"Are you asleep, Doneus?"
"No. Is anything wrong?"
"Can I come in?"
A match scraped as Doneus said, "Of course." He lit the candle which was in its plastic candlestick on the table by his bed.
"What is it?"
She moved over to his bed, her face pale and her eyes faintly moist.
"Doneus, I want to tell you I'm sorry for saying that - about pity, I mean. It hurt you, and I felt awful afterwards."
"What are you really trying to say to me, Julie?" he asked after a long pause, and she swallowed convulsively before she could manage to articulate words.
"You said our - our marriage must - must be normal. Do you r-remember?"
"It's not a thing I could forget," he returned with a hint of sardonic amusement. "Well, Julie, I did say so, but at that time I'd no idea it was pity you felt for me. I've no desire that you should come to me for that reason."
He was leaning up on one elbow, the scar throbbing against the collar of his pyama jacket, his dark hair a little tousled. Julie had an almost irresistible desire to run her fingers through it in spite of the cold reception she had just received. What was this
emotion filling her whole being? Desire or pity - or both? She shook her head.
It could almost be the beginnings of love - Love! She stared at her husband. She could never love him - she must not love him, because of his work which took him into danger. To love him would be anguish too deep for enduring. No, she was not cut out for that agonizing waiting for her man to return - whole or maimed, or perhaps to receive his poor bundle of belongings from a bowed-headed mate of his who would tell her her husband was buried on some distant shore.
No, she must never learn to love this man!
"I'm very tired," he was saying, and he sounded tired, she thought, and dispirited - lost, even, as if life no longer held anything for him. Her heart went out to him and she sought for words that would in some small way help to erase the impulsive utterance that had been so wounding to his pride. But Doneus was continuing, saying she too must be tired, and he ended by murmuring softly, his tones filled with all the gentleness she had come to know so well, and to take for granted, a gentleness so out of line with his primitive name and what it meant, "Good night, Julie. If you wake early in the morning will you call me? I've another busy day tomorrow."
She made no move to go, but continued to regard him in the flickering light of the candle.
"You - you don't want me to stay?" That she should be standing here, she, Julie Veltrovers, offering herself to a penniless Greek peasant! It seemed impossible, yet the situation was very real to Julie - real and deeply emotional.
For as she continued to meet her husband's unsmiling gaze she knew that to be with him was a desire filling her whole being; she wanted nothing more than the sanctuary of his arms and the joy of his body. He spoke at last, and his quiet voice was like a wave of icy water enveloping her, drowning hope while desire lived on, immune to the forces of destruction.
"No, Julie, I don't want you to stay." He saw the convulsive movement in her throat and he himself swallowed hard. "As I said yesterday, I am not in need of your pity."
"I haven't come because I pity you," she began, when he interrupted her and this time a harsh edge took the gentleness from his tones.
"You come, then, because of your own desires? - those desires which you fought off until that one moment of weakness. I could accept you for that reason, Julie - but not with pity in your heart as well. Good night - and don't forget what I said about waking me in the morning."
From that night their relationship was one of cool cordiality.
They were as two people who, not particularly compatible, shared a home by sheer force of circumstances. Doneus went regularly to the castle, where he would spend the entire day, returning to the cottage for the meal which Julie had prepared for him and patiently kept hot no matter how late he might be.
Once a week they went up to the villa on the hillside and dined with Tracy and Michalis, but no close friendship developed between Tracy and Julie, simply because Julie had not been invited to visit Tracy during the daytime as she had initially hoped would be the case. She felt somehow that Doneus had requested Tracy not to ask his wife up, and the reason could be that, should the two girls become friendly, Tracy might be tempted to reveal all she knew.
Each day Julie would rise to the light from a pale sun filtering the broken shutters; she would go to the pump, draw clear cold water with which to wash herself. She made toast from the nutty wholesome peasant bread, and sat down with her silent husband to eat it. For the rest of the day she was alone, except for those occasions when Jason, suddenly remembering her, would come home and remain with her until Doneus's return in the evening.
Julie spent her time reading and walking, for the sea was cool now and often there would be a sharp breeze blowing in from
the west.
On one occasion she had an inexplicable desire to see the harbour again and she caught the taxi, sitting with other people - men who looked at her with undisguised curiosity and women with large baskets or bundles which they would place on the floor, so imprisoning Julie's feet until they got out again somewhere along the way.
On reaching the harbour she strolled along, her eyes on the sea. She had always loved it, but now she saw it as an enemy, ruthless and all-destroying. She turned her eyes away from it and visions flitted by in her mind, one following another. That unbelievable few minutes in the tent and the subsequent scene with her uncle - her own first meeting with Doneus and its impact which remained with her long long after she had left the island. She recalled the shock Doneus's presence outside the church had given her because she had convinced herself that he had never meant to carry out his threat to expose Alastair.
Vividly she recalled the marriage and Doneus's bringing her to his tiny home. So many pictures, and all dominated by the one central figure from whom there was no escaping ... a man called Aidoneus.
Not a soul beside herself was on the quay and she began strolling back along the waterfront where brightly-coloured caiques heaved on the wave-crests as the wind set the vast dark sea frothing against their sides. Trees lined the front, men sprawled at the pavement tables, drinking retsina and playing cards. Gaunt grey mountains rose in the background, forming a towering semi-circle of rugged barren land, enclosing the dark sea. I thalassa.
Julie stopped at an empty table and had hardly sat down when a smiling Greek appeared. He obviously knew who she was, for his dark eyes shifted towards a nearby table where three men, divers in their black-peaked caps, sat talking, cigarettes dangling from their lips. Catching his glance, one of the men looked at Julie and then spoke in Greek to his companions who, turning their heads to take stock of Julie, murmured together and then laughed. Julie went hot and cold all over. Did every single person on the island know of her? - who she was and to whom she was married? She had been on the island long enough to know that news - or gossip - travelled fast, and she did suppose that an English girl married to a Kalymnos spongediver was likely to be a most interesting topic of conversation among those in whose lives there was a paucity of interest.
"Coffee, please, with plenty of milk."
"Certainly." The man went off, returning a moment or two later with a tray on which was her cup of coffee. By this time one of the men had joined her, occupying a spare chair without so much as an enquiry as to whether or not she minded.
"You like Kalymnos?" he was asking as the coffee was put before Julie. She nodded, wondering if there was any possibility of learning anything from this intruder into her privacy.
"I like it very much."
"You come here for good?" he asked, and Julie's eyes narrowed.
"Tell me," she said coolly, "do you know who I am?" She treated him with faint hauteur, but he was thick-skinned, as all Greeks are when their curiosity is aroused, which was often.
"You are Mr. Doneus's woman," he grinned, pulling on his cigarette.
"I am his wife." Julie picked up her cup and drank, wishing the coffee were not quite so hot, as she no longer desired to sit talking to this man.
"It is good in his cottage? That is a lovely part of Kalymnos, yes?"
Julie nodded automatically, her attention arrested by a powerfully-built cripple, hobbling along, a basket in his hand.
He could not be more than thirty years of age, she estimated, her heart beating unevenly as she said, "That man-was he a spongediver?"
"Once, yes. One of the best in Kalymnos, but the sea got him."
Something caught in Julie's throat. "What is he shouting?"
"He sells eggs -" The young man shrugged deprecatingly. "Who wants to buy eggs? We have our own. Chickens are everywhere."
"Call him, please. I require some eggs."
"You -?" The man stared. "Mr. Doneus - why, he have many eggs!"
Julie's eyes were following the cripple. Doneus did always bring the eggs from the castle - they, like the other produce, constituted part of his wages - but Julie knew she must buy some eggs from this man.
"Call him," she commanded again. "I wish to get some eggs from him."
Another shrug and then the man was hailed in Greek, "Manolis - ela!"
Julie bought her eggs, giving the man more than he asked. He smiled gratefully and went on his way - hoping someone would buy, even while knowing that almost everyone on the island produced their own eggs. Her eyes followed him until he was out of sight among tree-shaded pavement tables at a cafe further along the waterfront.
She beckoned the proprietor, who asked for two drachmae, which she gave him after rising from her chair. The man still sat at her table, disappointment on his face at this proof that he had heard all he was going to hear, which was nothing he could repeat with relish to the two pals waiting at the next table, their dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. So transparent, these Greeks, and so naive - charmingly so despite their curiosity, which could become irritating to anyone like Julie who was
unused to gossip. She continued her stroll, feeling inordinately depressed. She must bring some of her money over here, she decided, and do something for these people.
CHAPTER NINE
ALL the way home Julie pondered on her decision to bring some of her money over to the island, but although the transference of the money presented no difficulty at all, she was at a loss as to exactly how she would use it when it came. And in the end she broached the subject to Doneus as they were sitting down to their evening meal.
"I hope you won't say I can't do this," she added quietly, "because I want it so much, Doneus."
Doneus regarded her with an odd expression; she saw by the sudden pulsation of a nerve in the scar that he was deeply moved by her words. However, he did not mention the money for a moment, but digressed, asking if it would make any difference were he to say she could not carry out her intention of helping the islanders.
"You would obey me?" he added, a curious edge to his voice.
Julie looked across at him, her grey eyes wide and frank, and also faintly pleading. How strange it was that she could be so humble with this man, that her innate pride, strengthened by her wealth and the exalted station in which she had always lived., seemed totally out of place when displayed to her husband. Although Julie was naturally loath to admit it, Doneus was the one who always seemed superior.
"I expect I should have to," she answered in the same quiet tones, but added again that she hoped he would not object to what she had in mind.
"I'm afraid I must object," he said after a moment of indecision.
"You see, Julie, I should be humiliated -"
"No, Doneus, you wouldn't." She looked squarely at him. "I'm not so blind as to be unable to see that most people on this island know more about the reason for our marriage than I do, and I surmise that they probably know that I have money. Some day you might tell me all - you did say you would, if you remember?" She paused expectantly, but all he said was, "You yourself have made it impossible for me to tell you all."
"Because," Julie said, "I - I pitied you?" The words were difficult to voice, but she hoped she might glean some information. It was a forlorn hope because Doneus merely nodded, a drift of
colour rising beneath the natural darkness of his skin.
"I wish I understood, Doneus," she murmured gently, persuasion in her eyes and voice, but to no effect.
"You will now never understand," he assured her almost harshly.
Julie sagged, but reverted to the matter of her helping the cripples of Kalymnos.
"As I said, people are probably aware that I have money, so you could in no way be humiliated by my wanting to spend some of it in this way."
An odd smile, tinged with bitterness.
"I most certainly should be humiliated. In any case, it might interest you to know that the man you saw merely sells his eggs for something to do. A ma
n hates to think he's helpless, and many of our cripples sell things, or do small jobs which keep them occupied."
She stared in blank bewilderment.
"He wouldn't be hobbling about like that unless he had to do so.
He was in dire need of money-"
"No, my dear, he was not. He receives financial help."
"From where? I know that the spongedivers of this island support the entire population."
"Practically the entire population," he corrected. "We have several wealthy sponge merchants here. Also the men who have left to find work elsewhere send money home for their families. The man you saw - and in fact all of his kind - receives money from a fund set up by one of these sponge merchants."
"I see," murmured Julie after a thoughtful pause. "Well, can't I contribute to this fund? I have a large fortune, Doneus, and after all, what good is money if it can't relieve suffering?"
He sighed, in a way most puzzling, for it struck Julie that he would actually have liked her to contribute to the fund.
"I'm sorry, Julie, but I must say no." Inflexible tones, and Julie's heart sank.
"What good is my money to me?" she cried in frustration. "If I want to spend some of it in this way why can't I?"
"Your money will come in useful when you get home." He regarded her keenly, desiring to note the effect of his words.
Julie lowered her lashes, obscuring her expression. "You'll be in England for five months of every year, remember. You will need your money."
"Not all of it," she argued flatly. Doneus merely passed that off, changing the subject, and Julie was forced to accept that the matter was closed. If only he were not so proud! His pride was entirely to blame for the rift which had occurred between them, and for his refusal to have her for his wife - which was all she desired, the ache of wanting him growing stronger with every passing day.
A week later she was strolling along the main street of the tiny village when Astero invited her in for refreshments.
Kyria, her daughter, was still basking in the joy of her success, proud of herself and a little condescending towards poor Maroula next door who had just produced a daughter, her third in a row, enraging her husband and his people by her inability to "make" a boy. After staying with Astero and her daughter for about half an hour Julie went in to see Maroula and the baby.
