by Sara Alexi
Thoughts of England bring a slight yearning for her boys. Not boys, men! Thomas married now and Terrance, ah Terrance. Will Terrance ever settle down?
There is a couple sitting under the vines at the café, but the other table is free. Juliet makes herself comfortable. When she looks up, Toula is outside her front door, waiting for something or someone. The cat is rubbing itself against the doorframe, making closing the door difficult. Eventually, it slinks into the sunlight to exchange its rubbing post for Toula’s legs, making it possible for her to lock the door. She then begins her steady walk towards the café. Her rolling gait already seems familiar. Toula goes into the electrician’s as she did last week and comes out again after a minute or two. She picks a sprig of bougainvillea and her smile lights up the street as she draws near.
'Hello Daskala,' Toula says, half-English half-Greek. 'Or perhaps I say, "Kalimera Teacher?" Half-Greek, half-English this time. With a glint in her eye, she invites Juliet to enjoy her play.
'How has your week been?' Juliet asks as they order coffees. Toula hesitates and speaks quickly to the waiter in Greek. Juliet understands all that is said. Toula has ordered loukoumades and two spoons.
'My week is the same,' she says, exhaling and deflating into the chair. Straightening again, she puts the bougainvillea into the toothpick holder. Juliet moves her chair a fraction so the vine shades her eyes.
'The electrologos no come, the lift no good. Apostolis goes his friend George stin Athina, again. George is the architect—my husband’s business partner.’ These two words that she has heard so often in her life roll off her tongue almost without an accent. ‘Now George find buyers for clocks. Apostolis buy and sell clocks now. I stay here, alone. My granddaughter, Katerina, is three.' She smiles as if pleased with her long speech.
'George in Athens,' Juliet says.
'That is what I say, George in Athens.'
Juliet wonders whether to press the point. It is not that her student does not know the words in English, it was only a slip. But then, isn't that what these lessons are for?
'Yes, that is what you said, but it came out as “stin Athina,”' Juliet says.
'Oh did I?' Toula is watching the couple on the next table.
'So your granddaughter is three.' Talking about children and grandchildren is always a good way to get pupils to engage. In fact, the most engaging topics for the Greek women she has taught are family, cooking, and cleaning, in that order. With the men, it is politics, women, and gossip, judging by the few she has taught. She moves her chair again. The sun is almost at its height. At least the intense heat of August has passed now.
'Yes, we had invitations to come to her birthday celebrations in London.' There is a sadness in Toula's eye and she takes a hanky from her bag.
'Eisai endaxi?' Surprised at the sudden tears and with genuine concern, Juliet asks the question in Greek. Toula’s tears colour her sky-blue silk handkerchief the colour of night, the crinkled and parched material greedily soaking the saline.
'Yes, yes,' Toula answers in English, obviously determined to keep the English lesson going. 'It is sad that I cannot go.'
'Why can you not go? What would have happened if you were to go?' Juliet asks. It is another chance to hear Toula's command of the past participle and maybe her future perfect tense.
'It is Apostolis. He does not want to go.' The hanky dabs away at her eyes.
'Go alone?' The words come out before Juliet is aware that she has thought them. They are a reaction to years of being told what she could and could not do by her own husband. Ex-husband. Biting her bottom lip, she wishes she could retract what she has said, or soften the words, make them part of the lesson. But the words are out, and there is no taking them back.
'Alone?' Toula sounds incredulous. Her fingers seek the soft petal of the bougainvillea in the toothpick holder. Her gaze is down the street to her own house, or maybe beyond. Her head begins to shake just a little, side to side as if her neck is loose. Juliet finds she needs to move her chair yet again so she can see Toula's face without being blinded by the sun. From this point of view, it is not the best place for a café.
'Tell me in future tense what you would like to do if you went alone,' Juliet suggests, trying to redeem herself as a teacher.
'Alone?' Toula repeats as if the idea is unthinkable.
Juliet should know better. She has lived in Greece long enough to know that women of Toula's age do nothing alone. They were born into a patriarchal system, raised to be supportive, and encouraged to focus on keeping house and raising children. Travelling abroad is unthinkable. If she goes anywhere without her husband, it will be on a church outing, organised by the papas.
'I would go the Big Ben,' Toula says suddenly. Her fingers release the petals and her eyes shine as she looks into Juliet’s. 'Westminster! London Bridge, London Tower!'
Juliet nods in encouragement as Toula winds her tongue around these foreign names.
'I would go,' a little knot of muscles appears between her pale eyebrows as she concentrates on the grammar before exploding with, 'Speaker’s Corner.' She looks at Juliet for some reaction to these words. 'Speak! Me! Me speak!' The waiter comes out and glances up and down the road, takes a cigarette from behind his ear and, lighting it, ambles to the other side of the narrow road to lean against the building. He stands and smokes, looks up and down the lane. He has an easy grace, as if he is satisfied with his world.
'What would you say?' Juliet is intrigued by this outburst. But Toula now blushes and looks down at her hands in her lap. For a moment, she was free and it was exciting to witness, but now Toula is back in her reality. England has so much to offer women from that point of view, Juliet reflects. The temptation to encourage Toula to follow this dream is great, but Juliet knows this is not her place.
'You do this?' Toula's voice is quiet now, her eyes still fixed on her own knees.
'I do what?' Juliet asks.
'You come the Greece, alone.'
'Yes. I have done this.' Juliet corrects Toula’s phrasing as she pushes herself back in her chair, sitting up straighter. She is proud that she came here alone. There was no Michelle here to greet her. She was the first English person in the village. She knew no one. 'Yes I did.'
'Not to be alone? You find a partner easy. A good one. I know, good for you. Clever. How you say. Charms. No, charmings. My nephew mine.'
Juliet’s mouth has dropped open, and she shuts it abruptly. She cannot pretend to be surprised. Time and time again, the Greek women do not believe that she chooses to be alone. They are always matchmaking, trying to find someone suitable.
'Er thank you, Toula, but…' She begins but Toula cuts her off.
'Did you have fear, when you come—alone?' Toula moves her own chair, as the sun’s progress is now in her face. Her eyes half-close but Juliet can feel the intensity of her stare.
'Was I scared when I came alone? Yes, very. But more than scared, I was angry. Angry at being told what to do with my life all the time by everyone. So the anger outweighed the fear.'
'Out-weighed?' Toula asks for clarification.
'Outweighed. This means the anger was greater than the fear. Its weight was outside the weight of the fear. It weighed more. Do you know any of these phrases, out-run, out-law, out-strip, out-distance?'
'Out-law! Western films.' Toula takes the first sip of her coffee, sucking it quietly through the bubbles on the surface.
'So either it means outside-of, like outside of the law or outside of the number, as in weight.'
'Yes, yes, I see, but I am more thinking about the anger being more than the fear.'
'Oh!' Juliet is not sure what to say and so she takes a drink of her cold coffee. The ice is melting fast. It is sweeter than it was last time, but she is not complaining. The waiter, who had been resting his bottom against the wall, pushes off, glances a smile at Juliet, and returns indoors only to reappear with a plate of loukomades with two spoons, which he puts on their table. The couple at the oth
er table pay and leave. There is a sound of voices. The waiter slips back in through the open doors and Juliet becomes aware that there are people drinking coffee inside, too.
'I am angry,' Toula says calmly and the dripping dough ball that Juliet has just scooped onto her spoon falls back into the honey sauce. 'I am angry that he does not keep his promises of places he said we would go. I am angry that he squeeze me out of the business until I am only a housewife. I am angry that the clocks do not all sing at the same time. I am angry that it is good for him to go to stay with George in Athens.' She emphasises these last two words as if to tell Juliet that she has taken on board what was said earlier about her slip back into Greek. 'Whenever he feels like it. But I am meant to stay at home. I am angry that I am not supposed to be angry. This is what I would say at the Speakers Corner.'
Juliet closes her mouth and puts down her spoon to give Toula her full concentration.
Toula
The anger bubbles. It is a bit like excitement but there is tension in the sinews of her neck, along with a feeling of power. It is not power over anyone, like the power she had over her children until they were of an age to govern themselves, but a power as if she can determine her own future.
'Are you alright?' She can hear Juliet speak but her voice seems a long way away as she looks back towards her house.
How many times has she walked down this street? How many times has she looked at her house? But now it is different, the colours are more intense, heightened, the shadows deeper.
The cat that has recently befriended her is lying on top of an air-conditioning unit by one of the tavernas. It is black with one white paw and long black whiskers. Its coat is sleek, courtesy, no doubt, of the fish tavernas and the many kind strokes of the tourists and the town’s residents. It is one of many strays but it is nice the way it has adopted her for the moment. It is a shame Apostolis objects so much to it coming into the house. In truth, she is a little envious of the cat. It can get up and walk away any time it likes. It can move to another street, or find another old lady. It can feed at one taverna or another. It can befriend whom it likes, stay out as long as it likes, and go where it likes. Even a stray cat has more freedom than she has.
She sighs.
But who is really holding her back? If a cat can have this freedom, if Juliet can break free from her old life, then so can she, can’t she?
‘I go.' Her head quivers on her neck and she has no control but she doesn't care who sees it.
'Do you not want to finish the lesson?' Juliet seems shocked.
'No! You no understand. I go England. Alone. See Katerina, her three birthday.'
'Oh.'
'I go Big Ben, I go Speakers Corner. I go and I want stay.'
'I will go to see Big Ben and I will go to Speakers Corner and I will want to stay.'
Toula cannot really take in Juliet's corrections with this strange churning inside. Her stomach seems to be turning over and her chest feels like it is quivering inside, but she is not cold. A tension around her temples beats with her heart and her breath comes in short gasps. But she feels light, as if she could dance. Right now, if she never sets foot back into that house, with its shutters all closed up against the sun and the perpetual ticking in every corner, sealed to the world outside as time passes, she would not care! In fact, she would celebrate.
Picking up a spoon, she chases a honey-covered ball of pastry around the plate and when it is caught, she opens her mouth and eats in it one, whole. How many times did her own mama scold her for such behaviour? How many times has she refrained from such behaviour in front of Apostolis in fear of his disdain? Well, she is not a child any more and no one should be able to intimidate her and tell her what to do.
She chews contentedly.
'If you say "I go," it implies you are doing it in the now, but if you say "I will go," it implies a future action. One that hasn't taken place yet. There is still the possibility that it might not happen. Whereas "I go" is a done deal, as they say. A completed decision,' Juliet explains.
A 'done deal.' That's a good phrase. When they sold the houses that Apostolis built, he would say to her, as she worked on the budgeting of the next build, 'Never count on the money of the last sale until it is in the bank. The deal is not complete until the transfer is done.’
'So I say it right.' Her voice comes through the half-chewed honey ball. 'I go to Big Ben, I go to Speakers Corner, it is done-deal!' The laughter under her ribs escapes as a chuckle, her head wobbling away by itself. Even her hands have a little tremor to them as she lifts another honey ball to her lips. 'You must be quick if you want some of this, Juliet.' She pushes the dish towards her teacher.
Juliet closes her mouth and picks up her spoon.
Taking a paper napkin from the holder that is behind the bougainvillea in the toothpick holder, Toula wipes her mouth. Things like honey get caught in the creases above her lips these days, and in the downward fold in the corners of her mouth. But she is smiling so much as she wipes that the paper touches her teeth, drying them, making her lips stick and the whole process becomes lot more complicated than usual. When she is satisfied she is not dribbling like an old woman she says, 'So Juliet, my teacher, we change lessons.' The sun is in her face again, the cat—her cat—on the air-conditioning unit jumps down and slinks his way towards them, his white paw crossing over the path of his black paw, accentuating the litheness that all the animals have at this time of year. It is the result of a month of such intense heat. He stops and shakes, creating a cloud of dry dust, out of which he walks with an arrogant attitude.
'Lessons every day now. My English more-better out-weighs everything else.'
She must go to the travel agents, arrange tickets. Yes, she can manage that. Call her daughter to tell her she is coming. It will be good to talk to her, maybe it will cement her plans, give her confidence. She must also go into the guest room and take out her winter clothes. It will be so much colder in London. Is all this for real? Is she really planning to go to London? How would Apostolis survive? A naughty voice in her head says she doesn’t care if he survives or not, but the truth is it will be no difficulty for her to arrange for the shops to deliver groceries as usual or maybe… Yes, this is even better: when she goes, Apostolis can stay with George in Athens.
It feels unreal and at the same time more real than anything she has ever done in her life. Her surety comes in equal measures to her overwhelming terror, the two oscillating, pulling her up, pushing her down. The thoughts make her head spin.
'I know we say pio poli in Greek, but in English, “more-better” is considered wrong. Use one or the other, but in this case, you don't need either. It makes sense if you just say that your need to learn English outweighs everything else.’
But Toula can only think of making lists in her head.
'Hi guys. Am I too early?' They both turn their heads as Michelle comes up to their table.
Toula looks at her watch. 'Oh, the time is like bird, as the English say.’
‘Time has flown,' Juliet corrects, but Toula is not listening.
'Tomorrow, same time.' It is not a question. Toula points to her watch.
'Oh, okay. Yes, if you are serious.' Juliet smiles but she is also frowning.
Toula does not answer. Instead, she gives Juliet her sternest look. She has never been more serious. After Apostolis has eaten his lunch and he goes into his study, she will slip out again and go to the travel agents. Hopefully, they will not close in the heat of the afternoon like some shops do. Then she can buy her ticket.
Juliet
Juliet watches Toula go.
'Good lesson?' Michelle asks.
'Yes. No. Not sure.' Juliet uncoils herself, stretching her legs out. She hadn't realised she was so tense.
'Why? What happened?'
'It was as if she had some sort of epiphany, suddenly deciding that she was going to go off to England on her own to see her grandchildren.'
'Good for her. A frappe please, g
lyko.' Michelle address the waiter who is standing, staring at Juliet.
'Maybe she just likes the idea that she will go on her own. Maybe she won't follow it through.' Juliet frowns. 'But she has asked me to give her lessons every day until she goes.'
'Are you going to do it?' Michelle leans her shopping bags against the leg of the table.
'I said I would.'
They fall into silence, watching the old woman progress down the lane.
Toula
Toula stops just before her house to pinch off another sprig of bougainvillea. She will put it in a vase on the yellow kitchen table. The cat is by her feet, its fur so soft. The creature is so friendly. It is nice to have something to love.
As the key turns in the lock, she is deep in thought, trying to imagine what it must be like to live in London and be cold all the time. No doubt the houses are properly insulated with boilers that work, lifts that move, and radiators that do not leak brown water onto the floor to soak between boards and stain the ceiling below.
She has not seen pictures of her daughter’s house, not as such. But she has always studied what is in the background of the photographs full of smiles. The living room is in cream, with a white sofa with golden cushions. Katerina's bedroom has a painting on the wall of a forest with birds in bright colours and a deer peeping from behind a tree trunk. The kitchen is modern, with black work surfaces and long, vertical chrome handles on the white cupboards.
