by Sara Alexi
'What on earth?' Juliet strains to see what is painted on the board. Lettering of some kind.
The waiter comes out, smiles widely at them, turns to go indoors, presumably to get their usual, but then seems to change his mind.
'Coffee? Or maybe you would like hot chocolate?'
Juliet cannot see past him to read the sign, so she turns her attention to what he has suggested.
'Yes, hot chocolate sounds good.' It isn't really cold enough, and here in the sun, she is happy to sit in her thin jumper, but the idea of a mug of steaming chocolate sounds great.
'Me too,' Michelle agrees. 'But with a dash of something stronger in mine.'
'Peppermint schnapps, rum, or whiskey?' The waiter shows no surprise at this request so early in the day. His hands rest in the front pocket of his wrap-around white apron. He has the easy manner of a man content with himself.
'Oh, peppermint schnapps sound delicious.' Michelle nods enthusiastically and then checks her watch again as he wanders off inside. The men are struggling with the sign. 'Have you heard anything from Toula since she came back?' she asks, but without much interest.
'No, well, yes. I got a postcard from her saying she was in London, that she was having great time and that she would be very happy to never come home. But that was two weeks ago. I am just a little surprised that she has not been in touch since she got home.'
'That's how it is with great holidays, eh Juliet? You never want to go home. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she stayed.' Michelle is teasing. As Juliet smiles, only one side of her mouth twists, her gaze remaining on the men and their ladders. Health and safety would have a field day. The two ladders have nothing to stop them from sliding on the cobbles. One ladder is not vertical, its sideways pitch halted by a stone that juts out of the otherwise smooth wall. The men are trying to climb the ladder whilst each heaving one end of the sign up, but really, it is too big and too awkward to be handled like that. It would be better to be passed up once the men have climbed their ladders, or even winched up somehow.
The waiter returns. He puts down two tall glass mugs of thick chocolate topped with white froth and sprigs of fresh mint. But both Juliet and Michelle are concentrating on the dangerous manoeuvre, pulling faces at every possible horror that could be about to happen, but, somehow, never quite does.
'Ah,' the waiter says as if he has been expecting such a scene. 'It has come.'
Michelle speaks first. 'What is it?'
'My cousin-in-law, he has an epigraphes business,' the waiter says proudly.
'A sign-writing shop,' Juliet translates for Michelle, whose Greek is nowhere near as fluent as her own.
'Oh, but what does it say?'
The waiter makes a sound as if he is incredulous that they do not know before saying, 'It is for sale!'
'The house?' It is Juliet who now sounds incredulous.
'Yes.' The waiter folds his arms across his chest and watches Laurel and Hardy trying to kill themselves with the plywood sign, which is getting lifted out of their grasp by the slight breeze. 'The house, the shop beneath. The van came last week and took the furniture to an antiques place in Athens. Everything.'
Juliet stares intently at the sign as if this will fill in all the blanks in her knowledge.
'But Toula, her husband, where are they going?'
The waiter turns to look at her and whistles through his teeth.
'You didn't hear?' He is shaking his head, and there is a sad look in his eyes as he goes inside, leaving Juliet and Michelle none the wiser. She could ask the men putting up the sign, but would they know? The only phone number she has for Toula is the house phone, so if she isn't there…
'Here.' The waiter has returned and offers a well-thumbed local paper folded over with a picture of Toula's house at the top and an inset picture of an old man. The caption underneath says it is Kyrios Apostolis Maraveyas, Toula’s husband.
'Read it out loud,' Michelle demands, wiping her froth moustache off her upper lip and declaring the chocolate good.
'Oh my God!' Juliet exclaims.
'Come on, what?' Michelle pulls at the paper to see the picture.
'That is unbelievable.'
'What, what is?'
'Listen. Toula Maraveyas returned home from visiting her family in London last week to find the lift in her house stuck between floors. On calling the electrician, the lift was lowered to the ground floor and when the doors were opened…'
Toula
The smell is all invasive. She felt her stomach turn over. The electrician has one arm over his nose and mouth, working hard with his free hand.
‘That’s a dead animal, that is,’ he tells her, struggling to get the lift open. ‘I’ll get that out for you and then when it has aired a bit, I can work on the electrics.’ And with these words, the doors swing outwards.
The electrician’s jaw drops open and his hand covers his nose and mouth. The flies come at them like angry hornets. His screwdriver clangs as it hits the lift’s metal floor. Half a step closer, one step away. Turning, he dry retches, eyes closed.
'Don't look.' He makes a gasp for breath. He steps between Toula and the lift, hands on her shoulders, turning her, pushing her. But it is too late, she has seen. Her fingers drop from her own nose.
An eye socket. One gaping, dark, empty eye socket. A dried, black stain beneath the backside. The legs twisted to fit the space. The head at a strange angle, tilted, against the wall. Skin drawn over bone. Epidermis slippage on the jawline. Indented cheeks. A cockroach wriggles, squeezes out between the swollen black tongue and the dark purple lips, scuttles over parched chin, down inside his shirt. The cat freezes in motion over the exposed ankle, chewing the remaining mouthful.
Toula squeals and her body turns but her head remains still. Her eyes will not stop staring. It isn't real. But it is. His suit, stained, gradating darker near the floor. It is getting dirty, lying in the pool of... The smell is so intense. Her hand returns to her nose. The electrician rushes outside, throws up. The cat, narrowing its eyes against the light, smelling the fresh air, rushes for freedom.
But still, Toula cannot look away. The remaining eye open, veiled opaque. Unreal. Glass, unfocused, lifeless. Fixed on his bone-protruding hand that rests on his chest. Fingers grasped, firmly clenched, on his open watch.
All that can be heard is the steady ticking of his repeater, but for Apostolis, there is no time left at all.
Juliet
Juliet gasps then reads aloud, ‘They found the body of Kyrios Apostolis Maraveyas.' She pauses to let this information sink in. 'The post mortem shows that he died of,' another pause as she translates the word into English in her head before speaking, 'dehydration, having been imprisoned, it appeared, in the lift for the entire two weeks his wife was away.'
'Oh how horrible!' Michelle comments.
Juliet shivers. It starts in her shoulders and descends the length of her spine before the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She had watched as Toula drove away in the taxi that day. How long after that was it before Apostolis was stuck in the lift? But didn't Toula say they would take the same train up to Athens? She did! Juliet shivers again.
And what was that with Toula listening at her door before leaving? Not talking, not answering, just listening.
'Does it say anything else?' Michelle asks. The men have attached one corner of the sign to the wall and now concentrate on getting it level.
'No.' Juliet looks at the date of the newspaper and then picks up a newer copy from the next table. It is the subsequent release. She turns the first and second page and folds the newspaper back on itself.
'This is this week’s newspaper.'
‘Kyrios Apostolis Maraveyas left his estate to his wife and his nephew, Emilianos Maraveyas, who is also a joint benefactor of his considerable life insurance.' She turns the page for more, but there isn't any.
'You reading about Kyria Maraveyas?' one of the ladies at the next table asks.
Juliet nods sadly.
Juliet opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.
'She has arranged to buy a small mews in South Kensington, to be near her daughter,' the talkative woman’s friend chimes in. 'But what is a 'mews,' I wonder.' A little knot of muscle forms between her eyes. The ladies pay and leave, wishing Juliet a good day. 'Did you understand all that?' Juliet asks Michelle, who seems content with however much she did grasp.
'I think it is a case of be careful of what you wish for. Didn't you say she was not totally happy and wanted to see more of her daughter?’ Michelle replies.
Juliet cannot shake the image of Toula listening through the door before getting into the taxi.
'Oh my God, I've got to go!' Michelle leaps up, catching the table with her knee, causing the hot chocolates to spill into their saucers.
'Wish me luck,' she shouts back at Juliet as she trots towards the station.
'Luck,' Juliet calls. In a few minutes, Michelle will be in Dino's arms. Their chests pressed against each other, their hearts synchronising and beating as one. They each will declare their undying love, and another partnership will be born.
How many years will it take for Michelle, or worse, Dino, to be listening at the door as the other cries for their freedom?
Juliet may have times when she is lonely, she may have times when it all feels a little pointless without someone to share all she does, but one thing she is absolutely certain of: she is not ready to risk having to pay such a high price. She is not that desperate. Not yet, anyway.
She mops at the hot chocolate with a paper napkin.
'You want me to help?' the waiter asks.
'No, thank you. I am fine.'
'Can I get you anything else?' he persists.
'No, really, I am okay.'
'Yes, fine,' the waiter says in broken English
Juliet is surprised to hear him speak to her in English and she looks up at him. He pulls out Michelle's chair and sits down. Juliet moves her knees slightly away from him.
'This the Juliet fine. I have been told.' With the flicker of a smile playing around his mouth, Juliet is not sure what to make of the exchange. 'And I believe her.' His accent is thick, his English not so good.
Juliet blinks as she tries to work out if she is meant to know who he is talking about.
'So, now she is gone, I can take her lesson period, yes? And money, it is not a problem.' He holds out his hand to Juliet. ‘Emilianos,’ he smiles, introducing himself.
She is not sure if it is the words he has spoken or the way he smiles as he looks in her eyes. She tries not to have this response, but it is almost as if she has no choice. Juliet shivers.
<<<<>>>>
Also by Sara Alexi
The Illegal Gardener
Black Butterflies
The Explosive Nature of Friendship
The Gypsy’s Dream
The Art of Becoming Homeless
In the Shade of the Monkey Puzzle Tree
A Handful of Pebbles
The Unquiet Mind
Watching the Wind Blow
The Reluctant Baker
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Sincerely,
Sara Alexi
About Sara Alexi
Sara Alexi divides her time between England and a small village in Greece. She is working on her next novel in the Greek Village Series, to be released soon!
Sara Alexi is always delighted to receive emails from readers, and welcomes new friends on Facebook.
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PUBLISHED BY:
Oneiro Press
The English Lesson
A Novella
Copyright © 2015 by Sara Alexi
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
