Among the Lemon Trees

by Nadia Marks

  The Black Turtle buzzed with life, energy and noise. Most nights a couple of men sat in the corner singing, one of them playing a bouzouki and the other a guitar, while people ate, drank, and at regular intervals got up to dance. Although the tables and chairs in the little courtyard were a cooler option, they were colonized by the English and German tourists, and the cousins preferred to stay in the smoke-filled room, with its ceiling fans, music and dancing.

  Alexis was now resigned to his daughter’s friendship with Antonis Zevros, since cousin Manos vouched for his respectability and acted as her chaperone. Anna knew that her Thia Ourania had much to do with his change of attitude and was grateful to her. She managed to get him to relax a little about her social interactions, much like her mother used to do when she was young. Anna knew that her mother’s absence from her father’s life had taken its toll and she was glad to see him being fussed over once again. Like Manos and Anna, Alexis and his cousin were now spending most of their time together; they too had a lot of catching up to do. Ourania’s love was doing them both the world of good.

  In a weird sort of way Anna had reverted to some kind of past life, a state of mind that disengaged from the London fifty-something-year-old-mother-of-two, rejected-wife-of-Max, who is going-through-a-mid-lifecrisis, and stepped back into the much-needed, young overprotected girl-of-long-ago, daughter-of-Alexis, on-holiday-with her-dad. On the island with her father and auntie, Anna started to feel loved again, cocooned and entirely separated from her other life. London and Max seemed a distant galaxy away.

  However, as much as she tried to avoid it, thoughts of her husband filled Anna with anger, disappointment and sadness, but thoughts of her children, Chloe and Alex, filled her with longing, which inevitably led to thoughts of her mother. So many things around the place linked Anna to her, and them: old toys, books, clothes and a million photographs. When her mother was alive she was a keen photographer. She loved to be photographed with her grandchildren and Anna would snap at anything – documenting and capturing moments now gone forever. After her mother died, the camera lay untouched. The hardest thing for Anna to accept when she was gone was that she would never be able to ask her the questions only she had the answers to, or hear her voice again. Anna would close her eyes sometimes and try hard, but could just about hold on to the sound of her laughter. With her loss, a part of her, a chunk of Anna’s history, of her essence, had vanished with her mother too, forever.

  ‘Come with me on my boat, Anna,’ Antonis whispered one evening while the bouzouki played an old melody and they drank ice-cold ouzo. ‘Just you and me and the moon,’ he breathed into her ear, pulling her closer in the noisy restaurant. ‘It will be full in a few days. You haven’t lived till you see the full moon from the sea.’ The hairs on his arm brushed the back of her neck and the strong grip of his hand on her shoulder gave her goosebumps. Anna inhaled his scent. He smelled of cinnamon and mastic, a heady exotic blend that triggered in her memory-bank something distant and delicious.

  ‘Yes . . .’ she heard herself say, and couldn’t believe that she said it.

  If her father’s attitude towards her since they had arrived on the island made Anna involuntarily revert to being fifteen again, then her friendship with Antonis was doing something similar. Whereas her father made her behave like a sulky teenager at times, Antonis made Anna’s heart beat faster, caused her to blush whenever she saw him and start to regain her self-confidence. When she left London she was bruised and emotionally battered. Antonis’s attentions were going a long way to helping heal the shock and rejection she’d brought with her. Max’s mid-life crisis, his declaration of love for another woman and doubts about their marriage, even if feeble and hesitant, had shocked her and hurt her deeply. Whenever she thought of him now she flared up with anger.

  Manos and Anna were sitting in the square drinking their morning coffee when they saw Antonis walking cheerfully towards them.

  ‘Kalimera, my friends!’ he shouted across the tables. ‘It was a beautiful night last night.’ He stood over Anna and bent down to kiss her cheek. ‘Our full moon will be here soon,’ he carried on, flashing her a smile. ‘Don’t forget, Anna!’

  ‘Every night is a beautiful night here,’ she replied feeling flustered.

  ‘Anna wants to go shopping,’ Manos interrupted.

  ‘What sort of shopping does she want to do?’ Antonis asked, looking at Anna.

  ‘I want to buy some art materials,’ she said and picked up her coffee. ‘Do you know any shops around here that might sell them?’

  In her few weeks on the island, its perfect light and colours, the house, the garden and the beach had all inspired Anna to start drawing again. She hadn’t picked up a crayon or a pencil in months. Illustrating was how she made her living but she never considered it as work, it was her passion. She was never happier than when she had a sketch pad in her hand but in the months that followed Max’s confession, Anna had lost all desire for it.

  From a very young age she’d dreamt of becoming a children’s book illustrator. After leaving art school and marrying Max she even wrote some stories which she took along with her illustrations to publishers. The verdict was unanimous; Anna had to accept that she was a much better artist than writer so she gave up the writing and began a career as a freelance illustrator. She did well, working regularly for most of the women’s magazines and for quite a few children’s book publishers. She kept busy all through pregnancies, babies, family, and when the children went to school she got even busier. It suited her. She loved being at home but she often got the feeling that Max was a little envious of her ‘easy’ existence. He never went as far as to tell her, but she felt it. She wondered if he wished she was more academic, more like him.

  He was a professor in Electrical Engineering; an academic, a brain. He travelled a great deal for his work but that didn’t bother Anna, there was always great excitement when he returned. She admired and respected him, was always proud of his achievements even if what he did was beyond her comprehension; Max’s grasp of art wasn’t huge either, but it didn’t matter.

  ‘The artist and the scientist,’ he would joke, giving her a kiss. ‘We couldn’t be more different. I’m methodical and analytical and you are disorganized and emotional!’ Anna liked their differences; she thought it made their life more interesting.

  ‘I don’t know about a shop, but Nicos Varnavas would be the best person to ask about art,’ Antonis replied, looking at Manos. ‘What do you think, my friend?’

  ‘That’s true.’ Manos nodded in agreement. ‘Nicos! He should know.’

  Apparently – they both took turns to explain to Anna – Nicos Varnavas was an artist who had recently moved back to the island from Athens and was now living and working in the nearby village of Elia.

  The idea of a fellow Greek artist living on the island appealed to Anna and she was curious to meet him, so when the two men offered to take her up there by car the next day, she was more than happy to accept. The village of Elia was very small, just a cluster of houses really, way up in the hills surrounded by orchards, vineyards, tamarisk trees and pines. The drive was a delight and once again Anna was transported back to her childhood, as so many things had the power to do on this island. The village was cool and fragrant, especially when the lemon and orange trees were in blossom and perfect for a respite from the heat below. As children during their summers on the island they would all gather, her brothers and cousins, just after sunrise and hike up to spend the day there. The climb by foot used to take them all morning; the car journey in Antonis’s Mercedes took less than fifteen minutes.

  Anna had suggested that they telephone prior to turning up, but was told that Nicos Varnavas had no telephone line in his house nor even a mobile.

  ‘He’s a bit of a hermit,’ Antonis said when she expressed surprise at this. ‘He just sits up there by himself and paints all day long.’

  ‘According to village gossip,’ Manos laughed, ‘he lost his heart to a Viennes
e trapeze artist, but according to my mother, it was his money and his mind that he lost and that’s why he’s run away to hide in the hills. If you ask me, it’s people like my mother that he is running away from.’

  Nicos Varnavas’s house was nothing like she imagined; built on the side of a hill, surrounded by trees and shrubs, it was less of a house and more of a studio-cum-workshop. Anna had expected to see a small low-rise whitewashed typical island house hiding away from view with a shed, at most, serving as a studio. Instead, the building they saw or rather buildings, as it was in two parts, were clearly visible from the road and not at all hidden away. The first building, a simple rectangular structure painted a warm shade of terracotta, was connected by a stone path to another, circular structure, a shade lighter than the first building with sweeping curved walls and a sculptural chimney which created a wonderful shape against the Grecian sky. The whole edifice looked unexpected and as improbable on that plot of land as a UFO. It was no wonder the islanders considered the man who lived in it as something of a mystery and had spun all kinds of stories around him.

  ‘Let’s go and find him,’ Antonis said, slamming the car door shut and turning towards the building.

  ‘He’s got to be around here somewhere,’ Manos called out and beckoned her to follow. Walking through a big metal door they entered an open-plan space. Judging by its contents it was obviously Nicos’s workplace. Masses of light poured in from a huge skylight and canvases of all sizes were either hanging or leaning against walls. Every surface seemed to be covered with tubes of paint, brushes, bottles and jars. An exciting colourful chaos prevailed. Apart from the room’s visual treat, Anna was intoxicated by the familiar smell of paint and turpentine which filled the air.

  ‘He’s over there,’ they heard Antonis shout from the back of the studio. ‘He’s feeding his chickens.’ To Anna’s further surprise she was soon to discover that Nicos Varnavas was not just a prolific artist but something of a farmer too, who apart from growing his own vegetables and fruit, kept hens, rabbits, bees and a goat. Eager to meet him, Anna followed the others who were making their way noisily towards him but instead of the customary friendly open-arm local welcome she was used to, their host, who had his back turned to them, nonchalantly carried on with his work, ignoring their calls. Feeling as welcomed as a fox in a chicken coop the thought occurred to Anna that perhaps this particular Greek was not so thrilled at being invaded by a bunch of unwanted visitors. Thankfully and luckily, as it turned out, Nicos Varnavas was far from rude and antisocial. What transpired was that although he didn’t own a telephone or a TV, Nicos did own an MP3 player to which he was well and truly plugged in at the time of their arrival. Once he actually saw everyone he was as warm and hospitable as any other local and very pleased and willing to help Anna with her quest.

  Over coffee, ice-cold water, home-grown grapes and figs, which Nicos served under the shade of a lemon tree, Anna was able, after their initial tricky start, to observe him and try and get a handle on this unexpected Greek.

  He had a quiet, easy way of talking, which was in total contrast to Antonis’s boisterous manner, or Manos’s gregarious personality. He emanated calm. When asked a question he took time to consider his answer and held you with his eyes as if measuring the response. In fact, Nicos’s eyes were the first thing Anna noticed about him; his gaze was intense, his eyes deep set and so brown they were almost black. He was around the same age as Manos and looked every bit the bohemian artist; he probably hadn’t changed his style since art school. He had a lean body, dressed in paint-splattered loose-fitting khaki trousers and T-shirt and his height was on the short side – he wasn’t quite as tall as Manos and was a lot shorter than Antonis. Anna noted that if she had been wearing heels she was sure she’d tower over him. Tanned of course, his skin, the colour of warm caramel, was also unlike Antonis’s, which was fiercely dark and sun-baked. He wore a red bandana, probably in order to keep his mass of raven-black hair in place while he worked, giving him a Native American look.

  Greek men like their long hair, Anna thought with amusement, looking at both Antonis and Manos, who by English standards had more than average length too. Most of her male friends in London either had cropped hair or had shaved it off on account of going bald, but here were three men who weren’t in the first bloom of youth with long tresses, even if, as in Manos’s case it had started to thin on top. Nicos had slim elegant hands and long fingers, which, as he delicately rolled a cigarette, Anna pictured playing the piano or strumming a guitar rather than mixing paints or feeding animals. He was, she mused, very sympathitikos, as the Greeks say, very likeable, this fellow artist, who lived on his own with his animals, his art and his broken heart. The four of them stayed chatting for the longest time, eating juicy grapes, drinking thick sweet Turkish coffee and smoking endless cigarettes. Smoking is like a national sport on this island, thought Anna. You’d never have believed it was the ancient Greeks who lived by the rule of pan metron ariston, everything in moderation. These modern Greeks seemed to live by another rule altogether; everything in excess! She hadn’t smoked for ten years, yet being with these guys she found it hard to resist.

  ‘Have you been working since you’ve arrived on the island, Anna?’ asked Nicos at some point, in pretty good but heavily accented English.

  ‘Anna speaks perfect Greek, you know, Nicos,’ Manos informed him proudly. ‘She might live in London but her heart belongs here.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Nicos replied, this time in Greek. ‘I’m sorry, Anna, do you mind? It’s not often I get the chance to speak English here.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said amused that yet another person wanted to try their English on her when all she wanted to do was practise her Greek.

  ‘If I had actually brought any material with me, I could do it anywhere,’ she obliged, this time in English, embarrassed to confess to her total work inertia of late. ‘But sadly, so far since I arrived here,’ Anna continued, darting a quick look at Antonis and Manos, ‘I have done nothing but enjoy myself.’

  ‘Not sadly!’ Antonis rushed to add. ‘Enjoying yourself is a happily thing, Anna!’

  ‘True, true,’ Nicos replied, smiling and shaking his head in agreement.

  ‘The problem is that my work always gave me a lot of enjoyment,’ she replied, putting her cup of coffee down on a chair provided for the purpose. ‘What makes me sad is that lately I’ve lost it.’

  ‘But why, Anna?’ Manos said, looking alarmed. ‘Where’s it gone?’

  ‘It happens sometimes.’ Nicos smiled again, giving Anna a knowing look. ‘You will get it back again, don’t worry. It happens to me often and when it does I stop and spend time with my animals and my plants, or I go to the sea, to swim or fish, and when I start again, it’s even better. So, Anna, are you ready to start again?’

  ‘I am,’ she said and for the first time in months she knew it to be true.

  5

  For the next few days all Anna could think of was getting on with some work; her meeting with Nicos had fired her up and she couldn’t wait to get started.

  In a matter of a few weeks on the island she had begun to feel more hopeful, more or less in control of herself again. Her marriage was definitely in crisis and only time would tell how life was going to progress, but she was feeling less anxious about it galloping towards a dark unknown. Gradually Anna started to live for the moment and not for what might happen.

  Antonis’s attention had catapulted her back to the hot island summers of her youth. A little adolescent flirting was doing her the world of good, but she decided it had to stay there. Accepting an invitation for a moonlit boat ride alone with him was out of the question; she feared it could lead to where she wasn’t prepared to go.

  Once Anna started working, her friendship with Nicos began to flourish too and he’d regularly come down to the village to have a coffee with the three friends. The first time he did that, the whole village seemed to pass by the cafe in the square to take a good
look at him. According to rumour it was the first time anyone had actually seen him close-up and his presence caused an even bigger stir than Anna’s arrival on the island. In his nonchalant way Nicos took it all in his stride, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Do you blame the man for wanting to live alone in the hills?’ Manos laughed, giving Nicos a friendly slap on the back as they all watched in amusement the stream of locals parading, as if by chance, in front of the cafe to look at the legendary hermit. ‘They’re a bunch of small-minded peasants, that’s what I say,’ Manos complained. ‘Why do you think I’m leaving? Everyone knows everyone’s business around here and worst of all they’re mean about it.’

  ‘If you want to live in paradise you have to put up with a few snakes,’ Nicos replied with a little smile. ‘It really doesn’t bother me, Manos. I live my life according to my rules. I pick and choose who I want to spend time with. Do you think the big city is any better?’

  ‘Chicago was full of snakes but it was no paradise,’ Antonis added with a big sigh, leaning back on one of the several chairs he had accumulated around him.

  ‘And what about London, Anna?’ Nicos asked, turning round to look at her. ‘How is living there?’

  Living in London? The question startled her. Apart from her children, her life in London was something she had finally managed to stop thinking about.

  ‘Why don’t you come up to Elia sometimes with your sketch pad, Anna?’ Nicos asked one day when they were all having an early evening drink in the square. ‘It’s very peaceful there.’