The Rush Cutter's Legacy

by Sara Alexi

  'You might want to pour some water over all that and leave it to soak before you tackle it,' Stamatis called over to her, but Vasso decided she was here to earn a wage and set to at the sink with quiet energy. It took her the rest of the morning, and when she had finished with the pots she cleaned all around the sink until the place look new, or at least somewhat newer. The improvement was very satisfying and she was glad to be hidden away from public scrutiny.

  With the washing-up done, Vasso looked about her for more jobs that needed doing and was surprised when Argyro and Stamatis called out a cheerful 'Adio!' and left. The clock confirmed that it was two o’clock – about the normal time for a mesimeri sleep in the heat of the day, but for a seafront taverna it seemed like a short route to failure. Such places could not afford to close; they must stay open day and night to pull in as much trade as they could, especially in the summer months. She knew, she had seen it. Every Saturday for as long as she could remember she would accompany her mama on the bus into Saros town to buy the week’s vegetables at the laiki. More often than not, as a little treat, they would go to the harbour front and order a drink, usually just one Greek coffee – the cheapest thing on the menu – and they would sit there watching the tourists walk by, the yachts pulling into the harbour, and for an hour or so feel a part of the bigger world. But how many times had she seen those places on the front open and close over the years? Each new and excited owner thinking that they could earn the rent more easily than the last, only to find themselves closing their doors six months later.

  She watched the round figure of Argyro and tall, thin, stooped Stamatis wander along the front and then turn up a narrow lane into the town, and she wondered if coming here had been a good decision. Surely if she had tried she could have found work in Saros? But then what chance had she been given to do that? Mama had offered it as a completed deal, had made all the decisions and arrangements, and it was not as though there had really been a choice.

  'They are family, Vasso. At least with family we know you will be treated fairly and you will be safe. Besides, they need someone, so it helps us both,' Mama had said.

  'Come on, don't just stand there.' Spiro’s words startled her, and then he offered her the smile that made her heart race and with it came the assured feeling that she was definitely in the right place. He swept past her into the taverna and marched behind the counter at the back. So now he was the cook, which presumably made her the waiter. She looked out, expecting to see one or two people and the rest of the tables mostly empty.

  But, from nowhere it seemed, quite a few of the tables were now occupied and more people sat down as she watched. She looked to see if a ferry boat had pulled in, finding no other way to account for the sudden business.

  'So!' A young man strode in, slapping his hands together and rubbing them. 'What is it today, Spiro?' He sucked in his lips and let them out noisily.

  'Today it is barbounia. Ilias had a good catch so there will be enough for everyone.' Spiro’s face glowed as if he was lit up from inside. His eyes danced and shone and what was already a beautiful face to Vasso became something that could only belong to an angel.

  'Ah, and who is this?' The man turned to Vasso, still rubbing his hands together. 'So, you have got yourself some help. That should make things easier. Save us all running backward and forward,' and he laughed.

  'This is Vasso.'

  'And have you told Vasso your little game?'

  'Actually Dimitri, there has not been a moment. But perhaps while I am getting things going you could do the honours.'

  'Oh my goodness, that is such pressure on me. If I put it the wrong way and she decides to tell them, we are all sunk.'

  'You are very kind, but the truth is only I would be sunk.' A darkness passed over Spiro’s eyes and a look of sadness swept over his face that made Vasso decide that, whatever they were talking about, she would tell no one.

  Dimitri appeared older than her, but not by much. He, too, had a kind face but his eyebrows were bushy and met in the middle and gave him an edge of severity that caused her to shrink from him a little.

  'So, my little mouse,' he addressed her with kindness. 'Will you keep our secret?' As he said this he looked to the door and Vasso followed his lead. With a sharp intake of breath, she saw the tables were now all full. There were women in black, fishermen with their traditional caps, shopkeepers keeping one eye on their shop fronts. There was hardly a seat left empty and the tourists who had sat down before Stamatis and Argyro left were now looking around nervously.

  What on earth was going on? Why the sudden rush of customers, and all Greek? It wasn't as if a ship had just docked.

  'What…?' was the only word she managed to tease past her lips.

  'Now, it is important that you understand everything.' He moved slightly closer to her. 'You see our friend Spiros there?' She nodded. 'Well, he is blessed and he is cursed.'

  He didn't look cursed at that moment. He looked happy, pouring oil, sprinkling seasoning, occasional flames licking up, visible above the counter.

  'Tell me.' Vasso wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him.

  Chapter 6

  'Like I said, blessed and cursed. The curse you know.'

  'Do I?'

  'Of course you do. Some may not be so unkind as to use the word curse, but my allegiance is to Spiros, and to have those two as parents could be described as nothing else.'

  'His parents…?' Vasso was looking out at the tables, the sun shining down on the white cloths, the blue sea behind and everyone looking happy and relaxed, as if they were on holiday. Vasso had to remind herself that she, at least, was not on holiday. Everyone would need serving: the orders taken, written down and delivered, not misremembered. The small piece of spanakopita churned in her stomach. She would have to speak to them all.

  'Stamatis and Argyro are his parents!' Dimitri exploded, as if she was teasing him, making him spell it out.

  ‘No!' She had not seen that coming. That huge, rough and unpleasant barrel of a woman his mama! Poor Spiros. And he the son of Stamatis? That would mean she and Spiros were related – perhaps third cousins, with great-great-grandparents in common... Working out relatives was very confusing, she concluded.

  'Don't look so shocked. Stamatis is a good, kind old man, just a little – how shall I put it – hen-pecked.'

  But she could not wipe the emotion from her face and Dimitri started chuckling.

  'Argyro has not always been so bad, but it is worse since Spiros came back to the island.' They both turned to watch Spiros, who was now in full flow, shifting back and forth behind the counter and beginning to fill the room with the most amazing smells.

  'Come on, the smells are killing us!' someone shouted from outside. Vasso wondered if she should take them out bread, knives and forks, take their orders.

  'Dimitri, I have to serve.' But his hand on her arm stopped her from moving.

  'You need do nothing. When the food is ready then you take it out.'

  'But I need to know what each wants to order.'

  Dimitri’s head rolled back, now, as he laughed, his agile frame shuddering with the movement. 'No,' he managed to say, but he could not stop laughing and wagged a finger to accentuate the ‘no’ until he caught his breath enough to say it again. 'No!' Finally he regained control. 'No, no orders. They want whatever he cooks.’

  Vasso frowned.

  'Ah, you see, that’s his blessing. He can fry barbounia and make them into a dish fit for a king. He can take cabbage and work his magic so it is to die for. He is an alchemist, and you will hear no orders or complaints from out there.' With a jerk of his thumb he indicated the crowd outside. 'We are just glad he has come back to us and we hope he won't go again. But in a moment, if you want, you can take out water and forks, take out some wine, see who wants beers. Until now they have been obliged to serve themselves.’

  ‘So what you are saying to me is that these people have waited until Stamatis left…'

&n
bsp; 'Exactly.'

  'So why doesn't he cook all the time?'

  'Yes, indeed, why doesn't he cook all the time? What sort of woman would stop her son cooking if he had skills such as Spiros?' He chuckled as he talked.

  'No, I’m serious, why doesn't he?'

  'First plate’s ready,' Spiros called, and Dimitri nudged her.

  'Who is it for?'

  'Anyone, everyone!' Spiros passed two plates over the counter to her, his face alive, his movements energised.

  Nervously, she took the plates outside and then paused, wondering who to serve first.

  'Me.' A man put his hand up. ‘I have left a man half-shaved in my chair. Those around him laughed, and Vasso slipped between tables and chairs and set one plate down in front of the barber, and one in front of the man next to him.

  'What is it today?' someone asked.

  'Barbounia like you have never eaten,' said the barber, leaning over his plate and taking a deep breath before picking up his knife and fork.

  Vasso returned inside.

  'Here you go, Vasso.' Spiros seemed to be vibrating with energy, but when he passed her the plate he did not let it go until she looked him in the eyes, and then with a wink he was back to his pans.

  The next hour passed too quickly. After serving the barber, Vasso brought plates for the man who owned the jewellery shop and the woman who served in the bakery, who said she had left a queue of people waiting for the next batch of bread to come out of the oven.

  ‘It needed another fifteen to twenty minutes,’ she explained. ‘But I will let it burn before I miss this meal!’

  They all spoke to Vasso as if she had grown up amongst them, and she began to relax. A group of six men had pulled two tables together, and the stench of fish clung to them.

  ‘Was this your catch, Ilias?’ one asked another. They acknowledged Vasso with a nod of the head as she put the fish before them.

  ‘I caught the fish,’ came the reply, ‘but I swear the mermaids themselves must have had a hand in making them taste so good.’ The comment was met with chuckles from several tables around them as eager faces waited their turn.

  ‘Am I too late?’ The priest in his long black robe and tall kalimavkion hat approached as fast as his waddle would bring him, then pulled a chair up to sit with the only man in a suit. ‘Did you close the bank, Gerasimo?’ he asked as he sat down.

  ‘For sure! What, you think the need of a loan or the release of a few drachmas is more important than this?’ He grinned broadly at his joke, which was received with nods and giggles from tables around him.

  The well-meaning banter continued to bounce from one table to another as the food was served, and soon Vasso knew that Gerasimos had been bank manager for over twenty years, and that the Kaloyannis brothers at the next table managed the boatyard along the coast, and were in town to pick up some tools they had ordered from the mainland. The priest made her laugh and put her at ease, and soon she forgot her shyness.

  Everyone outside was animated and talkative whilst they waited, silent as they ate and then reflective when they pushed their chairs back and spread fingers over expanded stomachs.

  Finally, everyone had been served and Vasso slowed her pace.

  'Last two plates,' Spiros said.

  'They are all fed.’ Vasso replied.

  'Just as well.’ He looked past her, ‘Dimitri!' he called to his friend, holding up the plates before setting them on the counter. With the cooking all finished, Spiros came from behind the counter and, using his forearm, and emitting a huff of disgust, he swept Argyro’s magazine off the table onto the floor and sat down heavily, clearly exhausted. Vasso picked the magazine up and found a place for it on the counter and then served him and Dimitri with the two remaining plates.

  'Come.' Spiros pulled an extra chair up beside him so both Vasso and Dimitri could sit, and he pushed his plate towards her. The fish was unlike anything she had tasted. The sauce was subtly flavoured, with hints of lemon and basil. She would not have thought her palette was educated enough to appreciate it, and yet each forkful exposed another stratum of tastes. The fish itself was tender and fragrant, with the warmth of the sun and the freshness of the sea offset by the dense richness of sundried tomatoes mixed with the sweetness of garlic. It was an experience unlike any she had had before, nor was it one that she would have deemed possible. She found herself feeling guilty as she made comparisons between this assault on the senses and her mother’s cooking, which, although nourishing and healthy, she could now see was unimaginative, to say the least.

  'Are you not eating?' Dimitri pushed his plate at Spiros and Vasso did the same, and he ate a little from one and then from the other.

  'That was great.' The barber came in and dropped a note on the table, tapped his temple with two fingers and pointed them at Spiros. 'See you tomorrow.' And he left with an ambling gait, a man well satisfied.

  'Thanks, Spiro.' A woman with long eyelashes and hands bedecked with jewellery dropped a note of a larger denomination on the table. 'For me and Maria,' she informed him.

  And so it continued: the people coming in, leaving some money and wishing Spiros well as he ate, and promising to be back tomorrow. The chairs outside emptied until only the tourist couple remained with their frappes, looking even more confused than before.

  Dimitri picked up the money, shuffled it into a pile and handed it to Spiros, who counted the money and sighed.

  ‘Every day you are a little closer to having enough for your own taverna!’ Dimitri said.

  ‘It seems such long way off,’ Spiros replied, and peeled off a few notes and handed them back.

  'Can you give this to Ilias for the fish?’

  'Sure. Are you doing fish again tomorrow?'

  'I’ve been talking to the butcher, so maybe not.’

  'Are you going to try and catch some sleep, now Vasso is here?' Dimitri did not look at her as he said this, and for the first time she felt an outsider to the adventure that had just taken place.

  'What, and leave you and her to have all the fun?' he joked, but he looked tired.

  'I can clear up.' Her voice came out small, but she felt grateful to be included again by Spiro’s words.

  'Come on guys, if we all work together we can get it done in time for everyone to catch a nap.' And with new energy he jumped up and headed behind the counter, piling up pans and putting away spices. Vasso followed Dimitri outside and the tables were soon cleared. Dimitri was strong and carried great stacks of plates, whereas Vasso could manage only a few at a time. Not for the first time in her life she cursed her fragile frame.

  Vasso washed the pots; they quickly dried in the summer’s heat and Dimitri put them away.

  'There, I think I have earned my fish. How are you doing, my friend?’ Dimitri addressed Spiros.

  'Done.' Spiros pulled off his apron and put his waistcoat back on, and looked around at the taverna, which showed no sign of what had just taken place.

  'I think I might just grab a few minutes,' he said with a yawn, his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  'Sleep well, my friend,' Dimitri said and wandered out into the sunshine.

  Vasso continued her work until it was all finished, and it was only when she put the last pan to drain and turned around that she saw Spiros was neither outside nor in. After a moment of panic that it had all been left to her she caught sight of his foot, through the back door, past the lemon tree, hanging off the end of her bed. A gentle snoring sound filtered back to her. With relief, Vasso told herself that if she really needed to she could wake him enough to ask for help.

  'Not a customer in sight.' Stamati’s voice made her jump.

  'Where's Spiros?' Argyro demanded, the two of them blocking the sunshine as they stood in the doorway.

  Chapter 7

  Vasso opened her mouth, but no words came out. She searched the woman’s full face for traces of Spiros but could find none.

  'What are you staring at? You’re not a starer, are you? I cannot
abide people who stare,' Argyro huffed, and folded her arms, looking away. 'Ah, there he is.' She peered through to Vasso’s little room. 'Spiro, hey Spiro,' she called, then looked back through the taverna to the tables outside where a family were seating themselves. The man, dressed in white shorts and a brightly coloured T-shirt held out a chair for his wife, who had on a lemon-yellow dress and sun burnt shoulders. The children, both wearing hats and with equally red shoulders, whined and fidgeted. 'We have customers,' bellowed Argyro, and the tourists looked up and seemed suddenly hesitant.

  'I'll go,' Vasso offered, and trotted outside, happy to give Spiros a few more minutes’ sleep.

  The afternoon was relaxed and, after the rush at lunchtime, Vasso found she could take it all in her stride. Spiros slept for only an hour but by ten o’clock that evening Vasso found she was yawning and wished that she, too, had somehow managed to lie down for a moment in the afternoon.

  Later still, at around eleven, there was a little burst of foreign diners, but after that the place was empty. Loitering by the doorway, she saw plenty of Greeks dressed up and promenading along the front and then turning up the narrow paths into the town, presumably to eat elsewhere.

  'They don't come here.' Argyro stood beside her. 'They are jealous of us, of our harbour front taverna, so they go somewhere else.' She stood, arms folded, filling the doorway. Most people hurried by. Vasso said nothing.

  'So, I will go now. Spiros will show you how to close up.' And she went back inside, took her cigarettes off the table, and spoke rapidly to Stamatis. Stamatis hurriedly took off his apron and the two of them went out into the relative cool of the night. As they started to leave, Argyro stopped and had a brief, quiet word with Spiros and pointed in Vasso’s direction. Vasso felt the heat rise in her cheeks and she went inside to tackle the last of the pans that Stamatis had burnt that evening.