by Sara Alexi
'No, she really did say she intended to be there for you and the baby.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means we can be happy.' He kissed her hair.
'Being there as in when I need her, or being there as in getting in the way like she does with your cooking?'
'I think you need to relax. It's fine. It's all going to be fine.'
The sun had turned orange now and grown bigger as it dipped its edge into the sea. The sky had turned pink and purple and yellow, the colours blurring one into another. The goats had wandered up past them and they could hear their little hooves clicking across the church courtyard, the bells clanging dully, responding to the call of the shepherd somewhere behind the mill.
'Besides, I think most girls would be happy to be offered help with a young one. To have someone on hand for when you get tired, or need a break.'
Vasso could see how that would be good.
'If Argyro was the one who got up in the night for the baby, for example, then you would not be too tired to be by my side during the day.'
Vasso stiffened.
'With her help we could have our cake and eat it, too, as they say.' He smiled as he talked.
'What do you mean?' Vasso sat up a little.
'Well, if you have help with the baby then there is really no need for it to interrupt what we are doing in the taverna. The business works well with you, me and Stamatis. If Argyro was away, and kept busy, it would work even better, perhaps?'
'Are you suggesting that we use our child to keep Argyro from the taverna?’ Like bait, she thought, but did not say the word. She pulled out from under his arm.
'No, no, no, sit down, stop getting so excited. I was just mulling over how there are many ways we could move forward and that perhaps – no, not perhaps, I feel sure that with a child the whole situation will only be better. Come.' He held his arm out for her to nestle into him again.
'Anyway,' he said when she was safely next to him, 'Argyro did mention that perhaps I would like to take over the whole running of the taverna.'
'She did?' Vasso sat up straight again. 'At what cost?'
'At no cost, my love. She just said that if we were so busy we wanted her to look after the baby then perhaps we’d better take over the whole running of the taverna.'
Vasso broke free of his arm, forgot about the sun ready to sink beneath an oscillating horizon, and stood to face him.
'Can you hear yourself or are you deaf?'
Spiros looked shocked.
'She is saying that if she brings up the baby we can have the taverna! And you are even contemplating this?'
Chapter 24
It was hard to see the details of his face in the twilight but she could clearly make out his mouth hanging open, the look of shock in his eyes.
'I’m not saying that! Why would you even think that I would suggest such a thing?' He sounded hurt.
'Because that is what it sounds like and I know exactly how wrapped up in your cooking you are.' She held her ground, although everything in her wanted to smooth over her accusation, repair the hurt.
'Vasso, you do not know me.'
That hurt her in return and reminded her of just how short a time she had actually known him. There would be many a person, both on the island, she guessed, and definitely back in her village, who would tell her that she had not known him long enough. But it was too late to go back. There was a baby now and that must come first.
'So, when do we marry, Spiro?' The question caught him off guard and he hesitated.
'You see, you are not ready.'
Spiros stood. He was not much taller than her, but he seemed to tower over her and it was enough to silence her.
'Come.' He held out his hand. 'Well, come on then!' He lurched towards her, took a firm hold of her hand and pulled her up past the mill and back along the path, the way she had come. They passed the little church and the wall and then, instead of turning down the steps to the harbour, he strode right up to a little house that was hidden behind the wall, in amongst a clump of pine trees. The gate hung open and a dull light came from behind some shutters, but apart from that the place appeared to be sleeping. Spiros banged on the door with such authority that anyone within would think there was a fire, an emergency. But no one came, and Spiros raised his fist again. As he knocked the second time, the door swung open and a tall, thin man in black stood there, a dazed look on his face as if he had been sleeping or maybe in deep contemplation.
'Spiro, my son – welcome.' The papas greeted him. 'And…?' he looked at Vasso.
'Papas, this is Vasso. She is to be my bride. But she doubts me and so I want to prove the sincerity of my words by arranging our marriage.'
'Well, good evening to you, Vasso.' He did not seem put out or surprised by Spiro’s speech but he did pause and look from the one to the other. 'I wondered who would manage to capture our Spiros. Come in, I want to meet you.' And he opened the door wider so they could enter the dark passageway. Inside, it smelt of musty books, and incense. The only light there was gleamed from under a door that presumably led to the room whose shutters emitted the glow they had seen from outside. Spiros moved towards it first, as if he had been there before.
The room was lit by two candles. There were four padded chairs with wooden arms and legs and two tables. The tables were stacked with books, and books lined the walls on purpose-built shelves. Over a crude plaster fireplace hung a regulation picture of Christ but the room was very obviously a shrine to knowledge.
'So, Vasso, you’ve taken Spiro’s heart, have you?' The priest asked.
She did not answer.
'No need to be shy. Spiros and I are old friends. When he was a boy, still at school, he came here a lot, did you not, Spiro? Such a keen mind.' He picked up a book to give emphasis to his words, and put it down again. As he replaced it, a puff of dust rose and fell in the candlelight.
'She does not believe me, Papa,' Spiros said.
'And I do not believe that,' the priest answered. 'Women have fine instincts. She knows. Don't you, my dear?' He turned back to Vasso.
For a moment she felt caught. She knew, of course she knew. She had known from the moment she first laid eyes on Spiros that this was her man for life. So what was her doubt? She wondered if he would remain focused. Her fear was that she and the baby would be forgotten for his cooking.
'So, if you know, why the hesitation?' he asked her, having seemingly read the emotions on her face.
'Papas, I believe him. I believe what he says, but I also think he is drawn to prove himself. For this I think all his time and energy will be taken by his work.'
'Well, that is true. He is not a lazy man. But would you want a lazy man?'
'With respect, Papas, that is an unfair question that dismissed what I said.’ As soon as the words were out she felt shocked at her boldness.
'Oh, she is a sharp one, Spiro. You will have to watch this one. I think you have chosen well!' He turned back to Vasso. 'I think that Spiros is a man who becomes driven by things and all his focus, all his energy, is thrown into whatever that interest is. That is the way I have always known him to be, and, to be good at a thing, that is how it has to be. As a consequence, Spiros has always been good at whatever he has turned his hand to. Before he started cooking he raised canaries. Did he tell you about that?'
Vasso shook her head.
'Well, that is a tale for him to tell you. Maybe when winter comes and you two are curled up beside the fire he will tell you all about it. But he became the best on the island, aged about twelve, I think, at breeding canaries, because he put his whole mind and soul into it. That is who he is.'
There was a pause as the papas looked at Spiros as if seeing the child he once was.
'So, if you have captured this man’s heart and he has said that it is so, then, Vasso, my child, you can believe him and you can believe that you have all of his heart and he will be dedicated to you, body and soul. You see, I believe that all the energy he thr
ew into canaries and cooking with his mama was all about finding a place to lay his heart with safety. A place of rest, a safe haven. It is natural that, now, as a mature man, this habit of his, this love of doing things well, will bubble to the surface through his work. But when he has a ring upon your finger, I have no doubt at all that what he will want to do well at will be providing for you and any children you may have.'
Vasso felt a heat in her cheeks and she hoped it did not show. Spiros glanced at her.
'Am I speaking out of turn, Spiro?' The papas asked, oblivious in the dim candlelight to Vasso’s discomfort. 'Am I right?'
'You are exactly right, Papa,' Spiros said. 'So let’s get that ring on her finger.'
'Well, I can see no reason to rush, Spiro.' the papas said.
'Ok, we will give it a week, then.'
'Ah, these things cannot be hurried. I will need a letter, a reference for Vasso – from the priest of her village, for example.
'Papas, we are not ruled by the Turks now. We are not back in those days. We are a modern country now. The post is quick. A day, two at the most!’
'Well, yes, but we will need a civil marriage licence.'
'Are you making obstacles, Papa?' Spiros chuckled.
'It is just that I have such a lot to do.' The papas said this rather wistfully, looking around at the table of books.
'Papa, you have always had such a lot to do! That table of books only gets added to. You will never feel you have read enough or know enough, so set them aside. They will wait for another day, but let me be married!'
The papas smiled, took his hand off the book it rested on, and did something between a wriggle and a shuffle in his chair, during which time his eyebrows lifted and he looked several years younger.
'I will, then,' he said, as if it was him being asked to get married.
'So – when?' Spiros stuck to his question, and Vasso, by this time, had a smile that creased the corners of her eyes. She was not sure if the feeling in her stomach was excitement or the baby letting its presence be known.
Chapter 25
A letter came from her mama to say that she, and about half the village, wanted to come for the celebration and was there anywhere they could stay? Stamatis listed over a dozen friends who would welcome Vasso’s family and friends as their personal guests. This was not only the merging of two people, he said – it was a joining of two villages.
Argyro made the guest room over to Vasso: a light, bright room with a view of the sea. But, as it sat over some outbuildings beside the main house, it was very definitely separate, and she missed Spiro’s evening visits and their loving nights in her little room in the courtyard at the back of the taverna. All eyes were upon them now, and everywhere she went, as she explored the town, people she did not know nonetheless knew her, and it also seemed that everybody was doing something for the wedding. It gave her a sense of belonging and a feeling of importance, but also a distant feeling as though she was in a dream. Lace was being made for the dress by nimble-fingered women who kept lace shops near the port. Flowers were being organised for the church by some cousins of cousins of Spiro’s. The church itself, the one up by the windmill, would not hold more than twenty people, but no one seemed concerned. All of the harbour front was to be given over to the wedding feast and, as other tavernas were becoming involved, Spiro’s plans for the celebration grew. Chairs and tables were stacked in readiness, the use of ovens in nearby tavernas was promised, food was shipped in, and Spiros was in complete command of everything, just as she had anticipated.
Vasso eagerly awaited her mama so she could feel a part of something, no longer a spectator, but when her mother disembarked from the fishing boat, along with a number of cousins and many more villagers than Vasso had anticipated, she almost didn't recognise them. It was not that her mama had aged or changed, but rather that she herself had changed. Her outlook had altered. Now her mama looked – well, as if she came from a poor farming village, which of course she did. But for some reason the rough weave of her faded black skirt, the hand-stitching of her greying blouse, came as a shock to Vasso. They were details she had not remembered.
'Mama!' she called, and as soon as she was in her mother’s embrace it all came back to her and she was a stranger no longer.
‘I am so proud of you, my love,’ her mama had whispered in her ear.
‘I hope you like him,’ Vasso had muttered in return within the same embrace.
‘If he makes you happy he is the best man in the world and I already love him,’ her mama had replied, and their hug tightened, and they only separated when a suitcase being pulled from the boat nearly knocked them both off balance.
Spiros and Stamatis charmed the old woman; even Argyro greeted her pleasantly, but with a small knowing smile. A smile that repeatedly crept onto her lips, keeping Vasso in a state of unrest.
Naturally, Stella came, and with her there was none of the reluctance that Vasso experienced with her mama. Stella’s presence was a relief, and Vasso found she could fully let her guard down as soon as they found a moment alone, and talk as if they had never been apart. Vasso caught up with the village gossip, and Stella asked never-ending questions about the ways of the islanders, Spiro’s character and the chronology of his and Vasso’s courtship, as well as teasing her about her impending wedding night. But she did not tell Stella about the baby. Somehow she felt that, for now, it was something only she and Spiros should know about.
Finally, the day came. Everything was ready. Vasso did not believe it was happening and the look of pride on her mama's face was a sight she would not have missed for the world.
As she wriggled into her wedding dress, she was aware of the slight curve to her belly.
'Would you look at that!' her mama said. 'For years I’ve been trying to fatten you up but after just a short time with the man you love you are more rounded and almost have a belly.’ Then she laced the dress up and fussed over the veil.
The lace was thicker and heavier than Vasso had been expecting. It was a traditional lace of cotton thread, looped and twisted around nimble fingers. The end result was intricate but not fine and, as the cotton was not spun to a smooth texture, the resulting lace had a degree of coarseness. But the effect of the veil was beautiful, natural, and, as far as Vasso was concerned, transforming.
'Oh, you look so beautiful,' Mama had exclaimed, and then she had cried, which set off Stella and then Vasso’s cousins, until all the women in the room except Vasso were weeping and wailing.
Stamati’s donkey carried her sedately to the church, with people lining the way and filling every corner of flat space outside. As she had no one to give her away she had asked Stamatis if he would lead her to the church. He stood in his Sunday best, fidgeting awkwardly but looking handsome.
'That is how Spiros will look when we are older,' she whispered to herself, and she felt such happiness she thought she wouldn't be able to contain it all.
Sliding from the donkey, with Stamati’s hands around her waist, she thought she caught a sneering look from Argyro, but the curl of the woman’s lips quickly turned into a smile and Vasso decided she might have been mistaken. Still, she ignored her – the only person Vasso wanted to see was Spiros.
He was inside, smiling, as she entered, and his smile made her stomach turn over and her pulse race. The world around receded till there was no one but him in existence, and from the way he looked at her it seemed he could see only her. She became lost in his gaze and the whole process of the wedding, the prayers of the papas, the vows they took, the exchanging of crowns – even the three times around the altar, with all that rice being thrown at them – seemed to pass as if it wasn't really happening.
The olive-leaf crowns that Dimitri had circled and swapped over Vasso’s and Spiro’s heads had been intricately woven by the old ladies who made the lace, and everyone agreed the natural look of them enhanced the couple’s good looks. A great amount of rice was thrown and some of the children had to be cautioned abou
t not throwing it too hard. After the ceremony the happy couple and the best man made a small tour of the tiny church and back out under the blue skies. A couple of times Vasso almost wondered if it was a dream, especially when she caught her mama's huge smile as she dabbed her eyes. But Spiros had hold of Vasso’s hand and he was not letting go. The rings were there, the deed had been done, and he kissed her as if she might escape if he did not make a lasting impression on her lips. But he had no need to worry. She was one with him, and no one beyond the two of them mattered. She had vowed to be with him all his life and he with her, and whatever doubts she had had up till now were as nothing.
They walked back to the harbour with the whole town following. Still more handfuls of rice were thrown and her lace veil became even heavier as the hard grains stuck in the holes. But she did not care; although, as they drew near to the port, a part of her anticipated the resentment she would feel at being alone for the next few hours as Spiros fussed over the preparation and serving of the food, in that moment she could not imagine being happier, or anyone or anything shattering their happiness.
So when they turned the corner and all the harbour front was laid out with tables with clean white cloths, a spray of orange bougainvillea in a wine carafe on each, the beauty of it all was so unexpected it brought tears to Vasso’s eyes. Now Spiros would squeeze her hand and rush inside to manage the food. There would be kokkinisto – slow-roasted beef in a rich tomato sauce – with mountains of rice and salads made with fresh tomatoes and cucumber, and, of course, endless amounts of local wine. When the squeeze came, she was ready to let go – but Spiros didn't. Instead, he leaned towards Stamatis and exchanged a few quiet words, and it was her new father-in-law and the other taverna owners who hurried inside to see to the food and Spiros who led her to the head table under the clock tower.
'So beautiful,' he whispered, and kissed her jaw line – a little embarrassed, it seemed, for his loving action to be the focus of so many.
