by Sara Alexi
The silence that lays between them is like a silk blanket, billowing and shifting as their thoughts flow through them, each in their own world but both waiting.
‘I was in the house.’ It seems like a safe beginning. ‘Mama and Sada had gone down to the port to see Vetta. Baba was out fishing. Angeliki was using the chance to go and see Miltos, at the taverna. The one she married. Sotiria was already married and in Athens. So I was alone.’
Juliet settles more deeply into the sofa. The evening has become night. The moon is full and hangs over the stone barn next door, big and round and glowing white, with coloured rings around it that disappear as Sophia looks directly at them. The sound of animals scratching leaches round the end of the house from the garden. A moment of squealing is followed by quiet.
‘Pine martens.’ Juliet dismisses the disturbing sound, encouraging Sophia to go on.
‘I think it’s only fair to say in defence of my mama that I was quite full of myself at thirteen.’ In the early days at the convent, she spent hours on her knees telling the Greek Orthodox God the secrets of what seemed like her puffed-up pride and over-sized ego. Even though they concerned her, once in church, they always seemed so petty, trivial, compared to the horrors of the world which the sisters made her aware of and told her she should be praying about. But her attitude before her entry into the sacred walls continued to bother her once inside those quietened chambers and in the end, she sought a private interview and broached the subject with the abbess. The result was a lecture on vanity and the forms it can take. That Sunday, the abbess suggested her focus should be on vanity through prayer, and as a result, she forced herself to stop thinking about such things. She pushed her worries away as weaknesses, things to be overcome by silence, and her prayers, over time, became nothing more than hollow recitals.
Sitting here in the evening, opening up this subject that for years she has pushed aside feels cathartic. Surely even a nun, or now an ex-nun, has to be whole herself before she can be useful to others? The thought drives her on.
‘I found school easy. I had picked up English very easily and as a consequence, enjoyed it and studied as much as I could.’ Her poor mama, how hard it must have been for her, one daughter living amongst the nets, another playing with fire in the form of Aleko the drunk, and a third rubbing her nose in her ignorance whilst making herself unmarriageable. As Mama herself had said, ‘Who amongst the islander’s sons wants a girl whose head is full of books and learning as a wife? What good will she be if a rabbit needs gutting, a chicken needs plucking, or a puppy needs drowning?’
Her answer at the time was, ‘If there is a man here on the island who would want such a woman as a wife, then that is the husband for me.’ So slick, so cocky. Her mama must have despaired. She overheard Baba say to her mama on a couple of occasions, ‘Take her in hand.’
But what could she do, really? Her arrogance came from her intelligence, everything coming so easily, how could Mama undo that? But now, if she could, Sophia would do anything to take all her attitude back. Now, when her mama and baba are both dead. Now that it is too late. Then again, over time, who really suffered most?
She unclenches her hands and continues, Juliet listening.
‘For example, when I was about twelve, an English professor came to the island to give a talk on Nineteenth century poetry. Only about three islanders attended, the rest were Athenian academics who had come down specially. But I was there, the only child, pretending I understood what I heard. In reality, of course, I was out of my depth. He discussed one English poem, explaining its structure, what it meant. A woman with her hair so perfectly tied in a twist at the back of her head, smelling of soap, shared her book with the verse in it with me. She talked to me like an equal. The conversation thrilled me and she told me to keep the book. It was the most precious item I have ever owned.’ She stops for a second, letting the memory of the precious book sink in. ‘The fluent English, the in-depth discussion, the new words. I was in heaven. My mama was horrified I had gone. But the horror seemed to me to be fear. Fear of who I was, what I would become. I probably flaunted my learning in her face. I was cruel.’
‘Part of growing up,’ Juliet offers softly.
‘Anyway, that was the situation between us. She didn’t trust me and she certainly didn’t understand me. They were tense times, and she spent as much of it ignoring me as she could. She wanted me married and gone.’ Sophia sniffs, but all she can feel is a cold, hard core grow rigid inside her at the memory. ‘On the day I was going to tell you about, she was down in the port seeing Vetta. I was alone in the house and there was a knock on the door.’ She looks at Juliet, who appears composed. ‘I opened it. The house had a big courtyard, walled all the way around, very private. It was Hectoras, and I was afraid. He asked who was in.
‘I told him they were down at the port and to come back later and tried to close the door, but his foot was wedged against it, his chest pressed up against the opening. He said to me something like, “What I want is right here”. And I remember noticing that his pupils dilated and he did this funny movement with his tongue. It sort of came out and back really quickly, but it half-turned over as it did. It left his lips glistening with saliva.
‘I stepped back, away from him. Which was the wrong thing to do.’ The pulse in her temple grows stronger, she crosses her legs, uncrosses them, wraps one foot behind the other as her breath quickens in the telling of the tale. ‘He used the gap to come into the courtyard, took the door from my grasp, and shut it behind him.’
‘I was firm, Juliet.’ Her hands are sweating; she pats them on her knees. ‘I did tell him. “I want you to go”, I said. I looked to see if I could make a rush for the door and go myself. But he stood before it with his arms outstretched as if he was herding chickens, smiling as if it was a game. I had forgotten to breathe and I suddenly took in a depth breath, the oxygen rushing to my brain making me feel dizzy.
‘“We are to be man and wife, you and me, Sophia”, he said, or something like that, and I felt my stomach recoil, the food inside heaving, wishing to make a quick exit. “I have asked your mama and baba and they say yes. Why do you think she took Sada to see Vetta with her? She knows I am here. She knows I am come courting. She wants you married, Sophia. I want you, Sophia”. And his tongue made that darting, twisting movement, his lips left overly wet, shining in the sun.
‘I stepped back further, toward the house. If I could get in there, I could close the door on him. He took another step, his tongue darted again, and I ran, slamming the house door behind me.’
Juliet lifts her head a little as if coming up for air.
Sophia needs some space to breathe, herself. The emotion leaves her voice as she recalls the layout of the house.
‘The main room is the full length of the four bedrooms above. Under the floor is the sterna, a water holding place, a tank if you like, that collects rainwater from the roof all winter. It was built beneath the stone floor to help keep the house cool in summer. But the sterna does not reach the full length. It stops before the kitchen so this part drops lower, a step down takes you into this little room.’
She twists her fingers on themselves in her lap. She has surfaced long enough to continue, and the tension returns to her voice. ‘I backed down into the kitchen.’ With these words, the moment returns as if it were real.
Her heart was in her ears, the pounding in her chest shook her ribcage. She gasped once for air and then held this breath to be silent, to listen. The securing latch on his side of the door was dropped, shutting her in. Then his feet slid, grit on stone as he took the outside steps, one by one, up to the door that opened into Angeliki’s room. Sophia dropped to her knees, her hands together as she prayed that Angeliki had shut the door, bolted it from within, but she knew her prayers would not be heard and sure enough, the door upstairs creaked open. Her heart beating in her ears competed with the rush of blood. There was no door to the kitchen, nothing to close, nothing to bolt. Quietly, each step
tentatively placed, she crept back out of the kitchen and pushed as quietly as she could against the downstairs door but it was jammed from the outside too and it would not open. Sweat ran in rivulets down her back, her mouth so dry she could not swallow, strands of her hair plastered to her sweating face.
Bare boards made up the floor of the rooms above, over wooden beams set in to the thick stone walls. With each step he took, the old wood creaked in complaint, gave a little. His steps were slow, as if he was looking around as he moved. He was in no hurry. When his steps reached Sophia’s room at the end, they paused. She wished she had been tidier, put her comb into the drawer, closed the book she was reading—a book of poetry lent her by an English woman who lived in town. She shivered at the thought of him touching her bed, his fingers on her nightgown. Then the stairs in the end room creaked as he came down. Step by step down to the ground floor.
The walls in the kitchen were nearly as thick as the length of a man’s arm, to keep the house cool in summer. Silently, Sophia struggled to reach the window catch. Even if she could reach it, the window was too narrow to allow her hips to pass. From the corner of her eye, she saw him enter the end of the room, silent, black in the shadowed interior. All the windows small, to keep out the sunlight, the heat. The long room in gloom. His silhouette advancing.
She retreated into the darkest corner of the kitchen. Her hands reaching out, finding support, keeping her legs from collapsing. Her fingers feeling until they touched her baba’s big fish gutting knife on the chopping board. They closed around it. Her grip was sure. He stood in the kitchen doorway. With one move, she flashed the blade in front of his face. His tongue darted and then he chuckled. She waved it at him again as she came out of the corner, but he seemed to have no fear.
He did not see the step down. One foot caught behind the other. His head leading, his shoulders following. His legs trailing. It was a lunge that looked like an attack. But really, it was a fall. All Sophia could focus on was his darting tongue. Her hands raised in defence. They lay on the floor together. Sophia wriggled and kicked but found little resistance. As she pulled herself free, there was a strange gurgling sound. She could see nothing in the dark. Her legs took control. She ran to the other end of the house. Two stairs at a time, past her bed to Angeliki’s room. Door flung open. Hand against the whitewashed wall, two stairs at a time down to the courtyard. No one following. Eyes focused on the door to the street. But behind the house door, the sounds inside quiet but alarming. Her heartbeat did not slow but it changed its rhythm. The adrenaline coursed, but for a different cause. The sounds from inside were like tiny waves trapped in pockets of rock, or donkeys drinking, their noses submerged. It was a sound that should not be coming from a man. With quivering fingers and legs ready to take flight, Sophia unbolted the door, expecting to find him still on the ground. He stood tall, legs stiff, arms by his side. For a moment, nothing made any sense. His shirt had a red streak down it. He was grinning, or so it seemed, his mouth partially open. His tongue darted, half twisting, half not, truly reptilian. He struggled to form her name ‘Ssssooph…’ The rushing through her ears defended her. The blade of the knife piercing the roof of his mouth. His twisting tongue divided. His jaw forced open. The sun reflected off the blade behind his teeth. The fish knife handle coming from under his chin. The blood coursing from there down his neck to the opening of his shirt.
He shook his head as if to pity her, his eyes only leaving her to see the door in the walled courtyard open and Sophia’s mama come in.
‘Oh my God what have you done?’ Mama rushed to Hectoras as he chose that moment to sink to the floor. Sada was behind her mama, her own mouth open, unable to move.
‘Don’t talk. For goodness sake, don’t talk.’ Mama held Hectoras as best she could as he sank further to the ground, his head resting on her knee. ‘Sada, run, get the doctor.’ His shirt was reddening more rapidly now, his face whitening. ‘Oh my God, Sophia, what have you done?’ Mama shouted and held his head, rocking back and forth. No words would come from Sophia.
‘But he looked at me, a glint in his eye as if he was enjoying himself. I hated him with such a force at that moment, I thought I must be the devil himself.’ She looks up abruptly. ‘I think I need some water.’ Sophia stands.
Juliet’s head moves but her eyes are unfocused.
‘Yes please,’ she says, as if surfacing from a trance.
The water refreshes them both.
‘Did he die?’ Juliet finally finds her tongue.
‘The doctor came and I told them what happened.’ She tosses her head back and sucks her teeth as if it was pointless to have related anything. ‘The doctor nodded wisely and gave Hectoras some injection which seemed to make him go even more floppy, and then he pulled the knife from his throat. I saw the blade end pass through his mouth before coming out under his jaw. The doctor muttered something like, ‘Thank goodness the knife wasn’t serrated.’ Sada fainted, so I dealt with her. When I turned back, Hectoras was lying flat out on the floor with his wound stitched up. Mama was staring at me wildly and the doctor was gathering his things.
‘He’ll live,’ was all the doctor said as he left and then all hell let loose.
Chapter 23
‘What in God’s name did you do?’ Mama screamed at Sophia. In that moment, her world fell away, she felt so alone, so utterly abandoned. Having just experienced the most petrifying event of her life, she now needed her mama to hold her tight, to tell her she was all right. In the kitchen, a puddle on the flagstone floor marked where she had stood as he walked towards her and all she needed now was reassurance that she was safe. But what she got was her mama’s arms flying around as she screeched at her.
‘Here he is, a fine boy,’ she shouted, waving her hands over Hectoras in his drug-induced sleep where he lay, still on the courtyard floor. ‘He comes courting you and what happens? You attack him with the fish knife. Are you mad? Has all that book learning scrambled your brains?’ she yelled, not caring who could hear them over the courtyard wall. The tears welled in Sophia’s eyes. She would have run to Sada, but Sada was lying down, recovering from her faint. Sophia needed someone, right now anyone, who would put their arms around her and tell her she was all right.
‘Mama …’ she began.
‘Don’t you Mama me!’ She backed away from her youngest daughter, her arms extended towards her, palms out, warning her off. ‘You are no child of mine. You are the devil’s spawn.’ The dam burst and Sophia’s thirteen-year-old tears ran down her face. The world was suddenly too big and scary; she wanted to hide like an infant in her mama’s bosom, be lulled by her words, be comforted by her love.
‘And now you cry as if you have emotions? You had no emotions for this boy as you stuck him with your knife, did you?’ Her mama’s eyes were wide, the whites showing around her irises. This too was terrifying.
‘But Mama,’ Sophia began again, her whole being surging up into her throat and coming out in these words.
‘He was here, willing to marry you. You who have filled your head with such nonsense that no one would want you, you that walks as if you are better than all of us, but still, Hectoras was willing to court you. If you didn’t want him, why could you not just run and live amongst the nets like Vetta? No, you have to even upstage her. There will be no keeping this quiet, Sophia. You have gone too far, you are done for. No one will have you now. You will die an unloved old maid.’ And with these words, she left the courtyard, the door left swinging on its hinges behind her.
‘I looked at his body lying there, stitched up, the wounds on display. If I had not decided to fight back, my wound would have been invisible. No stiches to show. No horror to illustrate his actions. No slander would come his way. Instead he would gain a wife, a subservient, scared wife, who would be his servant for the rest of his life.’
Hectoras lay there, a bloody wound under his neck and with his wound and the lies he would tell to accompany it, he held any future Sophia may have had in his bully
ing grasp. She watched him breathe, part of her wishing each was his last. At least then, there would only be her side of the story told. But each breath was followed by another until her mama returned, bringing with her Hectoras’ father and some other men who carried him away as he slept on. Sophia’s mama held her eyes to the ground and never spoke a word. No one looked at Sophia. When the door in the courtyard wall closed, Sada came out of the house.
‘What happened?’ she asked, her hand on the wall, still not sure on her feet.
‘Your sister here will have to spend the rest of her life on her knees to make amends for the sin she has committed.’ Mama spat, grabbing at a broom to sweep the crushed, deep pink, bougainvillea leaves from the spot where Hectoras had laid.
‘What happened, Sophia?’ Sada’s words came out kindly.
‘He pushed his way in ...’ Sophia began.
‘He pushed his way in ...’ her mama mocked. ‘He would not have had to push his way in if you had had the sense to invite him in. His uncle is the mayor, you know. It was a match most girls would die for. You are done for, Sophia. You must ask God to forgive your wicked ways. No one else will listen to you now. Maybe even He will turn his back on such an evil deed. What on earth possessed you?’
‘Sophia?’ Sada questioned, but it seemed pointless for Sophia to tell her side of the story. Her mama had made her mind up.
‘So you see nothing but evil in me then.’ Sophia ignored Sada’s question and responded to her mama’s jibes. The world was devoid of all joy and in that moment, Sophia wished she was dead. She wished she was up in the hills with goats. She wished that she was anywhere but where she was.
She turned on her mama. It was her turn to shout; she had nothing to lose. ‘If I read, that is evil. If I think, that is evil, and if I don’t want to be married to a bully like Hectoras, I am evil. Nothing I do pleases you. What do you want of me, Mama? You don’t want me to be me, so what do you want? I have cut down the amount I read because it makes you unhappy that I know things. I don’t speak out when I see injustice take place because you don’t want me to bring attention to the family. I hardly ever go out anywhere for fear of shaming you. But still you are not satisfied. Do I have to become a nun before you think any good of me? Is that it? Is that what you want, you want me to be a nun? Then fine. I’ll be a nun.’
