by Sara Alexi
The courtyard is a suntrap, and the wind cannot disturb the air within the walls. The only sound that can be heard is that of bees buzzing around a rosemary bush that grows in one corner, and Miltos, full of breakfast, sighs contentedly and settles back into his chair, half dozing in the calm, soothing warmth, and his mind wanders. Who might he have become if he had had Marina by his side all these years? Maybe they would have a house together. No, that is for sure; he would have ensured that they had a house. Children! Maybe they would have had children. That is also almost a certainty. What sort of baba would he have been? In what ways would it have changed him? He is aware that his years alone have made him unintentionally selfish, at least to a degree. Maybe he would have become more stable, more … He struggles for the word and settles for ‘adult’, and the vastness off all he is contemplating begins to feel overwhelming. He turns his thoughts back to the woman his little honeybee has become.
Has she had children? He should have asked Juliet, prepared himself. But then, how does he prepare himself for meeting her? – the woman who showed him care, showed him how to love, became the object of his devotion over all these years and, to a degree, became the obstacle between him and any new love. Obstacle! How can he refer to her as an obstacle? It sounds as if he is blaming her for getting in the way. He must not blame her for that. Oh no – that was his doing!
He drinks the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth, leaving the napkin on the table.
So when should he meet her. Tomorrow? Today? This afternoon? This morning? Now? He should have asked Juliet when she was expecting him. Maybe he should wait until Juliet’s class is finished, get more information. But there is no way he can wait. He has waited years already. In fact, he is not prepared to wait another second. His chair scrapes across the courtyard’s fine pebbles as he stands.
His easy long strides are more hurried than they have been for years as he takes the road from the hotel to the village. It crosses his mind to take the way through the orange grove, past Ellie’s house, but he is not sure he would want to stop and talk if he saw her, and not to stop would be rude. His excitement is bubbling in his stomach, churning his coffee with his toast until he wonders if in fact he might be sick. As he turns onto the road to the village the feeling subsides, but then he wonders why he has not brought the car. Maybe he could take Marina into Saros, go for a coffee, maybe revisit the beach, just to remember the spot. No, he must not suggest that; it might give the wrong impression.
He falters, suddenly unsure, until a puttering sound takes his attention. A tractor emerges from under the last row of orange trees in the orchard opposite. It pulls out onto the road with a grinding of gears and the farmer nods and calls ‘Kalimera’. A brown-and-white dog runs behind it at a steady pace. Miltos watches as the tractor draws level with the church, putting a temporary stop to a game of football being played there.
He can come back for the car if he needs it. The village is a stone’s throw away and there, beyond the church, on that corner of the square, only just visible, is the shop where his Marina sits. His Marina-Melissa in the blue dress.
A blue dress! That means she is not in mourning. Surely Juliet would have said if Marina was married, and he feels quite certain that Marina would not want to meet him if she was. That would be very awkward – unthinkable, even. But then again, it seems unlikely she has stayed unmarried all these years. Even he has gone down that path. These things happen. But hadn’t Stella said she was widowed and single?
His steps quicken as he draws nearer to the village. He stops and rubs his chin, feeling a few hairs by his left ear that the razor missed this morning. He takes a deep breath and continues to walk. The excitement, the potential, the reality of meeting his Melissa rouses a sea of mingled emotions within him. There is elation, love, fear, defencelessness, sorrow for the years that have passed since then and also an overwhelming urge to protect her. As he draws level with the first houses he pulls his shoulders back, remembers how tall and broad he is and that he is still strong and has only a few grey hairs. It gives him courage. Above all, he must still appear attractive to her; nothing would be worse than if she rejected him.
The boys playing football by the church see him and the ball comes his way. It is a long shot and it curves off towards the edge of the road so he breaks into a run to stop it, halts his momentum and kicks it back. The boys jostle to be the first to kick it again and the ball comes back to him once more. His age drops away as he dribbles the ball and as it does his concern over Marina turns from worry to joy. He is eighteen again and he is going to meet her.
He reaches the three steps that lead up to the corner shop a little out of breath, and he steadies himself, putting his hands on his knees. Then he straightens himself to his full height and walks into the shop.
Chapter 40
Marina puts down the pen she is holding and turns to replace the box of cigarette lighters that she is halfway through pricing on the shelf behind her.
‘Yeia sas.’ She addresses him formally and politely, and faces him, resting her hands on the counter between them for a moment, then nervously smoothing out the wrinkles down the front of her blue dress. Miltos notes the gesture and wonders if it indicates that she knows he is the man Juliet spoke of.
He clears his throat, unsure of how to return her greeting. He holds out his hand to shake hers, mirroring her formal tone.
‘Miltos,’ he says, with no further explanation.
‘Marina,’ she replies.
They stand, looking at each other in silence for several seconds. It seems like a long time to Miltos, but he is reluctant to break the silence, unsure how to begin.
‘I mentioned to Juliet that I once knew a girl from here,’ he says finally. Best to start slowly. He clears his throat and Marina shifts her weight from one foot to the other, resting her hands lightly on the counter again. ‘It was a long time ago,’ he continues, ‘and I know things change, but this girl has kept such a special place in my heart.’
He could say more but what if it will feel like pressure to her? There are packets of nuts on a shelf by the counter, two of which have fallen sideways in the tray. He puts his hand out and sets them upright. ‘So, I thought it would be lovely to meet her again and thank her for such wonderful memories …’
The minute he has said this he worries that she will think he is referring to their night on the beach, and of course he is, partly, but he is also talking about much more than that. He looks at her but her face is unreadable.
‘I want her to know that I have never forgotten her kindness, her gentle nature.’ That’s better, but he is now aware that if he says anything more he will be speaking for the sake of making a noise, and that he must stop. But he is not sure he could stand the silence if he did so. Maybe he could buy something, to make it seem like a more normal event. He looks around, hoping that there is something that would be the right sort of thing to buy in such a situation. Boxes of women’s tights, packets of condoms, brightly coloured sweets, and behind the counter a picture of the man he talked to in the square. What was his name? Ah yes, Petta. A picture of Petta and a woman and a baby.
‘Is that your son?’ he asks. ‘I met him in the square, a very nice man.’
Up to this point the conversation felt as if it was loaded with danger. It is a relief to now be on such safe ground. After all, does he not have a conversation every day or two with some stranger about their children whilst in a bakery, in a taverna, at the checkout at the supermarket or at a kiosk? Family is a safe topic, guaranteed to be a positive, polite and easy conversation.
Marina’s cheeks drain white and just as quickly flame red.
‘I have three children,’ she states directly and with no expression of pride or horror. Her voice is flat. It is not said unkindly, but it is made clear that it is not an opening for a conversation.
‘Na sas zisoun – may they live!’ He offers her the time-worn phrase whilst trying to hide his surprise at her reluctance to ta
lk about them.
‘Efharisto,’ she replies in a tight voice, and Miltos’s mind reacts to the tension of their exchange by conjuring an image of Juliet’s Greek class, with ferrets’ toes and parrots’ claws, and he starts to giggle, he cannot help himself. The muscles around Marina’s mouth twitch and she breaks into giggle too. They both know that they don’t know what they are laughing at, but it is a way to ease the tension. As they laugh, the air between them clears, the atmosphere in the shop lightens, and they look at each other less cautiously, almost as old friends do, with love and kindness and openness, until Miltos feels fully confident that, even if they are not who he thinks they are to each other, they at least stand a very good chance of becoming firm friends, or perhaps even more than that.
They stand in silence and he searches her face for all he thinks he remembers about her and all the unknown things that must have happened since.
‘So …’ Marina breaks the impasse.
‘So. I was wondering …’ Miltos cannot stop staring as he speaks, knowing that at any moment he will find out if this is the girl of his dreams.
‘Hi, Marina. Hello, Milto.’ Stella bursts into the shop full of good cheer and smiles. ‘A lighter please, Marina.’
Marina turns and passes a hand over the box of half-labelled lighters, selecting a colour.
‘I understand you are looking for a job, Milto.’ Stella pushes her frizzy hair back from her face. Marina looks up sharply at this.
‘I have two vacancies at the moment but both of them only need a few hours a week.’ Stella talks as if she is in a hurry. ‘I need a general fixer of things in the hotel, and I need someone to drive the minibus. It’s not much, I know, but, well, if you’re interested we can see how it goes. Have a think and let me know. Right – thanks, Marina.’ She puts down some coins to pay for the lighter and bounces out of the shop.
Miltos watches Stella leave, and when he turns back it is with a certain amount of surprise at finding Marina staring at him.
‘A job?’ she says quietly.
‘Ah, er …’ he stammers, aware of how it may seem to her. The possibility of him being her first lover is one thing, but him moving into the village and making it his home must feel to her like something else entirely. Maybe he has been too hasty. Perhaps he should have resolved his relationship with Marina before broadcasting that he has made the decision to live here permanently.
‘Marina,’ he says, ‘can we go somewhere so we can talk?’
She does not answer for a moment. Then with a sudden burst of energy she makes her way from behind the counter, past the barrels of rice and spilt peas, pushes aside the shepherd’s crooks that are hanging from the ceiling and opens a small back door that he had not previously noticed. Light floods in through the doorway and dust specks dance in the sun’s rays. The groaning shelves, whose boxes, cartons, tins and misshapen goods have been in shadow, now come alive with splashes of sunlit colour.
‘Like a peacock’s tail!’ he cannot help exclaiming. Marina turns back to look at him. His cheeks begin to grow hot, but something that could be merriment dances in her eyes before she hurries through the door into a courtyard and across to what must be her home. He waits with his hands in his pockets, trying to remain calm, keeping his mind blank, his fingers worrying the shell. He looks straight ahead. On the top shelf are various ouzo bottles: Mini, Dodeka and Plomari, each with a handwritten label showing the price. Probably Marina’s writing, curly and intriguing.
‘So, come!’ Marina is at the small back door again. The girl from the photograph with Petta slips into the shop behind her and sits behind the counter. Marina waits for Miltos to follow her lead into the courtyard, and they each pull a chair from around a wooden table into the shade of the large lemon tree that grows in the middle of the walled garden, and they sit, at a slight angle to one another, but close enough to talk quietly.
The sun filters through the branches of the lemon tree and dapples her face, a shaft of light brightening her hair over her right ear. The scene is like a Renoir painting he saw once in the Musée D’Orsay in France, the model mature, voluptuous, passionate and beautiful in her innocence, unaware of how attractive she was. It was what fired his appreciation of impressionist painting. If this is his little Melissa, then he chose well.
Chapter 41
‘No, there, the piece of string,’ Aleko shouts over the din of the engine.
‘You cannot be serious,’ Miltos exclaims, raising his voice above the engine. The whole vehicle is shaking and there are cobbled-together bits of wire and tubes where Miltos is sure there were once regular connections.
‘It should have an electrical cut-off but – well, this was just a quicker option until I have time to get around to it,’ says Aleko. ‘Just pull the string and the engine will cut. Diesel, you see. Much easier.’
Aleko points repeatedly to a dirty bit of twine tied to a lever in the depths of the throbbing engine, the other end hanging limply over the fender. This end has a loop knotted into it. Miltos pulls at the string and the noise of the engine is replaced by the gentler sound of the crickets and cicadas in the orange orchard next to Aleko’s house and yard. He rubs his dirty finger in the palm of his other hand.
‘Noisy when it’s running, isn’t it?’ he comments.
‘Only with the hood open.’ Aleko lets gravity slam it shut. ‘So, you feel all right with all that? I know it has idiosyncrasies and some of the fixes are not ideal, but if you bring it back here after you’ve used it I will work on it when I get a chance. Keys.’ He drops the keys into Miltos’s hand.
‘Right, I have to sort out this tractor. Grigoris is here every hour, hassling me to make the damn thing go. Does he not realise I have a rent-a-car-business to keep running?’ And with a quick grin he walks away, leaving Miltos to face the minivan alone. On the surface it looks new and shiny; the seats are all clean and tidy, and it has been resprayed in the not-too-distant past. But closer inspection reveals that the seats only appear new because they have covers hiding the original, worn fabric. Tiny rust bubbles have poked their way through around the wheel arches, which have been discreetly touched up, and it makes him wonder what more might be wrong that is not showing.
He climbs up into the driver’s seat and adjusts it so it is the right height and distance from the wheel and starts the engine as Aleko instructed. Cautiously he steers the lumbering van out of Aleko’s yard and then down to the square, where he turns right by Marina’s shop, heading towards the hotel. As he passes he tries to glance in to see Marina but the interior of the corner shop is too dark. Perhaps it is best to leave her alone for the moment anyway. She has a lot to think about.
Checking his watch, he estimates he just has time to put a new handle on the door that leads from the hotel kitchens to the outside bins before he must make the pickup. The door has been yanked open one too many times and the internal mechanism no longer works. He knows what the problem is and has found some bits and pieces in Aleko’s workshop that might do to fix it, but if they do not work he will have to advise Stella that she will need a new one.
Since two days ago, when he took on the position of handyman at the hotel, he has been busy with an endless list of things that needed fixing, or painting, or replacing. He has been amazed at how much there is to do around the hotel to keep everything running smoothly. Already it looks like it will be far more than just a part-time job, and now that he has agreed to drive the minibus as well he won’t have an hour to himself. Stella was delighted when she found out he spoke so many languages.
‘Ideal pickup man,’ she said and laughed, and Miltos saw a chance to flirt with her, but for some reason he did not feel the need to do that sort of thing.
The hotel’s air-conditioning units have kept him the busiest so far. When Stella showed him the first, a big unit in the dining room, he swallowed hard and made some knowledgeable sounds, but the truth was he didn’t have a clue.
Stella saw through his bluff immediately. ‘You hav
e no idea, do you?’ she said. He expected her to get cross or at least a bit short but she seemed to take it as if it was a joke.
‘I don’t think I ever said I knew about air-conditioning units.’ He was aware he was being a little defensive but he smiled as he spoke, softening the edge in his voice. Stella put her hand on his shoulder.
‘No I don’t think you did,’ she said, encouraging him to laugh with her, and they stared at the unit, now their mutual enemy. ‘But I know where you can find out everything you want to know.’
She showed him to an office, clicked on a light and led him to a desk with a computer. ‘Your desk,’ she said, and showed him how to get online. She seemed to find this even funnier than his reaction to the air-conditioning unit and she left the room laughing even harder. Stella seems to have a knack of making work into fun, and he is not surprised that she has achieved so much in this small village.
Once seated at what was now his desk, he brought up page after page of diagrams of air-conditioning units, which he was surprised to find were so easily available online. He even found the manual for the very unit he was to work on. He became so engrossed that when Ellie came in to turn off the lights at the end of her shift she did not even realise he was there.
They said a cordial goodnight but he remained, grateful that Stella had given him a deal on the smallest of all the hotels rooms as this meant he could continue to read long into the dark. The next day, armed with his new-found knowledge, not only did he manage to fix the unit but, according to Stella, he made it work better than it had before. Since then, the internet has been useful in helping him deal with other jobs around the hotel and, so far, he is loving his new position. As for air-conditioning units, he now feels confident he can fix most of the more common issues without having to refer to the diagrams.
