The Water and the Wine

by Tamar Hodes

‘Good news. Someone in Hollywood wants to buy Suzanne.’

  ‘That is fantastic, Leonard.’

  ‘Yes, and there is talk about making an LP. But I’m afraid that I will have to go to New York again. Judy Collins wants me to sing in one of her concerts.’

  Marianne could feel herself swallowing her own objections. ‘Then you must go, Leonard, of course, I understand.’

  ‘I met up with Martin Johnston. He wanted to show me his work. That boy has serious talent. He’s had some issues with his eyesight but, at last, it is being seen to.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Yes. He has a very bright future ahead of him if George and Charmian take note and ensure he gets a decent university education.’

  ‘Do you think they won’t?’

  ‘You know what Charmian and George are like. They are loving parents when they are sober, not fighting, and when they are not obsessed with their own writing, which is rarely. You’ve lived with two writers. You know how driven we are so that we shut everything else out.’

  Marianne smiled at the truth of his words.

  ‘If you have children, you have to tend to their needs, surely? Maybe that’s why I have been wary about having them. I very much want to but I worry about whether I will be a father who focuses enough on them and not just on myself.’

  ‘Axel Joachim adores you.’

  ‘Yes, but you do most of the loving and nurturing. I am there for some sweet playing from time to time.’

  Marianne thought: I do not think the children Leonard has will be with me, and it made her sad.

  ‘Anyway, good news. Martin tells me his father will return tomorrow from the hospital in Athens. Charmian wants his friends to be there on the quay to welcome him and she has organised a party. I think that we should go.’

  xxxii

  They gathered on the quayside, waiting for the blue boat to appear.

  ‘At least he’ll return in more style than when he left,’ said Charmian, drawing a cigarette from her lipsticked mouth.

  Marianne laughed. ‘Yes, Alexis’ boat is certainly more dignified than Tzimmi’s log cart.’

  Leonard stood beside her, his hat brim lowered and a scarf around his face to conceal him from the fans who gathered not far away, gazing over and wondering if it could really be him.

  George’s children were there, too: Martin, tall and solemn; Shane, willowy and blonde, her fingers linked with her swarthy boyfriend, Baptiste; and Jason, his eyes shiny with excitement at the prospect of seeing his father again.

  Also there were Gordon and Chuck; Jack, Frieda and their children; and Norman, thin and pale.

  They all cheered when they saw the sharp nose of the boat, edging like a dolphin into the harbour.

  George waved and Charmian was surprised as tears sprung uncontrollably from her eyes. She thought back to that morning when she had gone down to the sea-cave to find her lovely Nature Boy. He was there as usual, in his tiny loincloth, sucking turtle eggs and then tossing the empty shells onto the rocks where they shattered into fragments, like broken china. He had wiped the gluey egg whites from his mouth and waved to Charmian. She was wearing a sarong, knotted at the waist so that it could be loosened as easily as his pants, nothing hindering their passion.

  Like a magician, he undid them both, threw off her lacy knickers and the two of them fell to the rocks, where he fucked her, ferally. She felt the pelt on his skin and the knots in his hair. How she called out when they both came and the roughness scraped her back, but she did not care because it was real, so genuine, and she loved it when he kissed her, the dirt on him, his skin filthy with nature, his mouth salty with seaweed and the dregs of wine left in discarded bottles.

  Afterwards they sat together on a goatskin and watched the embers of his fire, noticing how the pine logs glowed defiantly orange before collapsing into ash.

  ‘Hello,’ she called out when the boat was moored and Alexis tied the rope carefully around the bollard. ‘Welcome home.’

  Everyone clapped and the children whooped as George was helped off by Alexis. There were hugs and embraces for them all.

  ‘Jeez,’ he said, ‘what a welcome.’ He passed his bag to Martin and smiled broadly. ‘Hello, Charm, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, George, all the better for seeing you.’

  He looked well, his skin pink and scrubbed as if it had been hidden under his rough, unshaven face all along and had now been revealed. He smelled of hospitals, of sterile dressings and liniment and his breath was fresh and devoid of alcohol.

  They all walked up the hill to the Johnston house, breaking up into small groups as they went, the island feeling warmer from greeting George. The children competed for their father’s attention. Martin was desperate to tell him about his new writing project; Shane and Baptiste wanted George to know how much in love they were; Jason, his eyes and hair shiny, just craved his father’s love.

  Back at their house, Sevasty and Charmian had sliced roast lamb and braised chickens, and there were bowls of gleaming vegetables: potatoes and onions; artichokes in olive oil; aubergines, their purple skins velvet and mysterious. Demi’s loaves were dotted with sesame seeds.

  George was disorientated but delighted to be home. It was great to see colour again after the white sterility of the hospital: Greek rugs hung on the walls; all their books stacked on shelf after shelf; vases with narcissi were placed carefully around the room and sweetened it, like perfume sprayed on a lady’s neck and wrist. He reached out his hand out for one of the many bottles of wine but Charmian scolded him.

  ‘What did the doctor say?’

  ‘He said take your medicine, cut down on the drinking and smoking, and rest. Jeez, I’m going to obey him on two of those. Give me a break, Charm.’

  She laughed nervously and turned away to serve food and drink to their guests: she was determined not to fight with him on his return.

  Leonard came up and hugged his friend.

  ‘It’s good to see you, George,’ he whispered. ‘Back to the darkness, back to the light.’

  ‘Well, in a way. Jeez, it was a bit grim but I shall make use of it in my writing. I’ve started a new story called The Verdict, another David Meredith one, but it will draw on my experience. You know, suffering for my art and all that shit. But, Len, what’s this I hear about you becoming a star?’

  Leonard modestly waved that away. ‘I want to talk to you about Martin. That young man is outstanding, a very talented writer.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘When you were away, I had a look at some of his poetry.’

  ‘That was good of you, Len, I appreciate it.’ George swallowed a lump in his throat: it should have been him reading his son’s work, not a friend. He listened to Leonard and tried hard not to be defensive.

  ‘He has written some great rhyming verse in Ogden Nash style and some more lyrical writing derived from Homer. His memory is unbelievable. He can recite huge chunks by heart.’

  ‘I know. He won a prize at school for Greek poetry and both he and Shane were awarded diplomas for their grasp of the language.’

  ‘But now he has started this novella. It is so crazy that it is beautiful. It’s about a mammoth who is dug up and becomes a professor!’

  ‘Really?’ George tipped back a bottle of retsina so that the coolness slipped down his throat.

  ‘The quality of the language is amazing. He writes his serious articles, too. The boy is incredible. I think he should apply to Oxford.’

  ‘Our friends in England, the Camerons, say the same. You think he is seriously that clever?’

  ‘No doubt about it. He has a remarkable, sharp mind.’

  ‘Well, thanks, Len, for giving him your advice.’

  ‘You are welcome, George. Anytime. Writers should encourage each other.’

  He went over to be with Marianne.

  George hugged Norman. ‘How’s the art work going, Norm?’

  The taciturn man nodded. He was even scrawnier and dirtier than when
George had last seen him. He wondered whether, if artists became their art, Norman was slowly transforming into a thin scrap, as insubstantial as the litter he found on the roadside.

  ‘Yes, it’s going. You know how it is.’

  Later, when George hugged Marianne he thought: I swear that woman gets more beautiful each day.

  ‘So you survived, George?’

  ‘Well, I had a nurse called Angelina, angel by name and nature.’ Marianne could hear that his words were slurred. ‘She saved me. Jeez, that woman was gorgeous. She brought me brandy and pen and paper and bits of chocolate. I tried to hug her but she always pushed me away as if I was a naughty boy.’

  ‘You are a naughty boy! We all know that.’

  ‘Hello, George.’ Jack approached to hug him.

  ‘Hey, Jack. How’s the book?’

  ‘First draft finished. I’m working on the editing now, checking some facts.’

  ‘Good on you, mate.’

  ‘Well, I have pressure on me. The money runs out in a few months’ time although things are looking up. Frieda has sold some of her paintings.’

  ‘Jeez, that’s great.’

  ‘Anyway, how about you? How are you feeling? You look well.’

  In another part of the room, a group of friends were admiring Frieda’s painting of boats in the harbour.

  ‘Isn’t it great?’ asked Charmian, already worse for wear. ‘She gave it to us. Look at the fucking colours. She is amazing.’

  ‘I like the way you’ve done the reflections, Frieda, of the sky and the boats,’ said Gordon.

  ‘Yes, and the seagulls,’ added Chuck. ‘Some close by and detailed; others vaguer in the distance.’

  Charmian grinned. ‘You two lovers, you never seem to fight. Nor do George and me any more. We’re going to be like you, harmonious. That time is over.’

  ‘Would you like a painting?’ Frieda asked the men.

  ‘Sure,’ said Gordon. ‘How much do you charge?’

  ‘I don’t. I’d be honoured to…’

  Jack came up behind Frieda and joined the group.

  ‘Um, let’s talk about it another time,’ she said hastily. ‘I think we need to get these children home.’

  By the time the guests had left, Charmian and George were smashed. The children, as usual, had put themselves to bed, Martin having read Greek myths to Jason until the young boy’s eyelids closed and Martin had crept out of the room.

  ‘Let’s leave the plates till tomorrow; Sevasty will help me,’ Charmian said. ‘Come to bed with me, George.’

  Worn out by his first day back and all the travelling, he complied. They climbed in between the sheets and blankets and she rolled over towards him.

  ‘Welcome home, George.’

  ‘Thanks, Charm. It’s good to be here.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, you bastard. The fighting and the spatting over the script.’

  ‘You finished it, I suppose?’

  ‘Yup. And it’s posted and they like it and it was so much fucking easier without you and your hang-ups.’

  ‘You probably put in all sorts of things that I would have hated.’

  ‘Yup.’ She belched and laughed at the same time.

  ‘Steady on, Charm. It is my novel.’

  ‘Yeah, but you asked me to adapt it so then you had to let it go.’

  ‘Little minx.’

  She crossed her arms and lifted her nightdress over her head to snuggle up to him. Naked himself, he turned to caress her breasts and was overwhelmed at the shape and feel of them. He bent his head to take a nipple in his mouth and lick his tongue around it. Then he kissed her and their lips were so numb with wine that they could hardly taste or feel each other.

  He felt himself half-stiffen and climbed on top of Charmian. She thought of Nature Boy and could not stop the comparisons from entering her head: the youngster was so much more adept at it, as if he had been born only to eat and fuck. He was an animal who did not analyse what he did. George was an ill man, out of practice.

  Despite kissing his wife and trying to keep himself hard, he felt his penis flop and shrivel like a dying plant. She tried to help him. She curled her legs around his back, dug her nails so hard into his skin that he cried out in pain, kissed him so fiercely that he felt himself shocked as she nibbled his tongue.

  ‘Fucking hell, Charm. You trying to put me back in hospital?’ He sighed, defeated. ‘No, no good.’ He rolled off her and lay on his back. The room was hopelessly dark. He could feel his heart racing.

  She bent to him and took him in her mouth but to no avail. His dick could not be revived. It was limp and small, like a hibernating animal. It felt pathetic to her, like a chewy sweet, to be spat out. She couldn’t help it; she felt contempt. She hated him.

  Before she knew it, George had fallen asleep as if following the example set by his penis. His snores were thick as if travelling through mucus.

  She lay in the dark room and thought of Anthony and his elegant, chivalrous lovemaking and of Nature Boy, the rough manliness of him and his sheer, utter filth.

  xxxiii

  ‘So Leonard’s in New York again?’

  ‘Yes. He’s singing in a huge concert with Judy Collins and he has interviews to promote his songs.’

  Magda and Marianne were lying in their favourite spot in the cove. They had spread striped towels on the sand and their boys both had sunhats on to keep them from the sun, which shone with more confidence now, getting into its stride. The sea was sparkling, blinking and flashing silver like a lighthouse, as if being allowed to rest in the winter had strengthened it, enabling it to return with more vigour.

  ‘Are you feeling abandoned?’ They watched how the waves tickled the shore with their white fingers and then retreated. ‘We both know how men desert us when they like.’

  ‘Sometimes I think that we give our hearts and souls to these men and we are not always appreciated. Leonard is much kinder and more loving to me than Axel ever was, but they both have a habit of disappearing – in body and emotion. You know that Axel has left?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Where’s he gone to?’

  ‘Oslo. We had to let Maria go. I feel bad for her. She has so many children and struggles for money. If we get tenants, we’ll employ her again but we can’t afford to pay her when the house is empty. It must be so hard for her, without a wage.’

  ‘I’m sorry about Maria but don’t worry about Axel. Men are not worth it,’ said Magda bitterly. ‘I am much happier on my own.’

  Marianne wanted to say: you do not seem happier to me, but kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘I am worried about the government being overthrown. There has been more about it in the Athens News. Haven’t you seen the extra police on Hydra?’

  ‘Yes. You were right. I hear that they are raiding people’s houses for narcotics and getting them sent to jail in Aegina. What is happening to this beautiful country?’

  ‘I don’t know, Magda. I read that a doctor in Athens who said that he believed in democracy was thrown behind bars.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Have you thought more about your future here?’

  ‘I don’t know what to do. If the expats are ordered out, I will have no choice. Already, we have to prove that we are not earning money from Greece itself. I had to fill in a form. You are still determined to stay here, even if things get bad?’

  ‘I told you, Alexander needs stability. His life has been too difficult up to now.’

  At that moment, Theodore waved from the promontory above them before diving in a perfect arch into the sea. The water foamed around him before flattening out again, his head a small dome in the distance.

  ‘It is definitely you who he is waving at,’ said Marianne. ‘He is trying to impress you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ asked Magda, blushing. Her excitement seemed to contradict her earlier claims of being happy single.

  They both looked to the sea for answers as if the issues were too large for them to solve. Was love worth it
, the heavy emotional price one paid? Where was it best to live? And how?

  But the water offered no answers. It just did as it always did: pulled back, lifted itself into a ledge, rolled out again and collapsed upon the sand.

  Marianne was still thinking about these issues when she collected her post from Katsikas’: there were two letters, one with a Norwegian stamp and one American. She tucked them into the pushchair, which she was wheeling up the hill to Kala Pigadia while the little boy slept, his head flopped to one side.

  She saw Maria coming towards her and felt bad. She had been such a good maid but to her amazement, Maria was friendly. The two women embraced and Maria smiled at the sleeping child. Maria looked so pretty out of her overall. Her hair was down, she wore an attractive floral dress and she smelled sweet. There was clearly no resentment against Marianne and she felt relieved. Maybe she had some paid work somewhere else.

  In her limited Greek, Marianne said that she was sorry to have to let her go.

  Maria smiled as if to say: it’s really no problem at all.

  At Leonard’s home, Kyria Sophia helped her in with the pushchair and they let Axel Joachim sleep in that.

  Marianne took her letters and some coffee onto the terrace. It was the first day since the winter that she had been able to sit out there. It was lovely to open it up again and have fresh air rather than be cooped up in the house. There were mounds of dead leaves blown onto the floor which she would ask Kyria Sophia to sweep up later. The whole terrace needed spring-cleaning.

  Beyond the terrace the mountains rose, purple and strong. All of Hydra pointed towards the harbour, as if expectant. She remembered the first time she had visited Leonard’s house and she had gasped at the view and at the kisses he bestowed upon her later.

  She would keep his letter for last. She opened Axel’s and read:

  Marianne,

  I am now settled in Oslo with my girlfriend, Lena. We seem to understand each other well.

  Georg Johannesen, you know, the poet, has written to me from Budapest where he is living with his Jewish girlfriend, asking if he can rent our house to him from August through to the winter. Is that alright with you? I assume it is empty. We might as well make some money from it.