by Tamar Hodes
With those words, she stormed out of the house and into the inappropriately bright light.
She went into Katsikas’ store and asked to use the phone.
‘I need to ring South Africa,’ she said.
Back home, there was a strange serenity in the house. Nothing had changed, as if the three of them were frozen in a tableau – Gideon busy with his rocks, Esther on Jack’s lap, having a story and a cup of juice, her face still tear-stained.
‘I’ll prepare us a meal,’ said Frieda. ‘Evgeniya won’t be back for a few days.’
As she boiled pasta on one ring and fried onions, minced beef and tomatoes on the other, Frieda thought: what a fool I have been. The family I so badly wanted is broken. And it is me who has broken it.
They sat together, the four of them on the terrace, and shared their meal. They talked quietly, a calmness that had been previously absent. Is that because we know it’s over? she wondered. There is nothing to fight for or about.
The children stayed up until the sky darkened and the sun slipped behind the mountain like a coin being slotted into a machine.
Only when the kids were in bed did Jack and Frieda speak, albeit in low voices.
‘I am deeply sorry for the pain I have caused you, Jack,’ she said. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t have happened if we had been happy together.’
‘We expected the island to heal us but it couldn’t do it.’
‘No.’ Tears slipped down her face. She had never felt sadness like it. ‘It is the end of the dream.’
‘We were full of optimism on the kibbutz that our love would last. But it didn’t.’
‘No. I’m sorry. I wanted it to.’
‘I’ll go to the States alone. What will you and the children do?’
‘I phoned my mother and asked if we can go and live with her for a while in South Africa. She immediately said yes.’
‘When will I see Gideon and Esther again?’
‘Whenever you are able to. I will never stop you seeing your children.’ She recalled what Carl had asked of her earlier that day. ‘I know how much they mean to you. One thing I didn’t understand. How did Maria know where to find you in your study? Nobody knows where you write.’
Jack looked down. ‘She came to the room a few times. It didn’t mean anything. I was just lonely.’
‘And you paid her?’
‘I gave her some money, yes. She was very hard up after Axel and Marianne let go of their house.’
‘So that’s where our money went to. Were there others or just Maria?’
‘I paid a few maids – Agappe, Elena.’
‘What? That is really shocking.’
‘Not really. I was unhappy. The maids are badly paid. They always need a bit of extra income. And how can you call that shocking when you were having an affair for most of the year? Talk about hypocrisy.’
His honest words made her cheeks burn.
So some of the money Carl had given to Frieda, and which she had given to Jack, may well have gone to Maria and the other maids: her lover had been paying for her husband’s women.
Frieda would have laughed had it all not been so utterly, utterly sad.
xxxv
Once again, Marianne stood on the quayside, waiting for the boat to come in. Standing at the arrivals and departures, she thought: how many more will there be? And will there be a final departure and no return?
Axel Joachim, in his pushchair, was pointing at the gulls who waddled, large and comical, over the cobbles, but when he saw the boat and Leonard waving, he called out, ‘Cone! Cone!’
Marianne was amazed that the child recognised him, now that he always shielded his face with a hat. A group of tourists nearby had their cameras ready. Some policemen stood in a circle, talking in low voices. Costas and Constantino were part of the group of police but their previous friendliness had vanished as they distanced themselves from the expats and stared in the other direction. Earlier, Marianne had been asked to show her papers and then, satisfied, they had walked away.
Leonard and Marianne embraced and he ruffled the little boy’s hair.
‘Let’s get you home,’ she said.
As they walked, each with a hand on the pushchair, Leonard told her his news.
‘First I went to see my mother in Canada. Masha sends her love. Then to the States. The concerts went well, thousands of people there. Although I sometimes had problems with my guitar strings, I don’t think they noticed. The record is going ahead and I have had so many more ideas for songs. I have been bleeding my heart onto the page. How has everything been here?’
‘I hardly know where to begin.’
They walked slowly up the hill to their house. It was nearly Easter and the locals were decorating floats with white flowers; one had an effigy of Christ on it. A sheep had been slaughtered for the festivities and two men inserted a metal rod through its centre. Marianne saw the animal’s glazed eyes and the way its bloody body remained rigid. The island seemed coated in lemon and vanilla as if in preparation for this sacred day.
‘Jack and Frieda have separated and he is going to America.’
‘No. Why?’
‘It seems that she was having an affair with Carl, a painter.’
‘I know Carl. From Toronto. Lovely man, talented artist. I spoke to him at Olivia’s party and I gave him a copy of Flowers for Hitler as he seemed interested in poetry. He kept himself to himself. I invited him to Douskos’ but he didn’t seem keen to attend. How sad.’
‘And Maria has been sleeping with Jack.’
‘What?’
‘It’s true. For money, after Axel and I didn’t need her.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Honestly. I bumped into Maria one day and she looked really pretty and glowing. I thought she must have found another job but I had no idea what it was. Now I know.’
‘But how did Jack and Maria know each other?’
‘Apparently, he dropped in on Axel one day to talk about writing and Axel was out. Maria made him coffee while he waited and that was how it started. Jack slept with other maids, too.’
‘Extraordinary.’
‘Yes. And Magda seems to have an admirer, a sailor named Theodore.’
‘Really?’
‘And Axel has written. He and Sonja have split up but he is now with Lena. So, plenty going on.’
‘I feel like I have been away a year. It has all changed. There were so many policemen in the harbour.’
‘Yes. They demanded my papers while I was waiting and asked lots of other questions, too: what I do here, how long I intend to stay.’
‘There has been a lot in the American papers about it. The colonels have overthrown the government, the military junta is taking over and the whole country is changing. King Constantine and his family have been banished.’
‘And that’s why the police are around?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid so. The junta has even said that it is now forbidden to play music by Mikis Theodorakis because he is considered communist. It’s crazy. If anyone disobeys, they will have to go before a tribunal. It’s no good, Marianne. This is only the start of it. Do you want to bring Axel Joachim up in an atmosphere like this, in a dictatorship?’
‘No, I don’t, but then where should we live? In the States where you will be heralded and we will be in your shadow? My mother wants us to go back to Oslo and live with her.’
‘It has to be your decision, Marianne. I will support you whatever you decide.’
They had reached their house. Leonard carried the sleeping Axel Joachim to his bed and then half-closed the door.
On the terrace Marianne brought them iced tea in thin, frosted glasses.
‘I think our time on Hydra is coming to an end,’ she said.
‘You really feel that?’ He looked away from her and towards the mountains.
‘Everything seems to be pointing that way. You are more in demand abroad; our friends are leaving; now the police are invading our island.
Maybe the dream is over?’
He looked into the distance as if he did not want to admit the inevitable.
‘Whatever happens, Marianne, you are the sun and the moon to me, day and night: you always will be.’
His words were beautiful but they did not answer her concerns.
In the past, when he had been away, they had fallen into bed as soon as they could but, this time, it did not happen. The child was asleep, they had the option, but the desire did not come, as if they instinctively knew that it was over before they could bear to say it.
So, this was it. She had known all along that it would end, that the relationship would not survive and, as they sat and drank their iced tea and watched the purple mountains, she knew. They both did.
That night, when the friends met at Douskos’ Taverna, the atmosphere was different. Even the giant pine tree which covered them seemed less effective, its leaves lacking their usual sheen, and the candles flickered as if their flames were having difficulty staying alight.
‘I want to thank you,’ said Frieda, struggling to keep her voice from cracking, ‘for the kindness you have shown us over the year. It has been an amazing experience and we have learned so much.’
‘Where is Jack tonight?’ asked Gordon, Chuck, as ever, by his side.
‘He sends best wishes to you all. He leaves for America in the morning. He has an advance for another book.’
‘And you?’ asked Chuck.
‘I am taking the children to my mother in South Africa and we will see what happens after that.’
Her friends looked sad for her.
‘Well, we have good news,’ said George, trying to lighten the mood. ‘My Brother Jack has aired on ABC, script written by my lovely wife here,’ Charmian smiled awkwardly, ‘and her book Peel Me a Lotus is now in print.’
The friends raised a glass to them and there were cheers and shouts of ‘Well done!’
‘And as for our friend, Leonard,’ continued George. ‘His first LP is soon to be released, books in print, his songs often on the radio.’
Leonard nodded his thanks.
‘What we have had here, my friends, has been a dream,’ George said. ‘But dreams come to an end. You wake up, rub your eyes and then you realise that what is facing you is the military junta, debt, and film stars invading your space. This island that we have lived on and loved has been generous to us in its honey, its sponges and its welcome. But now we have woken up. It is time to get out of bed. It is time to leave and we know it.’
Charmian was crying, fat, clear tears running down her face. She would have to desert her home, Nature Boy, Anthony and her friends, the sky, the sea, the gorse-covered hills.
‘It will break Shane to leave Baptiste,’ she said. ‘She loves Greece. It is her home. She was christened by the church and baptised by Baptiste. It will destroy her. But Martin will go to university in Sydney and Jason to school. They will adapt, I think. But I am not sure about Shane.’
Leonard did not comment. He was still upset that they would not let Martin try for Oxford.
‘I am going to America,’ said Norman. ‘Maybe they will appreciate my sculptures there.’
People smiled kindly but they doubted it.
‘I have known such joy on Hydra,’ said Marianne, looking at Leonard, ‘and also great pain.’
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Hydra has been both a destroyer and a creator.’
‘Who would have thought,’ said Gordon, ‘that this lovely country would be overtaken by these awful people? A culture that was all about art and democracy?’
‘Tragic,’ agreed Chuck. ‘This beautiful land is tarnished for ever.’
‘What surprises me,’ said Charmian, her words becoming more slurred the more retsina she drank, ‘is that the Greeks, who have had a history of battles, seem to be so meek in accepting this new regime. What has happened to their fighting spirit?’
‘Jeez, Charm, they have no fucking choice, do they? Do you want to pick a fight with the military? One politician was thrown into the sea and another loaded onto the ferry, just for debating!’
Douskos was not thrown by their arguing: he was used to it. Calmly, he brought them grilled squid and octopus in lemon juice; spicy lamb slices; dolmades like little cigars; tyropittakia; a Greek salad, with tomatoes and cucumber shining like jewels; cacik; olives, tiny as bullets; and bowls of dips and warm pitta bread.
‘The last supper,’ Charmian said. ‘Thank you all.’
The atmosphere that night was one of celebration and mourning. There were tears of joy and tears of pain.
‘I have never known friendship like this,’ said George, his voice cracking. ‘You have been my second family. Thank you, to all of you.’ He raised his glass high.
‘To be with people who understand the creative process, who are interested but do not pry, who encourage but don’t push – that has been amazing.’ Gordon smiled. ‘We hope that we will find a similar community elsewhere but it is unlikely.’
‘Agreed,’ said Chuck. ‘We have been among people who understand us and have allowed us to be who we need to be.’
‘I have really appreciated your love of my sculptures,’ Norman said quietly. ‘That exhibition you came to boosted my confidence. It was wonderful.’
‘What about you, Leonard, and Marianne?’ asked Charmian.
‘I am being called,’ he said, ‘to devote myself to my writing, and that is in America.’
‘My mother wants Axel Joachim and me to live with her in Oslo.’ It was the first time that Marianne had admitted this in public and it was as far as she could go: she could not say that she had decided to do so. Leonard reached over and held her hand. Should she change her mind and follow him where his career led? Would that be good for her child?
As the sky darkened, the candles struggled to exude light, bending and twisting in their glass cages as if they couldn’t settle. Douskos cleared away the plates and brought them baklava, sticky and syrupy, kataifi like little bird nests, and chocolates rolled in icing sugar. He also placed pots of strong coffee and tiny cups in the centre for them all.
It seemed to Marianne that what they were witnessing was a celebration of their time together but also a candlelit vigil for its passing. She thought of Mikalis sitting in his cottage and howling sea dirges and she understood his loss.
She felt that part of her was being ripped away.
xxxvi
‘I’m not leaving,’ shouted Shane. ‘You can’t make me.’ Her face was hot and her eyes brimmed with tears.
‘Darling, we are going back to Australia as a family.’
Shane laughed. ‘A family? When have we ever been that?’
Charmian hung her head. ‘Look, I understand…’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t understand at all. You dragged us from Australia to Britain where we did our best to settle; then you took us to Kalymnos where we had to learn Greek. Then you uprooted us to Hydra. We aren’t your books which you can just pack up in a crate and ship abroad. We are people. We have feelings. I am not leaving Baptiste and that is final.’
‘I am sorry, Shane, but you are seventeen and you will have to go with the rest of us. Things are changing on Hydra. You see the police everywhere? We have to register with them and account for every movement. It is no longer the right place for us. Martin will go to Sydney University and you will return to your old school in Melbourne. Jason can go there too. I have already spoken to the principal.’
‘You can go if you want to. I’m staying here.’
Charmian laughed. ‘Where? Who with?’
‘Baptiste.’
‘He is a schoolboy. He can’t support you. You need to come with us.’
‘NO!’ she shouted and ran out of the house and into the street, her blonde hair flying behind her.
Panting, she ran all the way to Baptiste’s house where he was helping his father to paint window frames. His mother was feeding the chickens; all the other children were in the yard, playing. That
is family, thought Shane, a proper family. She and Baptiste exchanged words in Greek, he dropped his paintbrush and went off with Shane. They walked, hand in hand, to their favourite spot, the woods behind the monastery where the cyclamen had now given way to wild narcissi, as if they had prepared the ground for them and left them ready for the next season.
The couple lay among the white and gold flowers, like milk and honey sweetening the air. Shane wept. Baptiste held her in his arms and wiped away her tears, thinking that he had never seen anyone so beautiful. Unlike the dark-haired, olive-skinned girls in Hydra who felt more like sisters than potential girlfriends, Shane was like a sea-nymph washed up on shore. Her golden hair, her lightly tanned skin and her shiny eyes touched something inside him and he carried her image in his head, every day and night.
With tear-stained faces, they made sweet love, pressing themselves among the spring flowers, as if they, too, were of the earth. It was tender and gentle – their kisses, their stroking of each other’s skin, his entry into her. Every action had added meaning and they both knew it.
Inside the Johnston house, the rugs had come off the walls and were being rolled, ornaments and crockery were being wrapped in brown paper and the books were packed in box after box.
George and Martin worked at dismantling the studies: Jason was sorting out which toys he wanted to keep and which he could bear to give away to Sevasty for her children.
The house was calm on this occasion, a quieter atmosphere than usual, a sense of shared purpose. Everyone knew what they had to do; they were in the same place at the same time yet all were quiet in their own thoughts, engaged in their own tasks.
For Charmian, although she was sad never to feel Nature Boy or Antony’s skin beside her again, it was time to move on. Her new novel was progressing well and with the success of the television adaptation, Australia was the right place for her to be. George felt that the second volume in his trilogy would be explosive and he needed to be home to see that happen. Besides, their community was breaking up and who wanted to live in a country where free speech was abolished? Martin was looking forward, with some trepidation, to being a university student. He wondered what it would be like to adjust from a small Greek island to a large Australian city. However, he would continue his writing. Just that day, he had heard that The Herald had accepted his poem To Greece Under the Junta for their next issue. And Jason was wondering whether he was Greek or Australian and whether Sevasty’s sons would appreciate his model dinosaurs.