The Ebb

by Effrosyni Moschoudi

  “Certainly not! Besides, it’s quite obvious you’re working here. But I don’t see why this should be of any interest to me,” she said, tipping her chin up with defiance but secretly, her heart was sinking. The prospect of working under the same roof with him filled her with dread. Yet, turning down the job was out of the question. She would just have to avoid him, keep him at arm’s length at all costs.

  “That’s not very nice,” he replied, looking slightly deterred for the very first time. “I’ve got no qualms in admitting I’m working class. But what about you? Royalty, are we?” he teased, while giving her the once over with his bright, blue eyes. There was no mockery there though and no contempt, but only admiration for her. It caused her cheeks to flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

  “Serves me right for having conversations with the likes of you!” she managed to say before huffing audibly. Somehow, she was now livid with him. His posing, his presumptuousness and his insolence were insufferable. She couldn’t believe they had all seemed cute the evening before, enough to trick her into kissing him. Now, she felt angry with herself and quite humiliated.

  “You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked with a crooked smile, and although she was annoyed, she couldn’t help thinking again how handsome he looked just then.

  “What did you expect with that nonsense of yours?” she asked, frowning at him.

  “You’re relentless! Give us your name at least,” he suggested, causing her to gasp with unbelieving eyes.

  “That’ll be the day! Look, just don’t talk to me! You’re wasting your time,” she retorted, putting up her hands and then marching out of the Pavilion without another word.

  Chapter 9

  “There! That’s him!” whispered Laura half an hour later, leaning towards Meg when she saw that same boy pass by. It still seemed incredible to her, how easy it was to bump into the same people all the time, over and over, while on the Pier. The two girls were standing behind Meg’s stall. Laura had stopped by to tell her about her new job before heading home to her mother.

  The previous night, she had given everyone around the table a detailed account of her first encounter with the said lad and they’d all had a chuckle about it. Laura had just told Meg how he had managed to annoy her again this morning.

  “Him?” Meg raised her eyebrows. She pointed to confirm, her finger hidden from view behind the huge pile of Brighton rock on the far end of her counter.

  “Yes, him! Look! He’s striking a match to light his cigarette.” Laura spoke in a hushed voice that seemed unnecessary, considering the loud clanking noises from the automated machines close by, and the bustling crowd that surrounded them.

  “Oh, don’t mind him!” Meg waved her hand dismissively. “I know him, he’s harmless. He’s just pulling your leg. Don’t worry, he can be like that.”

  “Really? You know him?”

  Meg chuckled. “Yes. His name is Christian Searle. He’s one of the stagehands at the Pavilion and a bit of a poser. But as I said, he’s harmless.”

  “But how do you know him?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know everyone who works on the Pier.”

  “But how? There must be dozens and dozens!”

  “Well, there’s only so much you can do on your break from work here. And even on our days off, we wind up spending time on the Pier, mingling. We eat here, we have the odd pint here, and we even swim together in the summer. Brighton is not as big as it looks. Soon enough, you’ll know everyone too, you’ll see!”

  “Well, I don’t have the intention to get to know him!” She huffed, pointing a sharp finger in the boy’s direction. He was leaning against the rail in the far distance at the time, taking long drags from his cigarette, each time squinting his eyes. Even in the faint sunshine, they seemed to twinkle like stars.

  Laura couldn’t help but watch him in silence. He had a way of drawing her eyes to him with his impeccable facial features: his pointy chin and luscious lips, the perfectly sculpted nose, the long neck where he wore that scarf. Even the long fringe on his short, dark hair that reached down to his eyes, seemed to be calling to her. It was dancing in the breeze in a mesmerising way.

  “Why not? He’s heaven! And it sounds like he’s interested in you,” piped up Meg, dragging Laura out again into reality, where she was reminded how annoying he was to her.

  “Yes, but he’s terribly exasperating. And far too conceited for my liking,” replied Laura, managing at last to take her eyes off him.

  “Laura, I know Christian, trust me! He’s just teasing. He’s a decent chap, and what’s more, he’s available.” Meg gave a suggestive nod.

  Laura jutted out her chin in response. “I don’t care, I really don’t. He’s indifferent, if he’s anything to me.”

  “Well, it’s up to you. It’s a shame though. He’s a handsome boy and very decent when you get to know him. If I didn’t have my Paul, I’d be chasing after him.” Meg smirked with mischief.

  “Paul sounds very nice. I look forward to meeting him.” Laura was eager to change the subject, feeling rather let down by then. She had pointed that boy to Meg, not because she was interested to know anything about him. On the contrary, she had hoped a joint effort in speaking ill of him would make her feel better, that it might relieve the feeling of humiliation inside her. But instead, Meg had surprised her by saying he was nice and even tried to convince her to pursue him. Perish the thought.

  “Well, it seems to me you won't like Paul,” piped up Meg after a short pause.

  Laura darted her eyes at Meg, who seemed ready to burst with laughter. Laura knitted her brows. “Why do you say that?”

  “Guess who he works with? Who his best friend is?”

  “Oh, no!” blurted out Laura and, at last, Meg unleashed her amusement in loud guffaws.

  Chapter 10

  1987

  Sofia’s eyelids fluttered and then she was awake. She smiled to herself, feeling grateful to be in Vassilaki again. Her eyes sought the round clock on the opposite wall. It was only a few minutes past nine.

  Lying still, she listened for familiar sounds. The first one registered was the cicada song from the surrounding olive trees. From the kitchen, she heard the clanking of pots and pans and guessed that Gran had started preparations for lunch early. Granddad was outside in the tiny front yard sitting on a chair by the table. She knew this without moving an inch, let alone looking through the netting out the window.

  His whereabouts had been given away by the continuous swishing sound of the plastic fly swatter that he used. Flies were very annoying on the island, and they came in droves because of the humidity, causing Granddad to take hold of the fly swatter since early morning every day. He kept striking the arms of his chair, his lap and the table with it, and Sofia imagined the scene with a chuckle. How endearing are Granddad’s little habits!

  There were two things that could count as an extension of Granddad’s hand, and you couldn’t easily take them from him: one was the fly swatter, and the other was the TV remote. Although no one really minded when he used the fly swatter for long periods, he could get quite annoying with the TV remote, especially during meal times around the table. His machinegun zapping speed meant that often, you couldn’t watch any channel for a solid two minutes. If by rare chance you found the TV remote available and dared use it, even then he would promptly give you instructions on what channel to put on and where to adjust the volume. Sofia found this quirk of his amusing and always laughed it off. Gran on the other hand, found it infuriating and often shouted at him about it.

  Gran had a rather shrill voice, and the effect worsened when she shouted. There were often scenes at lunchtime when Granddad’s use of the remote would set her off, but it was all superficial and harmless. Within a few seconds, it would all be over, and they would be happy together again.

  Granddad had a unique way of calming his wife down. All he had to do it seems is call her endearing names when she shouted. There she would be,
loading up the decibels half way through the meal, and he would lean towards her, calling her things like ‘my dove’ or ’my partridge’ until she calmed down. At first, she would get annoyed even more, trying to get his caressing hand off her hands and shoulders, saying ‘get off me’ or ‘don’t be silly’ and the like. But as Granddad expected and Sofia witnessed every time, Gran’s anger would subside within seconds after that. Soon enough, she’d be smiling sweetly again.

  Sofia, who had watched hundreds of such episodes between her grandparents over the years, had noticed something amazing: after every such incident, just after Granddad managed to calm down his wife with a cuddle or a peck on the cheek, Gran’s eyes would be filled with a strange light, and Granddad’s eyes would light up the same too when their eyes met.

  For two people who had lived together for nearly fifty years, Sofia found it amazing that they still acted like they were in love. It seemed to Sofia that the passage of time had only served to strengthen and deepen the love between them. She often wondered what makes love grow stronger as couples spend decades together while the beauty of their youth wastes away, and their bodies age. Although she didn’t know the answer at the time, she often marvelled at the power of love, and its ability to withstand the test of time.

  “Good morning, psyche mou. Did you sleep well?” said Gran when she entered the room. She was carrying some dishes, and she left them on the table for a moment to caress Sofia’s hair; then she opened the cabinet and started to put them away.

  “Yes, I slept like a log. I was so tired from the journey!”

  “Bravo, agape mou. Now, let me get you some milk and toast. And do get yourself some cake. It’s there, on top of the fridge.” she pointed and turned to go.

  “Don’t do anything for me, Yiayia. I’ll make my own breakfast. As you can see, I’ve got all my arms and legs,” she teased, standing up and spreading out her limbs. Her pyjama shorts and sleeveless top revealed them generously enough for Gran to respond with a look of mild disapproval.

  “Oh yes indeed, I can see, young lady.” Gran pointed playfully at Sofia’s shapely, yet skinny arms and legs. “You need to put some meat on those, but not to worry, I’ll see to that!”

  Sofia grinned and squeezed her Gran in her arms. “Ah Yiayia, we both know I don’t have a choice on the matter! But you know, what? I’m going to enjoy getting fat because of your wonderful cooking!” Sofia squeezed her Gran some more and planted a kiss on her cheek before letting her go.

  Gran chuckled as she watched Sofia leave the room.

  “Good morning, Pappou. How many flies have you got already?”

  “Not enough, Sofoula mou, not enough!” Granddad laughed as Sofia embraced him by the shoulders, leaving a soft peck on his cheek. “Good morning to you too, kyra mou. They’re so annoying!” He swatted another one on his knee, and Sofia giggled.

  They heard hurried footsteps and then, Aunt Marika—one of Granddad’s many nieces—appeared from around the corner for her daily morning visit.

  “Kalimera, Thie! Yassou, Sofoula mou! I didn’t know you were here!” The old woman was a widow. Her black attire was quite a contrast to her cheerful mood that never seemed to change. She was holding two plastic bags that looked full of vegetables; her own organic produce.

  Sofia stood up and kissed her on both cheeks.

  Aunt Marika pinched the girl’s cheek and made some pretend spitting sounds to avoid giving her the evil eye. “Look how tall she is! Oh, Panagia konta sou, psyche mou!” Like all village women, she gesticulated wildly as she spoke.

  Gran heard her niece’s voice and rushed outside to welcome her. “Kalimera, Marika! How are you?”

  “Yassou, Thia! I’m fine, how are you all?”

  “Well, as you can see, our Sofoula is here again, so we’re just fine!” answered Granddad, his face radiant. His granddaughter had joined him by the table again. Her face glowed as he caressed her hair.

  Granddad motioned to a chair. “Sit Marika; tell us your news.”

  The old widow sat in one of the plastic chairs, placing the bags at her feet. She sighed and, for the first time, looked slightly tired. It was still early in the morning, so this would be an oddity for most people but not for her. She visited her fields at dawn on most days, so nine in the morning rather felt like midday to her.

  Although over sixty years of age, she remained sprightly. She lived on the main road downhill, and like everyone else in her family, kept busy during the day. Other than tending the fields, she also assisted her son Costas at their souvenir shop, cooked for the family, and cleaned the rooms in their family guesthouse. She did get some help from her daughter-in-law, but it still meant she got up at first light every morning and went to bed late at night after the souvenir shop had closed for the day. Yet, she had an incredible stamina and the resolve to stay active, to be of service.

  “I won't stay long, mind you. Costas needs me at the shop.” She gave another sigh. “Is it me, or is this hill getting steeper and steeper?”

  Granddad responded with a hearty laugh. “Alas, Marika! The road’s not changing, it is we who are getting older and older. I don’t mean to scare you, but it won't get any easier either as time passes. Take it from me.”

  “Bah, what are you talking about, Thie? I can only hope to be as agile as you when I reach your age.”

  Granddad gave a dismissive wave. “My dear niece, if I had the use of my legs still, I would be in my field right now, digging and planting.”

  “Not to worry! At least for vegetables, I’ve got you covered.” She picked up her bags and put them on the table. “This is for you; I picked them all this morning.”

  “What is this now? You can’t have brought all this for us,” commented Gran as she approached to have a better look. Sofia leaned closer as well, full of curiosity. There were runner beans, tomatoes, courgettes, aubergines, and peppers, as well as a large cabbage with perfect, tightly clinging leaves that just begged to be turned into a rare lahanodolmades feast. At the sight of the cabbage, Gran and Sofia exchanged excited glances. Gran’s lahanodolmades were a work of art, thanks to her thick egg and lemon sauce that she prepared in the blender.

  “Enjoy them,” replied Marika to everyone’s heartfelt thanks. “I’m sorry I had no eggs to bring you today.”

  Granddad chuckled. “Marika, I can’t believe you’re apologizing after what you’ve brought us!”

  Aunt Marika gave a sweet smile, then turned to Sofia. “Ah Sofoula mou, I just remembered! I have some magazines and books for you.”

  Sofia’s face lit up. “Oh thank you, Thia!”

  Marika shook her head. “Really, what is it with those tourists and their books? They all come with loads and when it’s time to go, they just leave them behind! But it’s such a pity to throw books away. I could never do it, even though I have no use for them myself.”

  “Are they in English, Thia?”

  “I wouldn’t know, psyche mou. But Costas had a look. He said some were German and we left these at reception for other guests to pick up. But the English ones I always save for you.” She leaned across the table and pinched Sofia’s cheek lovingly.

  “Thank you, Thia. Is it all right if I come this afternoon to pick them up?”

  “Sure! They’re in the shop, so just drop by when it suits you. Now I must go, my Costas awaits me,” she announced, and with a hurried wave she was gone.

  As she disappeared around the corner, everyone’s thanks for her kindness still reverberated from the whitewashed walls of the narrow lane. In the silence that followed, her hurried footsteps could still be heard for a few more seconds. As Gran picked up the bags to take them inside, Sofia felt a surge of gratitude overcome her for her auntie’s old legs that seemed tireless, driven by her kind, giving heart.

  Sofia was thrilled about the new English reading material she was going to get. She wondered what the content was. Not that it mattered in the least. Sofia had an excellent command of English and was forever eager to learn mo
re, especially idioms and slang words. In English, she read books of any content, and genres that would never interest her in her own language. As long as it was written in English, and she could learn from it, she simply devoured it.

  She had started reading with the use of special books for students of English, but soon enough, with a dictionary in hand, she had moved on to reading proper, full-sized books. Before she knew it, she had managed to put the dictionary aside and read comfortably.

  This is when the real pleasure kicked in; this is when the language truly embraced her, like a warm, velvet blanket, subjecting her to a mystifying echo of something vaguely familiar. It was a feeling she still savoured, whenever she read English books and magazines. The more she learned and understood, the more the feeling intensified. It was almost like the words and the phrases were calling to her, urging her to find the root of the feeling that stirred inside her with every line she read.

  When she read aloud, she let the words flow from her lips like warm honey. It was like a delicacy she could taste every time she wanted. The words bred euphoria that rose from inside her. They seemed to resonate with an obscure and unidentified world deep inside her soul, and the effect often left her mystified.

  Even new words, sometimes felt as if they were actually being redeemed, recalled, rather than encountered for the first time. This had caused pressing questions to rise inside her from time to time. Yet, she had never really given this much thought.

  Chapter 11

  It was noon. The crowded beach was sizzling in the summer heat. Sofia and her cousins, Dora and Nana, were sitting on their towels by her, chatting away, catching up on lost time. The girls had arrived with their parents earlier that morning, shortly after Aunt Marika’s visit.

  “Good morning, girls!” said Jimmy, causing them all to look up startled. He stood before them in his baseball cap, a genuine smile across his face. He had applied one of those fluorescent, orange-coloured sunblocks in two lines across his nose. Nana raised a little hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. She thought he looked very silly, like an American Indian in swim shorts.