One Summer in Crete

by Nadia Marks

  ‘That is very true, but you, my brother, did meet your soulmate yet you let him go . . .’ Nicos’s expression was serious as he waited for Michalis to respond. The soulmate that he was referring to was the only man that his brother had ever spoken to him about. His name was Alexandros and he lived in Athens. Michalis had met him when he took a holiday break to visit Nicos on the mainland a couple of years ago and in the hub of the big city he felt free at last to let go enough and get romantically involved with a man. He was an artist, a painter, and they had met in the gallery where Alexandros worked to supplement his income. He longed to come and visit him in Crete, proclaiming that he had always believed it was the land of inspiration, but Michalis preferred to keep their meetings clandestine and in Athens. Their relationship continued for a while until he decided he couldn’t carry on any longer, thus breaking the young man’s heart. It had been the first time that Michalis had allowed himself to fall in love and to even possibly envisage a long-term relationship with a man, but what he couldn’t envisage was returning to Crete with Alexandros, despite his brother’s encouragement and reassurance that together they would speak to the family. Since Crete was where Michalis wanted to live he had to make a choice.

  ‘Perhaps it’s time you got in touch with him again,’ Nicos told his brother. ‘I see Alexandros from time to time in Athens and I know he still loves you . . .’ Nicos said no more, he knew his brother well enough, he didn’t do things in a hurry ever.

  Calli on the other had accepted Nicos’s proposal and plan to set up home together without a second thought. The voice in her head, which she vowed never to ignore again, told her this was the right thing to do, and her heart was in total agreement. Not only had she fallen in love with Nicos and would gladly make a life and a family with him, but her love for Crete had been reignited too. As an artist she saw beauty everywhere; now her art would blossom here, she was certain of it.

  ‘Will you marry me, Calli?’ Nicos had asked the morning they lay under the eucalyptus trees.

  ‘Yes, Nicos, I will,’ she replied and couldn’t believe her ears. All the years she lived with James, all ten of them, she never once thought about marriage, nor did he. It seemed so unnecessary, so antiquated – who had to have a bit of paper to say you were committed? All that was needed was the pledge of love and friendship. But now, here, on this island under the hot rays of the Cretan sun, she could think of nothing more wonderful than to be joined in marriage with this man who had stolen her heart. As Maya had told her: Often we don’t know what we want until we find it.

  ‘May!’ Nicos called out and sat up to look at her. ‘Let’s get married in May. The house would be totally finished by then and I would be back here for good, long before that.’ A spring wedding! Calli thought and, throwing her arms around him, covered him with kisses. Maya was right, she mused. The oracle that was that marvellous woman in Ikaria had guessed their reunion. She couldn’t wait to tell her her news. A Cretan spring wedding and her friends from that wonderful island to help her celebrate – what more could a girl want from life?

  Though Calli felt that the moment had not yet come to share her decision with her mother, she longed to share it with someone. All through lunch at Pavlis’s house her thoughts would return to Nicos and their conversation; the memory of his touch still lingered on her skin and her heart beat fast with excitement. She wished she could run along the beach, shouting her news at the top of her voice for all to hear. She wished Maya was there so she could tell her friend that her predictions had been correct: that ever since they met on Ikaria, life had been one long series of surprises and revelations. But Maya wasn’t there, so in her absence she decided that Chrysanthi was the perfect substitute. She was sure that her cousin’s wife would receive her news with approval, so after lunch she made directly for her house.

  ‘I don’t care which one of the brothers has stolen your heart – they’re both worth it!’ the young woman had exclaimed when Calli stopped talking. Chrysanthi’s persistent attempts to pair off Calli with Michalis had appeared successful at first but she soon realized that her plans had gone awry when Nicos arrived on the scene. ‘I even spoke to Costis about it,’ she said, her infectious laughter taking hold. ‘I could tell all was not as it should be by the way you were avoiding me. I wanted to marry you off to someone in the village and keep you here the minute I set eyes on you. I thought Michalis was an ideal match, but Nicos is just as good!’ Her joy was evident in her voice, which had risen an octave with excitement. ‘He is a good man, as good as his brother and they are a wonderful family, you will have beautiful children with him,’ she said, all in one breath. ‘And we will have a beautiful spring wedding!’

  After leaving her cousin’s house, Calli started to make her way back home. She had left the two women with Pavlis, still talking in his back yard under the lemon tree, and wondered if they had returned by now. She sensed that she must still stay close to her mother. On her return she found that Froso had taken herself to bed while Eleni was sitting in the garden, nursing a cup of coffee and evidently waiting for her.

  ‘Can we go for a walk?’ she asked the instant she saw Calli, standing up. Although Eleni appeared to be outwardly calm, especially in the presence of Froso, she was less than relaxed. ‘I was talking with your dad just now,’ she said, ‘I want him to come, I need him here . . .’

  ‘OK, Mum, that’s fine. Good idea – let’s ask him to join us,’ Calli replied, her voice calm and soothing. She put an arm round her mother’s shoulders. ‘Come, let’s go for that walk now.’

  Her father’s presence there would be a great help, she decided. He had such a clear head and always knew how to handle matters. Keith was good in a crisis.

  They didn’t go to the beach this time. Eleni wanted the solitude of the hills again, so they made their way to the same spot she had escaped to the day before. This time they walked pensively, taking their time; once in a while, Eleni would look at Calli and ask a question.

  ‘Do you think it’s better to remain unaware,’ was her first concern, ‘to remain ignorant of the truth?’

  ‘I wondered about that, too, Mum. But no, I don’t think so . . .’

  ‘What good can it do to know at this stage in my life . . . is it not selfish of Froso to drop this on me now?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I think knowledge is better than ignorance; better to know than not,’ Calli replied, having already come to that conclusion.

  ‘But I still don’t really know, do I?’ she said, her voice rising with frustration. ‘I still don’t know who I am.’

  They had reached the carob tree and sat down together at its roots. Eleni picked up a pod that had fallen on the ground, brushed the dust off it and absent-mindedly started to rub it with her thumb as she spoke.

  ‘What I knew all through my life was that I was Calliope and Nikiforos’s daughter . . .’ Her eyes turned to meet Calli’s. ‘. . . that I had Mavrantoni blood running through my veins . . . But now? Now I learn that it was all a lie, that I am not who I thought I was or . . .’ she stopped and averted her gaze, ‘or even worse!’ The last two words came out in a whisper.

  ‘Mum!’ Calli protested. ‘Mum,’ she repeated, her voice softer, more soothing, realizing what her mother was referring to. She reached across and wrapped her in her arms as if she were a small child. ‘None of that matters. You are not your blood. You are you!’ she said, gently rocking her.

  ‘That’s what your father said,’ Eleni replied after a long pause and wiped her eyes with the edge of her skirt. ‘You really are your father’s daughter,’ she said and smiled through her tears. Shifting a little closer, she leaned her head on her daughter’s shoulder. They sat together for a while, mother and child lovingly connected. Calli thought of the countless times she had been comforted this way by Eleni, of the many tender moments and all the support this woman, her mother, had given her in order to face the world when she was growing up and beyond.

  ‘I am so lucky to have you, m
y child . . .’ Eleni told her. ‘You and your brother are the pride and joy of my life.’ Calli turned and kissed the top of her mother’s head as Eleni had habitually done to her when she was a little girl. ‘I used to pity my sister for not knowing the joys of motherhood,’ she continued, ‘especially when we used to visit her when you and your brother were small and I saw how loving she was with you and Alex, how she longed for your affection and attention . . .’

  ‘Oh, Mama . . .’ Calli murmured, and a lump rose in her throat, ‘it’s so sad . . .’

  ‘I want you to know that I will always be there for you, Calli mou. You can be sure that for as long as I am alive, I am your rock, and so is your dad . . . All I have ever wanted for you is to be happy.’ She looked up at her daughter. ‘I don’t suppose Froso wanted anything less for me either, but life didn’t deliver her such a good hand as me, did it?’ Eleni let out a sigh. ‘I am doing my best to understand, Calli mou, and no doubt in time I will, though right now I am struggling. But I am blessed to have you and such a good family by my side.’

  If any moment could be the right one to tell her mother about Nicos and her decision to stay with him in Crete, this was surely it. Calli turned, took Eleni’s hands in hers, looked her in the eyes and began to explain.

  As Calli had hoped, her mother’s response was no less approving and even more jubilant than that of Chrysanthi. She had been worried that Eleni might feel abandoned if she was to leave London for Crete, especially at this time, when she might need her daughter’s support.

  ‘Your happiness is all I care about, and you deserve to be happy, my darling girl. You’ve been through enough,’ she told her. ‘I shall have your father and your brother at home, and you will be at the end of a telephone.’ She took her daughter’s face in her hands and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. ‘Besides,’ she smiled, ‘from now on I shall be spending as much time in Crete as in London.’

  By the time mother and daughter made their way home arm in arm down the hill, the sun had started its descent, tinting the world pink. A distant church bell was trying its best to be heard above the deafening sound of birds settling for the night. On returning to the house, the two women found Froso entertaining Michalis and Nicos in the garden.

  ‘There you are!’ she called out when they walked through the garden gate. ‘I don’t suppose these young men have come to see me.’ She smiled at Calli.

  ‘You know perfectly well that we came to see you, Kyria Froso,’ Michalis protested with a smile. ‘Don’t make out that this is the first time I’ve come to visit you.’

  ‘It’s true,’ she replied. ‘You are very considerate, you visit me often. And look’ – turning to her daughter and granddaughter – ‘look, my girls, look what the boys have brought me!’ She pointed at three bottles of extra virgin olive oil, a huge jar of black olives and a bottle of raki sitting on the table.

  Despite having heard tales similar to Froso’s while growing up, the brothers had found her story both moving and disturbing. Over the years many such dramas of love, jealousy and crimes of passion had been spoken of, but those were anecdotal stories that had happened many years before to folk who were strangers to them, never involving people they themselves knew and liked.

  ‘We wanted to pay you all a visit,’ added Nicos, leaping to his feet to embrace Calli who had walked towards him. Ever since their morning on the beach he had been in a state of unsettled excitement; like Calli herself he was eager to share their news, especially with her mother and grandmother. On arriving at the house and in the absence of Eleni and Calli, Nicos couldn’t contain himself any longer and confessed to Froso the reason for their visit.

  ‘I love her with all my heart,’ he told her excitedly, ‘and she’s agreed to stay . . . marry me, make a home here with me.’ Froso reached out and took the young man’s hand in hers. ‘I give you my blessing, my boy, and the two of you in return have given me a great gift. I waited a long time to have this girl close to me and finally she has arrived.’

  ‘If Calli loves you then I love you too,’ Eleni said with a beaming smile after Nicos tried rather awkwardly to ask for her hand and blessing. ‘I’m happy for you both, my boy, and I appreciate your respect,’ she said and reached forward to kiss him on both cheeks. ‘Calli’s grandmother has known you for many years and she already loves you.’ Her eyes were welling up as she turned to look at Froso, who was glowing with joy. ‘Soon her father will arrive too so you can ask him officially for her hand.’ She chuckled with amusement at the young man’s old-fashioned gallantry. ‘I’m sure he will be as happy as we are’ – she turned to Froso again – ‘to give his consent.’

  ‘A drink!’ Froso called, pushing herself to her feet and reaching for the bottle of raki on the table. ‘Eleni, fetch the glasses!’ she said, beaming. ‘It’s not every day that I receive such good news about my granddaughter.’

  20

  Keith arrived on the early morning flight from London, accompanied by Alex, who on hearing the news insisted on coming with his father.

  ‘This is a family matter, Dad. We all need to stick together,’ he’d said after Keith had explained the story to him. ‘It’s a tough one . . . Mum needs us. We managed to pull together with Calli and that idiot James! We’ll do it again now.’ Alex had inherited his father’s reliability and love of the family, and staying together had always been his way; even as a little boy he had considered it his duty to protect his sister and his mother. Calli drove to the airport alone in Chrysanthi’s car to collect them, intending to let them know a little more about the situation.

  ‘How are they both?’ was Keith’s first question, wondering how the two women were reacting to each other now.

  ‘It’s hard to tell, exactly,’ Calli said. ‘I mean . . . Mum is not calling Auntie Froso Mama just yet or anything . . .’ she tried to jest before realizing this was probably in bad taste. ‘It’s difficult, Dad,’ she continued more seriously. ‘One moment Mum is OK and then she’s distraught. Her spirits go up and down.’

  ‘It’s going to take time. These things can’t be rushed, they have to be processed gradually,’ Keith replied. ‘In many ways a shock like this is almost like a bereavement.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve come, Dad,’ she said and reached out to squeeze her father’s hand. ‘And you, Alex. It will be good for Mum.’

  On arrival they found Eleni and Froso waiting for them in the garden. They had both wanted to drive with Calli to the airport, but she had put them off: ‘No space in the car, what with their luggage and all . . . the two of you had better stay here, don’t you think?’

  Eleni agreed reluctantly, but anticipation got the better of her and she spent most of the time it took Calli to collect them in the kitchen, cooking. Froso sat at the table, looking on while she worked, aware that it was Eleni’s way of dealing with her anxiety. In the quietness of the kitchen, with no one else around, Froso started to talk.

  ‘I would have given anything for things to have been different, Eleni mou,’ she began. ‘I knew I should have spoken to you. It was your right to know.’ She paused and looked at Eleni, waiting for a response, but none came; Eleni kept her head down and continued with her chopping. ‘I knew I owed it to you to speak up . . .’ Froso paused again, ‘and now . . . now it’s almost too late, but it was so hard to find the right time, to find the right words. I knew it would change everything and that you might resent me or worse still, hate me for lying to you.’ She sighed. ‘I accept that it was cowardly of me. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak and I suffered for it all these years. Then once I got sick, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to absolve myself of this secret which had been eating away at me. It was time I spoke the truth.’

  Froso looked up at Eleni again with pleading eyes. ‘I thought that at least we could spend what time I have left on this earth being what we truly are to each other . . .’

  She stopped talking, leaned forward on her elbows and waited expectantly. Finally Eleni turned rou
nd and looked at Froso. She wiped her hands on her apron, dried her eyes with the back of her hand, walked over to the table and put her arms around the older woman’s shoulders.

  ‘None of it was your fault, Froso mou . . .’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion and kissed the top of her head. ‘You have carried this burden for long enough . . . now it’s time to share it. I might not be able to call you Mama because I have lived all my life loving you as my sister, but the love is no less.’

  ‘I have loved you as my child since I was a child myself,’ Froso replied, eyes overflowing. ‘Now that you know, it is enough for me. I am your mother and I will be that for as long as I live.’

  ‘You have plenty of time yet, Froso mou,’ Eleni said as she sat down next to her. ‘I’ve seen your medical notes. Your prognosis is good . . . If need be, we’ll take you to London to see our doctors there.’

  Mother and daughter sat in the kitchen, holding each other and letting their tears silently fall, until eventually they helped each other to their feet and, arm in arm, stepped out into the garden to sit in the shade of the two olive trees and wait for Calli, Keith and Alex to return.

  That afternoon, after the family finished their lunch and before the sun started to wane, Eleni took Keith’s arm and led him to her carob tree hideaway; she needed time alone with him. The sun was still warm on their backs and the breeze blew gently from the shore as they slowly wound their way up the hill. Keith was her soulmate, her mentor, her friend, her beloved husband of so many years who had listened and supported her and had loved her ever since they first met. They had been through so much over the years, births and deaths, joys and sorrows, and she knew that together once again, with his support she would be able to cope with whatever lay ahead.

  ‘The trouble is, Keith,’ she said, holding his hand tightly as they settled themselves on the ground under the tree, ‘however I look at it, I still return to that dark place, to that hateful thought that takes my breath away . . .’ She inhaled a gulp of air as if deprived of oxygen. ‘What if I’m his child . . .?’ The words faded on her lips and the colour drained from her cheeks. ‘What if that is the case, Keith?’ she asked again, her eyes searching for a flicker of reaction in his. ‘Tell me, how do I live with that? What if I’m not, as Froso says, the product of love, her love child . . . but created by malice and hate?’