The world without day or night was interminable. They were fed every morning and every evening in a cavernous space in which benches and chairs had been nailed to the floors. Above them rumbled the ship’s engines. The crew who served them were surly young men who would whisper to each other and then laugh loudly. Their laughter was full of sneers. They seemed uninterested in the children and the mothers and grandmothers. Their whispers and leers were all directed to the young women, like Eleni, who kept their eyes firmly lowered. The crew’s quarters were above them and sometimes above the roar of the engines she could catch traces of masculine voices and shouts.
By the third day, the dormitories had begun to smell. The toilets were always overflowing and the combined stench of vomit, discarded diapers and the acrid odour of women bleeding was unbearable. Reveka longed to stretch her legs, to yell and to shout. She wanted to see sun.
On the morning of the fourth day she was awoken by a shout from the old woman who slept beside her. They’re calling you. A red-faced young man, his cheeks unshaven and darkening, his white uniform soiled by grease and smoke, was standing in the doorway of the dormitory. The women were laughing at him and making sly jokes that Reveka did not quite understand. They were making fun of his age and his youthful good looks. Look at our brave young sailor, he’s dared to enter the lions’ den. Gushes of laughter. Careful that we don’t eat you up and leave nothing for the birds. Squeals, yelps, hilarity. What do you reckon, Spiridoula, if we left you two alone together how long before you gobbled him all up? Spiridoula, who was nearly sixty, had one dead eye and was missing all her teeth, leered at the blushing young man. His face had become almost purple. Reveka came up to him and tugged at his sleeve. I’m Reveka. He took her to the light.
Her father was standing at the ship’s rail, smoking a cigarette and staring out to a sea that was deep and black-blue, an immense dark reflection of the heavens above. Even the ship’s stack, which when she had first boarded had seemed immense, towering over the other boats and ships and buildings in the harbour of Piraeus, was now dwarfed by the vastness of the two elements. Her father had turned and smiled. The sun hurt her eyes and she blinked back tears.
—What’s wrong, my Reveka?
—The sun is hurting my eyes.
—Would you prefer to be below deck?
She shook her head violently. I want to be up here, but Mrs Kalantzis won’t let me.
—She doesn’t mean to be cruel. She’s scared that you will get into trouble.
Her father took her hand. The dark grey and silver waves rolled till the horizon; she thought she might see a sea serpent. Her father carried her down some greasy metal steps and they entered a lower deck where massive steel blue and white containers formed an enormous train in the heart of the ship. The men had formed small groups against the side of the containers, sitting on their haunches playing cards, smoking cigarettes, sleeping with their heads on each other’s shoulders. Here she could smell the musty harsh tang of men. The smell of grease and work and the salty sea. Her father pointed to a small clearing on the deck. He sat against the great hulk of one of the containers and began to roll himself another cigarette.
—It won’t be long, my little one. Be patient.
—When will we see kangaroos? Will there be any in the village in Australia?
He laughed out loud.
—And what the devil will we do with a kangaroo? I don’t think we can milk them. We can’t even eat them.
—I can ride it.
He laughed again.
—There will be kangaroos everywhere, my little Reveka. Every village in Australia is full of kangaroos. You’ll see. Let’s just pray to God that we arrive safely.
—Abruptly, he stopped smiling and pulled her towards him. She felt his hands trace the hem of her skirt.
—They’re safe, she whispered to him.
He patted her shoulder and she suddenly smelt the sharp whiff of alcohol on him.
—You’re a very good girl. He cupped his cigarette from the wind and lit it. Stay up here on deck, you can play here. But don’t leave my sight. I’ll come and grab you every morning. Would you like that?
The grin on her face, her father would always remember, was as wide as the sea.
She had first created the game with the clouds to keep Angelo out of mischief. Bored at being trapped below with her, he had begun to play tricks on the women, pinching them, moving their things, pulling at their hair. She made him promise that as long as she allowed him outside on the open deck with her, he would stop. When she was younger, she too had been victim to Angelo’s deceits and games. Then, when her mother was still alive, he had barely any time for her. It was her mother that he adored, whose knees he had clung to, whose breasts and thighs he had touched and stroked. Whenever her mother had attempted to take hold of Reveka, cuddle her own daughter, the spiteful boy would pull harshly at his rival’s hair, spit at her, scratch at her. But at other times he would come and sit beside her and play games just like any other child. They would chase each other or play hide and seek, they would run around and around the courtyard or climb down into the cellar and climb the wine vats.
—His name is Angel, her mother had told her, he’s an angel sent by God to protect us.
But when her father came into the house, Angel would become vicious. It was then he would fly at her, scratching, biting and slapping.
On the night her mother died, the boy had come into her bed and kissed her wet cheeks.
Can I sleep with you?
They had remained friends ever since.
She had invented the game with the clouds to keep Angelo out of mischief but very soon she too lived for the game. Huddled between the crevices of two containers, they would look up at the jutting chasm of sky, stare into the clouds and she would tell him what she saw there. And as the ship sailed on, as the sun got hotter and the air became thick with moisture, the worlds in the clouds would change as well. The broad smooth African clouds housed a world of ancient black kings and queens, who rode on lions and tigers and who lived in palaces made of bronze and gold. As they sailed east, the clouds became tinged with blue and silver and became the lands of the cannibals, wiry golden-haired boys and girls who lived on solitary wisps of clouds.
Sometimes her father would peek from behind one of the container walls and laugh at her.
—Who are you talking to, Reveka?
—The Angels.
—Good, he would whisper, and leave her in peace.
By the time they had left India, where dark brown boys had beckoned and smiled up at the passengers on the decks, imploring them in their shrill voices as they held up rich textured fabrics, the women below had started to go mad. Increasingly they ventured out on deck. More and more, they fought and gossiped. More of them became ill. The sailors gave them lemons to suck on to keep the fever and evil at bay. It was during this time, when the air below deck was filled with spite and venom, that Stella found her gold chain had gone missing.
Stella had large breasts, and though barely fourteen, every day one or another of the sailors would comment favourably on her long raven hair and smooth milky skin. As the men far outnumbered the women, and as Stella and her mother were travelling alone to meet the father that Stella had not seen for eleven years, her mother had staunchly refused to allow her daughter to venture onto the open deck.
—They’ll eat you alive, her mother warned.
She’s ready for it.
—Ready for what?
Angelo cackled.
Her cunt is always juicy.
Reveka put her hands to her ears.
Stella’s gold chain had gone missing. It had been a present from her godfather at her birth and she kept it in the sleeve of a cardigan she had rolled up tight underneath her pillow. The morning she discovered it was gone, Stella had let out such a ferocious scream that everyone had awoken. The young woman, in her thin nightdress, her thick black hair tumbling over her shoulders, rushed from bed to bed. She p
ulled at blankets and sheets, overturned baskets and suitcases. The dormitory was in an uproar.
Stella found the small gold necklace lying underneath Reveka’s warm pillow. She slapped hard at the girl.
—You witch! You thief!
—I didn’t take it.
Reveka was horrified.
Mrs Kalantzis came to her and began to shake Reveka’s shoulders.
—Don’t lie. What’s it doing here?
The little girl looked up at the woman’s angry face and then hung her head. Mrs Kalantzis slapped her. Then Stella slapped her again. When her father arrived at the dormitory to take her up to the world outside, he was told of her indiscretion.
—Reveka is not a thief.
—She is, Michaelis, intoned Mrs Kalantzis grimly, she deserves to be punished.
Reveka looked up hopefully at her father. His face was heavy and sad.
—She has her mother in her, she heard a woman whisper. Beside her, she could feel Angelo bristle. She placed a warning hand on his arm. Without a word her father turned and walked away.
I want to visit the clouds.
—We can’t.
I want to visit the clouds.
Reveka rolled on her side. It had been days and she had not seen sky. The women and girls refused to speak to her and she was even forbidden to visit the dining room. Instead, Mrs Kalantzis brought her back a few pieces of bread, some rice, a slice of apple. These were also given to her without a word.
I want to visit the clouds.
—Shut up, she hissed at him. If you hadn’t taken the necklace we could.
I didn’t take it.
She did not believe him.
I didn’t, he insisted. Stella put it under your pillow. That bitch has gone mad with lust. She’s crazy. All she can think about is that sailor Manolis. And he never looks at her. But he’s always got a compliment for you when he sees you. Stella’s gone mad with jealousy. Can’t you smell it on her?
Reveka propped herself up on her pillow. She could hear the snores, the wheezes of the women. The cabin stank. Reveka strained her eyes in the darkness. She could just make out Stella lying next to her mother. The young woman was lying on her back, the sheets at her feet, her hand clasped firmly between her pale thin thighs.
She’s thinking of fucking him. That’s all she can think of, Manolis’ cock.
Reveka was filled with hot brutal spite.
—Are you sure she hid her chain under our pillow?
I saw her.
Reveka wanted to scream.
What did you say?
—I wish she was dead, whispered the little girl.
The clouds did not come. The sky remained empty and blue. Reveka heard voices from the front of the house. Eleni must have come back from work. But she did not move from her bed in the garden. If Eleni had just finished work, then her father would still be at the pub, he would be drinking his beer fast, the warm brown liquid spilling over his chin and throat, drinking until the barman jostled them out at six o’clock. She heard the young woman’s quiet soft step coming down the lawn.
—Reveka, are you there?
The girl and Angelo held their breaths.
—Come on, Reveka, come and help us cook?
Eleni’s flat black shoe came into view. She pulled Reveka up from between the long green stalks. Eleni slapped the dirt away from Reveka’s skirt.
—You’re such a dirty gypsy.
She marched the girl into the kitchen.
They had baked potatoes in the burnt stone oven, potatoes cooked golden, with chives and oregano. But when her father came home he was too drunk to eat. Instead, he sat on one of the kitchen chairs with his legs outstretched and patted his right thigh. Reveka jumped on his lap.
—Oof, he joked, you are getting so big.
Old Woman Kalantzis shook her head and whispered something to her husband. Michaelis looked up.
—What’s the old bitch saying now, Stellio?
Reveka could smell the lager on her father’s breath. He still had on his streaked overalls and she could smell the grease on him.
—He’s drunk, replied Stellios to his wife, and kept munching on his potatoes. Old Woman Kalantzis groaned and slammed her knife on the laminex table. Eleni was looking down at her empty plate.
—Your rent is due.
Michaelis laughed.
—All you ever fucking talk about is my rent.
—Don’t talk to my wife that way. Michaelis glanced over at the other man, then bit his lip. He pushed Reveka off him, reached into his overall pockets, and brought out a sheaf of notes and a few copper coins. He put a bill and some coins on the table.
—There’s our rent.
Old Woman Kalantzis swept her hand across the table and grabbed the money.
Reveka followed her father to bed. He was cursing and swearing, bringing down disease and rage on the family in the kitchen. Reveka watched him as he crossed and recrossed the room. He was cursing Australia. She knew that if he did not sleep soon, he could be up all night, lamenting his life, his fate. He always talked about America then, always cursed himself for leaving America and returning to Greece. But then he would spy his daughter and gather her up in his arms, kiss her face. Then I wouldn’t have you, Reveka mou, he would cry out, what would life mean without you? She hated to see him so unhappy. She would often cry with him. There was nothing she could do. But blessedly, tonight, in mid-curse, he fell on the bed and immediately he began to snore. Reveka untied the laces of his boots. She pulled them off his feet and placed them neatly at the foot of the bed, stuffed his socks into the boots, and then began to unbutton the overalls. She struggled to get the clothes off her father. Michaelis grumbled, turned over, and began to snore again. With a grunt she pulled the overalls off. Her father lay on the top of the bed, his white singlet and white shorts luminous in the dark. She could see Angelo snuggling up close to the man, his cold thin hands roaming the man’s chest, his blue-tinged lips kissing the man’s neck.
—Leave him alone.
Angelo ignored her. His hands were now creeping under her father’s shorts. She slapped them away. The boy’s eyes flashed violence and then a sly insolent grin replaced his fury.
Don’t you have to piss?
She blushed, for indeed her bladder felt full and painful. She opened the door and crept down the hallway. The family were now in the living room, and the kitchen was dark. She did not turn on the light. She felt her way into the dark night, past the garden and the shed and she emptied her bladder into the dark gaping drain. On her way back to the bedroom she could hear Old Woman Kalantzis arguing with her husband.
—He’s a drunk.
—Leave him alone.
—He’s never on time with the rent.
—He’s had much misfortune. You know that.
—And she’s a devil, just like her mother.
Reveka bit her lip and entered the bedroom. Caressing moonlight streamed through the curtain. Angelo was lying next to her father, whose singlet was now crumpled above his hairy belly. His white shorts stretched across his thighs and his lean long thing lay sluggish and wet across his black thick crotch. She pulled his shorts back up and his singlet down over his belly. Her father did not stir.
She turned around.
Angelo’s bright eyes gleamed in the dark.
—I hate you, she whispered.
She heard the boy chuckle and she had to bite her lip. She watched him glide over to the bureau with the broken legs in which they kept their clothes. His hand rummaged through the bottom drawer.
—Don’t, she hissed.
I just want to see them.
—You can’t. They’re not yours.
They are.
—They’re not.
His eyes flashed furiously in the light. He struck at the bureau. On the bed her father stirred, then began to snore again. Angelo was holding the small wooden box. It smelt of home, it smelt of the mountain.
Open it, he hissed.
I just want to look at them. Let me look at them.
She was tired. And he had protected her, had bitten Roger. She crept to where her father’s trousers were scattered on the carpet and she began to search the pockets. When she unlocked the box and lifted the lid, the jewels threw flickering pins of light around the room.
Where are the others?
—We had to sell them. To come here.
You had no right. They’re mine.
Angelo’s hand reached towards the jewels and she slammed the lid firmly, locked the box and clutched it to her chest.
You had no right.
—Shut up.
—My little Reveka, what is it?
The boy and the girl froze.
—Nothing, Papa, go back to sleep.
She pushed the box back into the drawer, lay next to her father and closed her eyes. She could almost see Angelo’s sulky gaze, she could hear his furious sharp breaths. She bit her lip and closed her eyes tight.
Stella had become sick when Angelo had started going to her every night. Reveka would wake up in the dark and see Stella with her legs outstretched and the boy between her thighs. He would lift his thin face and grin mischievously back at her. Sometimes, in the darkness, it seemed to her that his smiling face was streaked with blood. Sometimes he would retch when he returned to bed.
Filthy Greek.
He wiped his lips.
Filthy Greek cunt. She tastes worse than that whore who gave birth to Jesus Christ.
—That’s evil. She slapped at her own ears, not wanting to listen to his obscene words. He laughed at her, kissed her on the brow. His lips were cold. She shivered.
Stella became delirious. She swore to her mother that Manolis was coming to her every night, that she was heavy with his child, and the other women shook their heads and said it was a sin to have young women so close to men. They tried medicine and prayer, herbs and witchcraft, but nothing helped. The girl grew pale and thin. Stella was dying.
—I didn’t mean it, whispered Reveka to Angelo, terrified of what she had done. Let her live.
Dead Europe Page 30