by Sara Alexi
The balcony belonging to Marina’s room overlooks the courtyard. Marina can see the sparkling deep blue of the sea and the purple hills of the mainland beyond. That amazing view across the sea, with islands dotted, takes her breath away all over again, and she wonders why she doesn’t take little breaks from the shop more often.
The heavy iron key fits snugly in the old lock and speaks of age and faded glory. The door is tall, but not quite as grand as the one into Zoe’s rooms. This room, with its high ceiling, is charming and clean, scrubbed white. A corner is sectioned off for a shower and toilet. The shower tray is cracked but both the shower and the toilet are clean. Marina doesn’t bother to look in the fridge. She wearily slides her feet across to open the window onto a balcony at the back which is big enough for one chair. It overlooks the top of the town and offers a view of the island’s interior, right up to the top where pine trees crown the ridge. She is much more weary than she realised.
She shuffles back to sit on the bed to test its softness, and to her relief it is firm. Her back feels fine at the moment, but a soft bed might set it off. She pushes the heel of one shoe down with the toe of the other and kicks it off. The second shoe follows. Her feet feel slightly swollen. She bends her knee to bring her foot up to reach her hand and rolls off a black sock. Her feet feel much better for the air. She unties the satin bow at the neck of her blouse and unbuttons the front. It has done well for its years. She unbuttons the cuffs and hangs the blouse on the back of the door. It looks a little more grey than black now, but after twenty years of washing Marina is not surprised.
She switches on the ceiling fan and rummages in her bag for paper and a pen and flops onto the bed in her support bra and skirt. She lies for a while and wonders how many men aged thirty-five, born on the island, will still be living here.
‘There could be hundreds, and there’s only three months before Eleni is here.’ She shifts and manoeuvres herself onto her stomach. She hopes Costas is managing the shop on his own.
‘Now girl, lets concentrate, don’t be panicking. How many men aged thirty-five will there be on the island? The documentary said that the island’s population, without tourism, was about three thousand.’ Marina writes it down.
‘So a third of them will be old, say over seventy. And a third will be young, say under twenty, so that leaves one thousand.’ She writes this down and puts too many zeros, and scribbles it out and then writes it correctly.
‘Half of them will be women so ...’ She carefully divides by two. ‘Five hundred men between twenty and seventy.’ She writes this down.
‘Now, let’s think, there are ...’ She uses her fingers to help. ‘Five decades from twenty to seventy,’ She writes this down and giggles at her progress. ‘Fives into one thousand. So there are twenty, no, two hundred men between the age of thirty and forty. Oh my goodness, so many. But there are ten years in a decade, divided by the ten, twenty men that will be thirty-five. Still, that’s a lot!’
She turns over the paper and writes the numbers one to twenty down the edge. Next to one she adds ‘Yanni – donkey man’.
The pen and paper are abandoned on the bedside table and Marina manages a low, ungainly, awkward roll and twist and flops onto her back. She pretends the slow waft of the fan on the ceiling is cooling. She watches its rotations. A fly comes in through the window and buzzes around the room before heading towards the fan. Marina waits for it to be buffeted by the air current but instead it flies under the fan and lands gently on one of the blades.
‘A fat lot of good that is!’
The fly sits for a moment before buzzing off to explore Marina’s blouse, and then just as suddenly it is out of the window. Marina can feel her eyes closing. The fan motor whirs and she is lulled to sleep.
Chapter 4
It is not much cooler when she awakes. She can tell she hasn’t slept as long as she normally does. The fan still turns slowly and there is a gentle breeze coming through the window.
Marina sits up and sees the paper she had been writing on by her bed with ‘Yanni – donkey man’ at the top. She decides there is no time like the present, and rolls on her socks and eases her feet, now somewhat less swollen, into her shoes. They are comfortable once they are on. She rubs the front of the shoes with her fingers to take off some of the dust. The heat dries everything, dust everywhere. It is the same at the shop.
She positions her feet on the floor and with her hands on her knees rolls her weight forward to stand. Her back feels fine. She stretches, adjusts her bra straps, which cut a little on the shoulders, and picks her blouse off the hook on the door. It feels cool to the touch. It slips on like silk and she buttons it up and tucks it in her nondescript black skirt and adjusts it until she feels respectable.
The view out of the window up to the ridge catches her attention and she wonders how long it will take her, and if she is fit enough.
She looks in her big bag, puts her hand in and touches the contents tenderly before she pushes it under the bed and leaves with just her small bag in which she has her purse, her list of one name, her pencil and the key to her room.
The balcony view takes her breath away again. Marina stands for a moment taking in the sea and the whitewashed houses. She feels proud to be Greek.
As she walks along the balcony she can hear voices.
‘I know, Roula.’ It is Zoe’s voice.
‘But Mum, you can’t leave her like that. It’s not right!’ Roula’s voice is loaded with emotion.
‘Why didn’t you tell me we had run out?’ Zoe sounds tired.
‘I didn’t know. How was I meant to know?’ Roula sounds more angry this time.
‘Well, you were the last person to get one from the cupboard. Didn’t you notice?’ Zoe’s pitch is heightening, the words coming out faster.
Marina begins to tiptoe past the door which has been left ajar.
‘No, I just put my hand in and grabbed one. It’s my fault, isn’t it? Sorry, Mum, sorry, sorry, Roula’s sorry.’ Roula starts to cry, big heaving sobs. Marina pauses.
‘No, my love, it is not your fault. Look, the order came today and Yanni will bring them over tonight. What else can I do? I can’t leave you on your own for that long to go and get them myself. It’s too much for even you, my love.’ Zoe finds her patience, and her words come out soothing and calm.
‘I’ll be fine, Mum. You treat me like a baby sometimes – I am forty-two, you know.’ Roula sniffs but doesn’t seem to be able to stop crying.
‘You are forty-one, not forty-two until next month, and I do not treat you like a baby. I just don’t want to ask too much of you. God knows I couldn’t manage without you.’ Zoe exhales loudly.
Marina knocks very quietly.
‘Mum, there’s someone at the door.’ Roula is still crying and continues muttering, ‘It’s my fault, it’s my fault.’
‘I didn’t hear anyone. Hello?’ Zoe’s voice approaches the door.
Marina pushes the door open. The dust swirls in the shaft of sunshine that enters.
‘Hello. I hope I’m not interrupting?’ There is a curious smell in the room as the door opens. Roula is wiping her eyes and, with one foot in front of the other, is rocking back and forth and watching the television with the sound off. The large lady is asleep. Her dribbling glistens in the sun the open door has let in, and someone has put a handkerchief under her chin to protect her clothes. Marina can hear the old thin lady groaning from the next room.
‘No, she won’t be all right on her own, Gran,’ Zoe calls to her. ‘Hello, Mrs Marina. Is everything OK?’ Her eyes widen at the thought that the room may not be acceptable to Marina , as she has already allocated the money Marina will pay. ‘Is anything wrong? Do you need anything extra?’ Tears well in her eyes. It’s all beginning to feel a bit much.
‘No, no, everything is fine, the room is lovely. I just wondered if I could be of any help.’
Zoe lets out a little laugh of relief.
‘I just need to be three people
at once! No, we are fine. Thank you.’ The smell is getting stronger, and Marina wonders if there is something wrong with the drains, but the smell is fresher than that, if fresh is the right word.
‘Look, if you need to go somewhere I can stay here for you, no problem.’ Marina takes a step into the room.
‘Oh my goodness, no, I would not dream of it! No, Gran will be fine, we just have to wait a while until Yanni gets here. Our order came today.’ Zoe takes a step back and puts an arm around Roula, whose sobbing is quietening. ‘Yanni picks things up from the port and drops them off at his store on his way home in the afternoon, and then when he starts work again in the evening he will pick them up and bring them over here. We’ll be fine.’
Her mother groans quite loudly from next door, and the sound echoes slightly, indicating that the room is largely empty. Zoe turns her head to the open door, the shadows beyond showing nothing, and turns to Roula.
‘She says she is sorry.’ Roula seems to be the interpreter.
‘Gran, you have no reason to be sorry. It is not your fault. That’s just the way life is. Besides, we are just swapping. You changed me when I was a baby and now it’s my turn.’ Zoe smiles and listens, and her mother laughs, little staccato wisps of air escaping the back of her throat. Zoe’s shoulders relax.
‘Can I go for you?’ Marina asks.
‘Do you know the island? His store is right across the other side of town.’
‘No, not really.’
‘Then you would never find it.’ Zoe looks out of the door across the maze of white-walled houses and the alleys running between them.
‘Then let me stay. You go, I’ll be fine.’ Marina takes another step inside.
‘Yes, let her stay.’
Marina jumps at the voice behind her. It is Bobby. She hadn’t noticed him there, he is sunk so low in his chair. He winks at Marina, a sly grin which lights his eyes.
‘It’s not right, I wouldn’t dream of it. You are a guest,’ Zoe says.
‘Don’t be silly. How long will it take you?’ Marina steps across and stands beside Bobby’s chair.
‘Well, it will take up to forty minutes, if I don’t meet anyone on the way …’ Marina can see that Zoe is tempted.
‘That’s nothing, go. We’ll be here when you get back,’ Marina says.
‘On your way, Zoe.’ Bobby is chuckling.
‘We’ll be fine,’ Marina says, and to demonstrate she pulls Bobby’s jacket back onto his shoulder and sits down next to him.
‘OK then, if you are sure.’ Zoe disappears into the back room. She can be heard talking to her mother. ‘I will just leave this sheet over you. Yes, I know it is hot in here. Do you want the shutters open? No. OK. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘Not often I get a pretty lady sitting next to me these days,’ Bobby says as Zoe comes back into the room.
‘Uncle Bobby, you behave yourself. Marina, I will be as fast as I can.’
‘Oh, it’s Three, Two, One, Three, Two, One.’ Roula holds up her hand showing three fingers, then two and then one. ‘I love this programme. Three Two One.’
‘Roula! I won’t be long, OK?’
‘Three Two One. Yes fine, bye. Three Two One.’ Roula turns the sound on and sings along to the theme tune.
‘Right then.’ Zoe hesitates, then turns and marches down the stairs. She leaves the door open and the sun streams in.
Chapter 5
‘So what’s the story?’ Uncle Bobby asks. Marina feels he would be shuffling up closer if only his body would respond. She feels a little ashamed that she is glad he cannot move much. He feels dangerous enough with his tone of voice, his manner of speaking and that glint in his eye.
‘What? Sorry? What story?’ Marina wishes she had chosen a chair at little further away, but continues to sit beside him, staring blankly at the television.
‘You. Why are you here?’ Bobby is chuckling as he speaks.
‘I needed a room and Zoe needed someone to stay whilst …’
‘My body may be knackered but I am not crackers!’ He laughs out loud at his joke. The laughter comes tensely, in a series of croaks. It sounds rather as if he is clearing his throat. He sucks in some air, wheezing. Now he coughs and asks, ‘Not here in this room, I mean here on the island?’ He tuts at her as if she is a naughty child being purposefully awkward. ‘I have never seen anyone look less like a tourist, and you are not here visiting family or you would be staying with them, so, come on my girl, what’s the story?’ Marina casts a sideways glance at him, long enough to see his eyes are shining, that all the life he has left is eager to play.
‘Oh, I see,’ Marina says, surprised at how coy her voice sounds, and fiddles with the bow on her blouse. She wishes she had the shop counter in front of her. She feels strangely vulnerable next to Bobby.
‘Come on, spill the beans, pretty lady. Are you on a mission or do you have a private liaison?’ He shuts his mouth abruptly.
Marina turns to face him to see if he is serious. He has shuffled over slightly and she is startled to see his face so close. The shadowed room is kind to his features, stripping back the years with shadows of obscurity. He has long eyelashes, and his eyes are kind and full of fun. His gaze bores into her and she feels he can see her soul. His nose is so straight, chiselled. She thinks how clichéd this description is, but it is his mouth that is dangerous. Promises, suggestions lingering in the way the muscles move around his mouth, the tone of voice as if he knows every trick and he has caught you already. For an old man his hair is still dark and lustrous. He moves a little and the sun catches him through the lattice shutters, dashing a streak of light across his face, illuminating all the crevices and wrinkles. His age returns in the sunlight. Her fear of him is dispelled along with the passing allusion to youth. She exhales and answers him.
‘A private liaison, I would say not!’ She is glad to hear her voice back to normal, and she laughs at the idea that anyone could think she might be engaged in a liaison. She relaxes a little on her chair, her back no longer so upright.
‘Ah, so you are on a mission!’ Bobby chuckles. He is thoroughly enjoying himself, like a lion prowling through the undergrowth of words.
‘A mission of mercy!’ Marina joins him and adopts his bantering tone.
‘So, a mission of mercy, is it? You are here to save someone?’ He slowly raises his hand, shaking and unsure, and scratches his nose. ‘From someone else or from themselves?’
Marina considers this.
‘I am here to save someone, or two people actually, from an unsuitable match.’ She ends the sentence with a nod of conclusion. But her mind wanders off. Eleni had stormed out after she asked about his age. She went to pack a suitcase. But before she left she called her lover. The tones were hushed and whispered, a cupped hand to her mouth. There was something in the tone that Marina had not heard for a long time. She heard a peace, a contentment, that made her feel such joy for her offspring. She lingered behind the door, not to eavesdrop what was being said, indeed she couldn’t hear anything much, but to capture more of Eleni’s tone. Whoever it was gave Marina hope that Eleni was going to be fine. Unless …
‘And you would know the pain of an unsuitable match because you have been there yourself, perhaps, and know the pain it causes, the years of emptiness, the wasted youth?’ Bobby puts an over-dramatic tone into his voice, inviting a dramatic reply or, perhaps, a complete dismissal. He gets neither.
‘Now how would you figure that?’ Her shoulders droop at his observation, despite the light-hearted way in which it was delivered.
Bobby drops his tone and, instead, compassion enters his voice. ‘Well, you have been in mourning for a good long time – that is not the latest fashion.’ He juts his chin at her blouse. Mania flushes and makes a mental note to buy another one when the man with his van comes to her village next. ‘And the only person worth being in mourning for that length of time would be your husband, and for him to be dead you must have married an older man when you were v
ery young. Or else I am wrong and he was just plain unlucky. But my guess is he was not unlucky, as he had you as a wife!’ He laughs gently and his eyes are kind. He winks at her again.
‘You cheeky thing! Actually he was both older and unlucky.’ Marina cannot decide if she likes Bobby or not.
‘So, one thing at a time. How much older?’ he asks. Marina realises he probably sits in that chair all day, every day, with the same company and only the television to distract him. She sits in her shop with different people coming and going all day long but it doesn’t stop her feeling bored sometimes. She cannot imagine what it must be like for him. She feels lucky. She is happy to give him a bit of her life story to entertain him, despite the fact that he is clearly a rogue at heart.
‘Well, I was fourteen when I became engaged.’ She pauses and looks up at the ceiling. It is painted white and is composed of an intricate cross-hatch of latticework as decoration. ‘You know, I can still remember the engagement party. It was at his family house.’ She glances at Bobby to see if she holds his interest. He urges her on with a nod of his head. ‘I knew the family, of course – everyone did. But there were three of them, three brothers that is, and I could not tell them apart. You can’t when you are that age, can you? At that age old people all look the same.’ She looks back at her lap and fiddles with her wedding ring. ‘He wasn’t that old really, he just seemed so to me at the time. He was thirty-six. A few months later, when we were married, I had just turned fifteen.’ Marina sighs.
She remembers the dress her mother had made for her to wear. It was too hot for the weather, the neckline too high. She had brushed her hair smooth and her mother came in and sat on her bed, and brushed it some more as she stood looking out of the window, trying to see the house they were going to across the village in the dark night. She could see her mother’s face reflected in the windowpane. She looked strange, almost as if she was scared, or very sad. She realised later, when she had her own children, that it was the thought of her child losing her innocence that was reflected in her mother’s eyes that night. Her mother had stayed with her in her room until it was time to go to the engagement party. ‘I can remember at the party I was so scared, so nervous, I couldn’t look up. I just looked at the floor. People were coming up to me and congratulating me and patting me on the shoulders but I kept looking at the floor. When I got home I still had no idea which one it was that I was engaged to.’