by Sara Alexi
Juliet reaches for a tissue.
‘Well, I ran out of the house screaming that I would not do it. I ran through the old town until I came to the paved path that runs around by the sea. Here I began to walk. I was crying. I walked around to the point where the wind suddenly rushes at you and the lighthouse blinks on top of the metal tower.’
‘I sat on the concrete base of the lighthouse tower, watching the water swirling, letting the wind blow against me, blow away my tears. It was growing dark and the flashing light played with the waves. I had been sitting there for a few minutes when a voice said, “Are you OK?” and a boy shuffled from around the corner of the tower. He had also been sitting on the concrete plinth but out of sight. I was embarrassed because I had been crying and I was shy at first.’
Juliet quietly stands and takes a jug of water and glasses from just inside the kitchen and returns. Marina drinks deeply and wipes her mouth on her tissue.
‘He was eighteen. He had just been served his papers to go into the army. They had stationed him all the way up in Thessaloniki. He was leaving the next day. He said he felt like his life was being stolen from him. I said I understood and I told him my story. He was angry on my behalf. He held me as I cried.’
Marina stands up and takes the jug of drinking water and pours what’s left into the soil at the base of the wisteria.
‘But we were kids and we were soon laughing over something, and we ran along the path by the sea to the beach and we played in the sand. We laughed so much. But slowly we grew tired and found a place between the rocks that was out of the sea breeze. We sat so close. Then he stroked my hair. His hand outlining my face, his fingertips electric on my skin. His face came closer, his eyes searching in mine, his breath on my mouth. Then he kissed me. My first kiss. I melted.
‘He held me so close I thought I was disappearing into him. His words like jewels, each one reflecting his beauty, our beauty. We talked and talked, our words turning to whispers. Before the morning we had pledged our love for each other. We talked of running away together, leaving the country. He had an uncle in Italy.
‘We were woken by a dog sniffing at us. We called her Eros, god of love. The three of us walked slowly to the bus station. He had enough money to take us to Patra. From there we were going to work out how to get the money to take the boat to Italy. We were happy.
‘It was at the bus station that his father found us. He cuffed him across the ears really hard and pulled him along the road by his shirt. When I tried to interfere he pushed me with such force that I fell backwards. A bus driver tried to protect me by holding me back. But as soon as he let go I ran after them.
‘They had turned a corner and were gone. I spent all day roaming the old town for him. I didn’t even know his name. I had called him Meli, because he was as sweet as honey. He called me Melissa, his little bee.’
Marina sits down again. Her body sags into her chair.
‘Did you ever see him, or hear from him again?’
‘Never.’
Juliet sits silently with Marina and they watch a tomcat jump onto the wall and then down the wisteria stem. He pauses to wash himself before sniffing his way to the kitchen. Neither of them discourages him and so he steals inside. They hear the bin fall over and he comes running out with something in his mouth, up over the wall, and is gone. A well-practised thief.
They can hear Costas talking to someone in the shop; the door from the courtyard is ajar.
Juliet speaks first.
‘You see, the power of your love gave you the strength to make plans to leave the country without even enough money. I believe you would have succeeded, had his father not found you. If Eleni is in love she will have that power. She will overcome everything. She has everything she wants in her love.’ Juliet takes a breath. ‘Would you rather Eleni be happy or would you rather have a grandson by her?’
‘That is not a question worth answering.’ Marina gives Juliet a mock chastising look before a new thought occurs to her. ‘But what will her friends say when she comes home?’
Juliet laughs, but not harshly. ‘They already know.’
‘How can they already know? I have only just found out myself and I have told no one.’
‘They will have known for years. I met Eleni once at Artemis’ wedding and it was obvious to me.’
‘What! You could tell? You can see it?’
‘Me and everyone else who knows her.’
‘Tell me this isn’t so!’ Marina stands but is unsure where to go and so makes a circuit round the courtyard. ‘Her friends will know?’ Juliet nods. ‘The neighbours know?’ Juliet nods again. ‘Not the Papas?’ Juliet nods once more. ‘Panayia!’ Marina crosses herself. ‘How can I believe this is true?’
Costas slips his head around the door to ask if the have any more boxes of crisps anywhere. Marina tells him they are in the storage room and he leaves to find them.
‘There you are, an opportunity. I can hear people in the shop. Go ask them.’
‘Oh yes, I will walk out there and say, “Hey did you know my daughter loves a woman?”’
‘There is no need to be so blatant. Come, listen at the door. I will ask.’
‘No! No, Tzuliet, I forbid you!’ But Juliet has gone through the door. Marina hears pleasantries and then Juliet asks, ‘Were you at school with Eleni?’
‘Yes.’ Marina can hear two voices but cannot place them. She looks through the crack in the door by the hinge but they are out of sight.
‘Eleni has settled on the island, so I hear.’
‘A nice place to be stationed,’ one voice says.
‘Yes, I think she will be happy there. Her lover lives on the island‘
‘Oh, she has found someone. That is good to hear. After her break-up with Katerina we thought her broken heart would never mend.’ The other voice.
‘Katerina?’
‘Yes, you know, works in the hardware shop in town.’ The first voice.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Here you go. How many bags do you want?’ Costas’ voice asks.
Juliet says her goodbyes, and there is a sound of coins dropping as she appears back in the courtyard.
‘Katerina! Who works in the hardware shop? But her father is the prayer singer in the church,’ Marina says, as Juliet sits down again. ‘Who would have thought? Such a pretty girl. So delicate.’
‘So now you know that the rest of the world already knows, how do you feel about it?’ Juliet asks.
‘If there are no problems, then, of course, I am happy for her. But what if she wants children? Do they want children?’
‘They? Eleni is a “they” now?’ Juliet laughs and opens the bag of crisps she brought back from the shop with her.
‘You know what I mean.’ Marina takes a crisp from the bag.
‘They have only just got together. I think you are rushing things. But they are both capable of having children and there are ways, if that puts your mind at rest.’
Marina crunches. Her brow is furrowed and her eyes are not focused.
Juliet stays for something to eat and then sits for a while in the courtyard. The vines overhead protect them from the full strength of the sun. Marina pulls a weed or two from between the flags. Juliet dozes. The day slips away and Juliet announces that she must leave. They say a fonder goodbye than their ‘hello’, each giving the other’s hand a squeeze as they kiss on both cheeks before parting.
Marina returns inside. She wanders upstairs to her daughters’ bedroom. There are two little beds, Eleni’s with a cloth rabbit sitting on the pillow. Marina picks it up and cuddles it.
The feeling starts somewhere in her stomach, quivering. It grows and fills her solar plexus and surges up her throat and escapes as a full belly laugh. Her angry, arguing, feisty Eleni has found her love and is happy. Marina pictures her smiling and at peace. Marina whoops with joy and throws the rabbit in the air. It hits the ceiling and comes back down. Marina fumbles the catch and picks it off the floor to retur
n it to the bed, smoothing the sheets.
She wanders out of the girls’ bedroom and into her own. Her bag sits on the chair. She opens it. The rapture she has just enjoyed mutates as she looks inside. The joy she feels for Eleni only aids to contrast the deep despair she feels for herself. Tears begin to flow and she takes a handkerchief from the bag. The two embroidered butterflies dance with the movement as she takes it between both hands and presses it to her face. It smells of mothballs.
As she buries her face Marina weeps all the more. Her Eleni is happy, she is loved and that is fantastic. Both her daughters are loved, their worlds are complete. There is no negative to focus on, no troubles to distract her, no matchmaking to take her attention. There is nothing to interfere with. Nothing to divert her. Her daughters’ lives offer her no solution. In this new calm her backdrop of misery cannot hide. The vein of bitterness and pain is highlighted in the peace. The person she must cry for now is herself. The person she must set free is Marina. She knows it is time. She must face the truth of what the island holds for her, find closure on her own life experiences.
She must return to the island again and find the people she needs to see.
Chapter 18
Marina is hoping Petta will be there to pick her up, but he isn’t. She doesn’t recognise the taxi boat man or his boat. The island appears to float on the water, looking harmless. She repeatedly tells herself that the pain she must face will lay her past to rest. It will be worth it.
A yacht passes them, its white sails billowing. One of the crew, clad in a black bikini, waves at her. Marina looks away. Her new shoes pinch a bit in the heat and she has spilt something on her black skirt. She scratches at it. The skirt seems baggy.
The boat man takes his money without a word. The pavement cafés are full of tourists fussing like chickens who have caught a mouse. Marina sees their smiling faces and turns away. She will take the path up through the town to Zoe’s.
Yanni, waiting with his donkeys, nods at her. She nods back. His solemn face reflects her mood. She feels she understands him. She walks past to the lane that leads inland.
Up the steps and across the top. Past the shop that now extends for three windows and spills across the pavement. Marina pauses. Down the alley to her left she remembers there is a tiny church nestled in amongst the houses. She spontaneously takes the turning and pushes against the gnarled old studded arched door. It gives slowly and the air that rushes out smells of incense and wood polish and suspended time.
Inside it is still and cool. There are no electric lights and the narrow coloured windows provide very little illumination. There are three candles burning in a sand tray. The rich blue walls have been painted depicting saints and scenes from the Bible. Gold leaf provides shining halos and embellishments. There are nine chairs arranged in rows of three. They fill the space.
Marina sits on the front row and crosses herself.
‘OK, Marina old girl, let’s get all the help we can,’ she says to herself before bending her head and reciting prayers by rote, bringing back memories of her childhood. Completing the ritual, she talks directly to the painting of the saint on the templon that hides the altar.
‘So Panayia, mother of God,’ she concludes, ‘I need some strength and some wisdom and a little bit of Greek serendipity. Please.’ She stands and lights a candle and places it centrally in the nearest sand tray at the front.
‘Excuse me,’ a thin voice enquires. ‘How are you, my dear?’
Marina turns to see a diminutive lady, not more than four and half feet tall. She is wearing black from head to foot and has on a scarf tied to cover her head and chin in traditional peasant fashion. She has the kindest eyes and there is something familiar about her smile, but Marina cannot place her.
‘I am well, and you?’ She searches the old woman’s face.
‘You don’t remember me?’ The old lady sits on one of the wooden chairs at the front. Marina helps her as she wobbles. ‘I remember you, such a sad sweet time.’
‘I am sorry, I think you must have mistaken me for someone else.’
‘Have you ever embroidered a hanky with black butterflies?’
Marina frowns before her eyes widen. She takes hold of the back of the chair next to the woman to regain some stability before she eases her weight down onto the rush seat. No one knows about her embroidering the black butterflies. Except Aunt Efi, and she is dead. Marina crosses herself.
‘It was such a sad sweet time. You were so young.’
‘Please, who are you?’ Marina asks.
‘Let it come slowly, my dear.’ The lady pats Marina’s hand.
Marina searches for who this woman can be but is at a loss. She raises her hands palms upwards and shrugs.
‘How long were you here on the island for? It did seem a long time, and all that time you were shut up in that apartment with no one to play with, not even your mother by your side.’
‘My dad wouldn’t let my mum come. He said he needed her at home.’ Marina’s lower lip begins to tremble as the years fall away. The old lady strokes her arm, comforting, caring. ‘I spent all day, every day in that apartment. That’s when I started embroidering everything in sight with the black butterflies that would land on the window sills and tease me with their freedom. I wasn’t allowed to go out to play, to see anyone, just Aunt Efi.’
‘You didn’t go out at all?’
A momentary smile plays around the corners of Marina’s mouth. ‘I did sneak out a couple of times when she was asleep.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Once I went up on the top road that joins the coastal path to the boatyard and once I found a door open that had no handle. The smell of honey and wax was amazing and there was an old …’ Marina’s jaw drops open. ‘No! It cannot be! That would make you …’
‘Ninety. It’s not so old these days.’ There is a ringing sound, abrasive within the hushed stone walls. Marina looks about the church for the cause and the old lady takes a mobile phone out of her pocket.
‘No, I am fine dear. I am in the church with an old friend. Yes, goodbye.’ She puts the phone away. ‘My daughter, always checking on me, not a moment’s peace.’
‘So you are the candle-making lady.’ Marina reaches out to take her hands. The lady nods and smiles.
Marina’s smile is suddenly gone and she lets go of the old lady’s hands.
Marina recalls something unpleasant. The old lady nods again. ‘That was me too. Yanni the donkey man’s grandmother was on the ridge. She could not come down in time. She was dealing with her own daughter. I saw your Aunt Efi running in panic, so I came. It was not so bad though, was it, my dear? You were very quick. Not even an hour or so, if I remember correctly.’
Marina is silently crying. She searches in her pockets and brings out a handkerchief, with black butterflies embroidered on it. Marina’s silent tears become audible at the sight of it.
‘It was a beautiful and sad time,’ the lady says.
‘I was just turned fourteen. The year before they married me off.’ Marina feels the waves of emotion will drown her. She struggles for breath. The lump in her throat will not be swallowed. Her head spins, her temples throb.
The lady quietly stands and takes Marina’s butterfly hanky, and dips it in the font and wrings it out. She returns and places it in Marina’s hand and guides it to her forehead.
Marina’s eyes will not focus. The muscles under her lower lip twitch and she cannot stop the corners of her mouth being dragged down. Images of the candle lady’s kindness mix with the pain. Aunt Efi speaking in harsh tones. Urgency. The spasms that took away Marina’s control. The fear of tearing in two. The donkeys braying outside the window, competing with her own cries. The cold cloth on her forehead back then. The narrow bed that she slid from, onto the floor. Aunt Efi mopping up the wet. The spasms coming faster, more urgently. The overwhelming fear. The candle lady calling her name, telling her, ‘All will be well, soon it will be over. Breathe my sweet, breathe.�
� Aunt Efi shouting, ‘Maria, hold her still.’
It went on and on. The panting. Aunt Efi praying. Maria stroking her hair, her face close, comforting. Another wave. Being transported by the spasms out of reality. The intensity of the focus. Her energy draining away. The ability to cope slipping from her. Becoming lost. Everything slack. And then, suddenly, the pain had all gone. A wave of exhaustion, the elation of still being alive.
The uncertainty of what had happened. Maria, the candle lady, had lifted the blood-covered crying bundle onto her chest and she had fallen in love with one look in his eyes. He had hair. Blonde, like Meli’s, and he had Meli’s eyes. All the love she needed for herself flowed from her to him, all her love she had held precious for Meli himself flowed to this tiny Meli. Just as she had sunk with the pain, she soared with the love. She floated above Aunt Efi. The world disappeared.
‘It was … he was, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.’
‘He was, my dear, he was perfect.’
‘They took him.’
‘I know.’ The lady wipes her own tears.
‘One month they gave me to suckle him, and then they took him.’ Marina can hold the emotions back no longer. Her body shakes, the repressed memories flood back, the pain, the loss, the powerlessness. Losing him felt like part of her soul had been ripped from her. Marina feels the breaking down, the releasing of years of denied love and grief and loss. Her love flows afresh, huge, threatening to burst through her chest. It rises to her throat but there is no escape. It comes in bursts of sobs and tears
‘You were so young, so young.’ The lady nods and she sits and holds Marina, watching her candle burn away. The stillness of the church holding them both. Timeless.