Watching the Wind Blow (The Greek Village Collection Book 9)

by Sara Alexi

  She puts the fish at the top of the steps along with plates and forks. She follows with glasses and the water.

  ‘I found a whole stash,’ she confesses. ‘We have three more after this.’ There’s that we again. As they are both in the same boat, it might as well be a we, she supposes.

  Sam is dividing the fish. Irini has never really been a big fan of fish but she is hungry and makes quick work of her first fish, gulping water down as she eats. Sam eats really slowly.

  ‘Is it too burnt to eat?’ she asks.

  Sam is in his own world and seems to come out of a daze to answer her.

  ‘No. But our saliva begins the breaking down process. We get more from our food the more we chew. It breaks down the simple sugars and it is the first stage of fat digestion, as it causes us to secrete an enzyme from the gland beneath our tongues.’ He takes another mouthful, chewing slowly, and his face becomes blank again. Only when all his fish is gone, which is sometime after Irini’s plate is clean, does he drink.

  On his second glass of water, he looks behind them. The port police have gained on them slightly but have widened out so they are trailing behind on either side.

  ‘Can you swim?’ Sam asks.

  ‘Yes, well, a bit.’

  ‘So why don’t you jump? They would pick you up.’

  ‘I didn’t think I had that choice.’

  ‘What is to stop you?’

  ‘Well, you.’ The plate, unattended on her knee, begins to slip to the floor. He puts his hand out to save it.

  ‘Thank you.’ But it is a mutter more than a reply. She is trying to reassess the situation. Is he serious? Would he let her go?

  He is watching her face and smiling, but it is a private smile. Is he laughing at her?

  If he says she can go, does she jump and risk that he means it? Or maybe it’s a plan so he can shoot her in the water, which would take at least one of the police boats off his trail, especially if he shot just to wound. The journey back to the hospital would be paramount. That would give him only one police boat to deal with.

  She looks at the coastline on either side of them. If she is correct in her judgement, then they are more than halfway to where the land to the left falls away and the sea channel opens that leads to Orino Island. At the next headland is a good-sized town with their own port police. They could send another police boat from there fairly quickly.

  ‘You know there is a town not far down that coast?’ She points. ‘They could send another port police boat from there. It would not take long to get here.’

  He doesn’t even bother looking where she is pointing. Nothing seems to register of what she has said. Maybe it is not a plan to get rid of one of the boats.

  So she could jump.

  She stands. She actually feels rather bloated and full after the fish, and the last thing she feels like doing is swimming. But standing is a statement. She will have to follow it through.

  Did she bring anything on board that she needs to take with her? Her arrival this morning seems so long ago, it is hard to remember. Her phone is in her car, along with her croissant. The thought of the croissant after the fish makes her feel a bit queasy and she wishes she hadn’t eaten so fast.

  ‘You need to change course in an hour or two if you are going to Orino Island to pick up fuel and water,’ she suggests, but she knows he is not and she is just buying time before she jumps.

  ‘Now why would I go to Orino Island and make it easy for the port police when the fuel gauge says full and you have found drinking water?’ Sam’s eyes stare again, green iris back to shark’s black.

  ‘How do I know you will not shoot me if I jump?’ Irini asks. His jaw muscle is twitching again, his face hard.

  His answer is a shrug.

  ‘Is that it? A shrug?’ Irini’s voice raises.

  He shrugs again.

  ‘Oh come on. My life is only worth a shrug?’ Her voice raises. How dare he dismiss her life so effortlessly? ‘You kidnapped me, forced me to be here against my will, and the best you can do is shrug?’ She is shouting. Damn him, he will react, her life is worth some reaction, any reaction. She won’t be depreciated to being valueless; she is not on the streets anymore. ‘You have me in fear of my life and you don’t even feel that you owe me an answer if I ask if you are going to shoot me?’ Her hands are on her hips and she has taken a step towards the stern of the boat. He looks puzzled but he stays seated.

  ‘What kind of coward are you?’ She takes another step around the helm and is onto the bathing platform at the rear of the boat. He has still not moved, making no attempt to stop her. There is no sign of his gun. With her hands clasped together, she points them over her head and bends her knees. The water churns with the motor, a froth of white foam. ‘Better get your gun,’ she spits, bending her knees even more, her thigh muscle tensed, ready to dive. She will, she will dive, she would rather dive and be shot than …

  ‘I was four when I told my Dad I didn’t love my aunt.’

  ‘What?’ Irini looks back. Her legs straighten.

  ‘He said she was ill and we need to go and see her.’

  Irini lowers her arms.

  ‘I said I did not want to go. I didn’t like my aunt.’

  As he speaks, she turns back to face him.

  ‘He said, "What are you talking about, of course you love your aunt. She is a good woman." But what I felt was not love, and he told me that it was. It confused me.’ Sam’s chin sinks a little. His eyes are on his ragged little finger. With the finger of his left hand, he plays with the flap, flicking it backwards and forwards. Holding onto the helm, Irini listens to him.

  ‘That was the first time that I really remember, but it felt familiar so it must have happened before.’ He stops flicking his little finger. ‘You see…’ He sits up, looks her in the eyes. She lets go of the helm and takes a step towards him. ‘The child refuses to give up on believing that it can win the love of its parent.’ He sounds like a textbook and Irini thinks she can see in his eyes all the lonely hours he must have spent reading to make sense of this four-year-old’s memory. She sits opposite him, mirroring, his forearms resting on his knee, his body bent forward, but her head is lifted, watching him, gazing intently.

  ‘Despite abundant evidence to the contrary,’ he concludes, but Irini is not sure if this is textbook or personal. Either way, he is back in control and she is still on board.

  Did he allow himself to become vulnerable to stop her jumping in, leaving him, losing his bargaining position – if he needs one – with the port police? Or even losing his human shield. She sits back and looks out to the stern. The port police are still a long way away but it would not take long for them to reach her. It was a cheap trick to keep her on board, but it has only delayed her going. She stands.

  ‘You said you had this with your grandmother,’ Sam says, ‘This pressure to conform to expectations. A pressure that is so relentless and uniform that you are hardly aware of it.’

  No one, not even dear sensitive Petta, has ever talked to her enough to understand what it was like living with Yiayia and now, here is this man, who she has only known for a few hours, speaking words as if he lived by her side all her life.

  He continues. ‘They say that if you put a frog in a pan of cold water and put it on the stove and heat the water slowly, it will not jump out. There is no given point when the frog can decide the water is hot enough. One degree is bearable, the next is so close so that is bearable too; how does it know when to jump?’

  ‘Is that true?’ She turns back to him. He sort of nods, the corners of his mouth turned down as if to say I think so.

  ‘With Yiayia, I always felt so unreal,’ Irini says and Sam nods as if say it was the same for him, he understands. ‘If I did well at school, it was great telling Mama but when it was brought to the attention of Yiayia, I felt like a fake, that the success was just gold over dirt. So if I succeeded, it was just a cover up and if I failed, that was the truth. I was dirt, something to be tr
odden into the ground with all the other dirt until I was nothing, until I didn’t exist. Failure or success: Either way, there was no point to my existence.’ Irini stops and draws breath. ‘Does that sound like madness?’

  She sits again. The fish is still sitting there undigested, a weight holding her down.

  ‘I understand.’ Sam makes eye contact. ‘When I tried to become independent, my father treated it like a betrayal,’ he says. ‘The reality is that we accept whatever we are fed because, as children, we have to presume good intentions since the alternative is too frightening to consider. He was so proper, I presumed his way was the way, the only way.’

  The sun has done nothing but grow hotter as the day has progressed, but a shiver runs the length of Irini’s spine. She sits with her legs together, her arms clamped to her sides, her hands interlocked on her knees, and her head bowed. The fish blood on the teak decking is dry now, the scales stuck.

  ‘I was crying one day as a boy,’ Sam offers. The tension in Irini’s locked fingers lessens as he speaks. ‘I can’t remember what for. He would cuff me, you know, like this with the back of his hand.’ Sam demonstrates throwing the back of his hand across open air. ‘The cuffs were a normal part of the day. A hit for not washing up properly, for my shirt hanging out, for not having good manners at the dinner table, for not, oh you understand, for whatever he wanted it to be for.’ Sam feels so close. She does not raise her head but she looks up at him, blinking her wet lashes.

  ‘This day he saw me crying, I was about five, and I could tell by the look on his face he did not like hearing me cry. Maybe he felt guilty? Maybe he did not like the show of weakness because it reminded him of his own weakness. I do not know.’ Sam stays leaning towards her until the distance between them is only a hand width. ‘He said…’ Sam falters and begins again, ‘He said "Sam…"‘

  Irini looks up briefly at his use of the name she has given him, and is surprised to find that it saddens her that he chose not to use his real name.

  ‘"Sam, I want you to stop crying now," is what he said. "Stop crying immediately." It seemed like a very hard and cruel thing to ask.’ Sam sniffs dryly. ‘There was no concern for why I was crying but only this command to immediately stop, just to please him.’ He looks past her ear, out to the sea beyond. ‘It was so abrupt, uncaring, and I was still spinning, inside my head, trying to understand, make sense of it all when he said, "I want you to laugh." I can remember the feeling of my wide eyes and my mouth hanging open, the air I was breathing cold as I drew it in past my teeth. He always had the windows open and it was winter.’ He gives a short gruff laugh. ‘At the time, I could not understand what he was saying or why he was saying it. "Laugh, laugh now," he commanded and so I tried to laugh. You see, I wanted his love, I wanted to please him and I forced my tears to be laughter.’

  They face each other, Irini seeing the reflection of herself in his eyes. ‘I surrendered myself that day, Rini,’ he says. It is the first time he has used her name, and it is soft. ‘I surrendered my sense of self in order to win his approval. Five years old and I was lost.’

  She is not sure if he moves or if she does, but her little finger touches the limp flesh of his little finger, his hands clasped together. He does not pull away and she stretches out her little finger without unlocking her hands and delicately strokes his knuckles. It soothes her, comforting the child he was, not the man, in the way she once wished to be comforted. Her shoulders drop slightly and the tension around her mouth relaxes, giving a fullness to her lips.

  ‘After that, I felt nothing. I just went through the motions; something was broken. He did the same sort of thing again and again, challenging me to surrender, but it was no challenge. I just did as he asked every time.’ He sighs and sits back, breaking contact.

  ‘He was in the army.’ His voice is brisk again, back in control. ‘He went away on manoeuvres and I was left behind. No mother. She was long gone. Sometimes absent in body but always absent in spirit, eh? Then there was this one manoeuvre.’

  The silence that follows is so long, Irini is about to ask if he came back.

  ‘Then his unit was rumoured to be returning and I was so excited, because a boy never stops needing the love of his father, no matter what.’ He seems to be quoting something he has read again, but there is a sarcastic edge to his voice.

  ‘I went to where the trucks were rolling in and other children were there too, jumping up and down, thrilled. We were looking into the trucks trying to see our fathers. Mothers were trying to stop their children running up before the trucks stopped. To stop any accidents, it was arranged that they drove into a cordoned-off area where we were not allowed to go. Here, they all disembarked and then walked out toward their families. When I saw my father I ran to him with my arms open, ready to hold him.’ Sam sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and slowly releases it, his whole jaw and neck in tension. ‘He would not embrace me.’

  He pauses and lifts each shoulder up in turn as he rolls his head on his shoulders, unknotting his tension. ‘I thought at first it was because he was shy, so I watched all the other children with the fathers embracing and giving kisses as I followed my father to our room. I thought once we were there, in private, he would show me some affection. But even with the door closed, he would not come near me and I felt like I was nothing. I mean, if he would not love me then who would?’ He pauses for breath.

  He asks his question as he leans forward again, reducing the distance between them so their fingers touch again. His eyes are red-rimmed, but they are dry.

  Chapter 10

  ‘He sent me to an all-boys military boarding school after that.’ His face turns ashen and his limbs seize. His pupils grow wide and dart about although he is still. His stomach is visibly turning. Irini pulls her feet towards her, worried that he is going to be sick; he seems to have trouble swallowing. A little colour returns to his cheeks, his shoulders drop a little and, as if he has got past something impassable, he continues on with what, at first, sounds like relief. ‘Then one day in the holidays, I was at the base with him. I was maybe twelve, thirteen. I was outside playing with some other children. One of them was being unkind to me, so I moved away from them, I tried to play somewhere else. But the unkind one, he followed me and made some more derogatory remarks. The other children followed him, stood behind him to see what was going to happen, and his words became more cruel.’

  Sam takes her hand. Irini can see them, on a bare concrete lot in an army camp, nothing to play with and without anything to do until an ugly big boy starts picking on the sensitive child with the green eyes and then everyone is suddenly entertained. Everyone except the boy with the green eyes.

  ‘I felt like a bubble had closed around me. I was looking out into a world that was not real and I had this thought as he spoke to me, a thought about all the heroes in the films I had watched alone in the house when my father was out. Heroes who, when they got picked on, punched the other person and everyone cheered. Still in my bubble, I can remember thinking that I had never hit anyone and I wondered what it would feel like to be my father, the aggressor.’ He has both her hands now, stroking them, soothing his own words.

  ‘So I turned on him and I told the boy to stop and he laughed. I thought of my father turning my tears to laughter and it was as if air had been blown into my chest and I felt as if I was going to explode. I never wanted to be like him. I wanted to be the opposite to him, do the opposite. Instead of tears to laughter, I wanted to turn laughter to tears, so I clenched up my fist and I punched him, and as my fist landed, it was my father’s face. I could see it distorting under my fist and as the blood flowed from under my fist, and even more so when I pulled back, I thought, Job done.’

  His forehead tips forward and rests against hers. A silent tear drips from the end of her nose, catching the sunlight as it falls.

  ‘The boy staggered backwards and I walked away, away from him and away from me. I had no place to go, so I went to our accommodation. But as I walked,
I was not on the ground; it was as if I was floating. My father opened the door to our unit before I even got there, and for once he was smiling, he looked so happy. He patted my shoulder. He took two beers from the fridge and he gave me one. The window was open, as usual, and I realised he had witnessed the whole thing and he was proud. It was one of the few times I can remember him opening up to me, giving me an honest response. All his stiff upper lip, all that British army reserve, gone, and for a bit, he was just my dad.’ He shakes his head, still forehead to forehead with Irini. The movement is slow and he makes a noise as if sucking his teeth.

  Irini does not feel the need to speak. His words soak into her. She feels his pain. She understands. She has lived that unloved life herself.

  ‘Later, the boy’s father came around along with the boy and they confronted my father with my behaviour. I stayed in my room; I was scared. Whilst the two fathers were talking, and then shouting, the boy excused himself to use the toilet but instead of going into the bathroom, he came down the corridor. He saw me looking out, as I had opened my bedroom door a bit to hear. He marched up to the door and pushed it open. I was trembling, but he had no fear of me. I had just caught him off guard and to prove it, he rabbit punched me in the nose and stomped away. He and his father left almost immediately. My nose was bleeding but I stuffed it with paper and willed it to stop. All I could think was that if my father saw my bleeding nose, he would stop being so proud.’

  Irini nods her head. The foreheads come apart and they look up at each other, so very close. His eyes brim with tears; his age and hardness have all peeled away. Green eyes, straight nose, broad brow, and lines by his mouth twitching into dimples even in his sadness. The touch of his lips on hers is a healing balm, all the horrors falling away, washing her clean, back to being children, unspoilt, pure. It is the lightest kiss, like a butterfly landing, splaying its wings and taking to the air again. Then his cheek and ear brush her cheek and he nuzzles into the dip between neck and shoulder like a child.