“I blamed myself every time he got angry,” he said. He couldn’t stop talking, didn’t want to. If he talked from now until he died, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for the drought of words in the house he grew up in. “I tried to be a better son, do whatever he asked. But nothing satisfied him.”
“Look, I’m going to tell you what I know and you’re not going to like it. Maybe it will help you, maybe it won’t. But secrets don’t serve anybody except those who want to feel smug and pass them around when it’s convenient.
“He was trying to escape, but she kept him here,” she went on, not waiting for him to respond, to tell her he didn’t want to know any more about his father. He’d had enough for one day. “They had you. That’s why your father couldn’t get away after the war. Your mother got pregnant to keep him in Greece. In the family, this is what has always been said about your mother and father.”
“Me? I’m the cause of all of this?” Nicolai looked at her. The car veered onto the gravel shoulder. He yanked it back, let up on the accelerator. He wanted to stop, face her, tell her she was the one lying now. There was no place on the winding road to pull over.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you should know.”
“Is this why you thought I should drop all of this? Because you didn’t want to have to tell me or have me find out through Achilles or someone else?”
“I wanted you to know so you would stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault. At least, not in the way you think.”
He turned up the radio.
“Say something,” she said.
“Right now I’ve got a ton of things on my mind,” he said. He clicked off the radio. He became perfectly silent, as cold as the voiceless radio.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Dimitria said.
He stared out at the road in front of him.
He went to bed that night before his father got home.
“I’m not hungry,” he lied.
“Are you sick, Nicolai?” His mother put her hand on his forehead.
He jerked away. “No, just tired.” He stared into her eyes, hating their softness. Why did you do it? he wanted to ask. Because of you, he’s resented me my whole life.
“What?”
He turned. “I’m tired.”
He heard his father come in and listened to their whispered conversation. “It’s probably just a cold. You worry about him too much,” his father said.
“And you don’t worry enough,” she said. “He’s your son.”
“He’s a man. He has to learn to take care of himself.”
Nicolai pulled the pillow over his head. Sleep, when it finally came, was empty of dreams.
“Your mother tells me you haven’t come out of that room,” his father said when they met in the hallway, both of them on the way to the bathroom. Nicolai thought he’d heard the kitchen door slam, his father leaving for the day. His bladder had ached for some release, but he’d held on, waiting for that sound of his father’s departure. His gaze moved beyond his father to the kitchen. The room was dark, the sky the deep blue of a dawn that promised another sunny day.
“Are you sick?” His father stood in his overalls and heavy flannel shirt, an empty glass in his hand. “Should we call the doctor?”
“I’m just tired.”
“You’re not going to get over that sitting around this house. Things don’t get better by themselves.” He threw his arms out at Nicolai in exasperation and sprinkled him with the few drops of water still left at the bottom of the glass. “You young people only make excuses.” He jabbed Nicolai’s shoulder with his finger.
The hallway seemed to narrow. Nicolai suddenly found it hard to breathe, as if the oxygen had been sucked out. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. He heard the tap drip in the bathroom down the hall. And rustling behind him. He pushed his father’s hand away. “I’m not a boy.”
“You’re not a man either.”
“I will do things in my own way, in my own time.”
“Such a luxury!”
“I know.”
“What do you know?”
“Everything.”
His father shook his head and smiled in that way of his that used to terrify Nicolai. “You know nothing.” He walked to the kitchen, filled his glass with water and guzzled it as he stood at the sink, his back to Nicolai.
Nicolai followed. He wasn’t going to let this go. Not this time. “You stayed in Greece because you had to. Otherwise you’d have left long ago. That’s what makes you so bloody angry.”
“I would never run away from my family.”
“Maybe you should have,” Nicolai said. “We’d be better off.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you hadn’t fooled around and got her pregnant, you would have left.”
He heard a sigh and spun around. His mother stood there, her grey hair down and around her face, her housecoat loosely tied around her, her feet bare.
“It wasn’t love at all,” Nicolai said, meeting her gaze, “like your little romantic story.”
“Why do you say such things, Nicky?” She tightened the belt of her housecoat, pushed her hair off her face.
“Now I understand.” He pointed his finger at her. “He’s angry because you kept him from leaving. Because you had me and he never wanted any part of a child.”
His mother walked into the kitchen and sat down heavily on the chair, her head in her hands. “You don’t understand.”
He followed, stood over her. “Because no one bothered to tell me.”
“What would we have said?” his mother asked. “Have you always told your daughter everything? You would protect her. Wouldn’t you? That’s all we did. We wanted to protect you.”
“I would never lie to her,” Nicolai said. “Never.” His hands trembled.
Nicolai’s father stood staring out the kitchen window, his large hands gripping the counter as if he was afraid that if he let go he would fall.
“You think people don’t talk? Where do you think I heard about this?” He shouted at his father. “How do you think I found out about what you did to get out of being killed in Kalavryta?”
“You’ve been listening to your cousin with the big mouth.” His father spit into the sink. “We don’t mix with your mother’s family. And this is why. They think they know everything. They know nothing. I will not allow you to see her again.”
“You don’t have a say.”
“I sacrificed everything for you.”
“And you’ve held it over me every day of my life.”
His father turned, brushed past Nicolai and walked down the hall.
His mother had begun to weep, but he didn’t move to comfort her. Why should he? They were both to blame.
His father came back into the kitchen, a suitcase in one hand, a pile of clothes in the other. He threw the suitcase and Nicolai’s clothes out the back door. “I want you out.”
“What are you doing?” His mother was sobbing, running to him, tugging at his arms.
He thrust her off, went back into the bedroom, got the rest of Nicolai’s things and flung them out onto the pile at the bottom of the steps. He shouted at someone next door, “What are you looking at? Mind your own business.”
He turned to face Nicolai and pointed. “I don’t want you here when I get back,” he said and stomped out of the house, kicking at the suitcase as he passed.
Nicolai went outside, picked everything up in one scoop and shoved it into the suitcase. His mother followed, picking up the sock and T-shirt that fell out of his grasp. He banged the suitcase shut. The clasp wouldn’t close. He threw the suitcase in the car anyway. She touched his shoulder and he grabbed the sock and shirt from her outstretched hand.
“Please stay, Nicky. You know him. He gets angry, but I will talk to him. We’ll work it out. Things will pass. You’ll see. Your mother has always worked miracles with your father.”
“It turns out I
didn’t know the half of it.”
“You know your mother,” she said. “That won’t change.”
10
2010
Alexia had seen an ad for a moped in the grocery store and called. She agreed to meet the seller in a taverna.
“It’s you,” he said.
“Yes, the person who peeks in windows.”
He laughed and she grinned. “It’s a small place.”
“Coffee?” As he leaned towards her his peasant-style shirt fell open. A gold cross lay against the grey hairs of his chest. An old hippie, Alexia thought. She looked away and towards the door. “Thanks, no.”
“Let’s sit then and talk.”
“I have to get back. Could I have a look at the moped?” She pointed to the door.
He took her hand in his. “My name is Achilles.”
She shook it firmly. “As in the heel?”
“Yes, exactly. You know our old Greek stories.”
“Some.”
“And yours?”
His handshake was weak; still,he held on until she pulled her hand away. “Alexia.”
“You visit your relatives here. Yes? And do you like our village?”
He laced his arm through hers as they walked out into the parking lot. She let him. She was getting used to this closeness Greeks seemed to need. His flared pants covered his sandalled feet and swept against her leg as they walked.
“How old is it?” Alexia asked as they stood outside in front of the moped.
“Like new.” He patted the seat. “Maybe it has ten years. No more.”
“Yeah, one owner, low miles, driven by an old lady.”
“No, only Achilles and my friends.”
She laughed.
“Did I say it wrong?”
“Just funny.”
“I am glad I do this for you. It is nice laugh,” he said. “Like it comes from the angels.”
She smiled. He was a flirt, and she didn’t feel like resisting. It probably made him feel good too. His cologne smelled stale. Still, he was charming.
“It’s hot. Yes?”
He was old enough to be her father, but he was handsome in that strong-nosed, dark-eyed, silver-haired Greek sort of way. He reminded her of that Greek singer her father liked so much, Georges Moustaki, who seemed to get better looking the older he got. Or at least his image on CD covers was airbrushed well. Even though she didn’t understand the words, his voice enticed her. She still sang a few of the words she had heard Moustaki sing without knowing what they meant.
Achilles ran his tongue over his lips. Get the moped and get out, she told herself. She unlatched her arm from his and kicked the bald tires. She didn’t need to be another one of his conquests.
“Shall we go for ride?” he asked. “I show you the village. Work I do on promenade by sea.”
“If you say the bike is okay, I believe you.”
He asked her out to dinner then.
“I can’t. Sorry.” I don’t want to hurt your feelings, she thought, but I’ve got other things to think about right now. And none of those things include you.
“Yes, it is difficult with relatives,” he said. “You be with them all times.”
She paid for the moped in cash and put on her helmet. He stood in front of her, pulled the helmet down on her head and fiddled with the straps. The scent of mint drifted on his breath. She held herself away, fought a sudden urge to stroke his beard. His laughing eyes goaded her until she shifted her gaze to the sky. When he had tightened the straps to his satisfaction, he smiled. She pulled away and got on the moped. He kissed her hand.
She started the moped and puttered away.
“These things very dangerous,” Christina said when Alexia got back to the house. “Tourists get hurt. Be careful, no? I do not think this for you, paidi mou.”
Alexia grinned. She was thinking of Achilles. His lips on her hand, his head bent in front of her, the tiny bald spot at the crown of his head. Why? She couldn’t say. She liked older men, or at least that was her history. And he was certainly that. “I can explore more places, see more things,” Alexia said. “Get to know my roots.”
Christina grinned. Alexia retreated to her room, threw the keys on the bed, and sat down beside them. Lying seems to come easily to me all of a sudden, she thought. First I don’t tell Christina I went to Aigio. Okay, the first time didn’t really count because I didn’t even talk to Theodora. But the second time I talked to her, made a plan to have lunch. I bought that stupid moped to make it easier to get around. To go back to Aigio. She pulled the pillow over her head.
“Little manikos,” Solon said. “Where you go?”
Alexia met his gaze. “Scatterbrain? No one’s accused me of that before.”
They sat across from one another at the kitchen table. This had been her and her uncle’s routine for six weeks now. Solon scratched out another short sentence. He held up the chalkboard he’d borrowed from a neighbour. Lime-green dust puffed out under each of his strokes and settled on his hand, the table, his pants and shirt. Christina faced the sink, her hands submerged in frothy suds. The squeak of clean glasses and plates punctuated the sound of dishes tumbling about in the sink.
“This chalk is no good,” Christina said. “My lungs weak since a long time.”
Solon shook his head and smirked at Alexia. His eyes flickered playfully. “She will outlive us all. You wait to see.”
Christina picked up a tea towel and patted her hands dry. She swatted his broad shoulders with the towel and made Alexia smile, too. “Ella, paidi mou, we try to study here,” he said. Alexia had come to expect it, count on it. She enjoyed the way Christina and Solon were together. Would she ever have that? She knew what her parents had had was very special, but it had been so long ago. She wasn’t sure if she had just made up what she thought of as good memories.
“A sacrifice for me is okay if you learn your language,” Christina said. She pinched Alexia’s narrow chin and grumbled she was no more than a skeleton. Christina’s smile was sincere, but her left eye drooped slightly and glistened. A single tear marked her cheek.
“Are you tired?” Alexia asked Christina.
“I am on my feet all day and not young now. My lungs no good, my blood no good. Things no good. I know death is not far.” She groaned, but her smile stayed intact. “We have to accept we begin to die the day we born.”
“Ella, more talk about death,” Solon said. “There are other things to talk about.”
Alexia quizzed her about what the doctor had said and Christina reported, “With all his book learning, he knows nothing. He gives me no answers.”
“But what does he say?”
“I do not know,” Christina said. “Iron. Low iron.”
“Did the doctor give you medication to take for your blood?”
Christina shrugged. “Some pills.”
“But you’re not taking them.”
“I eat good,” Christina said. “What more I need?”
“Do what the doctor tells you to do,” Alexia said. “Let’s get that iron right now. Where is it? I’ll get it for you.”
Alexia started to stand up, but Christina put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not bother yourself with this now.”
“I used to tell my father all the time: do what the doctors tell you. Ask questions when you don’t understand what they say.” Alexia shook her head. “We’re responsible for our own health, happiness, our lives.”
“But he dead. No?”
Solon muttered and finished writing the sentence.
“Okay, I am going, I am going.” Christina slipped out of her apron, grabbed her jacket and purse, and left.
Alexia felt exhausted. Learning a new language was humbling. Solon shook his head. His dark gaze chided her and she dropped her eyes to her notebook. The page was blank, except for a couple of sentences.
She still hadn’t told Theodora the truth, but since she’d spoken to her, she was more motivated to improve her Greek. What would The
odora think of her? How could she tell her? Alexia turned the page and pressed down hard. The spine of her book cracked. The blank page was more evidence she hadn’t been paying attention or taking notes as Solon had encouraged her to do: “Write down. Is important.”
Solon tapped the board. “Are you ready?”
“Sygnomi.” Alexia made sure she pronounced each syllable.
“Sorry,” he said. “This is important word to know.”
“Where did Christina go today?” Alexia asked.
“You worry about this?” He raised his voice, grinned.
Was he mad? Alexia wondered.
“Women. Who knows where they go or what they do?” Solon threw his hands in Alexia’s direction as if ridding himself of them and her. “Ah.”
“I’m a little preoccupied. Work. You know.”
“You will not learn this way,” he said. “Sin Athena ke hira kini.”
“In other words, pay attention.”
“Ah, you understood. Good. Now understand one more thing. Holiday is for fun.”
“They expect this of me.” She shrugged.
“They or you?” He walked over to the stove where the one-cup coffee maker stood. The tar he called coffee oozed into his cup, blackening its white sides. Christina bleached the cup every night. “You no think anyway. Ella, paidi mou. Maybe next time.”
He wandered out of the kitchen and Alexia heard the front door open, then shut with an ill-fitted thud. Grabbing her phone, she went upstairs to the terrace. She had to check in, do her duty, but she felt less and less obliged to do so.
She was going to see Theodora today. She saw Solon sitting on a boulder in the field below, sipping his coffee. He seemed to be talking to himself. She shifted so she could no longer see him. She stared at the phone. It took her a moment to remember what she had wanted to do with it.
After his usual, “How are you doing, kiddo?” Dan’s tone changed. “When are you coming back?”
“Not sure.” She fingered the bougainvillea, sneaking a quick look at Solon. He hadn’t moved.
“Aren’t you bored yet?”
“I’m getting Greek lessons from my uncle, running every day, fishing with the locals, listening to the village gossip, hanging out with my crazy relatives, and of course still working and getting grief from my family for doing it.”
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