17
1986
Nicolai eyed Achilles.
“So you’re sticking around,” Achilles said. He sat across from Nicolai, rocking back on the chair’s hind legs. Stop already, Nicolai wanted to say. The creaking sound continued. Was he that oblivious? Achilles smiled innocently. You can’t fool me. You know exactly what you’re doing, Nicolai thought. And you know it’s bugging me.
Nicolai looked down at the hardcover book in his lap. The glossy pictures were meant to persuade tourists of the wonders of Greece. A few pages were torn out. He flipped through what was there, tried to ignore the noise and imagine the kind of Greece captured in the pictures. It wasn’t the Greece he’d grown up in, but it was the one he’d somehow remembered after he moved to Canada. He covered his ear by putting his head against his hand.
Achilles’s chair came down with a bump. He grinned at both Nicolai and the young secretary behind the front desk. “I’m a kid at heart,” he said.
“Not sure I should be partnering with you,” Nicolai said.
“Who will guide you through, make sure no one cheats you?”
“I want to be involved in every aspect.” Nicolai put the book down and turned to catch Achilles’s eye. “We understand each other. Yes?”
Leaning back in his chair, Achilles teetered against the wall. “You say this because you have a woman and everything is rosy like Easter Sunday. But not every day is Easter. One day you will return to Canada and where will that leave poor Achilles?”
“I have no plans.” Nicolai picked up the book and put it down again. There was nothing in the book that interested him.
They left the lawyer’s office after signing the papers. The stretch of land on the beach was now his. Nicolai had put down the money. Achilles agreed to raise the money for any future development. Once he had it, Achilles would steer the development of the land. Nicolai would oversee the project. It felt good to have work again.
“The only money I make is the little I get from my father when I help him on the farm,” Achilles said. “But I have some very good friends who believe in this.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“This land will pass down to your daughter one day. She will come back to Greece and enjoy the investment you made. You will see.”
“I doubt it.”
“We can’t predict the future,” Achilles said. “Let’s celebrate what we have.”
“I should get back.”
“I don’t see a ring through your nose. Does she have that much power over you? It’s only been a few weeks.”
There was that silly grin again, that oh, come on, let’s-go-have-some-fun grin, the same one that had talked Nicolai into staying late after school to play basketball when he was a kid. Nicolai could still feel his father’s belt across his backside. There was always trouble when you got involved with Achilles. But what the hell. What did he have to lose? Nicolai would always own a small part of Greece even if Achilles never came up with other investors and the development didn’t take place.
Nicolai bought a bottle of cheap champagne, a package of plastic cups and a case of beer. They parked on Nicolai’s narrow strip of beachfront, cracked open the champagne, finished it quickly and started on the beer.
“People will come here for their evening stroll,” Achilles said. “They will buy a coffee or a beer and watch the sunset. Young people will dance until morning.”
“Let’s hope.”
The beach was deserted. A small wave kicked up onto the shore. When it subsided, a light film of slime coated the rocks. Nicolai tried to imagine the boardwalk, the restaurants and cafés they planned, the string of lights weaving from one place to the other, the people pouring out from the open doors. Another wave hit, spraying his windshield.
“We’re two men in our prime. We don’t need hope. We have what we need,” Achilles said. He tapped Nicolai’s head. “We have our brains.” He pounded his own chest with a closed fist. “And we have passion and strength.”
They finished the beer as the sky turned pink. Lights flickered on the opposite shore and Nicolai fell asleep. Achilles was talking about the type of light standards he wanted along the promenade. “What do you think?” Achilles asked.
Nicolai’s head flopped back against the headrest. “I can’t right now.”
Nicolai pushed the hand away. “Let me sleep,” he said. He tried to turn, but felt trapped. He leaned back and fell asleep. The hand prodded him again.
“You’re in for it now,” Achilles said.
Nicolai sat up and hit his chest against the steering wheel.
“She won’t be happy.” Achilles grinned.
Condensation had built up on the inside of the windshield. Nicolai flicked on his wipers. The dewy film remained. He wiped it off with his shirtsleeve. It felt cold against his skin. He heard the waves crashing against the shore, but could no longer see the beach in the dark.
“No one tells me what to do,” Nicolai said.
“Women want someone they can rely on.” Achilles sighed. “They like dependability. I know.”
So he was late. We were celebrating. He would explain what happened. Dimitria would understand or she wouldn’t. That was up to her. He wasn’t going to sweat it.
The sun peeked out from behind the motel in Aigio. Nicolai parked the car. He leaned his head against the headrest. Did he really want to go inside? He came to Greece to get away. How had he fallen back into so much responsibility: a piece of land, Dimitria? My fault, he thought. I let it happen. I should have left Dimitria alone, told her that after Sara there wouldn’t be anyone else. It was true. He should tell Dimitria again. Remind her. Convince her that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was. Temporary. He had told her. And she heard him, too. “Time will pass, you will see,” she said. A million years could go by. Nothing would change. He knew that. And he had to think of Alexia, too. No one would replace her mother. He wouldn’t allow it.
Dimitria stepped out the front door of their room, her easel under one arm and a suitcase in the other. He watched her struggle with the door. The easel dropped to the ground. She threw her suitcase down and kicked it. She pulled the door shut behind her and looked around to see if anyone was looking.
Nicolai thought about ducking.
They stared at each other. Neither smiled. Several seconds passed. Go, he told himself. Try to explain.
He got out of the car. “Where are you going?” he said, walking towards her.
“What do you care?” She grabbed the suitcase and jammed the easel under her arm. She walked past the front of the building, out of the parking lot and onto the main street, clearly headed to the bus stop a block away.
He should let her go. It would be better for her that way. Instead, he took a deep breath and followed.
He caught up with her, put his hand on her shoulder. Maybe if he explained, she’d understand. And that would be better for both of them. “What’s going on?”
She picked up her pace, ignoring him.
“I guess you’re mad.” He walked beside her, keeping up. She didn’t turn to look at him. Finally, he stepped in front of her. “Let me take this,” he said and reached for her suitcase. She pulled it away.
“What’s with you?” he asked.
“If things are going to be this way, I’d rather be alone,” Dimitria said. She dropped her suitcase and held the easel against her chest.
“You know what Achilles is like. You know him better than I do.”
“Are you going to throw that in my face for the rest of our lives?”
The copper in her eyes had turned fiery and challenging.
“I’m sorry. Achilles wanted to celebrate. I went. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.” Nicolai stroked her face. “That’s all I meant.”
She tilted away, hugged the easel tighter. “I thought something had happened to you.”
“No, I’m still here,” he said. He put his arm around her shoulders.
She sh
rugged it away.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said.
“Respect what we have. This is important.”
“I can’t give anyone very much.” He lowered his eyes, shuffled. He couldn’t help himself.
“Then why are we here?” She held his chin up with her finger. Their eyes met.
“I don’t know the answer to that.” They felt like the most honest words he’d ever said. He grabbed her suitcase. “Let’s go home.”
“I won’t be treated badly,” she said. “Not by you or anyone.”
“I know.”
A smile skipped through her eyes, stayed fixed on her lips. It was proud and smug as if she’d won a long-fought debate. She passed him her easel. “Take this, too.”
Nicolai and Achilles met at the café every day over the next two weeks to lay out plans for the boardwalk. They interviewed architects and builders. “I don’t know why we’re doing this,” Nicolai said after they finished speaking to a father and son construction team. “We don’t have all the money we need.”
“It’s coming,” Achilles said. He sipped his coffee, scanning a magazine.
“I’m not going further into debt,” Nicolai said. They sat in a café in Diakofto.
“Take a look at these lights,” Achilles said and pointed to three ornate light standards in the magazine. “Nice?”
“I was thinking of more rustic lights, more typical of the islands or Plaka. Strings of lights, nothing fancy.”
“The ocean can be hard on things.”
Nicolai looked at the picture again and shook his head. “They look like they’re out of the streets of London. That’s not what we want.”
“Our small place in this world could use a little class,” Achilles said, leaning back in his chair. He grinned as he turned the pages, nodding to himself.
Nicolai squeezed Achilles’s forearm. “Listen. We’re not buying anything until more investors come on board. Understand?”
Achilles flipped another page. “Suit yourself.”
“You think otherwise?”
Achilles put the magazine down, scooted his chair a little closer.
Shit, Nicolai thought. Here comes another sales pitch.
“If we do some things now, we will be ready when the money comes.” The smell of coffee was stagnant on his breath. “Can you advance the money yourself to get us started so we’re not waiting for something to happen?”
Nicolai edged his chair back. “Not a good idea.”
“Take a risk for once in your life,” Achilles said. “It won’t kill you.”
Nicolai stood to leave. He walked towards the door. A hand touched his arm. He turned.
“Come sit with us, Nicky.” Katarina sat across from Christina who was warming her hands around a cup of coffee and staring out the window. Katarina pointed to the empty chair at the table.
“I really can’t,” he said.
“You can spend time with him and not with us?” Christina asked.
“Ella, paidi mou,” Katarina said. “We are family.”
Her clothes hung on her as if from a hanger. He hated himself for making Katarina worry. Whenever she couldn’t cope, she’d stop eating. She’d done it since she was a child. They all teased her about it, scolded her for it, but she wouldn’t stop. “I can’t bring it to my mouth. I can’t,” she’d say.
Maybe he should sit down. They were his sisters. He could talk to them. He’d always been able to before. Why not now? Try, he told himself. Just try.
“That man will cheat you out of everything,” Christina said. She had their father’s stern, unforgiving stare.
“As if my family is any better,” he said.
“Our father is right,” Christina said. “You’ve lost your head.”
“He doesn’t know anything.”
“Let’s sit and talk, Nicky,” Katarina said. “Please.” She held onto his arm. Her long fingers were like talons.
He needed a new beginning. “It’s too late.” He walked back to where Achilles sat. “Set up a time with the bank,” he said. “Let’s get this thing rolling.”
He walked into the motel room, threw his briefcase on the kitchen table. Dimitria rinsed out her cup, put it on the counter and turned. “Your daughter called,” she said. “She sounds like a nice little girl. Very smart.”
“What?” Nicolai tried not to shout.
“We had a chat.” Dimitria leaned against the counter.
“What did you tell her?” He stood in front of her, held her shoulders.
She pulled away. “Nicolai, you’re hurting me.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I guess you don’t trust me to know what to say?”
“It’s too soon to say anything,” he said and grabbed one of the chairs. He sat down. “Don’t you understand?” She’s just a little girl, my little girl, he thought. I don’t want to tell her about all of this. You. The family. This stupid boardwalk project. Greece. It’s too much for her to understand. She’s never going to forgive me.
Dimitria rubbed his back. “I said I was a friend.” She kissed the top of his head. “You have to tell her when you are ready.”
“Yes.” He shut his eyes tight. Thank God, he said to himself. Thank God.
“Why don’t you call her?”
“Not right now. She’s probably in school. Maybe tomorrow.”
She grabbed his arms, pulling him up. She held him close and stroked his back. He was tired. Just so tired. Her hair smelled of jasmine. A trace of cooking grease mingled with the scent. He moved his face slightly, but didn’t pull away.
Nicolai listened to the phone ring, hoping no one was home. He hadn’t spoken to Alexia since she’d talked to Dimitria. How was he going to explain? Maybe he could avoid talking about his living arrangements altogether. The phone rang a sixth, then a seventh time.
“Hello,” she said.
“Um, Alexia?”
“Daddy,” she said, elongating the y.
He rolled his eyes. “Are you there by yourself?” He paced back and forth in the short space the telephone cord allowed him.
“No, we’re making cookies. I said I’d answer the phone.”
He heard a crash in the background. “Oh, damn.”
He smiled, but felt a knot in the centre of his chest. “What’s going on there?”
“I guess I was pulling on the phone too hard. It fell. It’s okay now.”
“So, paidi mou, how have you been? What are you up to?”
“It’s my turn to bring something to school. I’m bringing cookies,” she said breathlessly. He heard a knock and scraping. “Oh, damn. Aunty Mavis is helping me.”
He kneaded the spot on his chest.
“It’s been a long time since you called.”
He heard a thud.
“Okay, I’m sitting down. The phone is on the table beside me.”
“So what else have you been doing?” He pulled at his telephone cord, but it refused to stretch any further.
“I talked to your friend the other day.”
Nicolai stopped yanking the cord. He picked up a spoon, drummed it. “Yup, she told me.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“Here.”
“What does she do?”
“Um, she’s an artist.”
“Cool,” she said. “Hey, what’s that noise?”
Nicolai slid the spoon out of his reach, propped his elbow on the counter and supported his head.
“So does she paint or draw or what?”
“Yup, stuff like that.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“How’s school?”
“Good,” Alexia said. “She said her name was Dimitria. That’s a nice name.”
“Yup.”
“Will you bring her back when you come back?”
“No. She’s like… I don’t know,” Nicolai said. “She’s no one. No one you need to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” Al
exia said. “Are you?”
Nicolai heard a noise behind him. He turned, becoming entangled in the telephone cord. Dimitria stood just inside the door, two bags of groceries in her hands.
“Are you coming home soon, Daddy?”
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Wait.”
“I’ll call you back. Promise.” He clicked the button hard with his finger.
Dimitria turned her back to him, dropped the bags on the table.
He unknotted the telephone cord. “I was wondering where you went.” He banged the phone down. “Shit.”
Dimitria looked up towards the ceiling like she was trying to find an answer in the heavens. She shook her head. “You told your daughter I was no one. You didn’t even tell her, did you? That I’m at least a friend.”
“It’s too soon. She just lost her mother. And I’m not there.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “This is too much.”
She pulled herself away, rummaged in one of the bags. She tossed apples, an eggplant, a zucchini, cheese and bread on the table. Jars of olives and artichoke, a tub of yogurt and a carton of milk were plopped beside the rest. She creased and folded each bag into a tiny rectangle and threw them on the table. The bags opened up, refused to remain folded. She swore under her breath, snatched one of the bags and hit the milk carton with her elbow. It wobbled on the edge of the table. She let it drop. Milk sprayed against his legs when it hit the floor.
Nicolai grabbed a cloth out of the sink and wiped his pants. “I don’t need this bullshit.”
“You think I do?” She threw the bag at him.
“Hey.” He yanked at her arm. “I thought I explained everything to you.”
Dimitria pushed him off, slammed the door behind her as she left.
Nicolai sat at the kitchen table, taking sips from the bottle of Canadian Club Dimitria had bought for him more than a week ago. “Something special for my Canadian,” she’d said. He couldn’t tell her he didn’t drink whiskey. “You haven’t touched it,” she said. “Don’t you like it?” He made an excuse. “It tastes best when you’re in the right mood,” he said.
He took a swig, pushed everything off the table into the pool of milk on the floor. The crashing sound of broken glass calmed him. He kicked at the apples, the eggplant. They rolled away. He put his head down on the ceramic tiles of the table. They felt cold against his cheek.
Nicolai's Daughters Page 25