by Sara Alexi
Ellie’s short and unsuitable marriage to this teacher is not the only off-putting thought … It is not that he thinks his mama and baba have had a bad marriage, it is just that – well, they have become so fixed, so stuck. It is as if the two of them in combination make a glue that turns them rigid and everything seems set and unchangeable. He does not want to become like them. For his own sake, and certainly for Ellie’s.
The rigidity of his parents’ marriage could have been the result of their working and living together in such isolation. Grinding spices all day, every day, in the cellar of their home, with such little natural light and such long hours – it was bound to affect them. But six months ago, the very last order came in for hand-ground spices. As a trade it had completely dried up; the business just would not pay any more.
His mama, probably the more buoyant of the two, recently took a job in a smart new hotel in Gazi, near where she and his Baba live. She makes beds for a few hours a day, a few days a week. For a while, she seemed to change, have more life, more to say, but now his baba has taken a job at the hotel too, as a doorman. Sure, he has learnt to say ‘welcome’ in six languages, and it gave Loukas hope that his parents would break free of their insular lives, but now the hotel work is all they talk about. Their outlook remains narrow, superficial and pointless. They do not even talk as if anyone else works there, let alone stays there. It is just like grinding spices all over again; they do their work as if it is disconnected from the real world and it seems to fossilise them and segregate them from the world.
Is he being unfair? Probably.
But if he were to persuade Ellie to marry him, is that how they would end up? Insulated in a pointless existence, confirming to each other over and over that the way they are living their life is all right, when really they are just in a rut?
He takes up the broom to sweep the floor again, but it is spotless.
His mama is coming to force an announcement of marriage: that is the point of her pilgrimage. To put pressure on him to give her the gift that she can display and croon about to the world so that, for a moment, her boundaries will be expanded. That is not a good reason for him to persuade Ellie to marry him, nor for her to agree to it.
He releases the broom and goes to the open door. The cicadas are almost deafening here in the heart of the orange groves. The black-and-white cat that has turned up recently is rubbing itself against the tree stump where Ellie sits to brush her hair each morning, with the sun brightening her tiara of loose, bed-messed, criss-crossing hair as she combs it all smooth.
Married to Ellie! In an ideal world it would not be such a bad thought. In fact, if it could be done in their own way, it would be quite a nice thought. His Ellie, his ring on her finger, telling the whole world that they are together. Yes, he likes that. But then, that dark shadow of the chance of ending up like his parents rears up, alongside Ellie’s pain over her mistake of a marriage, and his beautiful dream pops.
Leaning against the door frame, he surveys the bloated oranges hanging heavy on the trees. The late summer rain really filled them out, and the skins are so thick you can peel them with great ease, and they are so sweet! He plucks one from nearest tree and begins to peel it.
If he had some big news to tell his mama, something to distract her from the whole question of marriage, that would work. If he had had a promotion, a really spectacular one, it might keep her mind occupied. But how can you be promoted when you work at a beach bar? ‘Up’ from there would be working inside the hotel, and he does not want that!
Should he just ask Ellie if they could be engaged for a while to appease his mama? Or is that ridiculous? Maybe it is a practical solution?
Pondering this idea, he wanders in amongst the trees, throwing the orange peel to the ants as he goes.
It is easier to think of nothing in particular, and his mind soon goes blank. His natural tendency is to head for the sea and before long the glimpses of blue become dominant.
Ellie will be home soon. She too works at the hotel, on the reception desk, sharing the hours with another English girl, Sarah. Sarah is good company for Ellie but he cannot help but think Ellie’s Greek would improve more quickly if she worked in a Greek-speaking environment. Also, Sarah has a goat herd she looks after and her hours are becoming increasingly erratic. Ellie looked a little pale as she left for work this morning. It could be that the extra hours are too much for her. Yesterday she hardly ate a thing, complaining she felt sick. It could be the work, but then again it is possible that she is stressing over his mama’s visit.
He looks at his watch. His mama’s bus will be in the village in an hour. Behind him, past his cottage, he can just make out specks of white, the wall of the first whitewashed house at the edge of the village, and beyond that is a lane, and the village square where the bus will stop and his mama will descend with her judgements and her disappointment.
He can’t face it. He should have told her not to come. He should have taken the time to explain to Ellie what she is like, what to expect, the pressure the old woman will inflict on them.
Turning back towards the glimpses of sea between the leaves, he spies a movement. It’s Ellie, striding across the grass by the hotel, slowing down as she heads between the trees. She is waving. He waves back but he feels no joy. She is moving more quickly, trotting. She must be even keener to see him than usual, if that is possible.
‘Louka!’ she calls whilst she is still some distance away.
‘Hello.’ He cannot help but smile in return, her energy is so vibrant. But a frown flickers over his brow. She has dark circles under her eyes.
‘Is your mother here yet?’ she asks, a little out of breath.
‘No, not yet. I’m watching the time though.’ He swallows to release the tension in his throat, rubs at his neck and moves his head around in a circle as she passes the last few trees.
‘Hello, beautiful.’All his worries just melt away as soon as she is in his arms. Ellie is his sole focus and her lips are soft. But he has not kissed her nearly enough before she pulls away.
‘What? What is it?’ he asks softly.
‘Well.’ She holds his hands, creates a space between them. The muscles around his mouth start to twitch. Should he smile? Should he cry? She is going to say something big, he can feel it. ‘I suspect that your mama is coming here to push you a little. Am I right?’
He does not know how she knows this. He has not mentioned a word. His mouth opens and closes but he has no idea what to say.
‘She wants to see us married and everything to be in its place. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ His tongue and his throat allow him the one word.
‘So, let’s set a date.’ She is smiling, her eyes shining, as if she is being naughty, teasing.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course!’ She laughs a little as he takes her in his arms.
‘Oh my goodness, Ellie, this is wonderful, I am so happy.’ All his fears and worries of ending up like his parents evaporate at the thought of being joined to Ellie, man and wife. ‘I can hardly believe it. I was just thinking the same thoughts myself before you came. Oh, this is wonderful.’
‘It would be more wonderful if you would kiss me.’ Ellie lifts her face to him and he obliges.
It is easy for time to stretch out and become lost when he kisses her, and when he finally surfaces he looks at his watch.
‘Oh, I’d better go and meet the bus.’ He turns to go but then stops. ‘What was it that caused you to make such a decision?’
She shrugs, but she has that glint in her eye again, as if she is teasing. He cannot leave his mama waiting though. ‘I’d better go.’
He sets off through the trees, but he has not gone far when she calls.
‘Louka?’
‘Yes?’ he calls in return.
‘You might also want to tell her I am pregnant!’
The Minister
Babis’s hand fumbles for the alarm clock. Opening only one eye, he tries
to check the time, to see how long before the alarm will go off. He cannot afford to be late.
‘What!’ He sits bolt upright in bed, looks again at the clock face and then out of the window at the silhouette of the olive tree against the fading sky. He never sleeps long in the afternoon, so why today? He scrambles to his feet, every movement hurried.
His shirt is pressed and ready and he clumsily pulls it from its metal hanger on the back of the door, and at the same time forces his feet into his best shoes, which he polished earlier and placed by the bed. A splash of cold water rouses him, and he uses his wet hands to smooth down his hair in an attempt to tame his tangled locks. A last check in the mirror confirms he looks a little rougher than he had hoped, perhaps, but he is ready. Half past six. Yes, there is time.
Pushing aside the coats and jackets that hang from the hooks on the back door, Babis rummages for the handle. Every movement is jerky in its haste. He flattens his hand against his breast pocket to check for keys and money, then the door is slammed shut. A muffled sound tells him all the coats have fallen on the unswept kitchen floor, but even if he cared he would not have time for that now.
The village is humming with life in the early evening cool, and the moon is just rising over the tops of the buildings. Down in the square, white-haired men sit with their sleeves rolled up, three or more at each of a dozen or so circular metal tables that are arranged around the central palm tree, across the road from the kafenio. Theo, the owner, trots backward and forward across the road, tending to his customers, with a tray balanced on one hand and his halo of frizzy hair bouncing as he moves. Babis takes in all the familiar faces. The farmers congregate here after the sun goes down, when no more work can be done in the orange and olive orchards, and sometimes he joins them.
But not today. Today he turns away from the square on the road out of the village. Stella’s eatery is also busy, but then how difficult can it be to fill four tables? She waves to him cheerfully as she clears away used plates. He smiles in return, but the smile turns into a sneer as he crosses the road to his car. Some people have no idea what it’s like to do a really important job. Oh, for the luxury of just making a few plates of food a night, or serving a few coffees like Theo.
There are no street lights on the Saros road, but the moon is full and it casts a gentle glow on the orange orchards on either side. The cypress trees, tall and ragged, contrast darkly with the midnight blue of the cloudless sky. Babis rarely smokes, but a cigarette now will calm his nerves. The drive to Saros is not far – just one cigarette – but he uses the time to rehearse what he will say.
‘Welcome, Kyrie Lipare, it is with great pleasure … No, no – it is our honour to welcome you … No – it is our esteemed honour …’
Babis arranged the visit. It was he who contacted the minister and invited him to Saros. The mayor of Saros does not even think along these lines; he just stumbles along, concerning himself with local matters and never thinking any bigger. Well, he, Babis, the ‘Lawyer for the People’, will make his mark. The deputy mayor has been there for years and will be soon retiring – why not get a younger man in? It’s about time some young blood had an influence.
‘Concentrate,’ he encourages himself. ‘So – we start by welcoming Kyrios Liparos …’ Or perhaps it is better to talk to him as an equal: ‘Your visit is a good opportunity to exchange ideas, to move our relationship forward.’ Babis rolls down the window to let the cooler night air in, and the aroma of jasmine fills the car as he passes a low-lying cottage surrounded by blooms. Should he have had a bouquet of flowers ready in case the minister brings his wife? Perhaps, but the shops are shut so it’s too late now.
The Minister for Small Business and Entrepreneurship, coming to Saros town, at his request! This is just the sort of thing that will keep him in people’s minds further down the road, when, one day, he runs for mayor. ‘Mayor for the People’ sounds even better than ‘Lawyer for the People’.
Babis rattles the car over a series of potholes to park by the harbour’s edge. Another example of the mayor’s lack of concern for the townspeople. Does he not know how much he would ingratiate himself with the public if he filled in these holes?
Angelos and his boys had better have done their job well. A good first impression, that’s what he needs to make on the minister today. It cost him every penny of his savings. He has cleared out his bank account, and with just a twinge of conscience smashed the ceramic piggy bank he had had since he was a boy, which always sat on top of the fridge in the kitchen. He even went through the pockets of his winter coats for loose change and took out a small loan on his credit card. But if Angelos has done a good job it will be worth all that and more. If all goes well, the mayor, the town, even the minister, will never forget him. His name could be bandied around parliament up in Athens. Maybe even the prime minister will be told of him. Ha! He has invited the local TV station, and if the spectacle is impressive enough, who knows, perhaps it will appear on the national news! He does not want to chase the possibility away by thinking it, but he knows that this is what he is banking on.
The warm night air soothes his worries as he walks with a spring in his step to the town hall. It is a grand old house that was built by a wealthy shipowner in the nineteenth century and has now been converted into offices for the mayor and other local government officials. As he nears the building, he can see men bent over, setting the fireworks in place. Surely they should be finished by now?
‘Everything all right?’ Babis is aware of the tension in his voice as he addresses the nearest worker.
‘Eh?’ the man answers, straightening up and fishing in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes.
‘The fireworks, they are ready, yes? He is due here in ten minutes.’
‘Who is due?’ The man lights up and inhales deeply.
‘Where is Angelos?’ Babis looks around for the man he paid, who is in charge of the whole set-up. He has promised a cascade of white outside the office building, followed by powerful rockets that shoot high in the sky and explode with a satisfactory crack and light up the whole sky. Three minutes of pyrotechnics was all he could afford but the impression should be splendid. He puts his hand in his trouser pocket and jangles the loose change, a handful of euros that must last him until his next paying job. He has three whole spanakopitas in the freezer so at least he can eat for the next week or so. There is Angelos now, leaning against the wall, chatting.
‘Ah, Angele, everything good? Babis asks, trying to sound cheerful. People are gathering, wondering what is going on. The more the better, as far as he is concerned. Let the whole town see what he is doing, who he is. Where is the TV crew?
‘Yes, fine,’ says Angelos. ‘Actually, more than fine. I’ve added in some extras between the first set and the rockets, to make the transition more spectacular.’ Babis cannot control his instinctive reaction, and a frown passes across his brow.
‘At no cost to you,’ Angelos adds hastily, and Babis’s frown turns into a smile. He slaps Angelos heartily on his back and turns to see the mayor coming out of the impressive tall double doors of the town hall.
‘Ah Babi …’ The mayor looks a little perturbed. ‘What is all this?’
‘This,’ Babis announces with a sweep of his hand, ‘will put us on the map.’
‘Put you on the map more like.’ The mayor is a straight talker.
‘If it leaves an impression on the minister it will do you no harm either,’ Babis replies sullenly. The mayor has no idea of the personal expense he has incurred to make this happen.
‘So where is he?’ the mayor asks.
‘Five minutes.’ Babis looks at his watch. He nearly sold that too, to afford this dramatic greeting. A crowd is beginning to gather, aware that something is happening. Angelos is talking to a small group, and pointing at Babis.
Babis stands tall and his chest puffs out. In ten minutes’ time his will be the name on everyone’s lips. He will outshine the mayor and all his cronies.
The mayor lights up a cigarette, but does not offer one to Babis. Not that he wants another cigarette, really. Having made a concerted effort to become a smoker, he never quite got the hang of it – but it would have been nice to have been offered one. After all, they are on the same team, are they not?
‘Is that him?’ The mayor points with his cigarette at a black Mercedes that is approaching. It has an Athenian number plate. The car is new and shiny and looks distinctly out of place, and could not be carrying anyone but the minister.
‘Now!’ Babis hurries over to Angelos, who has begun chatting to a couple of young girls. ‘Now!’ Babis shouts. ‘Light it now, he is coming.’
Babis is beside himself. The fireworks must be lit as the minister steps out of his car so as to make the maximum impact as he walks up the road towards the town hall.
‘Give me two minutes,’ Angelos says. ‘It’s no problem, we will have them working in two minutes.’
No problem! How can Angelos sit there and calmly state that there is no problem when they have been over this countless times. Did he not make it clear that the fireworks needed to be ready for the minister, without fail? No wonder nothing works properly in this parochial little town, with attitudes like this!
‘Now, Angele!’ Babis shouts. ‘There’s no two minutes for you to finish up! It has to be now!’ Sometimes the only way to get through to these people is to shout, make a fuss and stir things up a bit. His outburst has drawn the sort of attention from the onlookers that Babis would usually do anything to avoid, but there is no time to worry about that now. At least it has had the desired effect on Angelos, who is now shouting at his workers.