by Sara Alexi
‘What? Was I so wrong?’ Nicolaos’s eyes are wide, his palms upwards towards her. Sarah sees the hurt in his expression; she wants to rescue him, tell him that despite herself, her body said yes. But that would lead to another embrace, she would be lost, and their relationship would make all her choices for her. That was the old her, but right now she would like to think, no matter how hard it seems, she has upgraded her personality. She must make herself act independently.
What matters right now is that all her thoughts are aligned to her autonomy and that her actions are aligned with her thoughts. It all feels very grown up somehow, but there is no other way to get where she wants to be.
Just thinking this seems to give her some peace. Her internal struggle subsides and she knows she cannot give in.
‘Nicolaos, you are not wrong. But for once in my life, I must make a self-determined thought, not one based on a relationship I am in, or could be in.’
‘Oh.’ His face loses structure and she can hear beads clicking in his pocket. She looks up at him, her eyes creasing up in the sun’s glare. She steps sideways into the shade of the tree, and he does the same. ‘I got a letter back today, from my wife.’ He takes a deep breath that sounds tired and sad. ‘She says if I go back, we can try again.’
Sarah understands why he tried to kiss her. It seems he, too, makes his decisions based on the relationships he is in. ‘Oh.’ She says it kindly. ‘What will you do?’
‘Well, if I thought there was any chance ...’ He looks at her, searching her eyes, looking for a glimmer of hope.
‘To be truthful, first I must find my feet, alone.’ Sarah has never said anything so brave in all her life. She clenches her teeth.
‘My wife has invited me for her birthday. If I want to make a go of it, I would have to fly the day after tomorrow to be there in time.’ He hardly blinks as he looks into Sarah’s eyes.
Sarah says nothing. His face is so full of expression, his lips so quick with a smile, so easy to make tremble. He is a sensitive man. He is so sensitive that after Laurence, it is a little bit scary. She would be so responsible for his feelings, his comfort, his happiness. But surely that is better than an emotionless lump like Laurence? But it is scary.
Nicolaos takes a step backwards in the silence. ‘Okay. I see. I understand.’ He waits for her to contradict him, but when she doesn’t he adds, ‘Tomorrow, I will find someone to take the herd, the day after I will fly. If you change your mind, I am in the cottage just over the brow of the hill.’ He seems to wait for her to stop him as he takes another step backwards. Everything in her screams to reach out and take his hand, to stop him going. But if she does not stand on her own two feet now, today, in this moment, she probably never will. Her vision blurs. He takes another step away.
Chapter 33
The holiday cottage echoes with Sarah’s footsteps. Her phone has one message waiting. It is from Joss, who wishes her safe travels and says he is at the airport himself. She didn’t even say goodbye to him. It is one thing to walk out on her husband, but she should keep it together enough to remain a good mum. It goes straight to voicemail when she tries ringing him; he must be in the aeroplane already.
The sun streams in, but it brings her no cheer, her thoughts replay her walking away from Nicolaos. Her breath comes in shallow gasps. Has she just made the biggest mistake of her life, or has she just taken the most self-reliant step possible? The clock on the wall in the kitchen tells her it is time for her to vacate the cottage and as she ponders this, she hears Juliet’s voice. She must leave but she is reluctant.
‘Hello? Sarah, are you there? Oh there you are. Are you off? Have you found a place to stay for your job or are you still on the hunt?’
‘Not decided yet.’ It is as vague as Sarah can manage whilst remaining truthful.
‘Well as soon as you are settled, come back and we’ll open a bottle of wine together and wish you "kaloriziko."‘
‘Kaloriziko. What does that mean?’ Sarah asks, but just at the moment, she has little real interest.
‘Literally it means "Good Roots." May your roots here spread and grow strong so you cannot be moved.’ Juliet is all smiles.
‘I will definitely drink to that.’ Quite spontaneously, Sarah hugs Juliet, whose return embrace is warm and heartfelt. It is with a sad heart that Sarah pulls her wheeled luggage down the lane. Now she is officially homeless. A tramp. She snorts over this thought, but it is short-lived mirth because she really has no idea where to go or what to do. If she checks into a hotel in Saros, she can imagine the days passing until she runs out of money, so it sounds dangerous from the start. At the village square, she rolls her bag to the bench and sits down. If she is going to Saros, she will need a taxi.
‘Hey, hello. Was the wedding good?’ Stella steps from behind the kiosk awning with a bottle of water. ‘You want some?’ she asks, twisting the cap off.
‘The wedding was beautiful.’ Sarah shakes her head at the water.
Stella looks at the suitcase. ‘Oh you are going now?’
‘Yes, I guess so.’ The first time she meet Stella seems an age ago even though it is only days. At that time, a dark weight used to live in her stomach. Sarah smiles, almost laughs. Things may be bad, she may have no job and no home and no husband, but there is no sign of that darkness, no feeling of futility or pointlessness. But there is a churning in her stomach, a feeling of excitement.
‘Well, it has been lovely to meet you and if you ever return, you must come to my house and we will eat together. Agreed?’ Stella says.
‘Agreed.’ Sarah stands and Stella hugs her, kisses her on both cheeks before bouncing away. The warmth of Juliet and Stella gives Sarah the sure feeling she will survive. This, in turn, dispels the hint of remaining anger she recognises. She is holding anger towards Jim.
‘He never promised anything,’ Sarah tells herself and with this thought, she sets off to see Frona before she leaves. Also, going up to the house will give her an excuse to, once more, go up the heat trap gully, hear the insects and see the beehives. ‘One day,’ she tells herself. ‘Maybe in six months.’
Her bag rolls easily, if noisily, until she turns off the tarmac and onto the gorse-bordered path. The suitcase is too heavy to carry but, much as she would like to, she cannot just leave it. The plastic wheels jar and snag as Sarah drags the bag a little way off the road and then, once hidden from view between the gorse, it becomes her seat. Relaxing all her limbs, she soaks in the buzzing and the scents of the flowers and her head rolls as the warmth overpowers her.
She tries to recall where she put that last pebble, the one she picked up after looking into the stars on the way to the party the night before the wedding. If it is white, she will be happy to the point of selfishness from now on; if it is black, she will continue the way she is and if happiness comes, that will be a bonus not a decision. It seems a strange pledge now, a decision to be happy placed on the colour of an unseen pebble. It is not in the suitcase pocket with the other stones. It must still be in the pocket of her dress. Unzipping the bag, it seems too hot to start foraging in her clothes. She zips it up again. The next time she goes in the case, she will find it. In fact, the next time she goes in her case, she will throw away all the clothes she neither likes nor wants. It is crazy to be lugging around Laurence’s choice of wardrobe.
Rousing herself and pulling her bag, she enters the open field to take a last look at the beehives .
‘I think it should work out well, don’t you?’
Sarah turns towards the beehives, where Frona is busy with a can of paint and a brush. No one ever seems surprised to see anyone here, but Sarah still feels caught unawares every time, although it is becoming less so as the days pass. This time, she is calm enough to pretend she was expecting Frona.
‘Not sure,’ Sarah answers.
‘I am going to sell up in America and then Jim cannot give me a reason to go back. Six months is more than enough time but poor Maria, she is in such bad health, I don’t sup
pose she will live to see Germany again if they stay.’
‘Oh really? I hadn’t realised she was so bad.’ And there she had been thinking only of her inconvenience.
‘Slow but expected.’ Frona continues to cover the hive in paint. It is running down the sides, dripping off and pooling in the grass. She is making a bit of a mess of it. ‘What will you do for six months? Travel? Go back to your husband?’
‘No, definitely not that.’ Sarah picks up a twig and rescues a beetle from the paint in the grass, putting it in a gorse branch, which it promptly falls off. ‘I am not sure. I also don’t really trust myself to make a good decision,’ Sarah confides, scanning for the beetle, which has disappeared into the longer grass.
‘Ha, do any of us make good decisions or do we just make the decision we are faced with and have no choice over?’
Sarah frowns as Frona seems to be making no sense.
‘You know, to survive, I have done many things, and some of them do not make me proud. Out of fear sometimes, I have not spoken up when I should. Out of plain laziness, I have wasted days, a year, a decade even. To save my own skin, I have harmed others.’ Frona has stopped painting and looks beyond the horizon. Sarah wonders if she is talking about the war, her evacuation from Asia Minor. ‘But at least I know I have never gone against my prime directive, which is to stay alive.’ She sighs. ‘Maybe I feel guilt, but I get to live long enough to do it better next time.’ The old woman resumes her painting.
‘You always have to do something,’ Frona says as a matter of fact. ‘This has been the one thing that is always true in life. You goal may even be spiritual, but you still have to actually do something.’ Sarah is not sure she is following Frona or if, indeed, the old woman is being coherent, but she continues to listen.
‘What do you do if you have followed a belief for years and then you find it is fake? What do you risk? You can ask a friend. You can get counselling, you can sit and look at a blank wall and not move, and this may help you to know how to think. It might even give to you the best way to see the event, but none of these are going to give you the answer as to what you are going to actually physically do next and there, very often, is the problem. So, unable to make a choice, get swept along the easiest route and call it a decision.’
Sarah has no idea what Frona is talking about and wonders if something specific has happened that she is referring to or whether the old woman is showing signs of ageing.
‘Right, I am done. That will last them six months.’ Frona leaves both paint pot and brush by one of the hives. ‘Well, whatever you decide to do, have a wonderful, adventurous six months doing exactly what you want to be doing where you want to do it, and then you can’t go wrong. That’s my advice.’ With this, she kisses Sarah on each cheek, looks her in the eye as if transferring some secret, and walks away up the hill.
Sarah watches her go through the side gate and then the field is empty, all hers. The sun is almost directly overhead. If she is going to stay in the field for any time, she should at least be in the shade. The suitcase bumps over the rough ground, twisting in her grip until she makes the shade of the tree. Sitting on the stone, she looks over the village. She traces the roads and tries to commit the sight to memory. The tops of the gorse obstructs the view of the entirety of the village, so she stands. Pulling resentfully, the bag trundles to the top of the hill where she lays it flat and uses it as a seat.
Now the valley is fully spread before her. The world is at her feet. She could put her shoes on and walk for six months. That is something she would like to do. This makes Sarah laugh quietly, as she is not sure if she really has the energy for such an adventure. What she would really like to do is sit in the insect-laden gully or this field without a care in the world. That is what would give her peace. That is what she would like to do and where she would like to do it. Sit for six months or longer in peace and safety until she finds her feet and her vitality.
Her spine straightens. the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She stands and raises both hands to the sky, clasping them together and then relaxing them to rest on the top of her head. She has absolute certainty where she can find that peace. She knows exactly what she will do.
Grabbing the bag by its handle, she crowns the hill and, with gravity forcing the bag into the back of her legs, she gains momentum as she careens down the other side.
Releasing the bag, she takes a breath as she comes to the flag area outside of the tiny cottage. Everything is still except the baa-ing of sheep from a nearby pen.
Regaining her breath, she taps at the door. There is no reply. She taps again. Nothing. She unzips her bag and delves into her clothes, looking for the fifth pebble. It will be white; she is certain it will be white. She grasps it and as she withdraws her hand, the door opens. Nicolaos in his vest stands with a piece of toast in his hand, opened-mouthed. Hastily finishing the snack, he wipes his fingers on his work trousers and steps to one side, waving her in as he swallows.
‘Sarah!’ He seems delighted to see her. ‘Come in.’
The sun caresses Sarah’s back, melting away tension. She can smell the geraniums planted in pots either side of the door. The place exudes peace and calm.
‘No I won’t come in just yet. I just want to ask one question.’
‘Ask anything. The answer is yes. For you, it is yes.’ His arms are open and he steps towards her. Past him, within the shaded interior, she can just make out a flagged floor, pale blue walls, basic, rustic, charming, dusty. A suitcase neatly waits by a pair of shoes.
She pauses, looks at her clenched fist, the pebble held within. She turns and throws it as far as she can across the field. Straightening her back, she faces Nicolaos. ‘My question is,’ His face is expectant as he watches her form her words. ‘Does the cottage come with the job of goat-herding?’
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