The English Lesson (The Greek Village Collection Book 11)

by Sara Alexi

  'So I am going to the cobblers. Here comes Toula!' Michelle’s words are packed with relief. The subject shelved; she is off the hook.

  'We'll get some wine afterwards and go back and sit in the garden and drink to Dino's health.' Michelle rolls her eyes, but her mouth betrays a smile. When they drink wine together, it usually becomes rowdy, laughing and carrying on like teenagers again at first and then melancholy as the wine digs deeper and they sort out all the troubles in the world. Invariably, they are left with hangovers but also in a better place, clearer about their lives, however painful that may or may not be.

  'Hello,' Toula greets them both.

  'Hello Toula, and goodbye, Toula. I am off to the cobblers.' Michelle waves the shoes to demonstrate.

  'Ah, cobblers. Tsangaris?' Toula asks.

  'Yes. Cobblers. Tsangaris,' Juliet says and gives Michelle one last glance as she walks away.

  Toula

  'So I go!' Toula announces. It is good to see Juliet. Something about her endorses this new courage she has found. Yesterday, as Apostolis slept, her courage faltered and she felt like she was forcing herself to go to the travel agents. It is a narrow shop wedged between a betting shop full of idle or desperate men and a haberdashery where she buys her underwear. She had never been in before. The bell over the door tinkled as she entered. On the walls, posters were curling off, faded by the bright sun. Behind a computer, a girl sat, talking on the phone, and looking bored. One or two brochures were arranged on a small coffee table in what looked like a waiting area but as there was no one else, there was no need to wait.

  The girl put the phone down immediately and was most helpful. Toula had quite liked her right up until the point when she asked when Kyrios Apostolis would call in to pay for the tickets. Yes, tickets, not ticket! She presumed he was going with her! The same sort of thing happened in the bank where she went to learn how to draw out the money to pay for that ticket. The cashier did not actually ask Toula where her husband was, but her momentary look of panic said it all.

  So twice Toula felt she had been challenged, and twice she had had to stand up for herself. But the interesting thing was that each time, even though it annoyed her, the experience didn't undermine her confidence, which is what she would have expected. In fact, the challenges had the effect of making her more determined, more adamant. When she arrived home with not only a ticket but also a handful of English ten pound notes, she found Apostolis sitting in the main room, pretending to read past copies of his magazines. He was clearly waiting for her.

  The clocks started to chime six o'clock as he opened his mouth. It was a good few minutes before they all rung their last and the resonance stopped echoing around the panelled walls and wooden floors. This gave her additional time in which to brace herself, but she found she was remarkably calm.

  'I have just had a call from the bank manager,' he began. He put last November’s edition of the magazine down carefully. He had clearly decided what he wanted to say and was gathering his thoughts for the first words, his lips and tongue moving into position. Toula surprised herself. She cut him off as he uttered his first sound.

  'Lovely man, the bank manager. My friend Zephyria, from the village, is his first cousin. He also proved very helpful. I needed to withdraw some money, as I have decided to accept Katerina’s invitation to her birthday party.' Toula could not tell if it was excitement or fear she felt, but now that she was speaking, it was probably best to finish the whole job. 'I think whilst I am away, maybe the best thing is that you go and stay with George in Athens.'

  The look on his face was worth savouring. But then he closed his mouth. With a laboured intake of breath through his nose, he appeared ready to reply. At this point, Toula spoke out again.

  'We can take the same train up if you like. You can jump out at Iraklio and take the metro from there and I will continue to the airport.' She did not wait for his reply with this announcement. Instead, she went upstairs and started packing her bag. But once out of the room, she exhaled loudly, paused to stop herself shaking, and then set out on a mission to unearth her winter coat. She would need it at this time of year in England. The cat appeared from nowhere, upstairs in her bedroom! Her immediate response was to worry about what Apostolis would say if he saw the little furry mite there. She should shoo it away, but this thought was overpowered by her need to cuddle the soft, warm bundle. It didn’t object. Clutching it in her arms, she even buried her face in its smooth fur, breathing in the clean cat smell. How easy it is to fall in love with an animal. It purred its thank you, eyes narrowed, definitely smiling.

  Lost in the exchange of love, a good ten minutes passed before she resumed her selection of clothes she would need. The cat helped by lying in her suitcase.

  Her head wobbled and quivered and her hands shook as she packed. The laying out of her clothes felt like she was breaking some unwritten rule. She knew that if Apostolis came in at this moment, her nerve might fail. Focusing on the job in hand and stroking the cat stopped her stomach churning. She would take the larger suitcase so she could also pack some bottles of olive oil and jars of preserves. Maybe even a box of baklava from the zacharoplasteio.

  'To England?' Juliet’s question bring her back to the present.

  'Yes. I buy ticket. I have English pound. I phone my daughter, she come the airport on London. I go! The two weeks.' The excitement is gripping her again.

  'You will be going in two weeks’ time.' Juliet reiterates what she has said, presumably to correct her grammar, but it is Juliet who has it wrong.

  'No, I go two weeks. I leave tomorrow!' Toula cannot help beaming. Katerina will crawl all over her, little hands grabbing at her clothes for balance as she wriggles to sit on her knee. They will smoother each other with kisses. Then there is baby Apostolis, who she will hold for the first time. She feels quite dizzy with excitement.

  'Tomorrow!' Juliet sounds so enthusiastic. Always so enthusiastic, it is her manner. She will have more lessons when she comes back, just to spend time with someone so positive. She would like to get to know Juliet's friend, too.

  'You are a woman of action!' Juliet adds.

  'A woman of action.' Toula says the words in her head. She likes the label and wonders if it could be true? But she almost feels as if her action was pressed upon her. After Apostolis went to lie down, her initial impetus wavered. The idea of going to England felt unreal. With thought, it became nothing more than a fantasy. That was when she received a call from her friend Zephyria in the village. Her weekly call for a chat, about this and that, nothing in particular. Zephyria, who sounded so strong and confident now, but it was not long ago that she had been forced to face her own insecurities.

  'You know what I thought? I thought of my friend Zephyria. Maybe you know her? She lives in the village.' Juliet shakes her head slightly as if she is not sure if she knows Zephyria or not.

  'Well, Zephyria did not know how to run her life after her husband died. The practical side of life was such a shock to her. She didn't know even that they had money in the bank, let alone how to get it, or how to pay bills. She knew nothing! They even cut off her electricity because she did not know how to take money from one place and put it in another. She had been surviving on the coins in the jar on the mantelpiece, each week buying less and less food as it ran out. When someone finally saw she needs help, she had not eaten for a day and was burning candles in the evenings.'

  'Oh yes, I heard about her.' But Juliet says no more. She gives the impression of not being one to gossip. But this is important. It does not feel like gossip to explain what she learnt from Zephyria’s mistakes.

  'Well, I decide I did not want to suffer like Zephyria if Apostolis dies before me, which he will. He is older and he is a man. So I decide it would be better to learn how to take money from the bank now. Do things by myself before he dies. It is not only his money. I have lived by his side, started the business, raised his children, kept his house!'

  'Absolutely,' Juliet replies. Mor
e proof of what a positive person she is.

  'Only…' Toula slumps in her chair. The bougainvillea she put in the toothpick holder when she arrived looks a little silly all of a sudden. Like she is trying to make something pretty when it isn't. It is a stainless steel toothpick holder, ugly in shape and sterile in nature. It is something she has been accused of all her life. Living in a fantasy world, her mama used to say. Only seeing what you wants to see, Apostolis had observed more than once. Does her bougainvillea in the toothpick holder just serve to illustrate more clearly that this is her nature?

  Is that what she is doing with all this rushing about? Is this sudden play at being independent just a distraction, a huge bouquet of bougainvillea that she is focusing on so she can ignore what is really going on, to ignore her true feelings?

  The world swims behind filmy eyes. These thoughts are not comfortable; she has not requested them! Apostolis was so crushing. He came up when she had nearly finished packing. The cat slithered off the bed and made a sly exit before it was spotted. Apostolis watched her smooth out her blouses and push rolled-up pairs of woolly tights down the sides of the case for a while before he spoke.

  That was the wrong coat to take, he said. She would need heavier shoes, he informed her. How would she find her way from the aeroplane to where Alyssia was meeting her? Had she told Alyssia that she was abandoning him? He would like to see her telling Katerina that she had left him without anyone to care for him.

  But it was the way he said these things, as if she had committed the greatest crime the world had ever known. All the time he was speaking in his sad and quiet little voice, he adjusted an oil painting here, a marble statue there as if to emphasis the rich life he had given her. The tension in the room was thick and oppressive. But she did not back down. She kept packing—what else could she do—until he eventually went away. Then she sat on the bed and sobbed. The cat jumped onto her lap.

  He started again at dinner. Making food was her job, always had been. She was abandoning her post. He was trying to stir up feelings of guilt. The same when it was time for bed. Where were his pyjamas? That almost made her laugh—but in a very unkind way. She has done neither the washing nor the ironing since they moved to Saros. The dry cleaners come to the house, have done for years, as do the butcher, the baker, and the vegetable man. Everyone comes to them. The rich Maraveyas.

  Laundry is on a Tuesday. Every Tuesday she lowers the washing in a basket from the balcony to the boy who waits on his moped, and on a Friday he beeps his horn twice and she levers the washing back up. This is the balcony round the side of the house, where she planted a fig tree in a pot when they first moved in. It has now grown so large and heavy that the marble balcony has cracked.

  Apostolis had a small and very ugly winch attached to the wall on this balcony so his mother could have this job when she was alive. Toula complained about its ugliness at the time, but now she no longer cares what it looks like. It is her godsend now.

  But, as Apostolis well knows, once the washing is back in the house, she never puts the clothes away. The girl who comes in twice a week to clean does that, and she always puts everything in the same place. He was just trying to pin another job on her so he could suggest she was not fulfilling her role. More guilt.

  She stifled her bitter laugh and ignored his question, going to the bathroom to put her teeth to soak. When she returned, he had his pyjamas on. He knew exactly where to find them.

  ‘Yes, better I learn to do all things before he dies, only…'

  'Only what?' Juliet asks.

  'Can I tell you something in secret, Juliet?' Toula blinks away her tears.

  'Well, I…'

  But it must be said.

  'Now I have taken money from the bank and bought the ticket to London, I am independent. I say him he will stay with his friend George in Athens when I am away and that we will take the train up to Athens together. I say him.' She pauses. 'He did not say me! Before this, I blame my unhappiness on having to do as I was told, like a childs. But now I am not doing what I am told, I can see that my unhappiness is in my hands. I now feel I have enough to be able to say to myself that I am not, how you say, ikanopiimeni,'

  'Content,' Juliet translates.

  'Yes, content. I am not this, and here is the secret.' She leans in closer, catching the light, flowery smell of Juliet’s perfume. 'I want to be free of him.' Just the words alone taste delicious on her tongue.

  She exhales. Saying these words that she has dreamed, felt, and until now has only thought, increases the weight she feels is pulling her down. It gives her no relief. She picks up the bougainvillea from the toothpick holder and studies it more closely. From a distance, the flower appears to be made up of coloured petals but close up, they are definitely leaves. Hardy somehow, rougher than the tiny white flowers, whilst also translucent. Beautiful from a distance but always a bit of a con on closer scrutiny.

  Juliet

  Juliet shivers. It runs the length of her spine, as it did the first day she saw Toula. There is something so deeply sad about the old lady and yet when she smiles, the whole world lights up. Her confession about wanting to be rid of her husband has not shocked Juliet. Too many marriages are arranged when both parties are too young, sometimes for the sake of land, or out of some other convenience. It has been the way in rural Greece for as long as anyone can remember.

  Just the other day, Juliet congratulated her dentist on her marriage, only to be rewarded with a half smile.

  'What, don't you love him?' Juliet teased, a giggle ready. Her cheerfulness to cover her nerves, totally confident that her dentist would reply that of course she loves her fiancé. This was a successful woman, who had studied in Athens and was bilingual, modern.

  'No,' came the stark reply. Lost for what to say, Juliet asked, 'Does he love you?'

  'No.' The second reply. 'But it will be secure, for both our families.' Even though these lives do not touch upon her own, the harsh reality hurt Juliet more than the drilling. So sad.

  Traditionally, these arranged marriages work well. The women tend house and, on many occasions, love grows over the years and the couples are happy. Maybe she should not judge. But with Toula, the balance does not seem right. She has very little force, she is so soft, so gentle that it is all too easy to imagine her husband, whom Juliet has not met but knows by reputation, could easily and perhaps unknowingly bully her.

  Juliet shakes her head as if to clear her mind. Relationships, love, it is the one theme that seems to cause as much harm as good.

  Toula, on the one hand, is thinking hard about herself and consequently thinks she wants to be rid of her husband. Michelle, on the other hand, is thinking hard on behalf of Dino and thinks he should want to be rid of her for his own sake.

  The whole dating, mating thing is too complex, with too many pitfalls, too much broken heartache. This is why she has stayed single so long. It is all so time-consuming, energy draining. Maybe a little loneliness is a small price to pay for a consistent life.

  As for Toula, maybe two weeks in London will show her a different side of life. London will probably shock her. The question of independence no longer on feminine lips in the city. They live the lives they want and there are laws, now old laws, about discrimination. Emancipated woman of England are now thinking of others who are suppressed. They are the liberators now, largely unaware that it was just fifty years ago, less even, that there was no such thing as equality. Juliet can remember what it used to be like, and she is only fifty-two. Women may have not arrived yet but at least they are moving in the right direction.

  With a heavy sigh, Juliet tries to let go of her strong views. Greece has all this liberation still to go through. It will take a generation or two to catch up. At the moment, many of the independent young women of Athens accept the subservient roles of their mamas and yiayias. It is not even only the yiayias and mamas. Just the other day, when Juliet was backing out of a parking spot in Saros, a woman had come driving round the corner at
breakneck speed whilst chatting on her mobile and the two cars collided. Juliet's concern was whether the woman was injured. The driver’s door opened and a designer knee-length boot appeared first, followed by skinny fit jeans, complete with rhinestones adorning the pocket’s edges. The look was completed with a crisp blouse undone one button too low and designer bling filling the woman’s cleavage. Her hair was beautifully maintained and her makeup was immaculate. A modern woman.

  'Are you alright?' Juliet inquired. The woman looked fine.

  'Yes but…' She looked down at her dented car. 'What is it best that we do now?'

  'I'll get my details.' Juliet opened her passenger door and then the glove compartment for her insurance documents.

  The woman shifted her weight from one designer heel to the other and when Juliet starting unfolding the official papers, she said, a slight panic in her eyes, 'I think it is best we call our husbands,' in a whispering, breathy voice.

  Juliet felt her mouth drop open and she straightened to look the woman in the face, wondering if she was making a joke.

  'You have a mobile to call him, or do you want to borrow mine?' the woman said, offering the latest in technology to Juliet.

  Toula is trying to jump that gap. Of course she would think she wanted to be free of her husband. For him just not to be around is a far easier option than everyone adjusting their thinking and their way of behaving. She is trying to leap a gap of inequality that is not even completely closed in England—despite what they say. Look at the government in the UK, so biased toward men. All of them come through the same schooling and throughout the UK women still only get paid fifty-eight pence for every pound that men get.

  Juliet recognises her thinking has fallen into well-worn grooves. She shakes herself free of these pointless, energy-consuming thoughts.