Icon of Gold

by Teresa Crane

  ‘Christos anesti!’ Christ is risen. The cry was joyful.

  Candle was lit from candle, hand to hand. Greetings and kisses were exchanged. Then the candles were nursed carefully back down the mountainside, for it was considered ill luck indeed for them to go out before being taken through the door of the house.

  Adam stumbled a little. He had been drinking steadily all day. A little way ahead of him a group of children were singing an Easter hymn. The candle he carried guttered and nearly died. Bad luck if it did. He found himself grinning, grimly. Bad luck? He might as well blow the bloody thing out himself.

  Cathy had laid the big table in the kitchen before they had left. Schooled by Anna she had made sure there was a polished red egg by every place; schooled by an ebullient Leon and Yannis they set to cracking each other’s eggs with gusto. The bread was broken, the magiritsa taken from the stove. To Cathy’s surprise it was utterly delicious. Through the open door they could see and hear the flash and crack of fireworks from the valley below, and distantly the sound of music. He clapped with the others as Leon and Yannis, arms linked about each other’s shoulders, performed an impromptu dance about the table, stamping and twisting, handkerchiefs held high. The bottles emptied; wine at first, and then ouzo, milky-white and strong with the taste of aniseed. Yannis sang a song, and Leon and Nikos joined in. Adam’s eyelids drooped a little. At last Cathy pushed her chair away from the table and let out a small, explosive breath. ‘Goodness me! I’m full as a fisherman’s cat! And it’s two o’clock in the morning! No, No!’ She held up her hands, laughing and shaking her head as Yannis tried to pour her another glass of wine. ‘I’ve had quite enough! I’m going to have to clear my head before I go to bed as it is! It’ll be lunchtime before we know it. I’ll take a wander outside and then I’ll go to bed. The clearing up will have to wait till the morning.’ She stood up, smiling around the circle of faces. ‘Good night.’

  ‘Kalinihta sas, Kati mou.’ Leon caught her hand and pulled her to him for a kiss.

  Nikos, eyes downcast, dissected an Easter cake to a mess of crumbs on the scrubbed tabletop.

  As Cathy left the room Leon reached for another bottle of ouzo. ‘Now the drinking really begins, eh?’

  Nikos’ head came up sharply. ‘Honest, Pa, I couldn’t.’ His smile was disarming. He ignored the sudden narrowing of Adam’s eyes. ‘Like Cathy says, there’s tomorrow to contend with yet. I really guess I’d better turn in.’

  ‘Nikos, Nikos!’ Leon shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘And here I was thinking I’d made a true Greek of you!’

  His son held up his hands, palm out, in an exaggeratedly placatory gesture. Tomorrow, Pa, tomorrow. I’ll be as Greek as you like. Right now, I’m bushed.’

  Leon unexpectedly roared with laughter, banging the table so that the cutlery jumped. ‘Off you go, then, little one.’ He was gently caustic. ‘Don’t let your wicked papa keep you from your beauty sleep.’

  Nikos stood up. Adam firmly followed suit. And was surprised when, in a quite different tone of voice Leon said softly, ‘No, Adam. You stay.’ His smile was bland as ever, but the dark eyes were suddenly very steady and far from laughter. Leon gestured with the bottle. ‘We have another drink,’ he said, flatly.

  ‘Leon — I really am very tired —’ Adam watched Nikos leave the room, turned back to the table.

  ‘Tired, tired — suddenly everybody’s tired —’ Leon leaned back in his chair, gesturing expansively. His voice was still soft, yet there was a note in it that Adam knew all too well. He sat down again, alarm bells ringing. What the hell did Leon want of him now? Christ alive, he wished he hadn’t drunk so much.

  Leon splashed ouzo into the three glasses, pushed the water jug towards Adam. The fireworks had stopped, and the distant music was quieter. ‘Yannis.’ Leon was looking not at Yannis but at Adam as he spoke. ‘Shut the door, eh? It’s getting cool in here.’

  In fact with the stove still glowing through its bars the room was far from cool. Adam tipped water in the glass, sipped his drink. Suddenly queasy, it occurred to him that Leon might have found out about Nikos and Cathy. Shit! Suppose Leon asked him what he knew? Which would be most to his advantage — to confirm, or to deny it? The room had already become very close. He was sweating. He loosened his collar. If he admitted that he’d known for weeks and done nothing about it —

  ‘I want to have a little chat, Adam,’ Leon said. ‘About New York.’

  Taken completely off guard Adam stared at him. ‘New York?’

  With elaborate patience his stepfather nodded. ‘New York,’ he repeated.

  Adam shrugged. ‘Why sure. But - I don’t know what I can add to what I’ve already told you.’

  Leon reached into his top pocket, extracted some pieces of folded paper, leaned forward and smoothed them on to the table. ‘Try these, Adam,’ he said.

  There was a very long silence. Leon’s eyes were steady. Yannis ostentatiously pared at his fingernails with a match-stick. Adam cleared his throat.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I —’ Adam’s long, fair lashes flickered as he glanced at Leon and then, flinching a little, back to the scraps of paper.

  ‘You recognise them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You accept that is your signature?’

  ‘Yes.’ Shaken to the core Adam once again forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. ‘Are they — are they settled?’

  Leon deliberately let the silence lengthen before answering. ‘Yes. They’re settled.’

  Adam let out a long breath.

  ‘— so now you owe me. Again.’

  The room was very warm. Leon loosened his tie and opened the collar of his shirt. A sheen of sweat stood on the dark skin of his forehead. The icon at his neck, that a woman had given him to keep him from harm, shone dully in the soft lamplight.

  Adam picked up the IOUs, tidied them and stacked them neatly on the table again. ‘How — where did you get them?’

  ‘I met a man,’ Leon said, gently. ‘In church. That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘I should thank you.’

  ‘Yes. You should. And you will. By doing something for me.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Leon smiled for the first time, a smile wide, and peaceably amused. ‘I want you to do what you like to do best. I want you to gamble, Adam. For me. I have made - an arrangement. But, Adam, you will do exactly as you are told. No more, and no less. And if I find that you are cheating me — by, for instance, gambling for yourself — I will throw you to some very fierce lions indeed. And they will tear you to very small pieces. Is it understood?’

  ‘I — suppose so.’ Once again Adam wished fervently he had not had so much to drink. What the hell was going on? What exactly was Leon talking about?

  ‘Not so much as a side bet. Not so much as a penny. Or should I say a dime?’ Leon raised a strong, stubby finger, jabbing it in the air. ‘The stakes are too high. Swear, Adam, that you will not so much as turn a card except on my orders. That you will never — never! — do this again —’ His fingers flicked at the IOUs.

  ‘I swear. But I still don’t understand.’

  Leon put his hand into his pocket and brought out a large metal key, which, his eyes still on Adam’s face, he handed to Yannis. ‘Yannis has something to show you, Adam,’ he said.

  He sat after they had left, pensively picking his teeth. A promise is a promise. But there are many ways of keeping it.

  *

  The two figures in the cave-like darkness beneath an ancient olive tree stood so close they might have been one. They were still as statues as Yannis and Adam passed, the torch that Yannis carried flickering in the darkness. ‘Where are they going?’ Cathy whispered.

  Very gently Nikos laid a hand to her lips. ‘Ssh.’

  They waited. When the two men were out of earshot Nikos brought his lips to her ear. ‘We must go. Before they come back.’

  Cathy was staring in puzzlement into the night, to whe
re the small light of the torch still flashed and bobbed. ‘They’re going in the direction of the Shepherd’s Hut. What on earth can they be doing?’

  Nikos’ laughter was very soft. ‘They’re men, my darling.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘There is a certain brotherhood, after a night of drinking, in relieving oneself in the open air.’

  Ridiculously Cathy found herself blushing. ‘Oh.’

  Nikos’ lips brushed hers. ‘Happy Easter, my love. Now go.’ And as she let go of his hand and stepped quietly through the rustling branches his last words whispered behind her. ‘I love you.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cathy woke to the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of laughter. She was alone. Beyond the partly closed shutters a golden gleam of sunshine beckoned, though the low-ceilinged bedroom was, as always, shadowed and cool. The sound of a barking dog echoed up from the valley to be answered nearer at hand by the hiccoughing bray of a donkey She lay for a moment, warm and sleepy, before throwing back the covers and padding barefoot to the window and pushing the shutter wide. On a terrace just below the house a cooking fire glowed. On two spits above it the young goats were roasting. All the men were there, each of them obviously taking turns at the spit; as Cathy watched Leon took over from Adam, laughing uproariously at something Yannis said. The wine, she noticed, was already flowing. Across the valley the bells were ringing. It was Easter Sunday, the most joyful day of the year. No cloud marred the perfect sky, no shadow fell across the perfect, festive day. Cathy was never to forget that. The Easter table was spread beneath the trees, the smell of roasting meat delicious and mouthwatering on the air. By the time Leon, with some ceremony, tore off a piece of meat and, declaring it well and truly cooked, offered it to Cathy a couple of wineskins had already been emptied. They ate the tender meat with their fingers, as tradition demanded. The bread and salads and tzatziki that Anna had so painstakingly prepared were demolished. When the exuberant strains of music floated up to them from the tiny village square below Leon and Yannis were immediately on their feet, dragging the two laughing younger men with them, demonstrating the complicated steps of a dance as Cathy clapped in time. Later Yannis danced alone, arms outstretched, slight, sinewy body erect as a knife-blade, a wooden chair held between his teeth; a feat that made Cathy’ s jaw ache just to watch it. Over and again the toast was drunk: ‘Christos anesti!’ — ‘Christ is risen!’ — and over the valley and the mountainsides a fragrant pall of woodsmoke drifted in the clear air as the people celebrated with about equal fervour the deliverance of their Saviour from the cold hand of death and the end of the Lenten fast. The air was sweet with the smell of blossom. At the setting of the sun the fires leapt and blazed in the shadows, and voices sang in the darkness.

  ‘Christos anesti!’ The forces of evil are vanquished. For the moment.

  The next morning they were all deservedly heavy-headed. This was the last day of the holiday — the menfolk were off the following day; Leon and the two boys back to London and Yannis on some unspecified expedition of his own. Anna came up from the village to help clear up after the festivities, shyly presenting each of them with a dyed and painted egg; the most colourful and elaborate, Cathy noted with a hidden smile, being reserved for Nikos, together with a guileless and dazzling smile. In the afternoon they sat in the garden with the last of the wine watching the sun dip towards the mountains, the inevitable sense of anti-climax subduing them.

  ‘Come,’ Leon said, suddenly, lifting his glass. ‘A last toast.’

  Adam surveyed him with a mordant eye. ‘If Christ rises again,’ he said, with mild acrimony, ‘it’ll be to the great detriment of my head. He’s worse than a bloody yo-yo!’

  Leon laughed. ‘No, no. We drink to when we shall all be here together again. To the next festival.’

  Adam put his head in his hands in mock despair. ‘Good God! Not another one!’

  ‘Another one. In two or three months’ time it will be the festival of Aghia Magdalena — of Mary Magdalene, the patron of our little church by the spring. There are great festivities in the village — processions and fireworks, music and dancing.’

  Adam’s blue eyes had moved, lazily, to his mother. ‘Mary Magdalene,’ he said, thoughtfully, and with a sudden, dangerous smile. ‘Tell me — wasn’t she the lady that was - as they say — no better than she should be?’

  Cathy saw Nikos’ head come up sharply.

  Leon chuckled. ‘The repentant whore. That’s the one. So we make it a date. Whatever else may happen we will all be here to celebrate her name day on the twenty-second of July. Yes?’ Taking their assent for granted he raised his glass. ‘Aghia Magdalena.’

  Adam raised sardonic eyebrows and, smiling, toasted his mother.

  *

  They had already agreed that Cathy should stay in the house, with the proviso that she would join Leon in London for a couple of weeks in early June, for the Coronation. There was the rest of the decorating and the furniture to organise, the garden to plan and plant. With Anna to help her she was confident that she could do without Yannis’ assistance. She hardly admitted even to herself that the decision was made easier by her discovery that Nikos was to liaise with the Athens office and would be likely to visit fairly frequently.

  With the men gone, and more especially with Leon’s flamboyant and egotistical presence removed, the house was a haven of peace and quiet. Cathy had not herself realised quite what a strain these past days had been. And whilst she longed for Nikos she also — in what she well understood was an exercise in self-deceit — felt a degree of relief that the temptation of his physical proximity had, for the time being at least, been removed. She imagined that she was not the first, and would not be the last, to discover that guilt was the most wearing and exhausting emotion of all. Nor could she have been the first to attempt to comfort herself with the flawed argument that to sin in the mind was less culpable than to sin in the flesh. The look in Adam’s eyes as he had raised his glass to her haunted her for days afterwards; but there again, the tiresomely honest voice of what she could only think of as her conscience pointed out, that did not stop her from writing to Nikos, nor from living for the letters he wrote to her. Twice a week she would walk down the path to the village to catch the battered bus into town — to shop, and to collect and post her mail. The sight of Nikos’ writing on an envelope — a lean, oddly and indisputably American scrawl — brought a lift of delight as addictive as any drug. On those days when the pigeonhole was empty, however, the corresponding disappointment was cruel.

  The weather grew steadily hotter, though on its perch on the hillside it was rare that a breeze did not cool the now finished terrace of the house. Cathy loved the occasional brief but splendidly spectacular thunderstorms that crashed their way from the mountains, growling and glaring from a billowing slate-grey sky. To her delight the wind-up gramophone arrived unscathed as did her precious store of records. With Anna’s quick and willing help her Greek began to improve, and during the course of their idiosyncratic conversations in which Greek and English were blithely and perfectly intelligibly mongrelised she found herself becoming increasingly intrigued with the structure of the village society in which the girl’s life was rooted. In which, she was coming to understand, despite his success and urbanisation, Leon’s life was rooted; and from which cradle Nikos had sprung. She learned without surprise of the importance of ‘the house’ in village life, the term being used to describe not simply the physical structure but the immediate family who lived within it. Great and often violent rivalries could grow between houses — even between those closely related by blood. Once a man found himself head of a household of his own, that household became his life, his pride, his honour and his responsibility, and savage quarrels could rise between brother and brother, cousin and cousin, even father and son. As in all small and insular communities gossip, envy and petty jealousies could be and often were the sparks to ignite an inferno.

  Anna had
lived in the village all of her life and knew the ins and outs of every feud and vendetta for the past twenty years; and there were a startling number of them. Her own cousin had been killed by a neighbour who had accused him of swindling him over the ownership of a patch of land. On the other hand, any threat from outside the community would be faced with a solidly united front. The society as a whole was almost totally male-dominated; to an outsider’s eyes the women had little freedom and their lives and behaviour were strictly circumscribed, hostages to their menfolk’s honour, though within ‘the house’ their influence and power was strong. A man’s home was considered, almost literally, to be his castle; within it he was respected and on the whole obeyed, in the outside world he was expected to defend it and those who lived in it to the last, and it was this tradition that led to the phenomenon known as egoismos — the flamboyantly self-assertive attitude that so characterised the behaviour of the men and which could lead so easily to quarrels and even bloodshed; to lose face was a disaster for a man. Anna’s own family were something of an exception — not many girls of her age would be allowed to work outside her own home. Her father had been killed in the last days of the civil war, leaving her mother with Anna, her two very small brothers and a new baby. ‘Life is hard for my mother,’ Anna said. ‘She is not old; yet she must dress in black, must not sing, or dance or wear jewellery. She never gets invited anywhere. It is hard for a woman alone, and with little ones to feed. We must have money. So —’ She shrugged and smiled her peculiarly sweet smile. ‘I come here. And it is good.’ Anna herself knew — and cared not a jot — that her working for ‘the foreigner’ jeopardised her standing and reputation in the village, at least amongst the older generation.