by Sara Alexi
'Sakis, my friend, my dear friend, the house, the kitchen, the extension, it was never for me. It was always for you.'
Sakis can feel his lower lip tremble.
'But you said it was, you used a French word, nécessaire.'
'This house, this village, it is very nécessaire. For you. This is what you need.' His voice softens even more. 'Not me.'
The world becomes blurred behind suspended tears. Jules drops his hand to his lap.
'Do not be sad, my friend. I think you are going to be happy here. As for me, I have to conquer my own mountain, win my own world competition. I still have things to prove. Maybe when I have worked for the magazine for a while, maybe I will come back here. You can never tell the future.'
But Sakis knows he will not come back.
Jules picks up his bag.
Sakis points to the house. The words Jules has spoken still have not landed, have yet to make their impact. He needs to hear them again. 'You did all this …'
'For you.' His hand is back on his shoulder. 'For you, my friend. You would never have been brave enough to even consider living in the village on your own. But now, you have a picture in your head of how the house will be, a picture of how life will be. Can you imagine living anywhere else now?'
'Thank you.' Sakis cannot trust himself to say any more. If he says anything else, he will lose control. His bottom lip is still trembling. He has never known such thoughtfulness, such selfless kindness. Jules pulls Sakis’ head into the curve of his neck and rests his own forehead on Sakis’ shoulder for a moment. Jules smells of soap and coffee and musty t-shirt. The house is going to be so empty without him.
Releasing his grip slightly, Jules lifts his head first and they face each other. Jules kisses him first on one cheek and then on his other, prolonging the release. There is real love in his kisses.
'A bientôt, mon ami.' Jules looks him in the eye and then abruptly stands, throws his bag over one shoulder, and he is gone, striding down the road toward the village square.
Sakis sits without moving, stunned, only breaking from his stare when the tortoise noisily chomps on a lettuce leaf that Jules must have put down for it. He falls into a stare, watching the tortoise take deliberate bites at the lettuce, until it is all gone and the animal moves off, slowly, slowly. The sounds from the village square leak into his ears only half heard.
'Ena, duo, ena, do, ena ena, ena.' The sound check repeats over and over, reminding the village that the festivities are tonight. The hum of generators as they are started to check that they will provide enough light for the stalls when it grows dark mingles with the sounds of tractors as, for the rest of the village, daily normal work continues.
'Ena, duo, ena.'
There is the smell of baking effusing from next door. Dora is making her prize-winning spanakopita. A donkey sucks in noisy air up on the hillside before bellowing it out again with all the sad loneliness that Sakis feels and thinks is going to break his aching heart. Jules has gone.
‘Ah, there you are.' It is bird-like Katerina from the house opposite. 'I brought you some jam that I made last autumn, some pickles from the winter, a bottle of my homemade wine, and a bottle of oil from my olive grove to officially welcome you to the village.' She blushes. Sakis is roused and feels forced to respond.
'Oh, thank you. That is very kind. You really needn't have.' The words come parrot-fashion.
'Sakis.' She sits on Jules's chair. 'I, or rather we, the village, need a favour.'
This makes him blink.
'The panigyri was going to be so great this year. You know we had Grigoris Taxydaktylos from Thessaloniki booked. You know, Taxydaktylos, the singer and clarinettist? Grigoris?' Sakis looks blank but she continues anyway. 'Well, he just called. His car is broken down. Up near Larisa. He is not going to make it.' She waits for him to say something but when he doesn't, she continues. 'I know who you are. I know you are no longer Sakis the son of Costas. You are Sakis the winner of the song contest.'
Her words shock him and he realises he had forgotten. Extraordinary as that seems, he had really forgotten. In his sorrow of first losing the New York deal and then losing Jules, he has forgotten the feeling of his win. He has also forgotten being known as the son of Costas. The two emotions return and tussle, swamping his grief at finding himself alone.
Katerina has one hand shielding the sun from her eyes as she looks at him. The tortoise’s nails tick tick across the flags as it makes its way into the undergrowth.
Sakis still says nothing.
'They don't know, the villagers. They don't know who you are. Olympiakos were playing against Spain the night you won … The whole village sat in the square watching the football.'
'So?' Sakis begins to see which way this is going. He is not sure he likes the direction, so he waits for her to spell it out as he tries to focus in on his own responses, trying to examine and name his emotions.
'So, you could be a surprise like the panigyri has never known. You, Sakis, could make this the best panigyri the village has ever known. You could make this so good that Saros town will never be able to better tonight. The competition between the town and the village will be over and the village will have won forever. They will never be able to better this because you are a local boy, not someone bought and shipped in. You are one of us! Can you imagine?' The pride shines in her eyes.
The confusion in his head is now fighting with a tremor in his chest.
'Please say you will do it. We won't tell anyone. I am the musical coordinator, so I will just say the problem is solved and then, pow! We will hit them between the eyes.' She makes a tiny movement with her fist that is meant to be a punch in the air.
The tremor in his chest is the one he always gets with the excitement of a live performance. The confusion in his head is trying to separate and name all the feelings that are racing through his heart, his veins, his mind.
'I, I, I …' If he is to perform, he will need to practice. 'There are not enough hours.'
'For what? Just sing. I have seen you. Become lost in your world and you will take all those watching with you.'
'But …' What would he sing? Not 'Opa.' He is never going to sing that crass little jingle again. He could sing some of his older songs, the ones about life in Pireaus but somehow, they no longer seem to fit who he is. They are too heavy for life here. He has nothing to sing!
'Please, Sakis.' She is so earnest in her entreaties, her eyes now screwed up against the sun because she has lowered her arm to hold his hand, her wrinkled digits on his smooth, tanned musical fingers.
Someone says 'yes' and she smiles. Sakis realises it is him. Again, he has agreed to something to please someone else. Does he really want to perform? The excitement he feels says 'yes' and Katerina releases her grip. The delight on her face mingles with the excitement now bubbling inside him and he is soaring. The optimism he felt from before Jules’ departure returns with gusto.
'Yes, I would love to,' he repeats, and her smile becomes even wider.
'Not a word to anyone.' She is up on her feet, little bird-like steps as she hops towards her home.
Sakis spurts a half laugh out through his nose, his own smile turning into laughter. He chuckles to himself. Tonight, he will perform and take the world with him once again. But right now, he needs to practice. He must get some words together for his new tunes and hopefully words for that haunting tune. Surely they must come. Now is the time to let this most beautiful of melodies loose for other people to enjoy.
Light on his feet, he takes his bouzouki into his bedroom and the hours fly by as the words to his newest tunes come, lyrics follow more lyrics, but still after many hours, there are no words to the one haunting melody. It does not even have a title. He is slightly disappointed not to have that one tune to offer, but his others are good. Really good. In fact, he confides to himself, they are better than anything he has written for some time.
He stands in the shadows. The sun has gone. The moon is full but th
e stars are unseen as the lighting next to humming generators floods the square. On stage is a really talented old school zither player. Sakis is taken aback to find such passion, such sensitivity, understanding so far from the glitter of the Athens music clubs.
'He's good, isn't he?' Katerina whispers in his ear. 'He's got the farm down by the river.' Sakis turns to look at her to see if she is joking. Her face is shining as she watches the old man play.
Before the old man, there was another man who was very capable on the bouzouki. Not technically brilliant, but he created such a mood, such an intensity. And there was a woman with a voice like grinding stone and toffee who, when she sang, reached deep inside him, making her performance feel personal, exposing. He had blushed. She was mesmerising to watch. Maybe, all these years, he has been facing the wrong direction. Maybe he should have headed towards the fields, not the bright lights of Athens to find the most sincere performers.
'You’re on.' Katerina takes to the stage first to introduce him.
'Ladies and gentlemen, I have a surprise. He is one of our own. He is here to play for you tonight. Sakis!'
A group of young girls at one table clap enthusiastically. Maybe they are fans of the song contest, or perhaps they have just drunk too much wine. As he steps onto the stage, there is a polite clapping from everyone, but he can also hear whispers of, 'Isn't that the son of Costas?' and a few giggles and references to the crocodile killer. He has to push himself to keep going onto the stage, the tremor in his chest now a sickness in his belly. Like every other time at this point, it would take very little to make him turn and run. Run and run until he is far away from the brutal exposure of singing his songs on stage.
He strums his fingers across his bouzouki strings to make sure he is in tune and settles himself comfortably. He strums once more and tzing, his D string snaps and curls up on itself. He has spares in his instrument case, but this could be his excuse to take his leave.
He slips from the stool and walks to the edge of the platform, wondering if the shake in his legs is visible. He could just put his instrument away now and keep walking. A movement in the crowd near the stage catches his eye. Abby straightens her skirt at the back to sit down next to Stella. She looks him right in the eyes and gives him a warm smile and a little nod as if to say 'go on.'
There is a compartment in the case where the strings are kept. His fingers tremble as he moves a piece of folded paper to get to the strings. The crowd talk amicably amongst themselves as he puts on the new string and stuffs the old broken string back into the compartment, then picks up the folded paper. He is about to stuff that in too when he wonders what it is.
Unfolding the sheet, he recognises Jules’ handwriting. He reads. He reads again. The words blur with unspilt tears but also a smile comes to his lips. Standing with confidence, he flashes Abby his best smile, his head turned to the side so the slight overlap of his teeth doesn't show. Taking his place again on stage, instead of playing the tune he rehearsed in his bedroom, he opens with the chords of the haunting melody.
The square silences. Even the children in their best clothes and bows stop running between tables. The whole village is on hold and then come the words that Jules has left him, on a folded sheet tucked in his bouzouki case. The title is 'Amongst the Orange Trees'. The words fit his haunting tune and enhance all its exquisiteness.
He begins to sing and, for him, the world disappears as nature closes in on him, the heat of the day wraps over him, the cicadas become his chorus, the olive trees sway to his melody, and time stands still as the moment is captured.
'I didn't set my alarm last night
I woke up this morning with the new sun
gently warming my face.
I got dressed
I didn't put on my watch
I told the time by the rumbles in my belly
I dined on its silence all day
I listened to myself for a change
Outside I listened to the birds
They didn't chastise me for
my ignoring them for so long
They were happy to have my ears back
to listen to their song
I was happy to listen
I was lost without thought
A deeper connection that leaves me vacant
to not think
and just be
for that moment amongst the orange trees.
There is a deadly hush as the song echoes its end and then, as a mass, the village is on its feet. The girls gathered at one table scream as if he is a pop star. The zither player, when their eyes meet, bows deeply. Katerina is hopping from one foot to the other, and Abby is clapping with her mouth open, eyes open, and hopefully her heart open.
It is as if he has won again. But this win is more than he ever hoped for. He has just won a place on the earth he can call home, and found music at his fingertips that is a real reflection of his spirit.
It seems almost a shame to spoil the moment with more music. But the village is waiting, and he does play on, and they accept each offering with greater applause than the last. But he knows the first was the best.
When he finally steps from the stage, Katerina is all of a dither.
'Did you see him?' she asks.
'Who?' Sakis has no real interest; his eyes are on Abby. Maybe he can sit with her, walk with her, dance with her.
'That big guy. What's his name from Athens Music,' she enthuses. But Sakis has no interest.
Stella welcomes him to her table and Abby's eyes are for him alone.
The next day, Sakis wakes slowly. Following Jules' advice, he did not set an alarm, and his watch is discarded by the bed. Over breakfast, the sun warms his face and the birds sing to him, whispering new tunes, peeping out their own lyrics.
But it is not to be a day of peace.
He leaves the hot pot of breakfast coffee to briefly wander to the kiosk in the square for a paper, only to discover that the local rags are full of the discovery of a 'new star'. Vasso, the lady in the kiosk, enthuses and praises his performance, but he insists he must return before his coffee is cold.
He turns to leave just as a local television crew turns up, and they insist that he be interviewed on the spot. Then the local radio network arrives and they encourage and pressure him to sing for Saros radio, live, there and then.
This completed, he finds an opportunity to sneak away, only to be halted by a national television van pulling up. Was he born here in the village, they want to know? Who influenced him as he grew up? Is he pleased that 'Opa' is the number one selling song in Greece for the fourth week running?
It is with considerable relief that he finds a moment to escape and, undetected, he runs home. As he hurries around to the back of the house, his phone rings, rasping the air. He stops by the back door to answer it.
'Hi, Sakis. Well, you did not waste any time, did you?' Andreas’ voice sounds familiar but misplaced. It does not fit in the village any more. 'I don't suppose you have read the online version of The Athens Musical Express, have you?'
Sakis is about to answer when Andreas continues.
'It says that since winning, you have branched out in a new direction, and let me read this bit out to you: “A new direction that is as alive and as passionate as anything that has been heard in Greece for a long time. Sakis takes traditional Greek music to a new height where only a few will be able to accompany him”.'
Sakis watches the tortoise and thinks about the coffee going cold. Does he have any more lettuce?
'There is also a piece in Online Urban Unchained. It's a good piece by Jules, but I am not sure you should have given him permission to publish the lyrics to one of your songs like that!' Andreas seem to puff between words, as if he is running, but Sakis knows it is just because he is unfit. 'Come up, Sakis! Come to Athens today. I can get you some great interviews and on the strength of this, we can go to New York, when, the day after? Also, I have a lead in Canada. You know, I think we can travel the world on this!'
There's a wilted lettuce leaf on the window ledge that Jules must have left, and Sakis gives it to the tortoise.
'Sakis, you there?' Andreas shouts from the telephone as Sakis attends the tortoise. 'What do you say? We can be in New York by the end of the week. Sakis? Sakis, are you listening?'
The tortoise is munching, a rhythmical sound, tapping out the time, and the birds sing another melody, this one a love song. With it, held high above the melody line, a bell rings, a high metallic chime. It is perfect. The pitch becomes more intense and he wakes from his daydream to see Abby tapping on the cottage's metal gate. Andreas is still talking in his ear.
’One minute, Andreas. I have something important I need to attend to…’ And the phone is pocketed and forgotten.
Opening the gate, he invites her with no words and they stroll through the dried grass and into the dappled shade of the orange tree, his smile lighting up his eyes.
<<<<>>>>
Also by Sara Alexi
The Illegal Gardener
Black Butterflies
The Explosive Nature of Friendship
The Gypsy’s Dream
The Art of Becoming Homeless
In the Shade of the Monkey Puzzle Tree
A Handful of Pebbles
The Unquiet Mind
Watching the Wind Blow
The Reluctant Baker
The English Lesson
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Sincerely,
Sara Alexi
About Sara Alexi
Sara Alexi divides her time between England and a small village in Greece. She is working on her next novel in the Greek Village Series, to be released soon!
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