by Sara Alexi
'Have you not been before?' the old woman asked.
'No, never.'
'Lived there all my life.' The old woman screwed up her eyes and pushed her chin forward as she peered at the island. 'When we get closer you will see the cannons…'
'Cannons?'
'Yes. It was a rich island, you see. Then and now. And so pirates would come. So they put cannons up either side of the port. Can you see them yet?'
Vasso screwed up her eyes like the woman and pushed her chin forward. Could she? Could she see little black dots that might be cannons? Yes, she could!
'I see them!' her excitement filled her words, and for some reason the old lady chuckled.
'Didn’t work,' she said, her merriment subsiding.
'What do you mean? The cannons didn't work?'
'No, the idea. By the time the islanders had got to the port and readied the guns, the pirates had usually landed.'
'Oh.' The black spots were clearer now. On one side of the port they were mounted on a high cut-stone wall, and on the other side they sat low, closer to the water’s edge.
'So they put a chain. Slung it from one side to the other, but under the water.'
'Under the water?' Vasso turned to watch the woman’s face.
'Under the water! It caught the keels of the pirate boats and held them fast while they loaded the cannons and opened fire!'
Vasso caught herself gaping and closed her mouth.
The captain joined in. 'They say the chain is still down there, somewhere. Sunk to the bottom. Too heavy to raise.'
'That’s so clever.' Vasso looked back at the island with a sense of awe.
'But you will find we were clever in many ways,' the old lady continued. 'As a newcomer to the island you will find yourself lost again and again. The streets are so narrow, twisting and turning between the buildings, like a maze.'
The idea of being lost did not appeal at all to Vasso and she swallowed heavily and, with a frown, looked back at the town, trying to gauge its size, and wondering just how lost she could get.
The engine cut to a gentle throb and their speed slowed as they trickled into the harbour. As she stepped onto the security of dry land she passed a couple of drachmas to the captain, and the old woman wished her 'sto kalo'. The man with the moustache raised his cap to her and strode off.
And there it was again – the sensation that she needed to be somewhere, or find someone. It was so strong an urge it sent her turning in circles, looking about her, but it made no sense. Was this just part of missing home, or feeling alone? No, there was no panic to it, no sorrow or sadness. Just an urgency.
Chapter 3
After a while, the feeling eased and her heart stopped pushing against her ribcage. Deep breaths helped her feel more normal and she wiped the perspiration from her brow with the handkerchief Mama had insisted she take with her.
She should find her mama's cousin. What was his name again? With the flat of her hand she smoothed out the tangles that the wind had blown into her hair on the way over, and took out the letter.
Kyrios and Kyria Lakanokoptis, Harbour Side Taverna, she read. If it was on the harbour side, perhaps it was visible from where she was standing. The harbour formed three sides of a square, with a broad, smooth stone walkway between the water and the buildings, shop fronts on the ground floor and balconies above. It was as if the busiest street in Saros had been lifted up and stretched around the water’s edge. Above and behind this first row of buildings, the town stretched up the steep hillside, with houses layered upwards – some of them grand, solid square buildings like those on the waterfront in Saros, and others nothing more than whitewashed cottages like those in the village. A real mix, but nothing modern, nothing new, and every roof tiled just as in the old days and all of the shutters painted blue or blue-grey.
On the sea wall, which almost closed the square of the harbour, she found the walkway covered with tables laid with clean white cloths. Beyond these were more tables, which, judging by their bare wooden surfaces, belonged to a café.
On the corner beyond, there was no choice but to make her way past the donkeys lined up there. Mama had warned her about this.
'Now, be aware that there are donkeys,' she had said, and Vasso had winced. 'None of that, now. You are a woman now, not a child to be scared of the donkeys.'
'Yes but…' she had begun.
'There is no choice. There are no roads on Orino, only narrow paths, so everything is hauled by donkeys. Maybe this is a time for you to make your peace with the gentle beasts.'
Nonetheless, Vasso gave the sleepy animals as wide a berth as she could. Looking at them was fine, and she admired their fluffy long ears, their pale muzzles, the black cross over their shoulders, but since being bitten by a neighbour’s donkey when she was six she had harboured a fear of the beasts, and would not go near them unless she had to.
'They will not harm you,' said a young man, somewhat older than Vasso, who was loosely holding a rope attached to one of the halters. His hair was a sandy brown, as was his moustache, and there was something about him that felt far away, as if he were not really part of his surroundings.
'Which is Harbour Side Taverna?' Vasso asked, maintaining a steady distance from the animals.
The donkey man looked along the walkway and pointed to the cloth-covered tables. Vasso tried to say thank you, but her fingers interlocked and twisted on themselves and not a sound would come out. So she nodded instead and took quick, short steps towards the taverna.
There were a few people sitting at the tables, each with a drink, and a couple with some food. She should go in and introduce herself. She could hear her own breath quicken. After smoothing the front of her blouse, she stood a little bit taller, lifted her chin up, remembered Mama's love and walked inside.
The place was dark after the glare of the harbour; the walls were stone and the floor tiled. Towards the rear, down one wall was a counter, behind which were various grills and cookers where a tall, thin man was busy. There was only one table inside, up against this counter. Here sat a very large woman, absorbed in a magazine that was laid out next to a full ashtray and an empty coffee cup. Presumably all the other tables and chairs were outside for the summer; the lack of furniture made the place feel hollow, cave-like, almost abandoned.
'Ah, you must be Vasso!' The large woman’s chair scraped across the floor as she stood. With a half-smile that did not reach her eyes and her arms limply open, a cigarette firmly remaining between the fingers of her right hand, she waddled forward and loosely embraced Vasso, placing a kiss on each cheek and releasing her quickly. She smelt of tomatoes and oil. 'Argyro,' she introduced herself. From out of the shadows, the tall man, who walked with a stoop, came forward, wiping his hands on a white cloth. 'And this is Stamatis.' Stamatis had the slightest resemblance to her mama – the merriment and kindness of his eyes, and the twist of humour about his mouth. It was enough to increase the aching for home that she had in her chest. She wanted to flee, return home, to have her mama’s arms around her.
'Welcome, welcome to you, Vasso.' He smiled kindly as he took her by her hands and studied her face. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and could not meet his eye. 'You are very welcome,' he said gently, and released her hands.
'Come,' Argyro interrupted, ‘there is food if you want it, but we will be busy soon so I will show you your room. You can leave your bag there, freshen up, and then, maybe, if you are not too tired you can join us back here. It is quiet at this hour, so a good time for you to start work, I think.' Having said this, she led Vasso through a door at the back of the taverna and out to a small gloomy courtyard that was in need of some care and attention. The only redeeming feature, as far as Vasso could see, was a central, somewhat stunted lemon tree, whose branches were much in need of pruning. The walls, once whitewashed, were now grey, and in one corner a stack of burnt pans was half buried amongst fallen twigs and leaves. There were two doors leading off the courtyard: a solid wooden gate, firmly
shut, and a door that stood open to a little room. Inside the room was a single bed, with a pile of slightly grey sheets folded on the end of a sagging mattress. At the end of the bed, through a narrow opening, Vasso could just see the edge of a toilet seat. In the bathroom the paint was peeling and shearing off. Pipes ran exposed along the walls, and the odd weed, both in the courtyard and in the little room, had made a noble effort to grow in a corner or a crevice but had since dried to a crisp in the summer’s heat.
'You will be okay here,' Argyro told her. 'There is a shower attachment through there. You make your hair tidy and come back to the taverna.' Left alone, Vasso stood in the courtyard, picturing in her mind Mama's colourful geraniums in pots around the front and back doors, and her own little bed with a cover her yiayia had made with bobbins and yarn on her twisted fingers the year before she was gone.
Vasso crossed herself three times in memory of Yiayia and then, trying to walk right over the fluttering feelings that threatened to twist her throat speechless and knot her stomach into spasms, stepped into the room, put her bag down, twisted her hair over her shoulder and quickly and neatly made up the bed, smoothing the sheets with the flat of her hand. She washed her face in the cracked sink by the toilet and then combed her hair, plaited it into one long tail and, feeling neater, strode back to the taverna.
'Everything alright?' Stamatis asked, a frown passing across his lifted brow.
'Ah, there you are.' Argyro smiled broadly and, taking Vasso by her arm, her big hands closing all the way around it, led the way to the taverna’s entrance.
'So, just stand here,' she said, placing Vasso just inside the door, facing outwards. 'Watch Spiros.' Argyro pointed at a young man in black trousers, black waistcoat and a white shirt, who had his back to them. 'Today just learn from what you see him do, and if anyone looks like they need anything and Spiros is inside, you go and serve them.'
Then she was left alone.
There were twelve tables, each seating four people. If they were all in use, how could she keep an eye on them all? She could take two plates at a time but she just didn't have the strength to line them up her arm as she had seen waiters do in Saros town. For now, only three tables were occupied, but if it were to get any busier, what then?
As she pondered this possibility the man in the waistcoat turned round and, catching her looking at him, smiled broadly.
Vasso stepped back, steadied herself with her hands on the wall. Her earlier sensation of urgency had returned and knocked her off balance. It was him! This stranger standing before her, this young man she had never seen before in her life, eclipsed everything. The sensation left her reeling and her emotions overwhelmed her. Looking at the ground, she tried to block him out of her mind, regain her control.
Taking her palms from the wall, she noticed that her hands were shaking. She intertwined her fingers in front of her but it helped very little.
He finished what he was saying to a customer, and, turning around, came towards her. He would not notice her. People seldom did. He would probably, if he did anything, give her a curt nod and walk straight past.
Here he came.
She must breathe. She had forgotten to breathe.
So close now. If she stood still he would have to brush past her, but her feet were stuck. Her limbs would not respond. ‘Den eimaste kala,’ she whispered to herself.
'You must be Vasso.' He was standing so close, looking right into her eyes. He noticed her! Panayia, she had been noticed! Now he was waiting for her to answer. What could she say? What should she say? Her lips were parted but no words seemed to come.
'Stars in the heavens, you are beautiful,' he said.
The directionless, inexplicable yearnings, the churning sensation, the sense of urgency were now all explained, and clear, and focused. This stranger she had never seen before was the cause of it all, without a doubt!
And her legs gave way and the world became black.
Chapter 4
'Put a damp cloth on her head.'
'No, give her air. Carry her outside.'
'Move back, come on. Just give the poor girl some room.'
'Vasso, Vasso, are you alright?'
The world swam as if through water that had been poured on glass, and everything sounded unfamiliar. Where was Mama's voice?
'I still say put a damp cloth on her head.'
'Well, get one, then.' This voice sounded annoyed.
Blue. It must be the sky, and the dark outline of a head, fuzzy at the edges.
'Lift her up a bit.'
'No, keep her head down so the blood flows.'
'Vasso, can you hear me?'
Too low a voice to be her mama's, but maybe she just wasn't hearing clearly.
'Mama?'
'No, Spiros. You fainted.'
The man with the smile who said… No! She must have been dreaming.
Focus came to the things nearest her first, and one of these was Spiro’s face. Such a kind face – such a generous smile.
'Ahh, there you are,' he said.
'Here, I have a cold cloth.'
'No, get some water.'
'You okay? Do you want to sit up a little? Here, let me help you,' Spiros said.
And, then, such a firm arm around her, lifting her as if she were a feather.
'Do you want a sip of water? Let me help.' His arm was still supporting her.
The cold against her lips felt nice. A small sip and the icy liquid flowed down her throat, bringing life to her, waking her. Then the flow of heat in her cheeks, and she put a hand on them to hide their colour. How could she faint! On her first day, in her first hour. What would they think of her?
The faces of Argyro and Stamatis took shape, and, with a wriggle, she tried to stand.
'Whoa, steady… Where are you going?' Spiro’s firm hands held her down. 'Kyria Argyro, why don't you get a little glass of wine to revive Despinis Vasso?'
'Oh, yes, or brandy. No – wine, you’re right.'
‘I’ll get a cushion,’ Stamatis said, and he hurried inside.
'Oh, yes, of course.'
Now there was only Spiros close by, and a pleasant musty smell that had a sweetness to it – a complex perfume.
'You are still beautiful, even after a faint.' He chuckled.
Maybe it was his way of joking, or maybe he liked to tease the girls. Either way, Vasso found herself making a decision to give his words no weight.
A cushion was propped behind her head and a glass was put to her lips. The liquid was red and she expected it to taste sweet, fruity, but it was sharp, like vinegar. She did her best not to spit it out. Mama would not be pleased. The tales she had heard of her own baba and the years Mama had spent in black had been too many. She tried to push away the glass along with the thoughts.
'It’s only a little wine,' Spiros implored.
'No, thank you.' By now Vasso was sufficiently recovered to look around and satisfy herself that not too many people were watching. It would be better if she stood now, if people went back to what they were doing. Running a hand over her forehead to push back any stray hairs, she prepared herself to take her own weight and get up on her feet.
'Come, let me help you.' His arm around her tightened and lifted.
'I’m fine, thank you.' She pushed him off and for just a second what looked like fear or hurt passed over his face.
'Okay. So, Vasso, you come sit here. Spiro, there are people who have just sat down at the tables by the water. Stamati, I think I can smell something burning. So, is this a one-off or are you a fainter?' Not only did the words sound hard but there was an edge to her voice, a rasping sound as if she were chewing gravel as she talked. Gone was the broad smile.
'No, I am not a fainter. I mean, I have fainted before.'
'You are too thin. That’s what it will be. A puff of wind could take you away. When did you last eat?'
'Well, I had a piece of bread for breakfast, I think.' But in truth she may not have. It had all been a bit of a rush
at the last minute, with the bus coming early and people calling round to wish her well before she went.
'Stamatis!' The volume of the woman’s screech shocked Vasso almost as much as the fact that one person would ever address another in such a manner.
'Yes, beloved?' He came hurrying from the kitchen area.
'No, stay there. I just need you to bring this girl a plate of something. If you bring spanakopita and some chips, you can do me one, too. What time is it? Yes, well, I was up early. Well, don't just stand there.' She turned to Vasso and rolled her eyes. 'Men, eh?' she asked, but obviously expected no reply.
The time it took for the plates of food to be put before them seemed very drawn out and Vasso could think of nothing to say to the woman. Nor did Argyro speak. Instead, she took a toothpick from the dispenser on the table and satisfied herself with picking her teeth and sucking noisily.
'What took so long?' she said as the food was set before them. Stamatis said nothing but hurried back inside and returned with a basket of bread.
Argyro wasted no time in tucking into the food and, once chewing, she seemed to retreat into a world of her own. Vasso nibbled at the spanokopita, which was overly salted and decidedly soggy. The chips, on the other hand, were undercooked: crisp and golden on the outside but raw in the centre. She took a drink of water but the glass smelt unclean, as if the washing-up water had been dirty, or the cloth used to dry it had needed a wash.
'You not eating any more?' Argyro asked.
'No, thank you. I feel full.'
'You’re a bird! At least you won't cost us in food.' And she stabbed the remainder of Vasso’s pie with her fork. 'You can go and wash that and whatever else is in the sink,' she said, nodding at Vasso’s plate.
Chapter 5
The state of the sink was perhaps the second shock of the day, after the fainting. Judging by the hour of the day and the few customers outside, what was there must have been left in the sink the night before, but nothing had been soaked and the food was now dried on hard and several flies were buzzing around. As the sink was along the back wall, she opened the door to the courtyard to let a little light in and a few of the flies out.