by Sara Alexi
Shortly after this time, Argyro came in one morning and made it quite clear that something was on her mind.
'Spiro,' she called out to where he was serving coffee to a pair of tourists. Vasso headed outside to take his place. 'And you,' Argyro added, somewhat ungraciously.
'I’m not stupid,' she began, her voice low and controlled as if she had practised what she was going to say. Stamatis stopped rattling the pans and came out from behind the counter and stood by his son. Argyro’s eyes narrowed but she made no comment. 'There are too many people on this island with wagging tongues for me not to know what is going on. Stamatis may be blind but I am not.'
'I have no idea what you are–' Spiros began but she silenced him with the flat of her hand in front of his face. To Vasso, this was mountza, an insult, and she bristled. Spiro’s mouth became a thin line and the hand lowered.
'I have not found any food missing. If it was, and it was not paid for, that would be theft.' Her voice remained low. Vasso stared at her shoes.
'Argyro, what are you saying?' Stamati’s face held all the disgust he managed to keep out of his voice.
'But what I think is going on is that you are using these premises – my premises – for your own gain without paying any rent.'
No one spoke. Vasso silently acknowledged that, technically, what she was saying was true.
'From the rumours, I hear you have done well, and, as I said, I am not stupid. If it were me I would be gathering my little pile of drachmas and thinking of getting my own place.'
Spiros drew a quick breath.
'What? You thought I wouldn't know? When you have been asking around for premises…?'
Spiros looked at Vasso and Vasso looked to see how this was affecting Stamatis. His eyebrows had risen in the middle and, even though he was a middle-aged man, he looked like he might cry.
'Look at you all, panicking,' Argyro scoffed. 'I am neither stupid, nor am I unreasonable,' she went on. 'So I have an offer to make you. Stamatis, you can be waiter, Spiros you can be cook, but no one is going anywhere, you stay and you work here. I want your word on that.'
Vasso saw the relief across Stamati’s face.
The three of them, ignoring Argyro, looked at each other, trying to gauge one another’s reactions to the suggestion.
Eventually, Spiros looked at the floor and Vasso remembered him telling her how he had learnt to crawl there. Stamati’s mouth hung open, his arms limp by his side, his eyes sad, resigned, awaiting the outcome. The seconds ticked by until Vasso took Spiro’s hand. This would mean no more saving, no more of the stress of going behind Argyro’s back, no more waiting for Spiros to take his rightful place in a kitchen. She gave his hand a squeeze.
'Agreed,' he said, and everyone, except him, sighed out their tension. 'But I get free rein on the menu.'
Argyro didn't answer; she gave a quick jerk of her chin, sideways and down in agreement.
But all Vasso could remember thinking at the time was that this tentative peace would not last.
Chapter 17
'You know, I’ve been here over a month now and I’ve seen nothing of the island,' Vasso reflected one night as they sat under the lemon tree.
'If Argyro does not buy better produce we are going to lose our customers,' Spiros mused. 'There’s not much to see, it’s an island after all…' He took a long drink of his third ouzo. 'The meat is too tough. You know, they do not hang meat here, in Greece. Meat needs to be hung so the natural enzymes can break down the meat, improve its flavour and make it tender. But the meat is too fresh. Butchered the same day as you buy it. It sounds great, but it makes it tough and flavourless. It won't do.'
'Do you think Argyro will let us have an afternoon off every other week or something, so I can explore the island?'
'We cannot hang it ourselves. The butcher told me it has to be done at a constant temperature. He’ll do it for us, but he would charge more, of course. I’ve tried to explain this to Argyro, that I am compensating for the toughness and lack of flavour by cooking it for longer, more slowly, but she is saying it’s just a waste of gas.'
'I’d like to walk up to the monastery, up at the top, on the ridge. Have you been up there? I bet the views are amazing…'
'And the vegetables! Can she not see they are not the best quality? I tell you this is going to ruin my reputation.'
'Spiro, are you listening to me?'
'Sorry, what?'
'I want us to have the odd afternoon off to see the island, or just to be together.'
'Ah Vasso, my baby. In an ideal world, eh?
'What do you mean, in an ideal world? It’s not unreasonable.'
'No, I didn't say it was, but now we are running the taverna we have to be here for the customers.'
'Argyro is still running the taverna. She orders the produce, she pays the bills.'
'Ah, but she does not cook. I do!'
'Yes, and I’m very pleased for you, but maybe we need a little time too, Spiro.'
The leaves on the lemon tree rustled with the breeze. Spiros put down his glass, took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. She looked back into his, liquid pools of brown that promised so much.
'We have all winter, and the rest of our lives too,' he said and the kiss made her forget, and the night slid by and the morning came too soon.
'Green beans, beetroot, tomatoes, onions.' The donkey man with the sandy hair named each item as he dumped it on the doorstep.
'What are these?' Spiros picked up a long, pale, wilted bean.
'Beans,' the man answered, shrugging.
'Argyro, these will be stringy and tough,' he said, holding a handful of the offending beans under her nose. Argyro looked up briefly from her magazine and shrugged.
'Five drachmas less a kilo,' she said, and continued to read.
'No, it’s not good enough. Stefanos,' He addressed the donkey man. 'Take it back.'
'I get paid to deliver,' said the man.
'Okay, I will pay you to take it back. Spiros was almost shouting as he stepped towards the till. Argyro was on her feet, magazine forgotten.
'And what do you think you are doing?' She stood between him and the till.
'If we keep getting this produce I will lose my reputation.'
'Your reputation! This is a taverna, not a one-man show!' Argyro snapped back.
'And the meat, it isn’t fresh!'
'You said you wanted it old.'
'No, I wanted it hung. That’s different from being old – it’s controlled.'
'Stefanos, thank you.' Argyro said to the donkey man, who seemed relieved to be dismissed.
Vasso did not want to witness another row between Spiros and Argyro, so she watched Stefanos feed his donkey a handful of the wilted beans. The animal took them, its lips curling around the beans but avoiding his fingers, its muzzle soft against his calloused palm. Stefanos leaned in and whispered in its fluffy ear before untying the beast and moving off. There was something old about him, even though he was still in his twenties or thereabouts.
The voices inside the taverna were raised.
'If we do not cook this meat longer we will end up giving someone food poisoning.' Spiros was almost shouting.
'Keep your voice down,' Argyro hissed. Stamatis looked to Vasso. He appeared beaten and his stoop seemed more exaggerated as he wandered back out to the sunshine.
'You know, it’s a Tuesday morning. There’ll be no business until this afternoon. Take him out, Vasso, go for a walk by the sea. I’m sick of hearing them argue.'
'Really? Will you manage?'
'What? A frappé or two and flipping the lid off a cold beer! I think so.' But his humour didn't reach his eyes. 'Spiro,' he called inside.
The argument between Spiros and Argyro continued for a moment, and then Spiros came to join them.
'Spiro, take Vasso for a walk,' Stamatis said.
Vasso expected Spiros to object but instead he walked out into the sunshine and grabbed her hand, and they walked
off along the harbour wall without a word.
She waited for a barrage of accusation to be voiced over Argyro’s attitude, but he managed to walk silently. Was this a time to say silent, or should she try to smooth things over?
They walked on, around the far side of the port. The buildings on the harbour front had been built as warehouses, originally, with large doors to let the fishing boats in, but most had been converted some time ago and were now boutique shops, selling clothes and jewellery, reflecting the wealth of the tourists who came here.
It was an island where the rich and famous had their hideaways. Names were always popping up in the chatter amongst the customers, but she had no real idea if it was just gossip or true. An American musician was said to have had a house somewhere up in the town, and so did a very popular English actress who made Hollywood films.
‘I have heard that a lot of rich and famous people from around the world live here.’ She did not phrase it as a question. There was also a famous Greek painter who spent half the year amongst the locals. Vasso had seen one or two of his paintings, but could not understand why people liked them.
‘And that Greek painter,’ she added quietly.
Their pace was not slow and he still had a grip on her hand, so she hurried to keep up. The speed did not really feel conducive to conversation so she gave up trying and stayed quiet. It felt like he was taking her somewhere. Part of her wanted to pull away and suggest that he walk with her, not lead her like a goat. But her heart told her to let it be, to trust him, follow him, to remain as supportive as she could. She decided she would put up with being towed for another five minutes, but no longer than that.
Beyond the last of the shops, where the sea wall jutted out, enclosing the harbour, the land behind sloped up steeply, looming over the port. Vasso had not ventured this way until now, and she assumed that the path ended here, but as they approached the corner she could see that it curled round and followed the coast of the island, disappearing into inlets, reappearing further along, stretching along the island’s coast as far as she could see. To her right there was a sound of screeching and laughter. With a hand against her forehead for shade she searched amongst the rocks for the shapes of people. Their arms swinging, and with mock severity, young boys pushed one another screaming off the rocks and into the depths, only to bob to the surface to laugh and call each other names. Looking out across the sea, she could see the sun reflecting from the surface so sharply she narrowed her eyes; the expanse of it took her breath away. Floating far, far away was the blue outline of the mainland, and in-between were dotted barren misty blue islands, on white lines of surf, offering a sense of distance. The nearest boasted a tiny whitewashed church.
'Oh, how beautiful,' Vasso said.
But Spiros did not reply, and he led her up a very steep set of steps. Up and up they went, Vasso growing ever hotter until her forearms shone with sweat and she thought she might have to ask Spiros to stop so she could rest.
But Spiros clearly did not want to talk and he did not want to stop, so she continued, their joined arms stretched out between them as he marched forward.
When there was nowhere higher to climb to, he dodged between two pine trees and down behind a wall. They passed a small church that looked like it had not been used for some time, and then they came out onto a terrace that surrounded an old windmill. The sails had gone and the door was propped shut with a stone. Half the terrace was in shade and here Spiros flopped onto the ground and sat cross-legged. Before them, the panorama of the sea was even broader, and the blue of the water and the blue of the sky were only separated by a thin line of darker blues that suggested land. Around the base of each island, a haze of white made it appear to levitate. Vasso was sure she had never seen a more breathtaking view in her life.
Chapter 18
'Oh, for the love of all that is good look at the view!' she exclaimed.
Spiros looked, but his attention was not on the view.
'She's got to go,' he said.
'Can we not forget about the taverna for now and just be together?'
'Okay, my love. But I am just letting you know that I have made a decision. The taverna was ours, my mama’s, my baba's and mine, before she came along, so to make this work – which it is, but it will work even better – she has got to go.'
'I agree it would be easier.'
'Whatever it takes.' He spoke in a snarl, and Vasso looked at him; for the first time, she felt as if she did not know him. His intensity scared her.
And then he laughed. His laughter was young and carefree and it lit up his face.
'This is where I would come when I was a boy on my way home from school. I would take the long way.' He pointed over his shoulder, behind the hill to the next rise towards the ridge that ran like a spine along the whole island. There, a solid square building sat, with large letters painted on the side announcing to the world that it was the high school.
'Were you good at school?' Vasso asked, relieved at the change in subject.
'No, not really. The teachers liked me because I was always polite and on time but I had no ambition to do well. What for? If I could read, write and add up that was all I needed. I never had any intention of leaving the island. I loved my mama.' His voice turned sad. 'I was happy just to be with her, her and Baba.'
Vasso knew it was only her curiosity that made her want to ask how his mama had died, and it was a subject that would not cheer Spiros, so she stayed silent.
'Dimitri, he was naughty. Oh, how he was naughty.' Spiros rolled back on his hips as he laughed. 'He was naughty enough for the both of us. I would find him up here quite often, hiding from whatever trouble he was in.'
Vasso delighted in this recollection. Staring out to sea, she could imagine them both there, two boys, one good and one naughty, each wishing just a little to be more like the other, each also glad that he wasn't.
A noise caught her attention, and she peered over the edge of the terrace and down the steep slope that dropped to the path and then to the sea below them. A little way down, on an impossibly narrow ledge, was a goat.
'Nee, nee.' She wobbled her throat in imitation of the animal. It looked up and answered, the bell around its neck clonking a dull resonance. 'Look, it’s coming to us – oh, its feet are tied!' A length of rope was strung between a front and a back leg.
'Keeps it safe,' Spiros said. 'Stops them being too adventurous, jumping about. They've been known to fall in the sea.'
'Really?'
'They say.'
'So, have you never wanted to leave the island, then, not even when you got to be about – I don't know, fourteen or fifteen, and home seemed too small?' She could remember that feeling, of her own village seeming to be too small, everyone knowing everyone else’s business – imagining their eyes watching her wherever she went. At thirteen it had been excruciating, and at fourteen she had wanted to run away just to give them all something to talk about. Her friend, Stella, had become fidgety at that age, too. In fact, their friendship had faltered for a while, each had become so agitated. Poor Stella did not get on too well with her own mama, and at that time she had even begun to argue with her baba, whom previously it had seemed she adored. For Vasso, going home was a sanctuary from the people of the village, whereas Stella complained that it felt like the village but more concentrated, with two against one in a small house. With a less sensitive man than Stella’s baba, that could have been a very uncomfortable time for her friend, but, true to his character, he found a way to reach his daughter, provided the safety she needed, and very quickly became Stella’s idol again.
'Never.' Spiros was emphatic. 'I wanted to cook in the taverna. That was it. That’s always been it and now I’m absolutely determined that will be it!' He spoke angrily again.
Vasso twisted her engagement ring and sighed.
'Spiro, where will we live?'
'Hmmm?'
'After we are married. Will we live at your family home?'
'What?
With Argyro?'
'Well, we have to live somewhere.'
'I haven't given it any thought.' He seemed far away. Maybe he was tired.
'Perhaps we should? Also – when shall we marry?'
'I think I will do pork for the special tonight.'
'Spiro!'
'I’m kidding. What about at the end of the summer?'
'Here, or in my village?'
'Here, of course. I think I will do the pork though, with celery, dill and avgolemono sauce.'
'I don’t have so much family, so from my side it will be a small wedding. Who is there on your side?'
'Who isn't there on my side? The whole island is related to each other if you go far enough back.'
'Well, we can use what we kept back from the lunchtime service before Argyro found us out… I’m afraid there won’t be much money from Mama, because that’s why I’m here. So we can’t afford to invite them all.'
'It will work out. Don't worry, my sweet. Come here.' His face was close to hers. 'I never imagined you when I was up here as a boy.' He wrapped her hair around his fist and ever so gently pulled her towards him. 'If I had I would have been the most impatient boy in the world, waiting for you.' He kissed her nose, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth, and the view and the windmill no longer existed. There was only Spiros. They remained interlocked for several minutes until Spiros pulled away and said, 'Come on. If it is to be pork I need to get started.' And he was on his feet, pulling her up by her hand, pausing for another kiss, and then they were laughing and chasing each other as they headed back to the taverna. The world was a beautiful place.