by Sara Alexi
The swirling in her head settled and, as it did, she took another look out of the window. Spiro’s fingers were round the edge of the door, and as she watched he closed it, with him and Argyro, and the papers that could sign her son over to the old witch, on the inside.
Chapter 35
'You know, Juliet, I would quite enjoy a glass of wine.' Vasso stretches out her arms and legs. The tops of her little fingers are beginning to curve inward and the veins show, raised, on the back of her hands. But aging has been mostly kind to her. There are no serious aches or pains and she has no complaints.
'You can’t leave the story there!' Juliet says, sitting up in the hammock. The cat that was curled on her lap jumps down, leans back against its front legs, tail high in the air, and yawns.
‘Also, I am getting eaten alive.' Vasso runs a hand down the back of her legs, feeling at the bumps, trying not to scratch. Juliet is already on her feet. She lights a citrus candle and puts it on the floor between them.
'Red or white?'
'Oh, red. With ice,' Vasso calls, watching Juliet disappear inside. She lifts her arms to allow the air to circulate. The evening is so still that the slight drop in temperature now the sun has gone is almost imperceptible.
Would she have had the same reaction if the situation with Argyro and Spiros happened today? Of course she wouldn't, she is older and wiser. But back then it all seemed so raw and immediate. And she has never, not once, regretted what she did. In fact, it was the best move she could have made – not that she was aware of that at the time. But as for being that age again – no way! Not for straight fingers, smooth hands and a face free of lines. It was all far too painful.
'So, tell me.' Juliet returns with a tall glass of red wine for each of them, ice clinking against the side. 'Do you want anything to eat, by the way?' she asks before lowering herself back into her hammock. Vasso tuts a typical Greek no. She is not hungry quite yet.
'So, go on, what happened?'
'Ah well, I was young and spirited and as I watched the door close a few things came to mind.’ It seems so long ago now, almost like it was a dream or a film she once saw. ‘I remember I had caught Argyro trying to teach Thanasis the word “mama” one day when she thought I was stuck with a customer and Spiros was banging and clattering in the kitchen.’ So long ago and yet the pain, the hurt, is still there, as if it was yesterday. ‘Only, when she said the word “mama”, she pointed to herself, patted herself on the chest… and another time when she was telling him that if he ever needed anything he must go to her first.’ She makes a concerted effort to not let the anger grow in her again. She has worked through it, forgiven Argyro, and come to terms with it. There is nothing to be gained in igniting all that emotion again. She breathes deeply, slowly. ‘He was too small to understand her words but I could see what her intention was – and all this rushed to the forefront of my mind.’
'Right, so what happened?' Juliet does not sit back in her chair. Instead she shuffles her feet and rocks her glass back and forth, making the ice tinkle.
'Well, I looked at Thanasis and I realised he was my priority. He came first. He came before Argyro, before Spiros. Even before me. But it went further. He was more important than my mama, than the public’s opinion of me, than everything.'
The intensity of that moment returns to her as if it had happened last week, not thirty-five years ago. There had been no decision, no struggle to make up her mind what to do; she just did it. She lifted Thanasis from the bed, took what little money Spiros had stashed in a tear in the mattress, and with nothing but this and the clothes she stood up in, and a few nappies, pressing Thanasis to her breast so he would not wake up, she pattered downstairs, out of the courtyard and along the passage to the port.
It was late enough and fairly quiet. She passed a man whom she had served at the taverna a few days before, and he nodded but neither of them spoke. Her legs were propelling her but she had no idea where she was going. The place that she felt drawn to was the church next to the windmill. But, though Thanasis was only small and would probably never remember it if they were to sleep on the church steps or by the windmill, that was not the life she wanted to give him, living like the gypsies who slept under the pine trees in Saros town – not even for one night, not if she could help it. She stopped under the single street light that lifted the cobbles into high relief and counted the money.
At the port’s corner, the dull glow of an oil lamp shone as it swung in the hand of a local fisherman who was standing on shore. Down in the water, his legs splayed and his knees bent to compensate for the rocking of his small boat, was another man who did not look Greek. The boat’s name glowed in the light: TT Irida. Vasso knew that ‘TT’ meant 'tender to’, and that this small boat would be used by the foreigner to get to his yacht, which would be anchored offshore somewhere.
'You can never tell,' the fisherman said. 'Some nights can be lucky, and you can catch lots of fish. Some aren't.' He ambled his way up one of the side streets and disappeared into the shadows.
‘Ah, but it’s nice, no? To sit in a boat under the moon, fish or no fish. Goodnight, my friend,' the other called into the darkness, in a thick accent, and then set about pulling on ropes, releasing himself from the harbour.
'Excuse me.' Vasso walked right up to the harbour’s edge. 'Are you going to the mainland?' This was devious; she knew he would not be. He would likely only be going as far as his yacht, at this time of night.
'Oh my dear, is that a baby you have there? Why are you out so late?
And another lie rolled from her tongue.
'I have word that my mama is ill, and I must go to her.'
He looked over his shoulder, across to the mainland. 'Is she just across there?' he asked, his work with the ropes paused.
'No, just outside Saros. But over there will do.'
'Saros, ok. I am going, tomorrow... er... But tonight is ok too.’ He scratched his head and frowned at her, but soon smiled again. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘come, we will go!’ He smiled and held out his hand to help her onto the gently rocking boat and showed her where to sit before pulling the cord to start the outboard motor.
Vasso held Thanasis close and pulled her shawl over him to stop the wind disturbing his sleep. In the dark of the bay a shape loomed black, pinpoints of light dotted along its side. They motored on and the shape grew and grew. Surely only a king could own such a large vessel!
Lights came on as they got nearer, and half a dozen uniformed Asians came running out to help them on board. Everything was shiny and new and the brightness of it all dazzled her. She was helped onboard by one of the crew, whose nails were manicured and uniform spotlessly white. The stern area was covered by an upper deck but open to the warm night air on three sides. In the centre was a large polished wooden table with seating for ten or so, and yet the space was larger than the whole of Stamati’s taverna. Glasses and plates and silver cutlery were laid out neatly on the wood. Linen napkins fanned in pleats in tall-stemmed wine glasses. It was like a picture from one of Vasso’s magazines, and she could not stop staring at the beauty of it all.
'Any luck, darling?' a lazy voice said in English, which immediately made Vasso feel like she was in a film. 'Oh, what have we here?' A woman in a long, flowing gown came through sliding doors, a glass in her hand, rings adorning long fingers.
'Crystal this is… Sorry my dear, I do not know your name.' Vasso looked at him blankly and he repeated himself in clumsy Greek.
Introductions were made; Vasso tried to get her tongue to say the woman's name but it did not seem right to be so informal having only just met her, and she addressed her as Kyria Crystal, which made the woman lift her chin and lengthen her neck. The look she gave her made Vasso feel small and she clutched Thanasis more tightly.
'Well, Vasso, and who is this?' Crystal asked in broken Greek, and she stepped closer and pulled away the shawl to see Thanasi’s reposeful face. 'Oh-so small. Christopher, do you remember when Gabrielle was so small
?'
'You have no objections to sailing tonight, do you?' he asked. She did not answer and the man gave commands to his crew to raise the anchor and set sail for Saros.
Vasso yawned. It was late and all the emotions of the evening had also drained her energy.
'Would you like a gin and tonic before you go to bed?' Crystal did not wait for an answer. 'You can have the yellow guest room.' And she turned and gave instructions in English to a uniformed girl who had been silently standing by the sliding doors. The girl looked at Vasso and appeared to be waiting.
'Well, goodnight,' Crystal said dismissively.
Vasso could not even manage a goodnight. As the sliding door was pushed back for her to enter she could not help but stare at the huge flower display on the table in the lounge being opened to her. The table itself shone so deeply that it reflected the ceiling, itself all polished metal. The portholes were so large that Vasso would have called them windows, and they were draped with evenly pleated swags of material. Lamps in the same fabric stood on every surface casting a subdued light, and it smelt of jasmine, but somehow not real jasmine – rather, a simulation of the real thing.
'Goodnight, Vasso,' Christopher called from outside where he was busy helping one of the crew secure the tender to the back of the boat.
'Kalinixta,' Vasso managed and before she could take in any more of the room she obediently followed the uniformed woman who was disappearing down a hallway at the far end. As she left, she heard Crystal say something in English to Christopher in a tone that suggested annoyance, and Christopher’s reply was calm and patient. Crystal’s tone changed to something grating and high-pitched. She spat out the words in her foreign tongue and Christopher replied meekly. Vasso sighed. Even here, with all this wealth and beauty, it was possible to be discontented. Would Argyro be any happier in such a position? Argyro would think so, but Vasso wondered if people chose the circumstances they tolerated just to prove – exaggerate, even – how imperfect their lot was in the world. If she had stayed on Orino she would have had plenty of reason to complain. But she had not stayed. She had faced her problem straight on and made a change before the situation became unbearable. Maybe this is what Argyro should do, and Crystal perhaps? But then, without really knowing anything about Crystal, she could guess that this graceful foreign woman would no more let go of her wealth than Argyro would the taverna, even to be happy.
'Being unhappy in order to feel wealthy is madness.' She didn’t intend to say this out loud. The Asian woman turned and smiled.
'Do you speak Greek?' Vasso asked. The corridor, with its deep-pile carpet, seemed to be going on forever. The woman did not reply but she stopped outside a door, pushed it open and, with an outstretched arm, invited Vasso to enter.
In the room, two lamps on the table by the far wall each lit a single bed. The covers were a pale lemon yellow and they matched more swags of material hanging at the windows. Everything looked new and untouched. She looked behind her as the door was closed to see a lemon-yellow bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It was as cool as spring in that overly draped cabin. She opened the door of what she thought might be a wardrobe, and it turned out to be a bathroom. Another door revealed a wardrobe so big she could walk into it. A long mirror was attached to the wall at the far end and everywhere the carpet was so thick her feet sank into it.
'Oh my, Thanasis, I wish you were old enough that you would remember this!' After laying him carefully on one of the single beds, Vasso could not resist the temptation to have a shower, just because it was all so grand. She slipped off her clothes, but did not put on the bathrobe in case it belonged to someone and they had just forgotten it. The glass-walled shower was huge. Vasso turned on the tap and stood to one side, testing the temperature, but the water was immediately warm, and the temperature stayed steady with no need to adjust the cold tap. She climbed in and turned around and around, letting the flow of warm water soothe her, trying to ignore the fact that she had just left her husband. On a glass shelf were soap, shampoo and something labelled as shampoo cream. She was not totally sure if she should use them – but then, why not? If a guest came to stay at her house she would make all these things available to them if she had them.
She washed with the soap and used the shampoo, and then, just because it was there, she used the shampoo cream, and her hair became soft and silky like she had never felt it before. The hot water did not run out and she only left the luxury of it behind when she thought she heard Thanasis stir.
The towel was so big it went round her twice and, once it was safely tucked in, and she had checked on her child, who seemed to be sleeping well with the gentle movement of the boat, she set about cleaning the shower so it looked new again. Then, even though she was tired and the bed looked tempting, she found she could not sleep just yet as she had discovered a bottle of body lotion, some hand cream and a hairdryer on the dressing table. A small part of her knew that this care she was lavishing on herself was her response to the fact that she was now on her own. There was no one but herself to take care of her.
A tap at the door startled her, and she opened it cautiously. Another Asian lady stood there, bowing slightly, and holding out a folded bundle that turned out to be satin pyjamas.
The novelty and luxury of the moment was not only distracting her from her plight, but also heightened her awareness of how little care she had taken of herself in recent months – certainly since Thanasis was born. This realisation seemed to release something within her, a tension that she had perhaps been holding unnoticed; consequently, when she lay down it was as if a weight had been lifted from her, and she slept soundly.
The next morning she was woken by another tap on her door and presented with coffee and toast with butter and a choice of marmalades on a tray.
Thanasis awoke as Vasso was taking her first sip of coffee and without a word the Asian lady picked him up, made a soft murmuring sound and rocked him gently. Vasso was about to intervene when she saw the look on the woman’s face. She was in bliss and a tear ran down her cheek.
Vasso put her hand on the woman’s shoulder, and she looked up and smiled through her tears. She pointed to Thanasis, then to herself, and then in a big arch towards the window, out into the distance. With her free hand she held up five fingers and then held her hand above the floor at about Thanasi's height, then two inches higher, then higher still until the fifth time her hand was level with her shoulder.
The woman walked with Thanasis to the window, and Vasso sat back down and ate her breakfast. Just as she was finishing, there was another tap on the door. The Asian woman's look of bliss was replaced with one of fear, and she hastily handed Thanasis back and took the tray from Vasso's knee.
It was Christopher, who came in, smiling.
'You slept well? We are in Saros. Crystal and I, we go now, for coffee.’ He held out his hand. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you and I wish your mama that her illness passes.' Vasso smiled at his clumsy Greek and shook his proffered hand, muttering a hundred thank-yous, in Greek and English, which made Christopher smile again. The maid slipped out past him, and then he left and she was alone with Thanasis.
She made the bed and put everything straight, and took one last look, trying to memorise the details. She let herself out into the corridor and found the way by which she had entered.
The crew, who were busy polishing everything in sight, ignored her, which felt stranger than the false courtesy that they had displayed the night before.
Saros seemed almost alien after her long absence, as if she had never left and, at the same time, as if she had been away for much longer than two years.
Two years gone, and she was married and separated with a one-year-old child. Mama would be far from happy.
She set out on the coastal track towards the village, keen to avoid the main roads, and anxious to get home unseen so she could be the first to explain the situation to her mama.
Chapter 36
The village seemed so familiar.
The slight sense of isolation she had felt, even in the height of her love with Spiros, dropped away as if it had never been there. Looking over the burnt-orange tiled roofs she could name the people who lived in every one. Each with a connection to her – a second aunt, a cousin, a school friend. Each always found a place at their table for her if she ever dropped round, and each treated her like family. Why didn’t Argyro have that on the island? What a life she had created for herself with her moaning and resentment!
Vasso spotted the roof of her own house, tucked away just down the path opposite the church. Noting the cross atop the dome of the church, she reflected that her mama was sure to make her see the priest, and he might press her to return to her husband. She puffed out a big breath through inflated cheeks. The whole village would gossip, for a while at least. Everyone with their own opinions, many condemning of her, especially those of the older generation.
Or would they? Surely once they knew Argyro wanted to take her son they would not expect her to be reunited with Spiros? She could not imagine her mama signing away her only grandchild, nor the priest suggesting that she go back to such a situation. Who in the village would think such a thing was acceptable? No one! Not even Maria, her nearest neighbour by the church, and she was really not fond of children.
The village harbour seemed more decayed and unused than ever, but three small fishing boats were tied up there. She knew who owned each one.
The track to the village was clear, marked by goat-trimmed bushes and eaten-away grass. If she went up to the left she could cut through the orange orchard and come up behind her house.
The first house she came to, right at the end of her lane, had a hand-written sign on the gate which read TO LET. It had been empty as long as she could remember. A cat lounged on the terrace as if it owned the place. The drive was swept clean of leaves, and the garden was neatly tended.