The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8)

by Sara Alexi

  Yanni shifts a little on his chair, leans forwards, and reaches for the glass from which he takes the smallest sip. He is not going down this route again. The wine is cool and the old man smiles broadly.

  ‘So.’ His faces creases into weather-worn lines and he settles a little in his chair, as if to become more comfortable. He puts one old boot on top of the other, his knees fall outwards. He has soil dust around the bottom of his trousers. ‘I will tell you a little story about a lawyer and a policeman, and you can judge for yourself.’ He clears his throat but there is a falseness to the cough, a clichéd beginning, and the outer corners of his eyes crease as his mouth curls up into a flicker of a smile. It is all part of the performance. ‘It concerns a lawyer. A lawyer with a fast car. It was inevitable that one day, he was pulled over for speeding on the road to Saros.’ He looks down the road that leads out of the village and waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the town. ‘The policeman who stopped him checked all his documents of course, and found various irregularities. Probably his insurance was not up to date, and the vehicle did not have an emissions certificate, a light didn’t work, that sort of thing. It doesn’t really matter, the point is that the combined fine was rather steep.’ The old man pauses to drink and to refill his glass. He looks over to Yanni’s glass too, but it is still full, and he puts the jug back on the table with a sigh.

  ‘So anyway, our lawyer friend has to present his papers at the police station within a week, along with the pink slip detailing the offences, and if he does this, the fine will be reduced a little. So he goes in his best suit, hoping to intimidate the police officers. He is a lawyer after all, and all lawyers think they are better than the rest of us!’ The old man chuckles at this, clearly enjoying the telling of his tale ‘But the policeman at the station is not impressed. He will not be intimidated, and his hands stay on his side of the counter; he does not take the lawyer’s bribe that he tries to slide across the desk. He is poker-faced, and he fills out endless forms, and then, just as he is about to print out his report, he finds that the printer has run out of paper. He calls across to the receptionist to get some more paper, but she is on her mobile phone and she swivels her chair so her back is to him. He has no choice. Reluctantly, he goes off to the storeroom to get some more himself. “Wait here,” he says to our lawyer friend, who has resigned himself to paying the fines by now.’ The old man pauses again to drink, and this time, he finds the jug is empty. ‘Stella!’ he calls and waves the empty vessel in her direction.

  ‘Now where was I?’ he asks, but with a grin, as if this too is part of the show. ‘Ah yes, our policeman stepped out to get the paper. So, as the lawyer is sitting there waiting for him to return, he picks up the pink slip, for want of something to do, and he notices that it is all filled in apart from the space for the reduction in the fine. Quick as you like, he picks up a pen and fills in the space with a very modest number and puts the slip back on the policeman’s desk. The policeman returns in a few minutes, and as you can imagine, all hell breaks loose. The lawyer swears blind that the policeman filled in the sum, and the policeman curses the lawyer and calls him all manner of names. The secretary is called as a witness, but she was on the phone to her boyfriend and didn’t see anything, so the policeman swears at her too, and she returns the insults. You get the picture. This goes on for a while, but soon they all calm down a little. But a solution is needed! The pink slip is an official form, and this is an embarrassment for the policeman. He looks to see if he can add a nought on the end, but there is no space. What can he do? He does not want to lose face in front of the lawyer, and he does not want to admit to his superiors that he left official documents on his desk while he left the room to get the printer paper. Nor does he want to admit that his own secretary would not run the errand for him. The lawyer lets him stew for a while, and then he comes to his rescue, offering a bribe again. “I will pay the fine that is written there, and you will take this fifty euros. And now that you have taken it, that can be an end to this matter”. This is a solution for the policeman, of course, and he accepts. And perhaps that should be the end to my tale?’ The old man looks over his glass at Yanni, chuckling and grinning. ‘Eh? Do you think that is the end?’ Yanni shrugs.

  ‘For you to be asking, I guess it is not,’ he replies, cautious, but curious too.

  ‘Of course it is not the end! We are talking about a lawyer here!’ The old man laughs out loud and coughs violently, going red in the face. Mitsos comes hurrying out, puts the jug he is carrying down, and pats him of the back before pouring a drink and putting it to the old man’s lips as if it is an everyday occurrence. Mitsos tuts and smiles before he returns indoors.

  The old man manages to compose himself, and he continues.

  ‘So as I said, the lawyer is a lawyer, and in the top pocket of his shiny suit is a little tape recorder. And he takes this out now, and as you can imagine, the policeman’s face goes white. A tape recorder! And he has just accepted a bribe. Now, the lawyer is with the upper hand, and he snatches back the fifty euros and, without paying his fine, he stands to leave. As he goes, he waves the tape recorder at the policeman, who is still just sitting there. “I trust I will hear no more about this”, he says as he marches out. It’s clever, yes? But then, he is a lawyer, and lawyers are clever and sneaky.’ Having finished the tale, the old man sits back in his chair and his shoulders relax, and he regards Yanni gently now, sipping from his glass.

  ‘Why have you told me this?’ asks Yanni.

  ‘Because I have dealt with lawyers too, and perhaps you can save yourself some trouble, if you are not too proud to take advice from an old man…’

  ‘Well,’ says Yanni, ‘I appreciate your concern, but you know that Babis is my cousin…’

  At this, the old man sits up straight and looks Yanni straight in the eyes. ‘And who do you think the policeman was? I tell you, he was the lawyer’s brother!’ And having delivered this line, he stands, drains his glass, chucks a handful of coins on the table, and begins to walk slowly towards the square. He turns as if he has forgotten something. ‘Be careful,’ he says, and at that moment, Stella comes out to clear his table and he tips his hat to her with the slightest of bows.

  ‘He’s a character, isn’t he?’ She smiles at Yanni.

  ‘Is he a farmer?’ Yanni asks. Something about the soil dust on his trousers did not fit with his manner.

  ‘Well, everyone in the village has land and trees, but he is retired, used to be a policeman.’ She finishes wiping the table. ‘You want anything else?’

  ‘No, thank you, Stella. That was a good meal.’ He stands and leaves some notes on the table and a couple of extra coins for a tip. If he goes to Babis’ house, there will be no ouzo, no beer, early to bed and then tomorrow he can at least go see the donkey man. Damn Babis for not waking him.

  Putting his shoulder to the door, it pushes aside some jackets that have fallen off a hook on the back. Scooping them up, he rehangs them. How is it possible for a place to get so jumbled? Picking up a couple of abandoned plates, he takes them to the kitchen. The sink is full. He looks around for soap and a sponge. Leaning against the kettle is a note from Babis.

  ‘Left early, didn’t want to wake you. Gone to Athens. Hope to return with exciting news. Can you make a bit of an inroad into clearing up? There’s a washing machine in the back room. B.’

  ‘Didn’t want to wake you!’ Yanni exclaims and, balling the paper, throws it with force into the sitting area. It lands in the remains of a pizza in a box on the sofa just as the back door opens.

  ‘Have I got some news for you!’ Babis enters, holding a cardboard file triumphantly above his head. He stops abruptly and looks about the room. ‘Oh, you’ve not made much impact here, have you? Anyway, that’s all secondary now. Come on, we have work to do.’ He turns on his heel and waits for Yanni to follow.

  Yanni stays where he is.

  ‘Come on, this is going to be great!’ he enthuses.

  ‘You know what
, Babis. I thank you for the hospitality, but I only intended to come for a couple of days. I arrived only yesterday and during the time I have been here, I have spent more time drinking than any other time in my life and the result is that my baba is left to deal with the goats for a couple days longer than I told him to expect. It is too much for the old man. I think it best if I just stay here now, do what I have to do, and then go.’ Yanni turns away from the sink.

  ‘Ha! I think that is the longest sentence I have ever heard you say. Maybe the mainland is loosening you up a bit.’ Babis grins. ‘Come on, I need your support on this.’ He waves the files. ‘I mean, let’s face it: you’re not doing much good round here are you?’ He indicates the unwashed plates in the sink and on the kitchen table. ‘But as a bit of support, a bit of muscle, as a witness even, you will pay me back tenfold for your bed.’ He steps close enough to put a hand on Yanni’s shoulder.

  Still Yanni does not move.

  ‘Look, I promise.’ Babis squeezes his shoulder; the muscle does not give at all in his grip. ‘No bars. No ouzo. Just, please, I need you to be with me when I face Gerasimos.’ His eyebrows arch in the middle and, just for a moment, Yanni is reminded of the young boy who came to stay with them for a few weeks all those years ago. He was told it was just until his mama found her feet because his baba had walked out. But Babis told him the real truth when they were out checking rabbit traps that his own baba had laid.

  ‘Look, there, came straight out of its hole, it would not have felt a thing.’ Yanni’s fingers carefully worked the wire off from around its neck, and he stroked the limp form before gently putting it in his sack. Babis had been with them two days and in that time, he had not said a word. ‘You can do the next one,’ Yannis offered. Babis’ sadness was like a wall around him. It must be hard to have your baba leave and never know when or even if he was coming back. Yanni tried to imagine the weight of responsibility for the goats and all that needed doing around the place solely on his young shoulders and just the thought made his knees buckle. He put his arm around Babis’ shoulder as they walked on. After some minutes, a faint squealing could be heard. Babis’ eyes grew wide as he looked up to Yanni.

  ‘I guess the wire hasn’t fully tightened. Poor thing will be in pain. Let’s find it and put it out of its misery.’ Yanni released Babis and started to check along a line of burrows. Babis went along another line.

  ‘Find a rock,’ Yanni advised, ‘so if you find it, you can stop its misery as soon as possible.’ The lay of the land made the sound of the squealing rabbit echo; it was not easy to pinpoint the source. But just as Yanni thought he knew where it was coming from, the inhuman shrieking grew wilder and wilder. He wanted to put his hands to his ears and he turned to see if Babis was all right. He was standing rigidly, the wire trap in his hand, the rabbit dangling and squirming, it rear legs thrashing, its spine snaking to get free and the wire digging deeper and deeper into its neck.

  ‘Quick, put it on the ground and hit its head, it is suffering.’ Yanni leaped towards Babis. But Babis turned his back and put a hand out to stop Yanni from getting near to the rabbit. He watched it writhe some more before Yannis pushed him to the ground and with a quick, sharp blow, the rabbit lay still.

  ‘What on earth were you doing? It is one thing to eat; it is another to make an animal suffer!’ Yanni yelled. Babis, who for a moment lay prone, began to shrink in upon himself, his legs tucking up to his chest, his arms around them, his head between his knees, and he was crying.

  Yanni can remember the feeling of horror of such an open display of emotion. He wanted to step backwards, then turn and run. Instead, he crouched by his cousin’s side and put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Babis?’ he asked and the small boy sprung upon him, his head buried in his neck, crying in great sobs as if he would never stop. ‘Are you upset about the rabbit? It is okay now. He is at peace,’ Yanni tried to console the boy. But Babis just kept crying until slowly he quietened and the feeling that passed through Yanni when Babis looked him in the eye, he never wanted to feel again. He said prayers in his head to stop what was coming next but somehow he knew, he wasn’t sure what he knew, but he knew it was bad and he knew he was not going to be spared from hearing it.

  ‘My baba, he did not leave.’ Babis begun. Words that should have filled Yanni with glee sent shivers down his spine. ‘I came home from school. There was a sandwich on the table. Mama always left me a sandwich on the table; she changed sheets in a hotel and always got back after me.’ Yanni resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands. ‘I sat and ate my sandwich, but there was something wrong with the house.’ Babis’ voice was flat, the words coming out staccato. Yanni was transfixed, looking into his cousin’s eyes, the black lashes silver with tears. ‘I washed my plate and put it away, and by the sink was a note asking me to tidy my room, “love, Mama”, it said.’ A single tear trickled down his face. His arm lifted and wiped his nose, the tear smudged across his cheek. ‘I took a step to my bedroom. There was this feeling, like someone was watching, and then I smelt this smell and I looked and I saw his boots. Mid-air. Through the open crack of their bedroom door. The smell so strong and under the boots, on the floor, brown, and I wondered why my mama had not cleaned it up and I wondered how boots could be suspended, and even though I was retching, I pushed the door open to see.’ It came out in one breath, his face drained of all colour. ‘They were half-closed but one eye looked at me and one didn’t and his head was not on his shoulders properly. His mouth was black inside.’ Yanni knew what he was hearing was not good, but nor did it make sense. He just wanted Babis to stop talking, go back to where he had come from, leave him alone. But he did and said nothing. ‘The silence began to roar, my legs had no bones, I fell forward, my hands in the brown, my head hit his boots, and he began to swing.’

  ‘Stop.’ Yanni said the word so quietly. His arms wrapped around Babis’ head and he pulled him gently into his own small chest and rocked him until the light faded and they returned to the cottage. There was no more conversation. They shared his bed—there was no other that Babis could be in—and then Yanni hugged him as he imagined he would like to be hugged and waited for Babis to cry himself to sleep before he allowed his own dreams to take him as well.

  After that, Yanni kept Babis by his side every day he was with them. When Babis’ mama eventually sent for him, the boys made a silent farewell. There was no way to keep in touch, and besides, there was nothing to say. Yanni never spoke of it until a couple of years later when he spent time with Sophia. It was a brief conversation, but she understood, and it was his turn to be held and rocked.

  Hard enough for a boy to lose his baba at any age, but when he was so young and in such a way?

  ‘We go just to face Gerasimos?’ Yanni asks.

  Babis nods, his hair falling over his forehead into his eyes.

  Chapter 13

  Yanni rolls onto his side. His legs feel heavy and a twitch of his feet lets him know he still has his boots on.

  ‘Oh no.’ He groans and rolls onto his back. His hands clenching, expecting to grasp Babis’ guest-room bed linen, but there are no sheets. His fingers fold around looseness, like earth, but softer, drier. He lifts his hand to see what he has hold of, but his eyes will not open yet. He waits until he surfaces more. There is a very familiar smell. The muscles around his eyes relax, softened daylight chases away sleep.

  He is not at Babis’ house. Above him are beams and crossing laths. The sunlight slides between the lines of concave red roof tiles, lighting up many plumes of cobwebs that have caught dust and dirt. The webs hang in festoons and sway in the breeze that blows under the eaves, hissing and hushing. The walls are stone, windowless, and at either end of the barn is a closed wooden door, a gash of daylight at the bottom. He releases his grip and the crumbled goat droppings fall to the compacted mud floor. The barn is empty and the dryness of the floor suggests it has not been used for animals in some time. Yanni struggles to sit up.

  ‘Where
the …’ he whispers, unwilling to disturb the stillness of the place. The light between the tiles takes on an orange glow but where some are broken or missing, shafts of brilliant sunshine spotlight the floor. Yanni draws in his leg that rests in one such shaft of light, because the sun is fierce; it must be around midday. Did he drink—again? Is he waking in the afternoon—again?

  He rolls onto his knees and stands. He does not feel particularly hungover, nothing a drink of water wouldn’t wash away. He brushes off the earth and dried dust of the crumbled goat droppings. No wonder it was a familiar smell.

  Two paces take him to one end of the barn to push open the door. It does not give. He must have come in by the other door. With three strides, he reaches out with his fingertips to push open that door, bracing himself for the brightness of the day, the sudden heat. It does not give. He applies more pressure; still, it does not move. His shoulder has no effect either and so he grips the wall on either side of the door and gives it a strong kick. It does not even rattle.

  Marching back to the first door, brushing the cobwebs from his face, he repeats his effort, but this too shows no signs of opening. The gaps beneath the doors show sunlight, but squatting down and leaning over only allows him to see the grasses growing outside, blocking the view.

  If he got in, he must be able to get out. Did he fall through the roof perhaps? But there is no break in the beams, only a few small gaps between the tiles. Then it stands to reason that he has been closed in by someone from the outside. Babis?

  With his back against the rough stone wall, he sinks to the ground and pulls his tobacco pouch from his pocket.

  ‘So we went into Saros, to the office of Gerasimos.’ He sprinkles tobacco onto a cigarette paper, trying to gather his thoughts. ‘Babis talked to him.’ Just a little bit more tobacco. ‘Gerasimos got angry, they screamed and shouted, Gerasimos went red, Babis laughed. We left.’ He pockets the pouch and puts both hands to the cigarette paper. ‘Oh no.’ He groans as he begins to roll the cigarette ‘We did go to a bar.’ He licks the paper edge. ‘Babis was talking. What was he saying about the mayor and Gerasimos? Something about the houses.’ He remembers times when his brain did not want to think in the early days of learning the Greek alphabet with the Sister. Now it feels the same, but he knows if he persists, it will come. ‘Oh yes!’ He finds the recall he seeks. It is almost beyond comprehension that anyone could be so underhand and dirty. Bogus surveyors enlisted to say the houses are unstable! It takes him a moment to believe it is all true. Shaking his head, the reality of it all sinks in. But it doesn’t explain why he is locked in this barn.