by Sara Alexi
‘I had only one drink, one beer.’ He puts the cigarette in his mouth and searches for his lighter. ‘There were those two men, the ones that made Babis feel uncomfortable, the way they were watching him so…’ There is a slight delay as he remembers. ‘We moved to the next bar.’ His words come out muttered, his lips not moving around his cigarette. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and continues his search for his lighter. ‘Babis ordered drinks all round and made friends with that girl and they left through the side door.’ He finds his lighter but continues to use his cigarette to orchestrate his words. ‘I did not touch my drink and I left through the front door and …’ He sparks his lighter. A mouse runs across the dried floor and into a dark hole in the wall. ‘I took the road to walk back to the village.’ He puffs and then puts the lighter away. ‘Back past Gerasimos’ office, past the army barracks, the orange groves on either side and …’
He raises his free hand and curls the ends of his moustache before running his hand from forehead to the back of his neck to smooth his hair. He winces. He touches again, tentatively, just his finger ends exploring. He must have fallen. Maybe that’s why he has no memory of coming into this barn. He leans his head carefully back against the wall and smokes. Maybe he could climb up the inside walls and break through the laths. The tiles will move aside or fall off easily.
He stubs out his cigarette and stands, searching the wall for a foothold.
There’s a noise outside, an engine draws close and stops. Voices. Running to the door, he opens his mouth to call out but something stops him. He knows that voice from somewhere. He pauses to listen, the hairs on his arms raising. He shivers involuntarily.
‘Why is he in there?’ a low voice asks.
‘He just collapsed, so it seemed like the best idea.’ Plaintive, lighter.
‘What do you mean he just collapsed?’
‘You know, I coshed him over the back of the head so he wouldn’t put up too much of a fight...’
‘And he collapsed?’
‘Well, basically, yes.’
‘So you hit him too hard.’
‘I guess.’
‘And what was your thinking carrying him here?’
‘Well, you cannot really teach a guy a lesson if he is unconscious, can you? So I brought him here so we can wait till he wakes up and then we can frighten the life out of him.’
‘Is he awake?’
‘I don’t know. I came down for you. ‘
Yanni creeps away from the door, sits on the ground, and then lies prone. At the sound of a bolt being shot, he tries not to react as the heat of the day and the sunlight streak across him.
‘Who the heck is that?’
‘The guy you told me to beat up, the lawyer.’
‘Does he even look like a lawyer?’ This voice’s pitch is rising, the words spilling out faster.
‘It’s the guy you pointed out and besides, his friend put his arm around his shoulder and called him “lawyer” as they passed our table, you know, when he looked at us.’ This voice, too, now sounds agitated. Yanni keeps his eyes closed as he tries to put an age to them, assess if he can rush them both before they have a chance to shut the door.
The door closes with a bang.
He opens his eyes.
‘The guy that spoke was the lawyer. You idiot.’ The voice only slightly dulled for being outside.
‘But why did he call the other guy “lawyer” and look at us?’
‘Maybe the lawyer was not as stupid as he seemed? Maybe you are the stupid one.’
‘I don’t understand. Did you or did you not point to this guy?’
‘No, I pointed to the guy next to him.’
‘The one that called this man “lawyer”.’
‘Yes! Look, this is not so difficult to understand, you got the wrong guy.’
‘So what shall we do, open the door, let him wake up and just wander away?’
‘No. Maybe we can use him. If he is a friend of the lawyer’s, we might be able to get out of this okay. It depends what Gerasimos says. Can you get a signal up here?’
‘Not usually. Better from over the hill there.’
‘Okay, wait here.’
Yanni can hear the sound of footsteps growing distant and someone on the outside of the door settling down, sitting on the floor maybe.
There’s only one of them now. Maybe this is the best advantage he will get. Stretching and yawning loudly, Yanni stands and walks to the door.
‘Yeia, anyone there?’ he asks, tapping at the boards.
There is silence. The wind blows under the roof, lifting tiles gently as it sighs and grows still again. Far away, a sheep bleats and further still, a dog barks.
‘Please, I need some water.’ Yanni leans against the door, his voice sounding even more imploring than he meant it to. That’s a good thing.
Silence.
‘Please my friend, my head hurts where you hit me and I am dehydrating.’
Silence.
A small sound.
A bottle of water is rolled under the door.
‘Thank you.’ It could be fear he is feeling, but it does not hold him still. His chest expands, he has a strange sensation of power, maybe it is excitement. A challenge.
He takes a drink, not taking his eyes from the door.
‘It’s hot in here.’ Yanni leans his head against the door.
‘It’s hot out here,’ a voice replies.
‘I’m Yanni.’
Silence.
‘You planning in letting me out sometime soon?’
Silence. There is a whisper of tiny running feet beside him, a movement in the bit of straw in the corner. Even the smallest of animals take shelter from the day’s heat.
‘I imagined not, so I’m Yanni.’ With his fingers, he combs a web, whitened with dust, from his hair.
‘Spiros.’ The voice on the other side of the door relents.
‘You like the smell of goats, Spiro?’ Yanni asks. His baba would often start a game of tavli with a tactical opening, the move itself needing the following move to make it make sense. It always caught him off guard.
‘What?’
‘Well. Do you?’
‘Not really. Bit strong, gets in my throat.’
‘Mine too. It’s very strong in here.’ Yanni coughs. ‘A little air would help.’
There is no reply.
The last of the cool water runs down his throat and he rolls the empty bottle back under the door. His hands are wet from the condensation on the outside of the bottle. He wipes them dry on his trousers.
‘The day before yesterday, I had never been off Orino Island. Never seen such cunning.’ Yanni speaks slowly, almost as if talking to himself.
‘I think it is best if we don’t talk. Takis will be back soon.’ Spiro’s words come out in spasms, as if the effort is too much in the heat.
‘You scared of him?’ Yanni asks, but he does not expect a reply. He remembers his fear of Hectoras, but he would never have admitted it at the time. Sophia standing up for him, offering to be by his side diluted that fear. It showed him that he was not the weak animal Hectoras suggested. It gave him his pride back. Maybe offering to stand by the side of Spiros will give him the incentive he needs to open the door. Yanni continues, ‘I’ve been bullied, too, when I was at school.’
‘He doesn’t bully me. He helps me.’
‘What, like getting you this job? Is this a job of choice for you then, beating people up, holding them against their will?’
There’s a cough, a clearing of the throat.
‘So of all the jobs you could do, this is the one, is it?’
‘Well ...’
‘Oh.’ Yanni relaxes his throat, tries to make the conversation sound casual, friendly. ‘So what would your first choice be?’
‘Sheep. I like to take the sheep to feed.’
‘You got a herd, then?’
‘No.’
‘Shame. If it is what you like to do, you should be doing i
t. I have a goat herd.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Take them to the far pasture morning and night if I can.’
‘You are making this up so I will let you out.’ A hard edge to the voice now.
‘I could, that would be smart, but I am not. So this Takis, he looks after you, does he?’
The light in the barn is gentle, the stone of the walls show chisel marks here and there from when they were split, which are heighted by the shadows. The mortar is mud. Some insect has made one patch its home, turning the mud into cells where young have long ago hatched. They are now empty and, in one, a spider has made its home spinning a tunnel of web along the wall.
‘So now Takis has me in his web, what will he do? He will expect you to beat me up because I am not a lawyer, I guess. He won’t do it himself, will he?’ Yanni picks up a twig and tickles the web. The spider comes out to investigate before sinking back into its hideaway. ‘Or will Gerasimos come along with his big stick and beat you up for getting the wrong man?’ He leaves the spider in peace and explores the bump on the back of his head again. It makes him wince. He draws his hand away and puts it in his front pocket around his roll of money.
‘You know about Gerasimos?’ Spiro’s voice is tight.
‘You might be surprised what I know. You know why Gerasimos wants to scare the new lawyer?’
‘It is not my business.’ But his words raise in tone at the end of his sentence. It is almost a question.
‘You live round here, Spiro. Have you any family in the village?’
‘What has this to do with anything?’
‘Humm, this smell is really hurting my throat. It’s like acid. And the bump on my head.’ Yanni groans.
‘What’s it got to do with my family?’
Yanni groans again. It sounds fake to him, but maybe it will fool Spiro.
‘Ah, you are bluffing. Playing games because you’re scared.’ His voice gains assurity.
‘So you have family in the village. You have a house there?’
‘You know nothing.’ The voice sounds distant, as if he has turned away from the door.
‘I know you will end up with no house. Have the surveyors been around yet?’ Yanni leans against the wall.
‘The surveyors?’ the voice is nearer the door again.
‘You want to know? Give me some air, a wet cloth for the damage you did to my head.’
‘What do you know of the surveyors?’ The sunlight from under the door is blocked. The toes of a pair of trainers shuffle in the gap.
‘I know that the surveyors are being paid. I know there is no fault under the village. I know someone who has papers to prove it.’ Yanni speaks slowly, allowing each sentence time to filter through the man’s thoughts. He digs his own toe into the dust, twisting it, making a little pit.
‘But why?’ Spiro’s voice sound incredulous.
‘Why?’ Yanni looks at the back of the door, his mouth drops open slightly, and he shakes his head. ‘Why do you think?’ The pit his toe is digging in the crumbled animal droppings is down to the compacted earth. Yanni removes his foot and watches the dust cascade down the sides.
He waits.
‘I don’t understand. If the surveyor comes to your house and says it is on the fault, you must drill columns, put in metal, fix it up. You mean Gerasimos is taking a cut of that?’
Yanni smiles, twists the ends of his moustache, and with a sweep of his foot covers over the hole.
‘And what price does the firm qualified to do this work quote?’ Yanni looks up at the sunlight filtering between the tiles.
‘Well, I understand they don’t. They give you a basic minimum and then it depends on what they come across as they work.’
‘Aha,’ Yanni agrees. ‘A limitless amount, and who is going to agree to that? Who can afford to?’
The man outside is shuffling.
‘So their alternative?’ Yanni asks.
‘To sell, and Gerasimos can arrange that ...’ Spiro’s words come out quickly.
‘There is more, but I cannot talk any more in this heat. I need some air.’ Yanni speaks through the door. ‘Come on my friend, and I will tell you all about it.’ He inclines his head towards the door. There is a scratching on the other side. Fingernails around the bolt?
‘Spiro, what are you doing!’ The voice sounds angry.
‘He says my family will lose the house.’
‘What are you bleating about?’
‘Yanni, he says it is Gerasimos that is up to no good.’
‘Yanni, who’s Yanni? Ah! Well he would, wouldn’t he?’
Yanni stands and puts himself flat against the wall by the door. For the briefest of moments, his mama comes to mind, the fear for his safety that she showed when they parted. His dismissal of her worst case scenarios and Sister Katerina talking of irrational fears, not justifiable fears, such as two men holding him against his will. The pulse in his temple throbs, he puts his hand over his heart. His body is trembling and yet he finds he is smiling, waiting for them to open the door. He does not recognise himself. His fists clench in anticipation. He is ready.
Chapter 14
Sweat runs down Yanni’s forehead.
‘Come on, let him out. It sounds like Gerasimos is doing some dirty moves that will affect everybody,’ Spiros pleads. Yanni listens as he looks to see if he can break off any of the laths. It might be useful to have a weapon, but there is nothing within reach.
‘We have been paid to do a job.’ Taki’s voice is lower, gruffer.
‘But not on this man,’ Spiros says.
‘Excuse me?’ Yanni taps on the door. The men outside go silent. ‘You’ve been paid? How much? Maybe I can beat his price.’ His hand slides into his front pocket where his coil of notes nestles.
‘What did he say?’ the gruffer voice asks.
‘He says he will beat Gerasimos’ price Taki. There, you see, I told you he was a good guy. We can get paid and keep our homes.’ The tension in Spiro’s voice has eased a little.
‘Have you the money on you?’ Takis asks.
‘Yes.’ Yanni takes out the roll and looks at it. It is not a good plan; he cannot afford to lose the money. His breathing quickens, his heart begins to race again.
‘Push it under the door then,’ the man called Takis barks.
‘And what guarantee does that give me?’ Yanni addresses the door.
‘None, but you have no choice.’ Takis again.
‘It is you who has no choice, not me,’ Yanni says.
No one says anything. The wind is still gusting through the eaves, sighing and heaving as if the old barn is alive, breathing, waiting. Yanni looks down its length to the far door. He paces it out quietly: five strides. He is fast on his feet, but is he fast enough?
‘Okay, so here is a solution.’ Yanni returns to speak through the door. ‘Spiros can be at one door and you can be at the other. I pass the money to Spiros and you open the door. No open door, no money. No money, no open door.’ The adrenaline running through his body is making his movements sharp, fast.
He hears one of them mutter something and their voices fade as if they are stepping away from the barn. He presses his ear to the door to listen.
‘You will leave the area and never come back, understand?’ Taki’s gruff tone commands.
‘It will be my pleasure,’ Yanni assures him. One of his hands creeps over his chest and covers the pocket where the book Sophia gave him lives, feeling the corners, caressing the edges, but the images in his head are of the woman in the navy skirt at the sandwich shop.
‘Right. Spiro, go the other end. Tell me when you can see the money. You inside, can you hear me? When I unlock this door, you march out and just keep going, don’t look back or we may have to give you a beating anyway, you understand?’
Yanni nods. ‘Understood.’ He doesn’t trust this Takis, and there has been no discussion about the amount he will give. But there is no choice, and he draws out his money. All the money he has
in the world. His new donkey, his fare home, everything.
‘Can you see it, Spiro?’ Takis shouts.
Yanni pokes the roll under the door. Cobwebs curl around his fingers, a black beetle scuttles in out of the sun’s harsh rays.
‘Yes.’ Spiro’s voice sounds to be right by his ear.
‘Just remember your family house,’ Yanni says quietly. ‘I can help you.’
‘Okay take hold and when you have it, tell me and I will unlock the door. If he pulls the money back, I will lock it again. Ready?’
‘Yes, I have it.’
The sound of the bolt being drawn is louder than Yanni expected. The door opens a crack, he lets go of the money, and in five paces, he is out of the door and running around the outside of the barn. He catches Takis before he has reached Spiros. For the briefest of moments, Yanni hesitates. The man is a lot older than he expected. He is also rounder and shorter.
Yanni’s right hand raises to the side of his own ear, his elbow cocked and with a twist in his wrist and a sharp extension of his arm, he cracks Takis on the side of his head, feels the give of his ear. As he staggers out of balance, Takis’ hand reaches out to the floor to take the impact as his body follows. Before Takis has time to draw breath, Yanni leaps to straddle him, locking him between his knees, like a sheep ready to be sheared, an arm around his neck, pulling tight. He watches as the man’s face turns first red and then takes on a blue tone, his tongue extended, his eyes bulging.