The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8)

by Sara Alexi

  They watch a car draw up outside the sandwich shop, spilling out a couple of school children who go in and come out laughing, their mouths inside paper bags, gnawing on bougatsa and croissants or whatever their choice has been. They join the group waiting at the bus stop as the car drives off.

  ‘Is your grill burning?’ Juliet asks. ‘I can smell something.’

  Stella jumps up and skips indoors, coming out again in a second and sitting down.

  The woman in the sandwich shop comes to her door and looks up and down the street, arms folded.

  ‘Still hot,’ Stella calls.

  The woman looks across and nods, and one lazy foot takes a step into the road. As she gets nearer, her hands relax and fall by her sides, swinging easily. Her dark chestnut hair is tied in a high ponytail, short, untamed wisps forming a halo around her head, particularly around her ears. Her countenance is open and her eyes inquisitive, moving quickly, taking everything in. There is a containment and a contentment about her.

  ‘This is Juliet from England. She lives here now, bought an old farmhouse.’ Stella introduces as she points vaguely in the direction in which the farmhouse can be found. The woman holds out her hand to Juliet.

  ‘Juliet, this is Sophia. She i …’ She corrects herself with a smile ‘Was a novice up at the convent.’

  Chapter 18

  ‘Hello.’ Juliet’s face is animated.

  Sophia takes a seat, tucking her skirt under her and sitting gently. ‘Kalimera,’ she says.

  ‘You think this morning’s rush is over?’ Stella asks her.

  ‘Hardly a rush.’ She notices Juliet’s reaction when she speaks. No one expects the husky character to her voice. It’s soft and low, and outside the hushed corridors of the convent, she might need to learn to speak a little more loudly. Juliet leans toward her, turning her head slightly to one side. ‘Breakfast for fifty hungry nuns, now that’s a rush.’ Sophia speaks up. When she laughs, that same warm tone that makes her voice resonate has an infectious quality.

  The abbess was the first to draw her notice to it. Sophia stood mutely staring at a rather bad painting on the back wall of the sister’s office. It was of the mother of Christ and her acrylic indifference seemed to back every word the abbess said. The sermon droned on for what seemed like hours. The subject was Sophia’s purposeful intent to lead the other nuns astray with her irreverent humour. The painting gave her a focus. The perspective was wrong and the hands too small. Its awkwardness held her attention until the black-clad sister banged a book on her desk.

  ‘Have you been working long at the sandwich shop?’ Juliet asks, pulling her back to the present.

  ‘These last two weeks. But it is getting difficult. I am still living up at the convent until I get something sorted.’

  Juliet looks at Stella with a slight frown.

  ‘Sophia’s left the convent,’ Stella explains.

  Sophia doesn’t mind the assessing look Juliet gives her; it shows no sign of judgement. If anything, taking time to assess someone must be a good thing, shows an enquiring mind. Perhaps, as a foreigner, Juliet’s mind is more open anyway?

  ‘It was time.’ Sophia answers the question she suspects Juliet wants to ask.

  ‘So you are halfway between worlds?’

  ‘As long as I need it, the convent is offering me a bed. But getting there and back doesn’t make life easy.’ Sophia finds speaking loudly all the time takes effort.

  ‘It’s a long way. You’re not walking every day, are you?’ Juliet blinks in the sunlight.

  ‘Anyone want a frappe?’ Stella stands. They both nod.

  ‘No. I rely on lifts. I don’t like that, to be honest. The first week, I was a novelty and people offered and enjoyed it, but now I feel I am becoming a religious duty, which is exactly what I don’t want.’ Her voice has become quiet again, but if she keeps trying, it will become a new habit, just like speaking softly became all those years ago.

  ‘I suppose it depends how long you need to do it for. Do you have any plans?’ Juliet is so different to anyone she has talked to before. She has an accent, but it is not strong, and there is an assurity about her. As Juliet rubs one of her bare feet on top of the other, Sophia notices the length of her dress. She pulls her own skirt down even though it almost reaches her ankles. The length of her hem is one of hundreds of new decisions she will have to make. Long skirts are impractical, and hot, but after years of being covered up, she feels exposed just showing her ankles. A knee-length skirt would be so much cooler, but then again, her legs are not hairless like Juliet’s.

  ‘Yes. My plans are forming.’ She answers Juliet’s question, but she can see Juliet is waiting for more.

  ‘Here you go.’ Stella carries all three glasses clasped together in her small hands. As she puts them on the table, one slides from her grip and both Sophia and Juliet reach out to save it. Juliet reaches it first and she offers it across to Sophia with a smile.

  After two weeks of passing food over the counter to customers all day at the sandwich shop, this gesture has a kind quality that touches Sophia. She accepts the glass with a smile and they make eye contact.

  ‘My mama died,’ Sophia offers and half-raises a hand to Juliet’s unspoken sympathies. ‘It was a mercy. My baba died ten years ago and life has been a struggle for her ever since. But it means we inherit what there is, so it seems like the perfect time to change course.’ She takes a sip of her coffee and begins to chuckle. ‘Besides, Abbess thinks it is “for the best”.’ Her voice takes on a different quality, as if she is mimicking someone.

  Stella giggles and says, ‘I met Sophia one time when I went up to the convent. It wasn’t an open day, was it Sophia? What was it?’

  ‘I think it was our saint’s day. Yes, because we had decorated the church with flowers.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Anyway, I went up with Mitsos, and most of the village was there. Mitsos was talking to everybody and, well to be honest, I got little bored, so I wandered around until I heard behind this closed gate someone laughing.’ Stella points at Sophia, as if Juliet had not realized who it was. ‘Such a laugh, I wanted to know who it was. So I pushed the gate and it opened onto a big vegetable plot. And there in the middle, a spade resting against her legs, was Sophia and she was juggling potatoes, dropping them mostly, and laughing to herself. Can you imagine? The hem of her habit covered in earth, her sleeves rolled up, juggling potatoes and laughing.’ Stella throws her head back and laughs herself, her hair softly falling back over her shoulders. ‘I think that was it, eh, Sophia? Instant friends?’

  ‘I have to say you were a lot better than me at juggling,’ Sophia says through her own laughter. Juliet smiles.

  A car pulls up outside the sandwich shop. Sophia hastily puts down her drink and trots across the road to serve. Once she has given the man his coffee, sandwich, and his change, she trots back again. The man does not pull away immediately. He sits in the driver’s seat and arranges his drink and food on the dashboard. A taxi turns the corner onto the main street and when it draws level with the car, it comes to a stop. Sophia stands again, ready to move, but no one gets out. The back window of the taxi buzzes down.

  ‘Yeia,’ says the man from the car, and a voice from the back seat of the taxi repeats the greeting.

  Sophia sits again. For a minute, they watch and listen. It’s all part of the day’s entertainment.

  ‘How’s it going, Babis?’ the man in the car asks as he gets out.

  ‘Good. Better than good.’ Babis also gets out and the two shake hands.

  ‘You hear about the mayor of Saros? Ill, they say. No warning.’ He offers a cigarette to Babis. The taxi driver wanders round to join the pair, pulling his trousers up from where they have sunk over his hips. He too accepts a cigarette.

  ‘Ill, they say, do they? I heard it was his mama that was poorly?’ Babis sniggers. All three click open their own lighters. ‘I don’t think that man has been sick one day in his life.’

  ‘His deputy w
on’t hold the reins for long, that’s for sure. There’ll be a scramble for that seat.’ The taxi driver joins in the conversation.

  ‘I heard a rumour that you had something to do with that, Babis?’ the car driver says.

  ‘Pah!’ Babis exclaims. ‘Anyway, come by when you have a moment. With that new baby of yours, perhaps we need to talk over your will again, perhaps? Anytime, okay? See you.’ Both he and the taxi driver grind out their cigarettes underfoot and climb back in the taxi and, with a toot of the horn, they pull away. The car driver takes his time to finish his cigarette and drops it down a drain by the curb before getting back into his own car and driving off.

  ‘So the mayor’s stepped down, eh?’ Juliet says. ‘I wonder what all that is about.’

  ‘It won’t be straight, that’s for sure.’ Stella dismisses. ‘Whoever is mayor next needs to sort out this problem with the houses. Have they been to your house yet, Juliet?’

  ‘No, and they can stay away as long as they like.’

  ‘They’ll be at the convent next,’ Sophia adds without a smile and Stella makes a little snort.

  ‘Not likely,’ says Stella. ‘The Church keeps all the best spots for themselves – the tops of hills are all covered in little churches. It’s an amazing view from up at the convent!’

  The three of them sit in silence. A dry clonk is heard, followed by another. The first goat into the road comes running, with others following, until the lane is flooded. Stella stands and goes to the edge of the pavement, her arms wide, keeping the goats from knocking the tables.

  ‘Yeia sou Sarah,’ Stella calls to the shepherdess who follows her slowly moving flock into the square. The woman wears a floaty, plain-coloured dress, her hair is combed back into a ponytail and, most surprisingly, she is wearing lipstick. Something Sophia has not often seen on the farmers’ wives who visit the convent. The shepherdess smiles her hello.

  ‘Hi Sarah,’ Juliet says in English. The woman with the crook moves with ease, a laziness that suggests contentment. In fact, she has the look of someone truly satisfied. Not just content, but actively happy. Sophia sighs at the sight of her. If one person can live their life in such a state of bliss, then so can she.

  The goats stay mostly on the road but when they pass the kiosk, Vasso comes out waving her hands at them, slapping one on its rump when it gets too near her rack of crisps.

  ‘Can you not take them the other way?’ she shouts at the shepherdess, who smiles and waves in return, calling out ‘Kalimera’ as if she has not heard Vasso’s request.

  ‘If you can teach English, then you can teach Greek,’ Stella says to Juliet. ‘Sarah could be your first pupil.’

  ‘You teach her, Stella. It would do your English good, too.’ Juliet tips her head back, the sun on her face.

  Sophia wonders how much call there is for a private teacher. It is a possibility that she has not considered. That would give her an income without having to go out into the world too much. It is something worth thinking about.

  ‘Anyway, give her a minute to find her feet first. She’s only just moved here.’ Juliet stretches as if she has had a hard morning.

  ‘Who’s next, that’s what I ask,’ Stella says.

  ‘Next for what?’ Sophia asks, just loud enough to be heard.

  ‘These English taking over our village.’ Stella leans towards Juliet and nudges her with her elbow, encouraging a response.

  ‘I have read of villages down in the south of the Peloponnese where there are now more Germans then Greeks,’ Sophia says, watching Juliet’s face, not sure of how she is reacting.

  ‘They also say there are more Greeks outside Greece than in it,’ Juliet returns without emotion.

  ‘I guess people come and go these days, like your friend that rented your room,’ Stella says.

  ‘He didn’t rent it exactly,’ Juliet replies.

  Stella raises her eyebrows and looks directly at her. Sophia watches the interchange and expects Juliet to respond, defend herself, but she doesn’t, she gives Stella a blank look and turns to watch the last of the goats leave the square. Sophia crosses her legs towards Juliet. It takes someone very sure of themselves not to have the need to defend their honour.

  ‘Do you rent the room now?’ Sophia asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will you?’ Juliet turns to her slowly as she takes in her meaning. ‘Just for a while, a few weeks, until I get on my feet?’ Sophia expands.

  Juliet does not answer immediately. Stella goes in to check the grill and comes out again.

  ‘I don’t think I would rent it; it gets too complicated with the tax laws,’ Juliet says after a pause. ‘But if you want to stay, for a week or two, you can.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate your offer but I would have to pay,’ Sophia replies and Stella gives her a swift, non-comprehending look. ‘To be honest, I am looking for independence, not charity now. I feel I have had too much of a hand-out being a nun.’

  ‘It’s not a hand-out. The people who donate to the church do so to clear their own sins. It’s a very important job you do.’ There is humour in Stella’s voice.

  ‘Did.’ Sophia puts it into the past tense.

  ‘Are you good with plants?’ Juliet asks. Sophia nods. Stella mimes juggling and giggles. ‘Perhaps you can give me a hand with my own vegetable plot in return for a bed.’

  Sophia looks Juliet straight in the face, reads her features to see if she is genuine.

  ‘Kala,’ Sophia says.

  Juliet holds out her hand and they shake.

  Chapter 19

  Looking around the cell that has been her home for the last twenty years, its containment makes the outside world seem very large. Her personal things sit in a small box on the bed. There’s a lot of empty space in the box. A last glance and Sophia steps into the corridor. It is the corridor she has walked down a thousand times before, the floor she has swept and mopped, the walls she has painted, the icons she has dusted. There is a numbness building inside her. A sister hurrying along the corridor stops to hug her with a warm goodbye. She tells her she will be missed. But for Sophia, goodbyes have really all been done, and anyway, she will be back once a month to check in with the abbess until she has found her feet.

  The abbess is at the main gates and she wishes her, ‘Go to the good,’ as Sophia steps out over the threshold. With a last goodbye and a turn on her heel, her breathing becomes a little less shallow. Walking to the car, she looks over the plain laid out before her, the village settled under the small hill tufted with pines not far away and then it comes, her first full feeling of the day, and it is one of freedom, and she takes a deep breath. She wants to drop the box and throw her hands in the air and thank God, which seems a little ironic. According to the sisters, it is not a happy day for Him. But surely for her to feel this much joy at the sight of the world and to be this happy that she is in it can only be a good thing. She grips her box tighter. The convent door closes with a thud behind her.

  ‘Is that it?’ Juliet asks, peering into the box as she puts it on the back seat.

  Sophia shrugs and smiles.

  ‘No, I suppose why would you have anything at all, really?’ Juliet looks again at the box, which holds a navy skirt and white blouse, a hand-sewn bag full of her underwear, a bundle of letters, some official papers, and a crisp-looking Bible.

  ‘I guess we will need to go shopping.’

  ‘What for?’ Sophia cannot think of anything she needs.

  ‘Well, a purse or bag to keep your money in for a start.’ Juliet starts the engine and pulls away from the convent. ‘You might want some sandals as well. It’s too hot for shoes. Aren’t your feet hot?’

  Sophia looks down at her flat shoes and thin, short socks.

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it, but now you come to mention it, yes, they are.’

  ‘Take them off, then.’ Juliet grins and changes gear.

  ‘What? Here, in the car?’ She must have misunderstood.

  ‘If
you want.’

  Sophia looks at her feet again. They can stay hot for a little longer. The box on the back seat is a red-hot coal sitting behind her, a solid reminder of what she has done, and the road ahead stretches forever. Her feet really don’t get much of a say at this point.

  ‘Anyway, get settled in at my house first; give yourself a bit of time. Things will come to you without having to make decisions.’ Juliet glances over to her and back to the road several times.

  ‘I hope so.’ Sophia cannot make her voice very loud right now.

  They drive down the hill in silence. The scrubland gives way to orchards, houses appear between the trees, and soon they arrive in the village square. Juliet turns to pass in front of Theo’s kafeneio and then turns again down a street which opens into a small, unpaved square. She pulls in to a very narrow lane at the far corner of the square. It feels a little unreal and twice, Sophia turns to look at her box, her only anchor right now.

  Through a metal arched gate covered with wild climbing roses, the tyres change their sound, crunching on gravel, and they scrunch to a stop.

  ‘What a peaceful spot,’ Sophia exclaims. An L-shaped house encloses a patio shaded by a pergola covered in vines. There is a table and chairs at one end and a sagging old sofa covered with throws and cushions at the other. Two wicker chairs face the sofa, with a battered look of age and the wickerwork broken down the legs as if an animal has been scratching at them.

  ‘You thirsty?’ Juliet steps off the gravel onto the patio, where she kicks off her flip-flops.

  ‘Not really.’ Over the boundary wall are two hills, the one that can be seen from anywhere in the village, and even from right up at the convent, with the pine trees at the summit and a second smaller hill behind it with a rocky outcrop on top. Between the two sits a house where the land hangs down to the top of an olive grove. Inside Juliet’s boundary wall, pomegranate trees break up this more distant view. On the patio, plants are arranged in pots. Underfoot, the flags are dotted with lichens. There is so much at which to look. Sophia turns around. The sofa invites her. Behind the sofa, a blue-shuttered window hangs open. A bougainvillea in a pot, bursting with flowers, drapes over one arm of the sofa. She puts her face in her hands and closes her eyes.