by Sara Alexi
And with these flippant words, she ran up to her bedroom, pulled her precious poetry book from under the mattress, and ran from the house up to the pine trees and beyond. Up to Yanni, the boy Hectoras had spat on all those years before. Yanni, who was kind and caring. Yanni, who did have a brain and did not need an uncle as a mayor to make him interesting. Yanni, her friend. More than a friend even, in her heart at least, and she knew where she would find him.
He was there collecting firewood. At first, Sophia could not talk to him, she was so upset. She knew that what had happened was not going to go away easily and something would come of it. More than anything, she wanted to be climbing the trees with Yanni like they did the year before, free of any worries. She also wanted to be in the lecture room with the woman with the perfect hair, talking about poetry. She wanted to combine the two. How could she explain to Yanni how learning made her feel as if she could conquer the world? Was there any way to explain that there was a life beyond de-scaling fish and cooking and being a wife? If she could explain that to anyone on the island, then he was the one person who would understand, but with all the emotions coursing through her, she didn’t know how to find the words.
She held the book of poetry to her chest and looked in his eyes. He asked nothing, he just stayed still with her. Eventually Sophia opened the book. She thought if she read the verse she had learnt about, he would understand everything. But when she looked at the words, they blurred behind the tears. Something terrible was going to happen because of Hectoras and there was no way to avoid it. She suspected it would be a while before she would see Yanni again. At the very least, she would not be allowed out unescorted. At the very least.
Taking a pencil from her apron pocket, she drew a ring around the verse that had given her such pleasure, that had filled her heart and set her free even if for just a brief moment, and then she gave the book to Yanni for safekeeping. Then without a word, she turned and ran. She left what was good and pure safely in the trees and she ran back down into town to face head on whatever was coming her way. All she could hope for was that Yanni would read the poem and realise her love for him. If she was betrothed to him, maybe it would save her. Of course she could not ask him. She had to wait for him to ask her. The intellectual jump necessary to escape that tradition was beyond even Sophia.
By the time she returned home, what had happened had already been gossiped around the town, the story changing on its journey, the crime becoming an increasing form of amusement, the events more comical until by the evening, there was such shame in the event for Hectoras, the story being told—that he was gutted like a fish by a child not even old enough to be called woman—was so demeaning that his uncle, the mayor, sent a rumour out amongst the town that Sophia was to be tried for attempted murder, which certainly stopped the sniggering but only fuelled the gossip.
Sophia’s mama and baba were distraught, and even Vetta came up from amongst the nets for a night. Baba told Mama to go and plead with the mayor not to press charges, to say that she would send Sophia to go to live for a while in repentance in Saros convent. Sophia overheard her baba and protested most strongly, which only made them more determined. The more she protested, the more adamant they became.
The next day, before it was fully light and certainly before the mayor could give his answer to the proposed solution, Sophia was taken by fishing boat all the way up to Saros and from there, she walked with her mama’s priest up to the convent. As they planted one foot in front of the other, climbing the hill to the convent, Sophia was given to understand by the priest that once the whole thing had died down and people had mostly forgotten about her, she could probably return. He rapped hard on the convent door and they were both quickly ushered to the abbess, where the priest requested that Sophia be taken in as a form of mercy.
For a while, Vetta wrote and even suggested in one letter that that the mayor never really intended to prosecute anyway, that he had said what he had said to stop the people laughing at his nephew and really, he thought their mama’s course of action was an overreaction. It gave Sophia hope that she would return home soon. But her mama, on the other hand, wrote, using Vetta’s hand, only the once. Her letter made it clear that she was convinced sending Sophia to the convent was the best thing she could have done and that Baba agreed. There was no mention of Sophia’s return.
As Sophia finishes telling Juliet her history, she does something that surprises even her. She kicks off her shoes and becomes lost in the deliciousness of the evening breeze blowing its cooling wind between her toes.
‘That’s a really, really bad reason to become a nun. How come you stayed?’ Juliet asks.
Sophia snorts.
‘I was thirteen. You have no say in your life at thirteen. The nuns were so warm and friendly when I first arrived. They had lots to tell me, mostly about how they saw life, and for the first few weeks, it felt like a warm place full of things to learn and I kind of liked it, although I missed Sada and Yanni. But when I discovered I was not allowed out of the boundary of the convent walls and it dawned on me that I would not see my sisters or Yanni probably for weeks, months maybe, I became at first very upset and then uncontrollable. I felt my life was being stolen away. I got angry and my temper would explode over the least little thing. The sisters prayed for me and then one day I was called to the abbess’ office. She explained nothing. I just stood there and the phone rang. It was my mama. Just for the briefest moment, I thought I was going home and then the abbess explained to my mama that I had a demon within me and that she had been wise to take the action whilst I was so young because it gave them a chance to put things right and perhaps it was best if I did not return immediately.’ Sophia’s head drops forward as she recalls the event.
‘It’s beyond imagination,’ Juliet says and they sit in silence, each with their own thoughts.
‘Do you know you cannot prove yourself to be sane?’ Sophia says at last. ‘I was watched by all of them. They reported back to the abbess. Some of the nuns were kind, others appeared to be kind, but they threw a skew over things when they reported back. Others were plain mean.’
‘You were told what they said?’ Juliet asks.
‘Oh no, not individually, but I was given a summary every so often and it was easy to work out who had said what. For example, I would only tend the vegetable garden with Sister Evangelia so when the abbess related back that the energy and aggression I used when I dug could only come from deeply held anger, then it was obvious who had done the reporting. But I couldn’t win. If I dug with energy, the demon was showing its face. If I dug with lethargy, the demon was draining my spirit. It was the same with the mending. We had rotas to darn and mend things. I am not a seamstress and I hate sewing, so this was the demon in me. If I put in some energy, that was the demon trying to trick them. I tried so hard to be perfect so I could go home. If I managed it, I would hear the whispers, the demon was dormant, biding its time, waiting, the nuns should be more aware and then they would socialize with me less and less until I could bear it no more and I would cry and ask them why they were being so mean. This was met with even more caution, as if it was a trick until I would finally not be able to hold back my frustration any longer and I would shout at them not to be so unkind, and it was as if the whole convent breathed a mutual sigh of relief, as if to say “Ah, there is the demon. Now we can see it again”. And the nuns would be kind and considerate again and show me affection. It became a terrible cycle.’
‘It sounds unbearable,’ Juliet admits. A frown flits across her brow. ‘I was married for years to a guy called Mick. Irish. We had two boys. Well, starting when they were ever so young, Mick would find things to complain about. Like why there was still washing up in the sink when he got home, that sort of thing. I would try to explain that I had had a heavy day with the boys. He would scoff, tell me that every other mother could manage their children and the washing up, so what was wrong with me, and it slowly became his phrase. “What’s wrong with you?” So
if I was even just tired, he would ask, “What’s wrong with you?” like an accusation. If he asked his mother round to baby sit with no warning and then told me to get ready to go out, if I said I didn’t want to go, he asked “What’s wrong with you?”‘ Juliet sighs, as if, even though it was years ago it still exhausts her.
‘It was insidious. And after a while, six months or so, I started to believe that something really was wrong with me and I went to see a doctor. He said there was nothing wrong with me and why did I think there was? I thought his next words were going to be “what’s wrong with you?”‘ She stops to smile at her own joke but quickly continues. ‘I told Mick the doctor said I was fine and he sneered and shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” He made me feel I was crazy. I got more and more tense around him and in turn that made me do stupid things, become clumsy, forget things, overreact. And each time, he pointed it out as evidence. I really thought I was losing it. Eventually I accepted how useless I was and so I stayed with him, thinking I was in the safest place for someone like me.’ Juliet lifts her chin, looks beyond the wall up to the far hills. ‘So although I have not experienced what you have experienced, Sophia, I know what it is like to be convinced you are crazy and how that can keep you from moving forward. But you were so young, it’s amazing you didn’t actually go crazy.’
‘I think I probably did a bit.’ She looks at Juliet, seeking signs on her face of her own life’s ordeals. But her features are open and kind and she looks back, waiting for Sophia to say more. It would be nice to hug Juliet to take away any remnants of her hurt. Why not; she would not feel any worse with someone else’s pain on top as she does now.
Sophia finds her face is wet. She sniffs. Juliet springs from the sofa and, within seconds, she has returned from inside, placing a box of tissues on the table between them as she sits down again. She takes a tissue herself and pushes them nearer Sophia, looking at her intently, listening.
‘I just counted the days until I would be eighteen,’ Sophia says. ‘I was nearing my fourteenth birthday when I arrived at the convent. It was near my fifteenth birthday when I overheard the telephone conversation to my mama. So I started to count the days until I would be eighteen and I could leave. It was all I could think to do. Mama had stopped writing. Sada had enough problems of her own with Aleko, and Angeliki was all about her marriage. Only Vetta wrote occasionally, and I had no stamps to reply.’
‘Yanni?’ Juliet asks.
‘Ah, Yanni.’ Sophia takes another tissue. ‘I planned to leave the convent when I was eighteen and they could not stop me. I wanted to get married. I desperately wanted to have lots of children that I could love and care for, to show them the love that children should have, make their worlds safe for them. The days dragged longer and longer as the time drew near. The seasons in the vegetable garden helped me through. Then my birthday was just a month away, so I took a big step and I wrote to Yanni. He was the only person who I felt understood me. And my feelings for him never left me.
‘I told him what felt like the truth at the time. I told him I had always loved him. I told him I waited for him when I was thirteen to rescue me and that I would wait again for him to come, that I was of age.’ She takes another tissue. ‘I probably wrote too much, said too much, but I felt so desperate. My parents had not been in contact for years, so I could not return to them. Being eighteen gave me the freedom I wanted, but I had no place to go and no skills to go with. I wanted to leave but to go where, do what? The only role that had ever been laid out for me was that of a wife.’
‘Did Yanni write back?’ Juliet asks.
‘No,’ Sophia says quietly and takes another tissue.
‘Oh.’ Juliet pulls her legs from the floor and tucks them under her.
‘Maybe he never got it. I asked a woman who used to come up often from the village for a stamp, but when I asked her to post it, she said I must ask the abbess, which I did and she agreed to it. At the time, it felt like my one hope and as the days passed and no reply came, I realised Yanni didn’t want to know.’ Sophia sniffs in defiance. ‘I considered leaving the convent by myself, but where would I go?’ She looks directly at Juliet, who shrugs. ‘On the island, everything is done through who you know. The jobs in the shops and tavernas, the renting of houses, everything is word of mouth, and away from the island, I knew no one. So I gave in and I tried to progress from being a novice to becoming a nun. But the abbess, thankfully, never thought me fit to become a tonsure. It has only been through getting to know Stella, who knew about the job in the sandwich shop, that I saw a way out now. That and my mama passing.’ She crosses herself. The tears dry up.
‘Mothers have a lot to answer for,’ Juliet says flatly.
Chapter 24
‘There’s a power cut,’ Sophia announces as she trots back into the drive less than an hour since she left Juliet’s. The days since she first moved in with Juliet have spun by, and it feels like she has known Juliet forever. They have talked into the early hours of the morning nearly every night. Talked about her, talked about Juliet’s brave and slightly crazy move to Greece. They have talked about cultures and education, English and Greek. Every new dawn, her eyes have been tired and have not wanted to open but her spirit has leapt from her bed ready for a new day. The days, with no hours of prayer and no strict adherence to routine, feel long and full of things to learn. Just being in the world, watching, feels fulfilling enough. ‘All day. It’s official,’ she adds. ‘The kafeneios are empty but Stella is busy. She only needs her grill, and Mitsos has brought his generator down from his house. It’s like the whole village is in there. As for the sandwich shop, the fridges are off, there’s been no delivery, so there’s nothing to sell. The owner’s wife came, told me that the pies have not even been baked so I should lock up and go. I have the day free.’ Sophia kicks off her shoes, holds her arms in the air, fingers spread, and causes the cat to jump from the wickerwork chair in fear of her outburst of energy.
‘Oh, sorry cat.’ She lowers her arms.
‘I know. No computer. I didn’t leave it on to charge, so no work for me, either.’ Juliet puts her book and glasses down. ‘I don’t think I’m going to finish that book.’
‘You want a frappe? Oh no, well yes. I could make it by hand?’ Sophia goes inside.
‘No thanks. You know what, let’s go into Saros, wander around like tourists. We can go for a coffee there. Sit and watch the world go by?’
Sophia stands in the doorway.
‘Don’t look so scared. It’s only coffee in Saros.’ Juliet laughs.
Saros is busy. The roads through the centre are closed off, men beyond the barriers are on hands and knees laying a pattern in bricks; it is all being pedestrianised. Juliet is not ruffled by it. She takes a left into a maze of roads and they come out by the water’s edge, where they park the car.
The long harbour front is lined with gleaming white yachts. The clicking of the halyards against the masts takes Sophia back to her childhood, to the port on Orino, filled with the yachts of the rich. Yanni there with his baba and their one donkey, Suzi. She will be old now. He will be older, too. The yearning in her chest catches her unawares and her vision blurs. She keeps strolling, Juliet by her side, but she looks away from her, towards the town. Parallel to the quayside is the main road to the old town, and on the other side of that is a strip of grass dotted with bushes and flowers that edge the endless line of street cafés on the other side. From here a hum emanates, a burst of laughter every few seconds. The world is alive and people are happy. Sophia blinks away the tears and smiles. She is part of this now; she will find her place.
‘I like these cafés by the harbour, but once you are sitting down, you are too low to see the sea. Are you all right if we go into the town and sit in the main square?’
Sophia shrugs. It is all new to her. Everything is all right as far as she is concerned. Where the yearning was a moment before, her stomach flips with excitement. They cross the road and walk up a narrow alley that
brings them out into an open square that is heaving with people. Around the square’s perimeter are chairs and tables sprawling out of cafés; in the middle, preschool children run and shout and kick balls. A woman stands clutching a huge cluster of bright, metallic-coloured balloons in the shape of dolphins and zebras, and some that look like a square sponge with eyes. There’s a floating dog, a goldfish with black and white stripes on its orange body, a yellow smiling face. High above them, one of these balloons floats in the still air. There will be a child crying somewhere for the loss. Sophia’s eyes return to earth, looking for the bereft child, but all she sees is people smiling, children laughing, joy everywhere.
‘Here, this is the place I prefer.’ Juliet heads for a café whose tables and chairs are littered under the spreading arms of a huge plane tree. Some of the branches are so old and heavy, they have wooden supports keeping them from bending to the ground.
‘Is it safe?’ Sophia asks, but she is not serious; there is nowhere she would rather sit. ‘Here?’ She chooses a chair turned to face the square, from where she can see everything.
‘Sure.’ Juliet sits, lithe, like a cat, her hips sliding between the table and chair; first her upper body and then her legs following. She kicks her shoes off even though they are out in public. There’s no denying the excitement Sophia feels and it is just from being here in the square, alive, free. Yes, definitely from being free.