Andreas, dismayed by her strange mood, repeatedly asked her what was wrong and was told not to bother her. He gave up. He had sensed for a while that the halcyon days of early marriage, with its loving looks and kind words, were over, and he now busied himself more and more on the estate. Eleftheria noticed the change too. Anna had seemed so happy and vivacious just a few months before and now she seemed permanently angry. For Anna, concealing her emotions like this was the antithesis of everything that came naturally to her. She wanted to scream, shout, yank her hair in handfuls from its roots, but when her father and Maria visited her from time to time, Manoli was not even mentioned.
By some instinct, Maria felt that her friendship with Manoli might have strayed into her sister’s territory and that perhaps she regarded the Vandoulakis family as her own domain. Why make things worse by talking about it? She had no idea of the scale of Anna’s anguish and assumed that her air of vagueness was something to do with the fact that she had so far failed to conceive a child.
One February evening, six months after the weekly nights out had begun, Manoli went to find Giorgis in the bar. The old man was sitting alone, reading the local newspaper. He looked up as Manoli approached, a plume of smoke curling above his head.
‘Giorgis, may I sit down?’ Manoli asked politely.
‘Yes,’ Giorgis replied, returning to the paper. ‘I don’t own the place, do I?’
‘There’s something I want to ask you. I’ll get to the point. I would like to marry your daughter. Will you agree to it?’
Giorgis folded the newspaper carefully and placed it on the table. To Manoli it seemed an age before he spoke.
‘Agree to it? Of course I’ll agree to it! You’ve been courting the most beautiful girl in the village for over half a year - and I thought you might never ask. It’s about time!’
Giorgis’s blustering response concealed his absolute joy at the request. Not just one, but now two of his daughters were to become part of the most powerful family in the province. There was no snobbery at the heart of his sentiment, just sheer relief and pleasure that both their futures were now secure. It was the best a father could possibly hope for on behalf of his children, especially a father who was a mere fisherman. Behind Manoli’s head he could see the twinkling lights of Spinalonga through the half-shuttered window of the bar. If only Eleni could share this moment.
He put out his hand to seize Manoli’s, momentarily lost for words. His expression said enough.
‘Thank you. I will look after her, but between us we will look after you too,’ said Manoli, fully aware of the lonely situation Maria’s marriage could put her father in.
‘Hey! We need your best tsikoudia!’ he called out to Lidaki. ‘We have something to celebrate here. It’s a miracle. I’m no longer an orphan!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Lidaki, sauntering over with a bottle and two glasses, well used now to Manoli’s verbal stunts.
‘Giorgis has agreed to be my father-in-law. I am to marry Maria!’
There were a few others in the bar that evening, and even before the girl in question knew anything about it, the menfolk of the village were toasting her future with Manoli.
Later that night when Giorgis returned home, Maria was getting ready to retire to bed. As her father came in through the door, shutting it quickly to keep the February wind outside and the warmth of the fire in, she noticed an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was suffused with excitement and delight.
‘Maria,’ he said, reaching out to grab her by both arms, ‘Manoli has asked for your hand in marriage.’
For a moment she bowed her head, pleasure and pain somehow mixed in equal measure. Her throat contracted.
‘What answer did you give him?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘The one you would have wanted me to. Yes, of course!’
In all her life Maria had not felt this unfamiliar mingling of emotions. Her heart felt like a cauldron of ingredients that declined to blend. Her chest tightened with anxiety. What was this? Was happiness meant to feel so like nausea? Just as she could not imagine someone else’s pain, Maria did not know what love felt like for anyone else. She was fairly certain she loved Manoli. With his charm and wit, it was not hard to do so. But her whole future with him? A host of worries began to gnaw at her. What would happen to her father? She voiced her anxieties immediately.
‘It’s wonderful, Father. It’s really wonderful, but what about you? I can’t leave you here alone.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I can stay here - I wouldn’t want to move out of Plaka. There’s still too much for me to do here.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, though she knew exactly what he meant.
‘Spinalonga. The island still needs me - and as long as I’m fit to take my boat there I’ll keep going. Dr Lapakis relies on me, and so do all the islanders.’
There were as many comings and goings to and from the leper colony as ever. Each month there were new arrivals and supplies to be delivered, as well as building materials for the government-funded refurbishment that was being carried out. Giorgis was an essential part of the whole operation. Maria understood his attachment to the island. They rarely spoke about it now, but it was accepted between them that this was his vocation and his way of maintaining a connection with Eleni.
Both father and daughter slept fitfully that night, and morning could not come too soon. That day, Giorgis was to take Maria to Manoli’s house on the Vandoulakis estate. It was a Sunday, and Manoli was there to greet them on the doorstep. Maria had never even seen his house before, and it was now to become her home. It took her no time at all to calculate that it was four times the size of their house in Plaka and the thought of living there daunted her.
‘Welcome,’ Manoli said, warming her with a single word. ‘Come in, both of you. Come out of the cold.’
It was indeed the coldest day they had yet had this year. A storm was brewing and the winds seemed to come from several directions, stirring up eddies of dead leaves and sending them spiralling around their ankles. Maria’s first impression when they went into the house was of a lack of light and a general untidiness that she was unsurprised to find in a house that might have had a maid but did not have a mistress. Manoli took them into a reception room which was slightly tidier and more cared for, with its embroidered lace cloths and a few photographs on the walls.
‘My aunt and uncle are due to arrive shortly,’ he explained, almost nervously, and then to Maria he said: ‘Your father has consented to my asking for your hand. Will you marry me?’
She paused a moment before answering. To both of them it seemed an age. He looked at her with pleading eyes, momentarily doubtful.
‘Yes,’ she said, finally.
‘She says yes!’ roared Manoli, suddenly regaining his confidence. He hugged her and kissed her hands and spun her round until she pleaded for mercy. There would always be surprises with Manoli, and his exuberance took her breath away. The man was a human pentozali.
‘You’re going to be my wife!’ he said excitedly. ‘My uncle and aunt are so looking forward to meeting you again, Maria. But before they get here we must talk about the important matter of you, Giorgis. Will you come and live with us here?’
Manoli had, typically, waded in. Asking Giorgis to live with them was the closest they could approximate to reestablishing a traditional pattern where parents were ultimately taken care of by their children. Manoli had not discussed the matter with Maria and was unaware of the sensitivities, though he knew that she would want to have her father close by.
‘It’s very kind of you. But I couldn’t leave the village. Maria understands, don’t you, Maria?’ he said, appealing to his daughter.
‘Of course I understand, Father. I don’t mind, as long as you come to see us as often as you can - and anyway we’ll be down in Plaka to see you most days.’
Giorgis knew Maria would be true to her word and that he could look forward to her visits without fear of disappointment. She would
not be like Anna, whose letters and visits had virtually dried up now.
Manoli could not really understand his future father-in-law’s attachment to his old house in the village, but he was not going to pursue the point. At that moment the sound of tyres could be heard on the stony track outside, and then car doors slamming shut. Alexandros and Eleftheria were at the door and Manoli ushered them in. Warm handshakes were exchanged. Although the Vandoulakis and Petrakis paths had not crossed for several months, they were pleased to see each other. Alexandros, as head of the family, had a duty to speak.
‘Giorgis and Maria. It will be a pleasure, once again, to welcome you into our family. My brother and his wife, Manoli’s dear late parents, would have felt as we do that Maria will make our nephew very happy.’
The words came from his heart and Maria flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. Alexandros and Eleftheria were as aware as they had been with Anna that there was no dowry attached to this bride, no more than a trousseau of embroidery and lace to soften the harsh lines of their nephew’s spartan home. They would not dwell on this, however, since there was more to be gained than lost from having Manoli settled down and attached to a local girl. The match would fulfil their promise to Manoli’s father to ensure his son’s wellbeing. When the boy had disappeared to Europe, Alexandros had felt a terrible sense of failure. Everything he had promised Yiannis had been unfulfilled. Most of the time during that period of his absence Alexandros had not even known if his nephew was dead or alive, and rarely which country he was in, but once Manoli was married to Maria he would be anchored to Elounda, and would always be there to support Andreas in the management of the great Vandoulakis estate.
The five of them drank to each other’s health.
‘Iassas!’ they chorused as glasses clashed together.
There was soon talk of when the wedding might take place.
‘Let’s get married next week,’ said Manoli.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ retorted Eleftheria with alarm. ‘You don’t realise how much goes into the preparation of a good wedding! It’ll take at least six months.’
Naturally Manoli was joking, but he continued to tease.
‘Surely we could do it sooner than that. Let’s go and see the priest. Come on, let’s go now and see if he’ll marry us today!’
Part of him meant it. He was now as impatient as a tiger, eager for his prey. His mind raced forwards. Maria, beautiful, pale and firm, her hair strewn across a pillow, a shaft of moonlight cutting across the bed to illuminate a perfect body. Waiting for him. Six whole months. My God, how could he possibly wait that long?
‘We must do everything as your parents would have wanted,’ said Alexandros. ‘Properly!’ he added, fully aware of Manoli’s impetuous side.
Manoli shot him a glance. He knew that his uncle thought he needed a firm hand, and he, though he had great affection for Alexandros, loved to play up to his anxieties about him.
‘Of course we’ll do everything properly,’ he said, now with genuine sincerity. ‘We’ll do everything by the book. I promise.’
As soon as she could, Maria rushed to tell Fotini the news.
‘There’s just one thing that worries me,’ she said. ‘My father.’
‘But we’ll be around to keep an eye on him, and so will my parents,’ Fotini reassured her. ‘Come on, Maria. It’s time for you to marry. Your father understands that, I know he does.’
Maria tried not to feel uneasy, but her concern for Giorgis always seemed to stand between her and a sense of absolute joy.
Chapter Fourteen
THE ENGAGEMENT BETWEEN Manoli and Maria was cemented with a party to which the whole of Plaka was invited. It took place just a month after Manoli’s proposal. Both of them felt as if they had been blessed by good fortune. So many of Maria’s childhood friends had been married off by their fathers to men they did not love and with whom they were expected to develop some kind of affection as though they were cultivating geraniums in an urn. Matches were mostly made these days for the sake of convenience, so Maria was surprised and thankful to find herself marrying for love. She felt a certain gratitude to her sister for this, but the right moment and the right opportunity to express this never presented itself, since they rarely saw each other. To everyone’s amazement and concern, she did not even appear at the engagement party. She sent her excuses with Andreas, who came to join in the celebrations with his parents.
Manoli loved the idea of marriage. He felt his life as a wandering libertine was well and truly over and now relished the prospect of being looked after and even, perhaps, of having children. In contrast to Maria, who thanked the God she spoke to in church each week, he attributed his luck to various gods, mostly Aphrodite, who had delivered this beautiful girl to him on a gilded platter. He would rather not have married at all than marry where there was no love and no beauty, and he was relieved to have found both in such equal measure.
The engagement party was in full swing and the village square teemed with merrymakers. Stephanos carried round huge trays of food and Maria and Manoli mingled with the crowd.
Manoli took his cousin to one side.
‘Andreas,’ he asked, almost shouting to be heard above the din of the band and the singing, ‘would you agree to be our wedding sponsor?’
The wedding sponsor, the koumbaros, was a key figure in the marriage. In the ceremony itself his role was almost as significant as the priest’s and, God willing, in due course he would become the godparent of the first child.
Andreas had expected the invitation. He would have been wounded if they had not asked him, so obvious a candidate was he. Manoli and he were more than brothers, closer than twins, and he was the perfect choice to be the person who would help bind these two in marriage, particularly with the added dimension of his already being Maria’s brother-in-law. His expectation of being asked, however, did not diminish the pleasure.
‘Nothing would delight me more, cousin! I’d be honoured,’ he said.
Andreas felt strangely protective towards Manoli. He remembered well when his uncle had died and the period that followed when Manoli had been brought into their household. Andreas, always a steady and rather serious child, and Manoli, a wilder, less disciplined boy, could not have been more different. They had rarely squabbled as children, unlike most siblings, and there had never been any jealousy between them. Five years into their lives, they were each presented with a ready-made brother and playmate. Andreas benefited from the adventurous, less responsible influence of his cousin, and there was little doubt that Manoli needed the firm hand that his uncle and aunt could provide. Andreas, six months the older, naturally assumed the protective role, though Manoli had been the one to lead his older cousin astray, and to invite him to be bolder and more daring in their escapades around the estate as they grew into the years of early adolescence.
Maria received the first of many gifts for her trousseau, and the merrymaking continued into the small hours, after which the village became the quietest place on Crete. Even the dogs would be too tired to bark until the sun was well over the horizon.
When Andreas arrived home everyone was asleep. Alexandros and Eleftheria had returned before him and the house was eerily silent and dark. He crept into the bedroom and heard Anna stir.
‘Hello, Anna,’ he whispered quietly, in case she was still asleep.
The truth was that Anna had not had a wink of sleep that night. She had tossed and turned, crazed with anger at the thought of the merrymaking down in Plaka. She could picture her sister’s beaming smile and Manoli’s dark eyes fixed on her, his hands around her waist perhaps as they lapped up the compliments from all the well-wishers.
When Andreas switched on the bedside light she rolled over.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Was it fun?’
‘It was a great celebration,’ he answered, not looking at his wife as he undressed and so failing to take in the look on her tear-stained face. ‘And Manoli has asked me to be koumbaros!’
The issuing of such an invitation had been inevitable but Anna had still not really braced herself for the blow. Andreas’s role in the lives of Manoli and Maria would now be a significant one and would bind them all together, condemning her to an eternity of having her nose rubbed in her sister’s happiness. In the shadows, her eyes pricked as she rolled over to bury her face in the pillow.
‘Goodnight, Anna. Sleep tight.’ Andreas climbed into bed. Within seconds the bed vibrated with his snores.
The crisp-aired March days passed quickly, spring arrived with an explosion of buds and blossom, and by summertime plans for the wedding were well under way. The date was set for October and the marriage would be toasted with the first wines from the season’s crops. Maria and Manoli continued their weekly outings, still in the company of Fotini and Stephanos. A girl’s virginity was an unspoken prerequisite of the marriage contract and the powers of temptation were well recognised; it was in everyone’s interest that a girl should not be alone with her fiancé until the wedding night.
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