by Alex A King
"You want to put that in Gaidaros's mouth?"
Leo looks at the file. What he really needs is something to sedate the donkey, but good luck getting that around here. "You bet."
Takis' mustache shakes. His eyes water. He slaps his knee, until the goats wander over to check things out.
"Then I will wish you good luck," Takis says, "because you are going to need it."
* * *
Less than an hour later, Leo's pocketing the file.
"All that luck worked." He grins at the older man. Behind him, the donkey is facedown in the hay, making up for lost time.
"Gamo ti putana," Takis mutters, fingers dancing over his komboloi, shifting beads back and forth. (Komboloi, AKA worry beads, aren't a religious thing in Greece. They're something to do to keep your joints lubricated for that next political argument.) "The boy is a genius. You cannot be related to Socrates, you are much too clever."
After that, Leo's thinking he could use some fun.
Now he's thinking about those long legs on the road earlier, and how good they'd look around his waist.
Too bad that woman's got all the problems she can handle. Not to mention, she just lost the man she loves. Otherwise he'd look her up and ask her out.
Andreou. Still familiar. Only Andreou he remembers is a kid named Kostas. He laughs. Yeah, Kostas Andreou was a trip. He wonders what Kostas is doing these days.
Time, probably.
30
Kiki
Has Kiki returned the wedding gifts?
No.
They're loitering on her dining room table, fully dressed in their shiny, glittery party clothes. She hasn't unwrapped a one. Why bother? They aren't for her—they're for her and Stavros. For them. She's been looking at them every night since his death, learning the patterns on the swarths of wrapping paper, imagining what each box holds in its cardboard arms.
Tonight there's a new box. Kiki doesn't recognize the tiny yellow hearts on the white and silver swirl. It's small, flat, the shape of boxed chocolates—the kind with varied centers.
Someone helped themselves to Kiki's home.
Out the door, down the stairs, through her parents' door with only a brief knock to warn them. They're on the couch watching Greece's Top Hoplite. One of the judges is a local woman, Vivi's cousin. She's slashing the contestants to shreds with her tongue.
"My God, the woman is monster," Mama says, but she's rocking with laughter.
"It was the penis," Yiayia says, from her wheelchair. "When that man flashed her years ago, something broke inside her head, and now look, she is Medusa."
Kiki butts in. "Did anyone go up to my place today?"
"Why, my love?" Mama's gaze is stuck to a shrieking Effie.
"There's another wedding gift up there. It wasn't there before."
"Probably you miscounted."
"No, it's definitely new."
Mama breaks away from the TV, but it's a reluctant separation. "I do not know what to tell you, Kiki. Nobody has been up there, except me. And I did not leave anything—I took away your cobwebs. Why you not clean that mess?"
"Leave her alone," Baba says. He looks up at Kiki. "Did they steal anything?"
Kiki shakes her head. "I don't think so."
He shrugs. "How bad can they be if they gave you something but did not take anything?"
Yiayia slaps her knobby knees. "You should open it."
Margarita is horrified. "Mama, she has to give the presents back!"
"Why? It is not a wedding present. If it was a wedding present they would have brought it before the wedding, not after the wedding that did not happen."
"Is there a card?" Mama asks.
Kiki lifts her chin. "No."
(A chin lift is the Greek accompaniment to a negative reply. Tilt it down to pair it perfectly with your "Yes.")
"Strange. You should definitely open it. For once, your grandmother is right. And because of that I will not try killing her tonight." She looks at her mother. "Enjoy the sleep while you can, eh? Tomorrow is a new day."
"Then I will go to bed now so I can get good sleep." Yiayia dumps a kiss on Kiki's cheek as she passes. "Open the box, but not here. If it is a bomb I do not want to die."
A small alarm goes off in Kiki's head. "You think it's a bomb?"
Yiayia shrugs. "Somebody killed Stavros, yes? Maybe they want to kill you, too."
"A bomb! I have changed my mind," Kiki's mother says. "Step carefully, old woman, because tonight might be your last."
31
Leo
You want fun in Agria? Start at the promenade after dark. Barriers seal off the road's ends after dark, leaving a long stretch for walking, for seeing and being seen. Everyone walks when they're not cozied up to the sea, eating, drinking at the tavernas. At sunset, the umbrellas disappear and the colored lights come on. Say goodbye to the coffee, to the frappe; say hello to retsina and ouzo. Greeks tend to be wise drinkers, though. They pair their drinks with mezedes—finger food of the Greek kind. Bits of dead octopus, flaming cheese, dolmades (rice wrapped in grape leaves), meatballs, pie made with feta and spinach. They pick at the food, drink, and talk as though an embargo on words has just been lifted.
The promenade at night is where Leo had some of his best times. First as a kid, zipping to the playground snugged up to St. George's side, then as a prowling girl-crazy teenager. The playground is swimming with children tonight, a lot of them teenagers watching over younger siblings. He never came here to watch over siblings. He came here to hit on girls and sweet-talk them into the dark grounds behind the playground. There's a winding path back there that leads to the road, but there are also a lot of trees, and the church itself casts a wide shadow.
Good times.
Those girls still live here, he's sure. But he doesn't recognize many of the faces. And they don't recognize him. Why would they? He's been gone about as long as he was ever here. And somewhere along the way, time smashed them all with a mallet, beat the kid out of them and left the adult to fend for themselves.
Anyway, they've moved on and so has he. They're married (small-town Greek girls don't stay unmarried for long) with kids. And Leo won't touch married women. A married woman isn't necessarily trouble, but her husband sure is.
He likes them beautiful and single. And there are a lot of beautiful women here.
"Leonidas Karas?"
He goes cold for a moment. His animal brain thinks the cops, the army, have found him. Then it kicks in: he's not AWOL yet—just planning to be. He swings around, sees perfection saying his name.
Oh yeah, he thinks.
She's a river of dark hair, dark eyes, smooth tanned skin, poured into a thigh-skimming dress.
"You know me, but …" I don't know you, but I want to.
"Soula," the goddess says. "Soula Andreou. We were in school together."
"Andreou? I've been hearing that name a lot since I got back."
Soula shrugs one slim shoulder. "It is a name that is being said a lot lately. And let me tell you right now, my sister did not kill anyone. Least of all that vlakas Stavros Boutos."
Loyal sister. The other woman is lucky to have her on the defense team.
"So he was stupid, huh?"
"He was a man," she says. "You are all stupid."
Leo laughs. "We're stupid because women make us stupid."
When she laughs the angels sing. "Maybe."
"So what do you do now that we're not in school, Soula?"
"I avoid stupid men."
"Too bad," he says.
Her smile is packed with promises of the sexy kind. "There was a time when I was not so picky. We could have had fun then."
A familiar bell is starting to chime. He's remembering her face younger, with less makeup, less polish.
Then it comes back. The high school. Spin the Bottle. The disappearing finger trick.
"Oh God," he groans. "You're Kiki's sister."
"Maybe not so stupid." Soula slips her arm through his. "A
re you hungry? I am starving. Come, we will get souvlaki."
* * *
They get souvlaki. Soula buys. "Next time we go out, you can buy."
"Is this a date?"
She bites the end off the meat-stuffed pita, shrugs. "Maybe."
They're standing in a short side street, where there's nothing much except the souvlaki place. No chairs inside, no tables, so they eat outside and watch people squeezing into the postage stamp-sized takeout joint.
"This is amazing," he says.
Soula nods, mouth full.
"You want to have sex?" she says, when they're done.
Yes. Yes, he does.
* * *
Soula has a car but it's at home, she tells him.
Leo can't say he blames her. Back in the states everyone complains about gas prices, but they've never known the eighty-percent tax Greeks pay at the pump.
Anyway, the walk is good. Gives them time to talk and the tension to build.
She doesn't live alone, she warns him. The family lives Greek-style, one on top of the other. But she's got the top floor, which means there's at least two doors and a sister between her bedroom and her parents' house.
He can live with that. It's not the first time he's sneaked into a woman's bedroom. Or a Greek girl's bedroom. His virginity got lost less than twenty feet away from a good Greek girl's sleeping parents.
Lost. Ha. He was fourteen, and she was sixteen and unstoppable.
What's a guy to do?
Hurl his virginity out the window, that's what.
There's one small square metal table and a short row of chairs in the Andreou family's front yard, but only one seat is taken. In the chair with wheels sits a prune wearing a black nightgown. Short, scrawny legs. Feet lost in backless slippers. She cups a hand over her eyes to kill the glare from the outside light.
"Soula, is that you?"
"Yes, Yiayia."
"I thought so. Kiki does not sneak men into her house. Is he good-looking?"
Soula glances at Leo. "Yes, Yiayia."
The air smells like perfume. Some kind of flower, but Leo isn't a guy who knows flowers.
"Come closer." Lots of hand waving. "Does he have a big penis?"
"I don't know yet."
The old woman squints up at him. "Do you have a big penis?"
He looks from her to Soula, from Soula to the old woman.
"Well?" Big grin on Soula's face, like she's used to her grandmother's antics and maybe even enjoys them.
"She won't be disappointed," he tells the old woman.
The old woman claps once. "You are lucky," she says to her granddaughter. "Try not to scream too loud, eh? But before you do the sex, go see your sister. Someone sent her a bomb."
32
Kiki
"Kiki?"
Somebody is saying her name. Which is weird, because up until now, everyone in the dream has been calling her Batman.
"I'm Batman," she murmurs.
"Okay, Batman. Wake up!" The hand that called her Kiki shakes her.
Kiki leaps out of bed, naked. And …
Leaps back into bed when it hits her that Soula's not alone.
"My Virgin Mary, Soula! What are you doing?" she says from under the blue cotton sheet.
"Yiayia said someone sent you a bomb."
She pulls the sheet off her face, sees Soula standing over her, hand on hips. "A bomb?"
"That's what she said."
"Oh my God. This town—this family—is driving me crazy."
Soula's tail laughs. Who invited him into her bedroom, anyway?
"Who are you?" Kiki says. "Never mind. I don't care. Just go—both of you."
Soula says, "What about the bomb?"
"There is no bomb." She tells them about the new gift, the one she still hasn't opened.
"How do you know it's not a bomb?"
"I don't. But who would give me a bomb?" Everyone. The answer is: everyone. She's on the fast track to pariahdom. The more productive question is: who wouldn't try blowing her up. "Forget I asked. But wouldn't it be heavier if it was a bomb?"
"When was the last time you held a bomb?" Soula asks.
Never—that's when.
He won't quit looking at her, Soula's date. There's something familiar about him, the distinct feeling that they've known each other before. He's tall, dark-haired, holy-shit handsome in an I-like-to-rob-banks-so-hard kind of way. If she hadn't just seen him laugh for herself, she'd think his face never learned how to smile.
"Don't open it, okay?" Soula says. "Promise me."
"I promise."
"Good."
Then Soula and her date are gone.
* * *
Sleep refuses to come for her. Every time she reaches the tipping point, her brain tosses an old memory in her path. Never the good ones. It's a parade of embarrassing moments. Comebacks that arrived too late for a snappy delivery. Stupid things she said in their steed. Opportunities to break her engagement that she missed. Rumors of this woman or that. Any of them she could have taken to both sets of parents and won her freedom.
But she didn't, did she?
Why not?
Because she was all tied up with string. A good little Kiki-puppet dancing on the end of her mother's strings.
And there was never anyone worth cutting them for.
Enough, she thinks. She's free. Vivi was right, after all.
Free.
To do anything. Love anyone. Go wherever she pleases.
Freedom.
A wonderful, terrible word. When you are free you have all the choices, and there are just so damn many.
Kiki picks one.
She pulls on her black dress. Goes into the living room where the presents wait. Sorts them into piles that make some kind of sense to her. Then she loads the first stack into one of those black garbage bags.
It takes until morning, but by breakfast there's nothing on her dining room table besides rings of dust and that one nameless gift.
That she delivers to the police station.
Freedom. It seemed real during the dark hours, but now that it's light she sees she's still on the wrong side of the bars.
33
Leo
Leo's as horny as hell.
Last night came to nothing. A mutual decision. In the end, when the clothes starting coming off, there wasn't any chemistry.
He and Soula laughed, put their clothes back on, then they talked.
It was fun, but it wasn't magic.
That's how life goes. Two beautiful people don't always make fire. But he made a friend, and that's worth plenty.
Soula caught him up on what's what. Everyone else he knew has moved on. Guys he was buddies with followed their wives back to their home towns. Those two goons from Athens come home occasionally, but mostly for funerals and weddings.
Greece marched on without him.
Memory's a funny thing. It assumes time is fixed. People stay young, places never change. The memory doesn't know that the tree you used to climb was chopped down to build a restaurant. Which became a laundromat. Which became a souvenir shop.
The memory only knows about the tree. And when it finds the tree gone, it kind of flips out.
Yeah, Leo's horny.
And it's got everything to do with the other Andreou woman. Soula is gorgeous, yeah, but now it's Kiki he can't kick out of his head.
He remembers her now, remembers Spin the Bottle. She was cute back then, pretty, and he couldn't wait to get her alone in the bushes behind the high school. When he won the second spin and they hid from the others, she told him to turn around. What else was he going to do—he turned around. Single-minded teenage asshole that he was, he assumed she wanted to stand behind him and play with his cock. When that finger slid up his ass, he bolted. Left her standing there wondering what the hell just happened.
Not long after, the Karas family shipped out and he never got a shot at apologizing.
Leo still doesn't like a finger up his
ass, but now at least he tells a woman no instead of running.
"What do you know about Kiki Andreou?"
His grandfather looks up from the newspaper. It's morning and they're outside again, and Leo's starting to like this coffee. The trick is to let it sit and wait for the mud to sink.
"The Andreou girl? Eh, nothing. She is a good girl. Very pretty. Her mother was very pretty, too. And her grandmother. Her grandmother … I took her grandmother out a few times. We had a chaperone, yes, but she had one bad eye. So it was easy to sneak a feel of her—" His finger and thumb make a circle in the air.
Leo laughs. Way to go, Socrates. "So if she didn't kill her fiancé, who did?"
His grandfather slurps the coffee before answering. "Maybe Laki knows, maybe not. At first the Lemonis boy thought it was a suicide, but then he decided it was murder."
"Why?"
"Who knows? I just tell you what I hear. What I do know is that it was not the Andreou girl." He looks at Leo through narrowed eyes. "Why do you ask?"
Leo shrugs. "No reason."
"No reason." He shakes his head. "A man does not ask after a girl unless he has a reason. And that reason is always something to do with his poutso."
"I don't have time for women, Papou. I have to get back to the states."
"How long before the police come for you, now?"
"Three days."
"All a man needs is fifteen minutes with a woman. Many times, less."
"Not the way I do it," Leo tells him.
34
Helena
Helena cannot say why she goes back, only that she does. Stavros, of course, comes too. He is such a good son, always wanting to be with his mama, but this is the only place she'll allow them to be seen together. Anywhere else … People will talk if they do everything together. Call him a mama's boy. Whisper about how Helena cannot let him go.