by Maeve Binchy
“If that’s true, then it’s stopped working for me, and do you know, I don’t want to help anyone anymore. I want to blank things out. And people certainly don’t love me anymore. I think everyone is running a hundred kilometers away from me at the moment.”
Andreas made a sudden decision. “I need your help, Vonni. My hands are stiff. Can you come and help me make dolmades?” he asked, referring to little fat packets of stuffed vine leaves. “I can’t bend the old fingers to stuff them and roll them up. Please close your shop here and come up to the taverna with me. As a favor, will you?”
“And of course you’ll have plenty of coffee and ice cream to distract me and keep me away from the demon drink.” She gave him a weak smile.
“Certainly. That was my very plan,” he said, and they went out the door together.
Thomas was running down the whitewashed outdoor stairs, but he couldn’t have seen them, as he ran by without saying hello.
They sat and discussed her at midday by the harbor. “I can understand her attacking me, because to be very honest, a lot of people have a problem with Shane,” Fiona said. “But the rest of you? I don’t get it.”
They thought about it for a while.
“It’s easy to see where’s she’s coming from with me,” Elsa said. “I’m a tramp who has somehow blackmailed a poor innocent guy into proposing to her.”
“And did he?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, but it’s much more complex than that. Why has Vonni turned on you?” Elsa changed the subject.
Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I truthfully don’t know what annoyed her so much about my situation, but she went on about how I had a choice over my son, and she didn’t. I felt tempted to say that at least I didn’t lose my senses in a vat of alcohol like she did. But I didn’t want to offend her. I just wanted her to agree. I was trying to be responsible and do the right thing.”
David tried to stand up for Vonni. “You can see why she envies you, though. If she had been allowed anywhere near her son she’d have been there. She knows it’s her own fault—that’s what makes her so enraged.”
“You’re very forgiving, David; after all, she lit into you unmercifully as well,” Fiona said.
“Yes, but she got that all wrong, you see. She doesn’t know what kind of people my parents are. She doesn’t begin to understand. I’ve read that letter over and over and there’s nothing in it to suggest that my father isn’t well.”
“But, David, why did she get angry with you, exactly?” Elsa asked.
“Because I was saying what a good man Andreas was and how selfish his son was not to come back and help him. She said I was putting Andreas on some kind of pedestal and that a lot of people might say I was exactly the same as Adonis, staying away instead of helping my father. But of course it’s a totally different thing.”
He looked around the table and thought he saw a look on their faces that suggested it might not be so different after all.
“I have to go and give Maria her lesson,” he said a little stiffly, and went over to the house where the black-clad young widow was waving at him from the door.
David could manage a feeble conversation in Greek with Maria by now. It was halting and stumbling but he managed to understand that she thought he was leaving the island soon. Vonni had told her that his father was ill back in England. “No,” David cried. “He is well. Very well.”
“Vonni say you telephone home,” Maria said.
It was hard enough to explain the situation to people who could speak English. With Maria it was impossible. “No telephone home,” David stammered in Greek.
“Yati?” she asked. It was the Greek word for “why.”
David had no answer.
Vonni sewed up the vine leaves neatly around their little packages of rice and pine nuts. She was very quiet. Andreas looked at her from under his big bushy eyebrows. She had a deeply worried look. She frowned and gnawed at her lip. She was right to be concerned. She had the same sense of unease and restlessness that had led her to those frightening drinking bouts all those years ago.
He wondered if he should contact his sister, Christina. She and Vonni had been good friends and a huge mutual support. But then he would do nothing without consulting Vonni.
They worked in the open-air terrace, looking down over the town. Twice she got up and went into Andreas’s kitchen for no reason. He watched her without appearing to do so. Once she reached up to where bottles of brandy and olive oil stood in a line on the shelf. But she took her hand away. The second time she just went in and looked. She touched nothing. She was breathing fast as if she had run in a race.
“What can I do for you, Vonni? Tell me,” he begged.
“I’ve done nothing of any use in my life, Andreas. What can anyone do for me? Ever?”
“You’ve been a good friend to my sister, to me, to all the people in Aghia Anna. That’s worthwhile, isn’t it?”
“Not particularly. I’m not looking for pity, I hate that in a person, it’s just that I actually can’t see any point in the past, the present, or the future.” Her voice was flat.
“Well then you’d better open the brandy,” Andreas said.
“Brandy?”
“Metaxa brandy. It’s on the shelf in there, you’ve been looking at it all morning. Take it down, drink it, then none of us will have to worry about when you’re going to do it, it will be done.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because it’s one way to go. You can throw away the work and discipline and denial of years in an hour or so. Because it will bring this oblivion you want. It will probably bring it quite quickly since you’re not used to it.”
“And you, my friend, would stand by while I did this?”
“If you’re going to do it, better it’s up here, away from all the eyes of Aghia Anna,” he said philosophically.
“I don’t want to,” she said piteously.
“No, I know that. But if you see nothing in the past, the present, or the future, then I suppose you have to,” he said.
“And do you see any point in anything?” she asked.
“Some days it’s harder than others,” Andreas said. “You have good friends everywhere, Vonni.”
“No, I end up driving them away.”
“Who are you thinking about?”
“That foolish little Fiona. I told her her boyfriend won’t come back. She was in tears. But then I know where he is. She doesn’t know.”
“Hush, hush, don’t you get upset too.”
“I have no right to do it, Andreas. I’m not God.”
“You did it for the best,” he soothed her.
“I must tell her where he is,” Vonni said suddenly.
“I wonder, is that wise?”
“Can I use your telephone, Andreas?”
“Please.”
He heard her dial the number and then speak to Fiona. “I called to say I had no right to shout at you today. To say that I’m sorry. Very sorry.”
Andreas moved away to give her privacy. He knew how very hard it was for Vonni to admit that she was wrong.
In Elsa’s villa, Fiona looked at the telephone in her hand, mystified. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this. She was at a loss to know what to say.
“That’s okay, Vonni,” she said awkwardly.
“No, it’s not okay, as it happens. The reason he didn’t get in touch is because he’s in jail in Athens.”
“Shane in jail? Oh my God, what for?”
“Something to do with drugs.”
“No wonder I haven’t heard from him. Poor Shane. And would they not let him get in touch and tell me?”
“He did try to get in touch, eventually, but only so that you’d get him bail, and we said—”
“But of course I’ll get him bail. Why did nobody tell me?”
“Because we thought you’d be better off without him,” Vonni said lamely.
Fiona was outraged. “ ‘We thought.’ Who is �
��we’?”
“Georgi and I, but mainly me,” Vonni admitted.
“How dare you, Vonni. How dare you meddle in my life. Now he thinks I haven’t bothered to get in touch with him. All because of you.”
“That’s why I’m getting in touch with you,” Vonni said. “I’ll take you to him.”
“What?”
“I owe it to you. I’ll go with you on the ferry to Athens in the morning, take you to the jail, find out what’s happening.”
“Why are you doing this?” Fiona was suspicious.
“I suppose I realized that it is your life,” said Vonni. “I’ll see you at the harbor for the eight o’clock ferry tomorrow morning.”
Then she came back and sat down with Andreas.
“Did that work?” he asked.
“I don’t know, tomorrow will tell. But I feel stronger somehow. You know the way you said a while ago that some days are better than others. How is it for you today?”
“Not great. I wrote to Adonis in Chicago and he would certainly have gotten the letter by now. But there’s been no word from him. It was hard to write, and it’s even harder to bear that there’s no reply. But I think we have to keep struggling on, Vonni. Manos and those boys on the boat didn’t get a chance to, so I’m going to keep going until the end.”
“You wrote to Adonis?” Her eyes were bright and interested.
“Yes. Nobody knows but you and Georgi.”
“I’m so glad; you are great to do that. He’ll get in touch. Believe me.”
“Why should I believe you? Seriously, you don’t believe in anything yourself. Why should anyone heed what you say?”
“I know he’ll ring, come back, I know he will. Suppose he comes back soon. Is his room ready?”
“It’s as he left it.” Andreas shrugged.
“But we should paint it, make it smart for him.”
“He may never come back; we are only storing up more heartbreak.”
“We must not be defeatist, that’s the worst crime, let’s do it today. I’ve finished the bloody dolmades. Stick them in the freezer and get out some paint. Have you got brushes?”
“Yes, in the shed at the back. They may be a bit hard and stiff; I’ll see if we have paint remover.”
“Right, but keep a beady eye on me—one whiff of that and I could be on the slippery slope.”
He looked at her in amazement. She truly had turned a corner. There was life and enthusiasm in her face. It was worth painting the bedroom with her just to keep it going.
Even if that boy never came, it would be worth it.
FOURTEEN
“Mother?”
“David!” The delight in her voice was hard to take. “Mother, I got your letter. About the award.”
“Oh, David, I just knew that you’d call. I knew it. You’re such a good boy to phone so quickly.”
“Well, you see, I’m not certain yet what’s happening . . .” He did not want to be railroaded into dates of return, times of flights, seating plans, and what he would wear to the function.
“Your father will be so pleased when he hears you called. It will make his day.”
Already he felt the familiar heavy weight that their pressure always created. It was in his chest and around his shoulders.
His mother was still talking excitedly. “He’ll be back in about an hour and that will really cheer him up.”
“He’s not in the office on a Saturday, surely?”
“No, no, just . . . um . . . out.”
David was surprised. His father did not go to synagogue every week, only at the High Holidays. But Saturdays were always spent at home. “What’s he doing?” David asked.
“Oh, you know, this and that.” His mother was evasive.
David felt suddenly cold. “Is father ill?” he asked suddenly.
“What makes you think that?” He could hear the fear in her voice.
“I don’t know, Mother, I sort of got the idea that he might have an illness and that he wasn’t telling me, neither of you were.”
“You got that feeling suddenly, far away in Greece.” She spoke in wonder.
“Sort of.” He shuffled. “But is it true, Mother?”
He felt that time was standing still as he waited for her to answer. It could only have been seconds but it felt like an age. He watched from the phone booth by the harbor as the day’s work went on, crates being loaded and unloaded on boats, crowds going about their business normally as he waited.
“Your father has cancer of the colon, David. They can’t operate. They’ve given him six months.”
There was a silence on the line as he caught his breath. “Does he know, Mother? Has he been told?”
“Yes, that’s what they do these days, they tell people. He’s very calm.”
“And is he in pain?”
“No, amazingly, he has a lot of medication.”
David gulped as if he were trying to stifle a sob.
“Ah, David, don’t get upset, he’s very resigned, he’s not afraid.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You know your father, he is such a proud man, he didn’t want you coming back just out of pity. He wouldn’t let me tell you.”
“I see,” David said miserably.
“But he didn’t bank on your knowing by telepathy, David. Imagine you sensing that from all that distance away. It’s uncanny, but then you were always sensitive.”
David had rarely felt so ashamed in his life. “I’ll call again on Monday,” he said.
“With your plans?” his mother said eagerly.
“With my plans,” he said wretchedly.
Thomas called his mother.
“Don’t call me from so far away, son, wasting all that money on me.”
“It’s okay, Mom, I get my full salary, I told you. Plenty to live on like a millionaire out here, and enough to pay support for Bill.”
“And to send me treats too. You’re a good boy. I love those magazines you send me every month. I’d never go out and buy them for myself.”
“I know, Mom, everything for us, nothing for you. That was always your rule.”
“It’s what most people do when they have children, not that it always works. I’ve been blessed with you and your brother, it’s not always the way.”
“It’s not easy being a parent, is it, Mom?”
“I didn’t find it too bad, but then my spouse went and died on me rather than take up with someone else like yours did.”
“It takes two to break up a marriage, Mom, it wasn’t all Shirley’s fault.”
“No, but when are you finding yourself a partner?”
“One day, I assure you, and you’ll be one of the first to know, Mom. I called to ask you about Bill. Do you talk to him at all?”
“You know I do, son, I call him every Sunday. He’s doing fine at school, playing lots of games, he loves sports now.”
“Sure he does, now that his boring old father isn’t there to annoy him with books and poetry and things.”
“He misses you like hell, Thomas, you know that.”
“Hasn’t he got Golden Boy Andy and a new brother or sister on the way? What does he want me for?”
“He told me you didn’t feel good about the new baby,” his mother said.
“I was meant to dance with joy about it, I suppose,” Thomas said bitterly.
“He said he thought you would love the new baby like Andy loves him.”
“He honestly thought I’d love the new baby?” Thomas was astounded.
“He’s a child, Thomas. He’s just nine years old, his father has left him, left America. He was clutching at straws. He thought that maybe you would come back if there was a new baby for you to be stepfather to, like Andy is to him.”
“Andy is a horse’s ass, Mom.”
“He may well be, son, but he’s a kind horse’s ass, Thomas,” his mother said.
“I’m kind, Mom.”
“I’m sure you are, Thomas, in fact I
know you are, but I’m not entirely sure Bill knows that.”
“Come on, Mom, I’ve done the right thing, given him his own freedom, not crowded him out. I’ve let him adjust to his new life.”
“Yeah, at the age of nine a child will understand all that?”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t know, be near him, not thousands of miles away, I guess.”
“You think that would sort it out?”
“I don’t know, but at least Bill wouldn’t think you, who are his flesh and blood, had abandoned him.”
“Sure, Mom, I hear what you say.”
Elsa read the second fax from Dieter.
I know you read what I wrote last week. They told me in the hotel that the message had been given to you. Please stop playing games, Elsa; just tell me when you are coming back. You are not the only player on the stage, I have my life to lead too. Why should I tell anyone anything about us until I know that you are coming back and when? Please answer me today. I love you forever.
Dieter
She read it over and over and tried to hear his voice as if he were speaking the words. She could hear it very well. Dieter speaking quickly, decisively, and urgently. Please answer me today. It was he who was playing the central figure on the stage. Had he forgotten that this was all about her life, her future? How dare he ask her for such a speedy answer.
She went to the little business center in the Anna Beach where she could send an e-mail:
It’s a big decision. I need time to think. Don’t hassle me. I’ll write in a few days. I love you forever also, but that’s not the only consideration. Elsa
Fiona woke very early. She saw the dawn come up over Aghia Anna. She could hardly believe the conversation that she had had with Vonni last night. She was still furious with Vonni and Georgi for having lied to her. How dare they tell her that Shane had not been in touch. How dare they leave her with this sick feeling that Shane might possibly have abandoned her, left her because she was too stupid, too thick. But he had tried to contact her and these old busybodies had interfered. They said his motive was only to get her to raise the bail money. Well, of course he had to get bail first to get out, to get on with life. What did they expect? She was so glad that she would see him today.