The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) (9 page)

‘Don’t just sit there. Get up. The window is to your right.’

She is a sister, a nun. What can he expect? She is not going to pull the headscarf from her head and run away with him.

‘Get up.’

The chances are that by seeing her, he will bring his love to the surface, make his life even more painful without her.

‘Yanni, get up.’

The best he can expect is to find she has changed. That she is a nun inside and out. Maybe his love will turn to that of the brotherly kind. He can imagine that sense of freedom. Freedom to …

‘Yanni, tsst, Yanni. Get up, will you?’

Freedom to talk to his soulmate, who is at this very moment asleep in her bed not so very far from her sandwich shop. He stands.

‘To your right. Climb across to your right.’

He would climb a mountain for her. Climb any height to fall into those eyes, haul himself over precipices, grip on to rock faces so he can fall, fall, fall …

‘Bravo, Yanni. In there. Pull yourself in there. There’s a table on the other side.’

Fall into her eyes.

‘You okay?  Yanni, can you hear me? Are you standing? Don’t turn the lights on. He hangs a torch on the back of the door for when there is a power cut. Can you see enough to see the door? It should be to your right if your back is to the window. Yanni? Yanni? Yanni, if you can hear me, go out the door, down the stairs, but don’t go to the front door, go down another three steps. It leads to the back door. Yanni?’

A cat jumps from the bins by the back door as it opens.

‘Well done. Bravo. Give me a minute.’ Babis grabs the torch from Yanni’s grasp and disappears inside.

Yanni slumps to the floor. His legs have gone back to lead, he either needs another drink or to lie flat. There is no drink, so he lies flat. The moon on his face, the cicadas still rasping their love songs. Maybe she will pull off her headscarf. His hand covers his breast pocket, the familiar edges of the book. Maybe if she knows of his feelings, it will change everything. The poem certainly suggests that was the case all those years ago. He hasn’t changed, so why should she?

‘Wake up.’ The voice is loud. Yanni opens his eyes. Babis’ face so close.

‘You have done it? That was quick,’ Yanni whispers.

‘No. I have not done it. I will do it tomorrow.’ Babis speaks loudly.

‘But I thought you said that, what’s-his-name, Gerasimos would not make it possible for you to do it tomorrow?’ Yanni sits up, suddenly sober.

‘Tomorrow, Gerasimos will jump in the sea if I ask him to.’ Babis’ smile is lopsided and it does not reflect in his eyes, which are hard and cold. ‘Tomorrow, everything changes. I thought I had something to celebrate tonight, what with you being here and my idea for selling houses on the Island. But this, my friend, is even better. Who knows where this could lead?’

He takes out his mobile phone and orders a taxi. Yanni waits for Babis to tell him more, but he is silent, his face set hard. The taxi arrives. When he tries to stand, he finds his body is still drunk. It is hard work getting into the taxi. Once inside, Yanni finds sleep is on him before his head is resting on the window. He is woken when they arrive in the village and Babis helps him to his bed.

He is asleep again before he manages to take his boots off.

Chapter 11

Sunbeams slice through the slats of the shutters. Dust swims in the light, floating, hovering, and unseen currents swirl the specks into mini tornadoes which settle again and drift. Outside, the incessant call of the cicadas rasps the air with their continuous song. A cockerel crows and in the ceiling beams, there is a gecko clicking to its mate. Yanni’s legs feel heavy; he still has his boots on. The cockerel crows again. It cannot be very early: the light is too warm, the temperature too heavy. Turning on his side, he finds a litre bottle of water and a packet of aspirin on the small table by the bed. Babis, forever the host. Snapshots of last night flicker though his thoughts. At one point, he was going over the ridge on Orino Island, but it was made of bougainvillea. That must have been a dream. He was not on the ridge, he was in Saros. Why was he in Saros?

He reaches for the water and swills down two pills. The water just gives him a thirst for more. Tipping back the bottle, he watches the geckos chase each other across the ceiling as he drinks his fill. The room has a woman’s touch, Babis’ mama, no doubt. There are pictures on the wall, prints of flowers, a lace cover over the back of the single chair, long navy curtains. Navy like the skirt of the woman outside the sandwich shop, whose eyes he fell into last night. That cannot be right either; he has not even spoken to her. Not yet. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he gives an involuntary shudder. He is not sure if it is fear or excitement. He knows what Sister Katerina would say.

‘
Panayia mou.
’ He calls upon the mother of Christ. Today, maybe, he will see Sophia. Scrambling to his feet, he lurches into the main room. It really is a mess. Picking his way through the clutter, he looks around the room for a clock. The cockerel crows again. If it is anything like his cockerel back home, it will be accurate to the hour. It does not feel early but he could be mistaken with the aching of his head and the nausea that is coming upon him. He will just go. His hand fumbles for his tobacco pouch. It is nearly empty. He will ask the way to the convent when he buys some more from the lady at the kiosk. What was her name? Vasso?

‘
Kalimera
Vasso.’ He greets her, but the day does not seem to be so good. His head is really throbbing, and the thought of battling with the abbess and the general protocol to see Sophia for some reason no longer feels like a joy. Today, it feels like a chore. This fills him with dismay. His own sweet Sophia, why would she be a chore?

‘It is hardly morning. Did you get up to the convent?’

‘What? What time is it?’

‘Nearly five, no, ten to six.’

‘In the afternoon?’ Yanni turns his back on her to look up towards the sun. Everything is too bright. He turns back to the shade of the kiosk. His breathing has quickened, the nausea has returned. He puts out a hand to steady himself.

‘Watch the crisps.’ Vasso giggles. ‘You make a night of it, did you?’

‘Give me some loose tobacco, not that one, the blue packet, yes.’ He takes it from her, opens it, and rolls and lights a cigarette before he even thinks to pay her. His hand slips into his back pocket and he turns white.

‘You okay?’ Vasso asks.

‘My … I had …’ His hand feels across his breast pockets before delving into his front jeans pockets. He huffs his relief.

‘I hate those moments,’ Vasso chirps. ‘I do it all the time, lose my keys, my purse, my shopping list. It gets boring how often I lose things.’ Yanni pays for the tobacco.

‘Hello Yanni. Is Babis taking care of you?’ It is Stella, with an apron on over her floral dress.

‘Er, yes.’ But he feels angry. Angry at Babis for not waking him, angry at Babis for taking him out last night. It is one thing to be hospitable, but Babis fills his glass again and again until he has no choice about anything. But mostly, he is angry at himself for not finding the fine line between accepting hospitality and being coerced, bullied. He takes a deep draw on his cigarette at the word
bullied
and Hectoras comes to mind, an image that is too much when his head is being held on by the merest thread.

‘He’s a one isn’t he, that Babis. Blows like the wind from one thing to the next, so much energy, he’ll whisk you into things before you know you have agreed. All the makings of a lawyer.’ Stella takes a step closer to Yanni and says more quietly, ‘Take some advice, my friend: set your course and don’t let Babis take the rudder.’ Her smile is so open and warm, and something about her reminds him of Sister Katerina.

‘Truer words were never said,’ Vasso agrees. ‘Not a harmful bone in his body, that young Babis but, my, he has energy that takes him this way and that. What can I get you, Stella?’

‘I just want some matches. You heard they came up to our place, I guess,’ Stella says, a tremor in her voice.

‘The surveyors?’ Vasso’s eyes grow wide as she hands over the matches. Yanni is held fixed to the spot, his legs too heavy to move. His throat has tightened and his eyes are stinging, moist. How can he have overslept when it was so important? He never oversleeps for the goats, or if he has a job arranged hauling stuff from an early boat. Why now? Why? His hand creeps over his breast pocket, feeling the edges of the book.

‘Yup, they say it does not look good, but we must wait for the report. Mitsos will be gutted. His family have lived there, well, forever and a day.’ Stella’s voice rings with compassion, her eyes dart with fear. Worry for what they will do, perhaps.

Yanni smooths his moustache and draws on his cigarette. He wants to wrap his arms around himself and cry, but instead he keeps his back straight and his chin held up. Without a word, he flicks away his cigarette and then, with no warning, his stomach growls so loudly, Stella and Vasso stop talking, turn and look at him, and giggle.

Yanni can feel the heat in his cheeks.

‘Come on,’ Stella says to him. ‘The chicken is done, the chips are hot, and you are hungry.
Yeia sou
Vasso.’

They take the few short steps to Stella’s eatery side by side. They find no reason to fill the space with words.

‘You want sausage with your chicken and chips?’ She asks. Yanni shakes his head. ‘Lemon sauce?’ This time, he nods and takes the same chair as the last time he was there. The sandwich shop is lit but there is no sign of the woman.

‘Oh Sophia, what is happening to me?’ he whispers to himself in hushed tones. ‘My second day here and all I have done is drink.’ He lets his head sink into his hands. ‘And the price, Sophia my love, is not seeing you.’ He takes out the book from behind his tobacco pouch in his breast pocket and it falls open on the oft-read words. He traces them with his finger. Maybe to turn up after all these years is a cruelty to her. In all his self-indulgent moments, he has never once considered what impact contacting her after all these years might have on her life. Maybe she will have no dilemma, her marriage to God unshakable. But maybe the sight of him will ignite her love again. But, then again, maybe not enough to set her free, just enough to present a divide, a tear, an abyss between the life she has and the life he offers. Surely she would curse him for that. Then she will be condemned to live her life as he has lived his, a life that is everything he wants except that one niggle, that single thorn that twists when he least expects it, just often enough to remind him that he is not completely content.

That would be an unthinkable thing to do to her. He would wish that on no one. He turns to see if anyone has appeared in the sandwich shop doorway and sure enough, she is there. His heart leaps into his mouth, his breath is sucked from his lungs. He tries not to stare.

The aspirin begins to have the desired effect.

‘Okay, enough.’ He snaps himself out of it. ‘Be logical.’ His brow creases. But his internal answer asks how can he be logical about affairs of the heart, and through the shadows of some dim memory, Sister Katerina recites a poem they read somewhere together:

It is well to be happy and wise and it is well to be honest and true, it is well to be off with the old love, before you are on with the new.

‘I do not wish to cast Sophia off,’ he hisses under his breath. He can feel the woman’s eyes on him. He turns to look at her, but a customer approaches and she goes into the shop.

There has been too much swaying about. He must stick to his plan. He must go to Sophia. If she does not let him go then he will not let her go, either. He will fight for her until either she is his or he forces her to cruelly reject him and so extinguish his love for her. ‘But if she lets you free, then you can go to the girl at the sandwich shop. ‘

‘Sorry, did you say something?’ Stella puts a hot plate in front of him.

Chapter 12

The food restores his energy but not his mood. To deliver Sister Katerina’s letter and to face Sophia, he will now have to wait another three days. He can fill one with the buying of the donkey, but the other two? And what of his goats and his baba’s strength, his mama’s worrying?

‘
Panagia mou.
’ He drops his fork heavily onto the empty plate.

‘Problems?’

Yanni turns in his chair to see an old man sitting in the shadows. He grunts and looks back at his empty plate.

‘Come,’ says the old man, ‘I will tell you a story, and it may be of use to you.’

The exchange has drawn a glance from Stella, who has come to clear his plate and ask him if there is anything more he wants. The way she looks from him to the old man suggests she knows him. Not wishing his bad mood to affect Stella’s business, Yanni pulls out his chair and turns it to face the grey-haired old man’s direction. In this, he can no longer keep an eye on the sandwich shop door.

Stella, who has taken Yanni’s dirty dishes inside, returns with a plate of sliced, honey-covered fruit, which she puts on his table.

‘Compliments of Mitsos,’ she says and puts a small jug of wine and two glasses in front of the old man on her way back inside. The old man pours a glass which he pushes to the very edge of the table towards Yanni. The second glass, he keeps hold of himself.

‘I hear Babis, our budding new lawyer, is your cousin,’ the old man begins, raising his glass and indicating for Yanni to do the same. When Yanni hesitates, the man frowns a little. ‘Go on, it won’t bite. Do yourself a favour and relax a little, and take some advice from an old man.’

Yanni shifts a little on his chair, leans forwards, and reaches for the glass from which he takes the smallest sip. He is not going down this route again. The wine is cool and the old man smiles broadly.

‘So.’ His faces creases into weather-worn lines and he settles a little in his chair, as if to become more comfortable. He puts one old boot on top of the other, his knees fall outwards. He has soil dust around the bottom of his trousers. ‘I will tell you a little story about a lawyer and a policeman, and you can judge for yourself.’ He clears his throat but there is a falseness to the cough, a clichéd beginning, and the outer corners of his eyes crease as his mouth curls up into a flicker of a smile. It is all part of the performance. ‘It concerns a lawyer. A lawyer with a fast car. It was inevitable that one day, he was pulled over for speeding on the road to Saros.’ He looks down the road that leads out of the village and waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the town. ‘The policeman who stopped him checked all his documents of course, and found various irregularities. Probably his insurance was not up to date, and the vehicle did not have an emissions certificate, a light didn’t work, that sort of thing. It doesn’t really matter, the point is that the combined fine was rather steep.’ The old man pauses to drink and to refill his glass. He looks over to Yanni’s glass too, but it is still full, and he puts the jug back on the table with a sigh.

‘So anyway, our lawyer friend has to present his papers at the police station within a week, along with the pink slip detailing the offences, and if he does this, the fine will be reduced a little. So he goes in his best suit, hoping to intimidate the police officers. He is a lawyer after all, and all lawyers think they are better than the rest of us!’ The old man chuckles at this, clearly enjoying the telling of his tale ‘But the policeman at the station is not impressed. He will not be intimidated, and his hands stay on his side of the counter; he does not take the lawyer’s bribe that he tries to slide across the desk. He is poker-faced, and he fills out endless forms, and then, just as he is about to print out his report, he finds that the printer has run out of paper. He calls across to the receptionist to get some more paper, but she is on her mobile phone and she swivels her chair so her back is to him. He has no choice. Reluctantly, he goes off to the storeroom to get some more himself. “Wait here,” he says to our lawyer friend, who has resigned himself to paying the fines by now.’ The old man pauses again to drink, and this time, he finds the jug is empty. ‘Stella!’ he calls and waves the empty vessel in her direction.

‘Now where was I?’ he asks, but with a grin, as if this too is part of the show. ‘Ah yes, our policeman stepped out to get the paper. So, as the lawyer is sitting there waiting for him to return, he picks up the pink slip, for want of something to do, and he notices that it is all filled in apart from the space for the reduction in the fine. Quick as you like, he picks up a pen and fills in the space with a very modest number and puts the slip back on the policeman’s desk. The policeman returns in a few minutes, and as you can imagine, all hell breaks loose. The lawyer swears blind that the policeman filled in the sum, and the policeman curses the lawyer and calls him all manner of names. The secretary is called as a witness, but she was on the phone to her boyfriend and didn’t see anything, so the policeman swears at her too, and she returns the insults. You get the picture. This goes on for a while, but soon they all calm down a little. But a solution is needed! The pink slip is an official form, and this is an embarrassment for the policeman. He looks to see if he can add a nought on the end, but there is no space. What can he do? He does not want to lose face in front of the lawyer, and he does not want to admit to his superiors that he left official documents on his desk while he left the room to get the printer paper. Nor does he want to admit that his own secretary would not run the errand for him. The lawyer lets him stew for a while, and then he comes to his rescue, offering a bribe again. “I will pay the fine that is written there, and you will take this fifty euros. And now that you have taken it, that can be an end to this matter”. This is a solution for the policeman, of course, and he accepts. And perhaps that should be the end to my tale?’ The old man looks over his glass at Yanni, chuckling and grinning. ‘Eh? Do you think that is the end?’ Yanni shrugs.

‘For you to be asking, I guess it is not,’ he replies, cautious, but curious too.

‘Of course it is not the end! We are talking about a lawyer here!’ The old man laughs out loud and coughs violently, going red in the face. Mitsos comes hurrying out, puts the jug he is carrying down, and pats him of the back before pouring a drink and putting it to the old man’s lips as if it is an everyday occurrence. Mitsos tuts and smiles before he returns indoors.

The old man manages to compose himself, and he continues.

‘So as I said, the lawyer is a lawyer, and in the top pocket of his shiny suit is a little tape recorder. And he takes this out now, and as you can imagine, the policeman’s face goes white. A tape recorder! And he has just accepted a bribe. Now, the lawyer is with the upper hand, and he snatches back the fifty euros and, without paying his fine, he stands to leave. As he goes, he waves the tape recorder at the policeman, who is still just sitting there. “I trust I will hear no more about this”, he says as he marches out. It’s clever, yes? But then, he is a lawyer, and lawyers are clever and sneaky.’ Having finished the tale, the old man sits back in his chair and his shoulders relax, and he regards Yanni gently now, sipping from his glass.

‘Why have you told me this?’ asks Yanni.

‘Because I have dealt with lawyers too, and perhaps you can save yourself some trouble, if you are not too proud to take advice from an old man…’

‘Well,’ says Yanni, ‘I appreciate your concern, but you know that Babis is my cousin…’

At this, the old man sits up straight and looks Yanni straight in the eyes. ‘And who do you think the policeman was? I tell you, he was the lawyer’s brother!’ And having delivered this line, he stands, drains his glass, chucks a handful of coins on the table, and begins to walk slowly towards the square. He turns as if he has forgotten something. ‘Be careful,’ he says, and at that moment, Stella comes out to clear his table and he tips his hat to her with the slightest of bows.

‘He’s a character, isn’t he?’ She smiles at Yanni.

‘Is he a farmer?’ Yanni asks. Something about the soil dust on his trousers did not fit with his manner.

‘Well, everyone in the village has land and trees, but he is retired, used to be a policeman.’ She finishes wiping the table. ‘You want anything else?’

‘No, thank you, Stella. That was a good meal.’ He stands and leaves some notes on the table and a couple of extra coins for a tip. If he goes to Babis’ house, there will be no ouzo, no beer, early to bed and then tomorrow he can at least go see the donkey man. Damn Babis for not waking him.

Putting his shoulder to the door, it pushes aside some jackets that have fallen off a hook on the back. Scooping them up, he rehangs them. How is it possible for a place to get so jumbled? Picking up a couple of abandoned plates, he takes them to the kitchen. The sink is full. He looks around for soap and a sponge. Leaning against the kettle is a note from Babis.

‘Left early, didn’t want to wake you. Gone to Athens. Hope to return with exciting news. Can you make a bit of an inroad into clearing up? There’s a washing machine in the back room. B.’

‘Didn’t want to wake you!’ Yanni exclaims and, balling the paper, throws it with force into the sitting area. It lands in the remains of a pizza in a box on the sofa just as the back door opens.

‘Have I got some news for you!’ Babis enters, holding a cardboard file triumphantly above his head. He stops abruptly and looks about the room. ‘Oh, you’ve not made much impact here, have you? Anyway, that’s all secondary now. Come on, we have work to do.’ He turns on his heel and waits for Yanni to follow.

Yanni stays where he is.

‘Come on, this is going to be great!’ he enthuses.

‘You know what, Babis. I thank you for the hospitality, but I only intended to come for a couple of days. I arrived only yesterday and during the time I have been here, I have spent more time drinking than any other time in my life and the result is that my baba is left to deal with the goats for a couple days longer than I told him to expect. It is too much for the old man. I think it best if I just stay here now, do what I have to do, and then go.’ Yanni turns away from the sink.

‘Ha! I think that is the longest sentence I have ever heard you say. Maybe the mainland is loosening you up a bit.’ Babis grins. ‘Come on, I need your support on this.’ He waves the files. ‘I mean, let’s face it: you’re not doing much good round here are you?’ He indicates the unwashed plates in the sink and on the kitchen table. ‘But as a bit of support, a bit of muscle, as a witness even, you will pay me back tenfold for your bed.’ He steps close enough to put a hand on Yanni’s shoulder.

Still Yanni does not move.

‘Look, I promise.’ Babis squeezes his shoulder; the muscle does not give at all in his grip.  ‘No bars. No ouzo. Just, please, I need you to be with me when I face Gerasimos.’ His eyebrows arch in the middle and, just for a moment, Yanni is reminded of the young boy who came to stay with them for a few weeks all those years ago. He was told it was just until his mama found her feet because his baba had walked out. But Babis told him the real truth when they were out checking rabbit traps that his own baba had laid.

‘Look, there, came straight out of its hole, it would not have felt a thing.’ Yanni’s fingers carefully worked the wire off from around its neck, and he stroked the limp form before gently putting it in his sack. Babis had been with them two days and in that time, he had not said a word. ‘You can do the next one,’ Yannis offered. Babis’ sadness was like a wall around him. It must be hard to have your baba leave and never know when or even if he was coming back. Yanni tried to imagine the weight of responsibility for the goats and all that needed doing around the place solely on his young shoulders and just the thought made his knees buckle. He put his arm around Babis’ shoulder as they walked on. After some minutes, a faint squealing could be heard. Babis’ eyes grew wide as he looked up to Yanni.

‘I guess the wire hasn’t fully tightened. Poor thing will be in pain. Let’s find it and put it out of its misery.’ Yanni released Babis and started to check along a line of burrows. Babis went along another line. 

‘Find a rock,’ Yanni advised, ‘so if you find it, you can stop its misery as soon as possible.’ The lay of the land made the sound of the squealing rabbit echo; it was not easy to pinpoint the source. But just as Yanni thought he knew where it was coming from, the inhuman shrieking grew wilder and wilder. He wanted to put his hands to his ears and he turned to see if Babis was all right. He was standing rigidly, the wire trap in his hand, the rabbit dangling and squirming, it rear legs thrashing, its spine snaking to get free and the wire digging deeper and deeper into its neck.

‘Quick, put it on the ground and hit its head, it is suffering.’ Yanni leaped towards Babis. But Babis turned his back and put a hand out to stop Yanni from getting near to the rabbit. He watched it writhe some more before Yannis pushed him to the ground and with a quick, sharp blow, the rabbit lay still.

‘What on earth were you doing? It is one thing to eat; it is another to make an animal suffer!’ Yanni yelled. Babis, who for a moment lay prone, began to shrink in upon himself, his legs tucking up to his chest, his arms around them, his head between his knees, and he was crying.

Yanni can remember the feeling of horror of such an open display of emotion. He wanted to step backwards, then turn and run. Instead, he crouched by his cousin’s side and put a hand on his shoulder.