Black Butterflies (16 page)

‘
Socrates Rappas, you old rogue, are you hoping I was dead? Need a bit of work, do you?’

Marina feels she recognises the name but can
’t quite place it. The priest starts to fiddle with his book.

‘
Stop fiddling, man, and speak up!’ Petta teases gently. The words jog Marina’s memory. He is one of the last two men on her list.

‘
I just came to see you were OK, my friend,’ he all but whispers.

‘
What a friend you are! Take a seat.’ He pats the bed. ‘How is your good wife, and the babies?’

Marina mentally strikes him from her list and backs out of the room.

‘Lady Peacock, where are you going? You flit in and out of my life but you never stay. You are more of a butterfly than me.’

‘
Petta, we are neighbours! I will come to see you when you are at home. I am staying at Zoe’s.’ Marina feels warmth towards him. Irini makes her promise. Petta asks her name and the priest gently shakes her hand, finger ends to finger ends, limply, quietly, formally.

The group of people in the corridor are gone. The styrofoam cup sits on the trolley with the stainless steel instruments, and cigarette ends float on the remains of the coffee. Marina pops her head around the next door, the last room. There is a screen across, just inside the door, hiding the bed from direct view. She can hear many voices.

Looking between the metal frame and the material of the screen, she can see the white-coated people and the port police all surrounding, presumably, Eleni, whom she cannot see. Marina searches the faces. One, surely, is Eleni’s lover. Someone comes in behind her and says ‘excuse me’ as they pass. She doesn’t have time to turn to see who it is until they are on the other side of the screen. It is Panos and his boyfriend and the calm serene girl. She is crying. Panos turns to the girl.

‘
She’s OK, Anna!’ He puts his arm around the elegant girl. ‘Look, Eleni is fine.’

Marina is surprised, but more than that she is pleased. Such nice young people for Eleni to mix with.

The port police start to leave one by one, wishing Eleni well. Marina wonders if the one whom they are calling Spiros will stay. Is he her boyfriend? She hopes not. He is a heavy smoker.

Marina catches a glimpse of her daughter and her heart skips a beat. She is grateful that Eleni is alive, and she is eager to share her secret and feels the outcome can only be positive. She wills the people to leave so she can confide in her. The men in white coats amble out and now there is only Panos and his friends by Eleni
’s bed.

Marina wonders why her young man has not come to be by her side. Maybe it is the port police captain and they are keeping it separate from the professional side of their relationship, and that
’s why he was the first to bid her farewell.

Panos turns to leave as a nurse goes in. Marina does not want the complication of explaining why she is there. She needs to keep her courage up and not become distracted. She pulls the hall screen around the instrument trolley and hides behind it, lining up the sharp metal knives, trying to look official. Some of them are very sharp and some are ugly and mean-looking, with big screw handles or spatula blades. She feels slightly sick.

Panos and his boyfriend pass through the hall, talking and laughing. The blonde young man’s hair is shorter than when she first saw him. They look happy.

Marina turns to go back to the room. The nurse is leaving and Eleni must be alone now. She takes a deep breath and steps straight through the door and around the screen.

She cannot understand what she sees. Her mouth falls open. She frowns. She dives back behind the screen.

She peeks through the gap. Eleni is half lying in bed. Standing over her is the serene woman in her linen trousers. The calm woman, Anna, has scooped Eleni in her arms and is kissing her with passion. Marina swallows. Visions of grandchildren evaporate, white weddings gone. Big manly sons-in-law to tower over her and make her feel safe and protected are banished. Her hopes implode and her imagined future shatters. Her stomach feels hollow and her temples are throbbing. The scene begins to swirl. Marina puts a hand on the wall to steady herself.

She backs out into the hall, turns, and hurries down the steps and out into the sunshine.

The path outside the hospital is dirty. There is donkey manure down the centre. Cats sit around looking scruffy. The doors to people’s homes are painted drab colours, or not painted at all. The weeds, where whitewashed walls and stone paths meet, are brown and wilting. The sky has cleared and the sun beats down relentlessly, burning everything to a crisp.

Marina gasps some air and hurries in the direction of Zoe
’s, wiping tears from her eyes. A paper bag scuttles past her on the slightest of breezes. Forward she marches, up through the town and across the top and down. Her hands brush her face as tears gather on her chin. The steps come in small groups on this path. She looks down at her feet. Her flip-flops look ridiculous. And what ever possessed her to buy her blue dress?

She reaches the top of the steps by Aunt Efi
’s apartment. What had Aunt Efi been thinking? How wrong of her, how evil. And her father, who initiated Marina’s move with his sister. They were evil, wicked, selfish. Marina searches for a swear word, an expletive to expel some feelings. Toads! Donkeys! Cockroaches!

Bloody cockroaches. To do such a thing to a child. Her mother had not agreed. She did not want the tearing apart of mother and child. Marina had not seen her mother for nearly a year then. So lonely, so incredibly, heartbreakingly lonely. All for their own needs, her father
’s needs. Cockroach!

She hears what she thinks is a donkey beginning to bray, but as the sound does not crack to the lower tones she realises it is a human cry. An extreme sound like an animal in distress. Her mouth is open, her chest expanded; this human, gut-wrenching sound is her own. Shocked, she covers her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide in the fear of all that is rising within her. She wants to scream. Her past hurtles into the present and collides with her grim, isolated, projected future. Her youngest daughter, more like her father, gone to Athens, unable to have children, now talking of emigrating to America. Her eldest, Eleni, so like herself, embracing a future of secrets and discretion and no grandchildren. No grandson. No baby boy. Another wail builds in her chest.

Marina runs down the steps, the jarring movement hiding her sobbing from herself, her mind wrapped in the thought that she will never hold that baby boy. She passes Irini’s house and the other houses on the corner and takes the short path down to Zoe’s.

Eleni is in a lifeless, fruitless relationship that will bring no joy, only gossip and shame in the eyes of God. And no babies.

Even Zoe’s house looks drab. The tiles on the steps look old-fashioned, fussy, the pots of plants dried and lifeless, the flowers fake and displaced. She can hear Roula and Bobby talking above the television.
What’s the point?
Marina feels how cruel life has been, and not only to her. Bobby, Roula, Zoe and Zoe’s mother all have the vile twisted mark of life upon then. Just as she does. They all cope. But for what? Where’s the reason, the rhyme? The joy?

Marina closes her door securely behind her. The room feels like a cell, her neatly made bed part of the regiment of life, automatic, pointless. She flops on to the bed. All of it is pointless. Her being here is pointless. Her bag is on the floor but her list is by her bed. She grabs the list and screws it up tighter than necessary and throws it towards the bin by the window.

Unsure what to do next, she almost makes the decision to lie down and sleep when a slight breeze from the back balcony that overlooks the top part of the town and the ridge beckons. She lifts her weight from the bed and, kicking her flip-flops off en route, picks up the screwed-up list and puts it in the bin before she walks out onto the balcony and sits on the small metal chair.

She looks up to the ridge. Up there she had been happy, looking for Yanni the donkey man. Then she had hope. Her shoulders droop and the corners of her mouth hang slackly. Marina sits slouched. The cement balcony is tiled. Most of the tiles are cracked. There are tiny sprouts of green life searching for sunlight in some of the cracks. One has a small yellow flower and a bee buzzes around it. It lands, and the stalk bends a little under its weight. It stays a moment before buzzing away. The stalk bounces back up, the tiny yellow head nodding. Marina sighs.

She pushes her weight forwards and stands. She stuffs the flip-flops in her bag and puts on her old shoes. The hole in the toe might be beyond repair. Marina doesn
’t care. She would like to leave without having to see Zoe and her family. She does not want the jolly talk, the words of familiarity, the fond farewells. But there will be no avoiding it. Taking out her purse, she readies her money and is grateful she has the exact change. She makes sure all is left neatly and closes the door behind her.

She can hear the television but there are no other sounds. She knocks quietly. After a long pause Zoe answers, speaking in hushed tones as everyone is asleep, the heat being too much for them all. Marina feels guilty at the relief of not having to talk to anyone. Zoe expresses her joy at having Marina to stay and wishes her back soon. Marina asks her to pass on her good wishes to Bobby and Roula, and then she parts with a kiss on each of Zoe
’s cheeks. Zoe does not count the money, just stuffs it into her housecoat pocket and waves farewell with the parting words ‘
Sto kalo
’ – go towards the good. Marina does not look back.

The taxi boats bob in the harbour. The
Hera
is there and seems undamaged. Marina is pleased for Petta. She tries to cast away thoughts of Eleni. Why could she not find a good man like him?

An unfamiliar captain stands by his own taxi boat and Marina climbs on board without a word. The journey is silent except for the engine. She pays and leaves.

Her car is like an oven and the ballpoint pen on her dashboard has melted, dipping into an arch where one end was propped on a screwed-up petrol receipt. She opens all the doors but there is no breeze to cool the interior. Marina leans in and starts the engine, and waits in the shade of an olive tree for the air conditioning to take effect. Soon she grows impatient and climbs into the car, putting her bag on the passenger seat.

The steering wheel is almost too hot to touch. Many times she has considered buying a reflective silver windscreen visor, but she wonders if it would really have kept the car any cooler. The drive is insufferable. The roads pitted, winding and relentless. The landscape arid and monotonous.

The sight of the first house of her village gives her momentary joy but only because she has a half-bottle of ouzo at home. Anything to take off the edge of her emotions.

She pours the ouzo but doesn
’t drink. Her father drank ouzo when he was cross. Manolis drank it when he was cross, when he was happy, and when Mitsos, that rogue of a friend of his, was at the house. She takes the tiniest sip but it isn’t what she wants. What she wants is to change things, and she knows this is not possible. So now she wants the next best thing, to change how she thinks about it. She crosses herself for strength. She rests her head back in the armchair.

The cockerels announce the new day, barking dogs accompanying. Shutters bang against whitewashed walls, as they are thrown open. The sun streams through the window and Marina looks about her to identify her surroundings. For a moment she is happy to be home but then the events of the previous day drag a faded black curtain across her future and she doesn
’t bother to stand. Eventually she has to go to the bathroom, and whilst she is there she makes the effort to have a shower. It revives her and she finds a little corner of reserve to take some action.

She dresses in her old black skirt and everyday black blouse. She takes out the box with her new shoes in from the wardrobe. They look very shiny. They fit well but feel stiff. The first walk they take with her is to the church.

The doors stand open. The smell of incense mixes with the still, chilled interior. There are several candles lit, standing in the sand in the prayer trays. Her neighbour is kissing the feet of a saint on one of the icons. She nods at Marina before crossing herself to leave.

Marina would like to talk to the Papas. She wonders if he is around. She sits in one of the many wooden chairs that line the back and sides of the church. The two chandeliers are lit despite its being the middle of the day. There is brass and gold leaf in abundance. The panel at the front depicts Jesus and the archangels Michael and Gabriel. Each is embellished with ornate carved wooden surrounds painted gold, rising to the ceiling, fitted wall to wall. The gold reflects and dazzles. The candles
’ flickering flames are reflected in the golden surfaces. The lectern at the front is supported on brass eagles’ wings. A brass pillar beside it supports a cascade of brass rings, each loaded with candles, descending in size one upon another, like tiers of a cake.

The ceiling is an intense pale blue dotted with golden stars. Gold and shimmering candles are everywhere.

Marina looks at the black and white tiled floor and tries to form her thoughts into what she should say to the Papas. She is not sure how he will respond. Is it a sin against God? Will he condemn Eleni? Will he excommunicate her? Will he offer any comfort, any wisdom?

He appears from a side door. Marina is sure he is even fatter than the last time she saw him. His billowing black cassock dress stretches over his distended stomach. He could be having twins, his belly looks so tight. Marina giggles and the Papas glances sternly in her direction. She bows her head and is thankful when he leaves.

She offers a prayer and crosses herself, and is about to go when she sees Juliet enter through the side door. Juliet must know the ways of the world. All Western woman are open and liberal, are they not?

Juliet had caused such a stir when she had first bought old Socrates’ farm house. A stranger in the village. A British woman amongst them. She renovated that old place so beautifully and speaks such fluent Greek that now everyone forgets she has not been with them all her life. Just her blonde hair and her western dress sense remind them. That and her silly accent. Marina giggles at the memory of some of her pronunciation, and Juliet notices her.

‘
Geia sou
, Marina. How are you?’

‘
Hello, Juliet. I’m OK.’ Her tone of her voice betrays her. Juliet sits next to her and looks into her face. Marina is flustered under her scrutiny. ‘Can I talk to you, Juliet?’

‘
Yes, of course.’ Juliet settles herself.

‘
No, not here. I think what I have to say may be sinful,’ Marina says. Juliet smirks but then tightens her lips; her eyes are shining and their corners crease. ‘Come.’ Marina stands and looks back at Juliet, beckoning her to follow.