The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) (5 page)

‘Donkeys too, or just mules?’ Yanni’s mouth hardly opening to form the words, his reticence betraying his will.

‘Donkeys, mules, asses, hinnys, whatever you want.’ Tollis points to his animals in quick succession as another group of foreign girls walks past. They giggle and hide their mouths behind their hands, chattering shyly to one another. Two of them pause and then step forward and nod their heads at Tollis, who grins, showing a missing tooth to one side, adding to his cheeky character. The girls giggle all the more.

A blonde lady with fine, floating clothes and a large monogrammed suitcase pauses to hitch up a handbag on her shoulder, bangles glinting in the sun as they slide down her arm, six months’ donkey pay on her feet in the form of a flimsy pair of sandals. The sort of woman who thinks nothing of tipping a day’s pay, not aware of how generous she is being.

‘Lady, would you like me to take your bag to your hotel for you? It looks heavy and it is hot.’ Yanni approaches her.

‘Oh, English.’ She sets down the suitcase gratefully and her shoulders relax. ‘You speak English. Wonderful.’ Yanni steps forward to take her bag.

‘You sharp-talker, Yanni. You didn’t learn to gabble in English like that at the school I went to,’ Hectoras teases, confident the lady does not understand Greek.

‘Same school,’ Yanni mutters. Hectoras’ bullying days have not been forgotten.

‘Yeah, but you were never there, always with your goats, that or you skived off with, er, what was her name?’

Hectoras’ left hand goes up to his throat, the fingertips feeling a scar under his chin. His voice is goading, challenging Yanni.

Yanni ties the suitcase onto the side of Suzi’s saddle: once round with the thick rope, underneath, and a simple hitch to stop it slipping. The woman catches her breath and searches in her handbag, from which she retrieves a pair of overly large sunglasses that swamp her delicate face.

‘What was her name, Yanni? Smart … Smartest girl I’ve ever met. What was it? Oh yes, Sophia. Do you remember? Left the island when she was only a teenager, didn’t she? To become a nun in that place over near Saros.’

Yanni clicks Suzi on.

‘I bet you haven’t thought of her for a long time, have you?’ Hectoras asks, but he has lost interest; Yanni does not rise to the bait and another tourist is approaching.

Chapter 6

Before they are halfway up to the hotel, the foreign woman begins to complain about the heat and the number of steps that climb ever upwards through narrow alleys between the whitewashed houses. She looks longingly at Suzi, who is laden with her suitcase. At this point, Yanni would normally suggest that she take a ride on Dolly, and his fee would double as a result. But now he can make no such offer. At the hotel, the woman dabs her forehead and neck with a tiny lace-edged bit of material and catches her breath. She is in no mood to tip. The cool air-conditioned interior of the hotel beckons and the journey up is forgotten. Yanni returns to the port and watches as work is offered to his colleagues who have more than one animal.

Up a narrow alley just yards from the port is a little shop that sells groceries. Despite its size, it does a healthy trade, and, although they have their own mule, there is sometimes work to be had delivering goods to demanding customers. Not today, however, although they are very sorry to hear about Dolly.

When the evening cargo ship groans into the harbour, metal creaking, crew shouting, Yanni gets a couple of runs with water bottles up to another shop, higher up in the town, where four paths cross. A shop that is crammed to the rafters with cold drinks, fresh vegetables, bread, fire-lighters, home-pickled olives to be scooped out of big jars, face cream, string, hair clips and all manner of day-to-day items. It’s a sweaty walk up to the houses in this part of town, but the owners are compensated for their efforts by the most fantastic views across to the mainland, out over the sea, which is dotted with floating islands. The grocery shop saves them a walk down to the shops in town. The shop owner, hemmed in behind the tiny counter with two caged singing birds and an ever-friendly dog, charges higher prices because all the goods have to be brought up by pack animal. But those who frequent her Aladdin’s cave understand and accept this as they push past fly swats and oil lamps that hang from the ceiling to get to the worn wooden counter where they will be greeted with a smile. Besides, so many of the ancient stone houses in the town are holiday homes to rich Americans, English, and French. Their time on the island for the summer months is spent without a thought for money, or so it appears.

The donkey men generally share the four-paths-shop work between them, one of their daily staples. Yanni is more than usually glad of the work today. As Suzi clops her way up steps and eases her way around the tight corners of the narrow path, there are several times when Yanni encourages her along but calls her Dolly. Each time the inadvertent mistake falls from his lips, his throat tightens and he reaches for his tobacco pouch.

As the day’s light fades and the whitewashed houses turn pink and the sea begins to darken, the mainland across flattens to an even indigo blue. Yanni looks across to the mainland that stretches away to the west and east. It seems to stretch on forever.

Down in the harbour, lights in the cafés are coming on. The donkey trade has all but stopped for the evening; it is time for him to head home. Hectoras is standing by his mules.

‘How about an ouzo and a game of
tavli
?’ Hectoras hitches up his trousers around his ample waist as he speaks; the white lining curling over his twisted belt. Yanni opens his mouth and closes it again. It is an unusual offer.

For Hectoras, it is obvious which café to choose. The name over the door tells anyone who wants to know that Costas Voulgaris is the proud owner. Costas never sided with Hectoras at school, nor did he defend Yanni, unless things went too far and Sophia was not there. He trod the middle ground with wit and goodwill. He is, above all, a diplomat. A skill which no doubt held him in good stead when he went to America to study. But the island lured him back and now he makes coffees and talks to the foreigners in their own tongues.

‘So you are going to the mainland, Yanni?’ It is the man himself. ‘You know, I have lost all interest in leaving the island since my adventures.’ Costas Voulgaris pulls out a director’s chair for Yanni to sit, nearest the harbour edge and next to Hectoras.

‘You want something, a lemonade perhaps?’ Costas asks.

‘I’ll have an ouzo,’ Hectoras demands. ‘No ice.’

‘No,’ Yanni answers, but it comes out louder than he intended.

‘It’s not that I would mind going anywhere, rather that I cannot see the point, do you know what I mean?’ Costas says as he walks away to get their order.

‘I er …’ Yanni stumbles.

‘He’s right,’ Hectoras mumbles, ‘and you know why?’ Without looking at it, he kicks out the chair Costas offered to Yanni even further. Yanni looks at Suzi, who is snoozing, and lets go of her rein so it just dangles, and then he slides into the proffered chair. He will sit just for a moment. Suzi will find the journey home easier the more rested she is and the cooler it gets as the day passes into evening.

They stare across the water, side by side, to the mainland.

‘It’s too big,’ Hectoras states. ‘The mainland, it’s just too big, don’t you think?’

Yanni has no reply.

‘This town, Orino town, is just a tiny dot. A lot of people huddled together.’ He slaps his belly and his hand rests there, one finger finding its way between buttons to scratch his hairy navel. ‘We collude in the idea that this place is important, but we are ants.’

Yanni wonders if he will lose the light if he sits too long. He still has to deliver Sister Katerina’s goods. A cloudy lemonade is set before him, the ice tinkling against the glass. He looks up to tell Costas he does not want it, but the owner-cum-waiter has already turned on his heel and is inviting some German tourists to sit, have a cold beer, enjoy the sunset.

‘At school, they try to make you think the island is important,’ Hectoras continues. ‘And then, just as they begin to succeed, the teacher tells you how big the rest of the world is.’ He takes a long drink from the glass of iced water that came with his ouzo. Costas, having seated the Germans, is now clearing used glasses from the table behind them. He stops to watch people disembark from the converted fishing boat that offers day trips to the more obscure beaches around the island. Many of the tourists are sunburnt, they all move languidly, animated but tired, bags bursting with flippers and masks, sunhats and sun-creams, towels over their shoulders. Their own particular tribe.

Hectoras continues. ‘The lies they told us at school, eh Yanni?’ He guffaws quietly to himself.

‘Ha, and who did the most lie telling, eh Hectoras my friend?’ Costas gently taunts him as he passes by. Hectoras plucks a serviette from the holder on the table and wipes his face. He takes a second and lifts his chin to wipe his neck, the sweat running down a line of discoloured puckering and briefly collecting in the thin skin of a deep indentation before continuing down to the sharp distinction where his shaved beard meets the unshaved hairs of his chest.

Yanni pushes himself up a little from his slouched position. Hectoras drops what’s left of the tissues in the ashtray.

‘Do you see what I mean though?’ Hectoras ignores Costas and takes a sip of ouzo. ‘We think we can handle the world because we can handle this tiny little island.’ Putting his drink down, he turns slightly to face Yanni. ‘Now, here is the interesting bit. You hardly went to school at all. You are a man who walks to the beat of his own drum.’ He stops to chuckle. Yanni’s eyebrows raise but he continues to stare out across the water. Hectoras’ chuckle becomes a laugh. ‘You sure you won’t have an ouzo?’ He looks around to catch Costas’ attention, but Costas is talking to two boys who have a puppy with them. When Hectoras hisses through his teeth to gain Costas’ attention. He looks up and acknowledges the two raised fingers, an ouzo each.

‘So here’s the thing. Seeing as you never did much schooling, do you have any idea how big and how different the mainland is?’ He waits. Yanni feels he is expected to say something, but nothing comes to mind. He pictures the goats running over the hills in the early morning light; he must get back to sleep to start a new day.

Hectoras looks around to see if his ouzo is coming. Yanni looks at the sky, tries to judge how long the light will remain. Suzi is still sleeping. She should be rested enough by now.

Two ouzos arrive and one is put down in front of Yanni. He tries to object, but it is simpler to let it sit there next to his lemonade, which is also untouched. Hectoras is silent again, still waiting for him to say something.

‘Everywhere, people are the same,’ Yanni finally says. ‘We are born, we scrabble about living, and we die. The rules do not change because you live on a small island or a large one. The only differences one man has from another are his own rules in his head. His honour.’

‘There, you see.’ Hectoras sounds triumphant. ‘You have not changed at all.’

‘Hectoras, is there something you are getting at?’ Yanni takes out his tobacco pouch. He will have one cigarette and then he will go.

‘You are going across to the mainland,’ Hectoras states, as if the decision has already been made.

Yanni’s fingers begin to fumble with his tobacco pouch. ‘Maybe,’ he mutters.

‘The day before I went up to Athens to go into the army, I was terrified. You never did do the army, did you?’ It’s a question he neither expects an answer to, nor does Yanni intend to give him one. Being born halfway up the mountain has made conformities, such as registering his birth, more effort than it was worth. In the world of lists and paper, he does not exist. But he does not want to discuss his business with Hectoras.

Yanni lights his cigarette and takes a long draw, his lighter still burning.

‘Until I was called for the army, I had never been off the island. The day I was due to leave was the most frightening day of my life. I can still remember the cold sweat that was running down my back. The ferry pulled in. It was the big old steel ship back then, you remember them.’ He coughs out a laugh. ‘My mama and baba standing so proud and I ran, ran to the nearest café and locked myself in the toilet. I was just in time.’ He chuckles at the memory. ‘But then I could not get out. My hands were shaking so much, I could not open the door. In the end, I had to call out and the waiter came. The most terrifying day of my life became the most embarrassing. But I was glad for the humiliation of being locked in the toilet. It took everyone’s focus away from my trembling bottom lip and my cold sweats. And for why? All because I thought the rules would be different, that the big world would be beyond my understanding.’ He finishes his ouzo.

‘So my question is, if I had not been to school so much and learnt the differences between this tiny island and the big world out there, would I have felt so much fear?’ With narrowed eyes and a smirk on his lips, he glances across to Yanni.

Yanni leans forward, picks up the glass of ouzo that is reflecting pinks and pale blues in the setting sun and, putting it to his mouth, throws his head back and swallows it in one.

‘Ah!’ Hectoras replies. ‘I see.’ With this, he takes a cigarette from the soft pack in front of him and, lighting it with a match that transforms his features grotesquely in the half-dark, he watches Yanni’s face.

Yanni grips the chair for moment and then without a word stands and strides stiffly to Suzi, who wakes with a start. It is difficult to see who leads who from the harbour.