A Song Amongst the Orange Trees (The Greek Village Collection Book 13) (4 page)

'Letting out some air, I sunk further, keeping my eyes fixed on the bottom. I traced down the edge of the car’s roof with one hand, using it to pull myself deeper until I stood on the sea bed, the bonnet against my belly, and then I braced myself and looked up from my feet. There she was! As beautiful as I remembered her. She still had her seat belt on. Her skin was no longer that wonderful bronze colour that she went in the sun. She was white as marble.'

His shoulders shook, but there was no sound of him sobbing. Big tears ran down his face, dripping into his ouzo glass, clouding tiny patches of the spirit.

'Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping. But one arm.' He stopped talking to release the saddest chortle. 'One arm waved to me. I knew it was the current but in a moment of madness, I could believe she was still alive. Then as the truth recoiled back, it made me lose my breath and I had to rush to the surface.'

Sakis pauses.

Jules' face has lost all colour.

’He had to attach the chains so they could haul her up. The police said, once the chains were attached, his job was done, but Baba insisted on travelling with her. Their last journey together, from the sea bed to the harbour side.' Sakis takes a big breath. Jules’ hand is on his knee and Sakis takes hold of it for strength.

'He watched her as the car was slowly pulled up. Her hand still waving, her dark hair floating around her smooth white face. Baba surfaced first and then up came the car, up came Mama.' His grip on Jules’ hand tightens.

His baba’s voice became cold and emotionless when he got to this part.

'As the car came out of the water, the fullness of her face drained away and then, as if life wanted to cause the maximum pain, there before my eyes, as I watched, her face fell, slithered into the footwell, away from her bones, and her skeleton hung inside the seat belt, tendons and sinews where body and soul should have been.'

Sakis, dry eyed, stares out to sea, releasing his grip on Jules’ hand.

'That's reason enough not to come back here,' Jules says quietly. 'Do you blame him?'

'Blame who?' Sakis has become lost in a stare, absent.

'The crocodile killer. Do you blame him for your mama's death?'

Glancing at Jules, he cannot look him in the eye.

'Can we go?'

'Sure.' Jules straightens up stiffly and offers Sakis a hand to stand.

They wait by the road’s edge for a taxi. Sakis waves at the first to pass, but it does not stop.

'About a month after he told me this, I came home from school and he was drunk again. “Your
yiayia’s
died,” he said, straight out. The one last remaining soft piece of my world was whipped from under my feet, leaving a gaping hole that I thought I was going to fall down. She had been my mama from six months old till my baba took me to Pireaus, aged six. I waited for the drop, to find myself hurtling down an empty-sided chasm but before it came, he added, “She left you her house. Not me. You! Could she had stated more loudly that she blames me for your mama’s death?” Then he gulped down another ouzo and the ground beneath me sealed over like concrete. Concrete beneath me, concrete round me. Encased. Quietly, I went to my room, packed a bag, and left without seeing him again. I was thirteen.'

As Jules nods with such exaggeration, his whole upper body rocks back and forth. He totally understands.

A taxi pulls up and the driver leans out of his open window. 'Where to?' he asks.

'The village hotel.' Sakis pulls himself together and points the direction as they climb in.

Back in the hotel room, he sleeps all afternoon and when he goes down to the beach bar in the evening, he finds Jules chatting to the barman as if he has known him all his life. He has a drink in his hand which he had no money to buy, so his new friend must be footing his bill, too. There are tables on the lawns and diners eat, watching the setting sun over the water. A clarinettist wanders from table to table playing a variation on a haunting traditional song. Sakis listens to the arrangement and his thoughts become engulfed in imagining how it could be improved. A totally new song comes to mind and he is tempted to return to his room, work it out on his bouzouki. But Jules sees him and raises his glass in salute, and then slides off his bar stool.

'Is this your “real” music?' he asks with half a crooked smile.

'Ah, he is trying. Just earning a living with variations,' Sakis defends. But as he listens, the clarinettist’s skill becomes more apparent and he locks eyes with Jules.

'You see,' Jules says. 'He has just as much talent as you in his playing, but it was not he who won. It was you.'

Sakis frowns, not understanding the point.

'Maybe it is not the skill that makes people winner or famous. Maybe it is luck, or maybe,' and he smiles softly before he says this, 'it’s your looks and because you are likeable.'

Sakis feels flattered by these words but also insulted, as if his musical skill were not enough.

'You cannot exclude that it might have been you character that got you chosen to, how you say, play for your country.'

'The word is “represent,”’ Sakis says under his breath.

'Yes, it may be that you represent your country because you are thoughtful and kind and always on the alert to other peoples’ feelings. That is our default, you and I. To be on alert for other peoples’ feelings. That is what happens if a child is sent into the world on its own too young. It is a necessary skill to ensure its survival.'

Sakis tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes that he can use to change the path of the conversation.

'And it is important that someone kind and thoughtful won, because it is the people who win through history who write the history books. It is the people who are noticed that dictate the music that becomes “traditional.” In this light, we can see that the traditional music that you are so passionate about is, maybe, not the music of the people but the music of the successful.'

'Why are you saying this?'

'The receptionist says there was a call from Andreas.'

'Oh, okay. I will go and call him.' Sakis turns to go back the way he has come, but stops and turns again to Jules. 'But what has what you just said got to do with that?'

'Call him,' Jules says and begins an idle walk back to the beach bar, where the bartender is still leaning over towards the seat Jules left, as if waiting for him to return. Sakis goes inside.

The girl in reception speaks English without an accent. She says he can either use the phone at reception or the one in his room. When he points to the reception phone, the girl, whose name tag says she is called Ellie, not only offers him the phone but also pushes her wheeled chair around to the side of the counter so he can sit in comfort.

'Hi Andreas, how is it going?'

'Hey hey, how is the winner!' Andreas seems full of energy and life after Jules and the laid-back feeling of the village hotel. Sakis feels tired just hearing his voice.

'My throat is better but I still feel tired.' It is a relief to speak Greek after all the English he has been speaking with Jules. He hasn’t realised what hard work it is to think in English.

'That’s good that your throat is better. Now, there is good news and not-so-good news.'

'Tell me!' Sakis sits up straight.

'Well, the not-so-good news is just temporary. Difficult, but temporary.'

'Just tell me.'

'Okay. I went to get some of your older photograph albums from your apartment, to use in the press releases, and your landlord informs me that you are two months overdue with the rent. I did try to argue with him but I am afraid he was adamant and he has packed all your things and moved you out. He wants his rent.'

'Did you pay him?' Sweat runs down from his temple.

'Well, here’s the thing, Sakis. We have not actually made any money yet. I’ve been given bits and pieces for the videos of your interviews but that has gone on to re-editing some of your older interviews and various press material. Until you appear live somewhere, there’s not much cash to be had. I have managed to keep things going and you are still big news, but the sooner you are back in action, the better.'

A deep heat sweeps across Sakis' forehead and then he feels cold. His flat is gone. He own musical sanctuary is no longer his. Oh my God. He no longer has a place to call his own! And what about the cats?

'So listen, this is what I have done.’ Andreas talks quickly, not giving him time to speak. 'The boxes of your things that the landlord packed for you, I have put into my
apothiki
, where they can stay as long as it is necessary. But your cats were the problem. The cheapest solution I could find was to put them in their box and pop them on a train to go down to you in Saros. The hotel has agreed to pick them up for you. They should arrive later today.'

'I cannot have Harris and Eleftheria here in the hotel. Surely the hotel owner will forbid it. You cannot put them on a train; they will be terrified.' His throat is so dry now.

'I kind of knew that but I had no choice, Sakis. Where else would they go? Anyway, it’s done. They are already on the train.'

Sakis’ forehead feels clammy. Maybe he should have taken this call in his room after all, where at least he could lie down whilst speaking.

'The hotel owner has agreed to this?'

'Well, as I said, this is just a temporary problem. Once we get to America, we will be rolling in money. But meanwhile, you must have some relatives you can stay with down there.'

'Is there money to pay the hotel?'

'No, no, you are fine. Well, for tonight anyway. I called Stella, the hotel owner, and had a long chat with her. Such a nice lady, and I have paid half tonight’s tariff already, and she says the cats are fine for the one night. You must have someone down there that you can stay with. After all, your family is from there, right?'

The receptionist is looking at him and frowning. She hurries through the arch to the courtyard where he and Jules had their breakfast and returns quickly with a glass of water.

As the liquid rushes down his throat, he feels such gratitude.

'Thank you.' He looks her in the face.

'You are welcome.' Andreas sounds full of energy again down the phone.

'Not you, Andreas.' He almost swears down the phone. 'Where am I to sleep tomorrow night?'

'Didn't your
yiayia
leave you her house? I’m sure you said something like that once. So if all else fails, you can stay there, no?'

'
Yiayia's
house? It is a village-style cottage and it has stood empty for the last fifteen years. The roof will have fallen in by now. Good God Andreas, you are my manager. You are meant to manage things. What kind of management is this?' As his voice raises, the sourness in his throat returns.

'Look, just stay there another couple of days because now I tell you the good news! That music label that wants you over in America, well I am negotiating with them to pay our tickets to get over. They are almost in agreement. Brilliant, eh? This time next week? You'll be good by then, right? Because they are lining up interviews on American TV. But until I have the tickets in my hand, stay there where you can live rent free in your
yiayia’s
house. Because, and let’s be honest, I can hear by the rough edge in your voice you are not ready to come to Athens for round after round of back-to-back interviews, are you?'

'Look, if that is what I have to do, then that is what I will do.'

Andreas sighs.

'Sakis, my friend. If you come up to Athens and do the interviews, sure we will have a little cash, but if it pushes your recovery back and that makes the American deal fall through, then we will have lost the big time. You want to lose the big time? Do you want to just be a big fish in the little pond in Greece or do you want to hit the really big time? New York my friend, New York!'

Sakis’ eyes are closed. The throbbing in his head is fuzzing his thinking. What he needs is to lie down.

'Sakis, you still there?'

'Yes.' He sounds weary even to himself.

'Excuse me, are you Sakis in room 24?' A bellboy in an oversized suit piped in red approaches the reception desk.

'Yes.' Sakis needs all his strength just to speak now.

'I have a delivery for you. Sign here please.' A mewing sound can be heard as a board with an official paper is shoved under his nose, and he signs to take delivery of Harris and Eleftheria. The poor things are shaking, huddled together at the back of the cat box. They must be terrified.

'Sakis, Sakis you there?'

'Yes, Andreas, I am here. So are Harris and Eleftheria, both of whom are terrified.'

'Okay, well, stay there then and I will call you in a couple of days to tell you I have the ticket for New York City.' He can hear Andreas smiling as he says the American capital’s name.

Saying goodbye is not worth the effort so he hands the phone back to Ellie, who hangs up for him. He manages to stand by steadying himself on the reception counter and with sliding feet, he makes his way back to his hotel room and all but falls onto the bed. The bellboy puts the cat carrier beside the bed and closes the door on his way out.