Nicolai's Daughters (26 page)

“No, we're making cookies. I said I'd answer the phone.”

He heard a crash in the background. “Oh, damn.”

He smiled, but felt a knot in the centre of his chest. “What's going on there?”

“I guess I was pulling on the phone too hard. It fell. It's okay now.”

“So,
paidi mou
, how have you been? What are you up to?”

“It's my turn to bring something to school. I'm bringing cookies,” she said breathlessly. He heard a knock and scraping. “Oh, damn. Aunty Mavis is helping me.”

He kneaded the spot on his chest.

“It's been a long time since you called.”

He heard a thud.

“Okay, I'm sitting down. The phone is on the table beside me.”

“So what else have you been doing?” He pulled at his telephone cord, but it refused to stretch any further.

“I talked to your friend the other day.”

Nicolai stopped yanking the cord. He picked up a spoon, drummed it. “Yup, she told me.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“Here.”

“What does she do?”

“Um, she's an artist.”

“Cool,” she said. “Hey, what's that noise?”

Nicolai slid the spoon out of his reach, propped his elbow on the counter and supported his head.

“So does she paint or draw or what?”

“Yup, stuff like that.”

“I'd like to see it.”

“How's school?”

“Good,” Alexia said. “She said her name was Dimitria. That's a nice name.”

“Yup.”

“Will you bring her back when you come back?”

“No. She's like… I don't know,” Nicolai said. “She's no one. No one you need to worry about.”

“I'm not worried,” Alexia said. “Are you?”

Nicolai heard a noise behind him. He turned, becoming entangled in the telephone cord. Dimitria stood just inside the door, two bags of groceries in her hands.

“Are you coming home soon, Daddy?”

“I've got to go,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Wait.”

“I'll call you back. Promise.” He clicked the button hard with his finger.

Dimitria turned her back to him, dropped the bags on the table.

He unknotted the telephone cord. “I was wondering where you went.” He banged the phone down. “Shit.”

Dimitria looked up towards the ceiling like she was trying to find an answer in the heavens. She shook her head. “You told your daughter I was no one. You didn't even tell her, did you? That I'm at least a friend.”

“It's too soon. She just lost her mother. And I'm not there.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “This is too much.”

She pulled herself away, rummaged in one of the bags. She tossed apples, an eggplant, a zucchini, cheese and bread on the table. Jars of olives and artichoke, a tub of yogurt and a carton of milk were plopped beside the rest. She creased and folded each bag into a tiny rectangle and threw them on the table. The bags opened up, refused to remain folded. She swore under her breath, snatched one of the bags and hit the milk carton with her elbow. It wobbled on the edge of the table. She let it drop. Milk sprayed against his legs when it hit the floor.

Nicolai grabbed a cloth out of the sink and wiped his pants. “I don't need this bullshit.”

“You think I do?” She threw the bag at him.

“Hey.” He yanked at her arm. “I thought I explained everything to you.”

Dimitria pushed him off, slammed the door behind her as she left.

Nicolai sat at the kitchen table, taking sips from the bottle of Canadian Club Dimitria had bought for him more than a week ago. “Something special for my Canadian,” she'd said. He couldn't tell her he didn't drink whiskey. “You haven't touched it,” she said. “Don't you like it?” He made an excuse. “It tastes best when you're in the right mood,” he said.

He took a swig, pushed everything off the table into the pool of milk on the floor. The crashing sound of broken glass calmed him. He kicked at the apples, the eggplant. They rolled away. He put his head down on the ceramic tiles of the table. They felt cold against his cheek.

He heard a light tap at the door. She'd come back. He got up and slipped on the slime of milk, yogurt and broken glass. He caught himself on the counter, rubbed his hands against his pants and threw the door open. “Thank God you're,” he started to say.

His father broke the silence. “Are you going to let me in, or do we have to talk at the door so all the neighbours can hear?”

“What are you doing here?” Nicolai said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

His father walked past him into the cramped kitchen. “What happened?”

Nicolai shut the door, stood in front of it. “Nothing.”

His father bent to pick up the milk container, put it in the sink.

“Leave it.”

“Please yourself.” His father said. He leaned against a chair.

“Why are you here?”

“I don't want you to make the same mistakes.”

“Yes, I know all about it.”

“My mistake was getting involved with someone in the first place.”

“I know this story.”

“You think you know,” his father said. “No one can tell you anything. You've always known all the answers.” His leathery hands turned white as he gripped the back of the chair.

“I've heard this before, too.” Nicolai drummed his fingers against his thighs. His father was here to berate him again, tell him what to do. He didn't need to listen to any of his bullshit, not anymore.

“I'm not here to argue with you,” his father said.

“Since when?”

“You're right to blame me,” his father said. “I went after your mother. I wanted her. I'm the one who started it even though I knew I was going to leave. This is my regret. Not you or your sisters or your mother,” he said and poked at his own chest. “I'm the one to be blamed for everything.”

“Isn't it a little too late to tell me all of this?”

“Don't play with this girl's feelings.”

“Oh, now you care about her feelings.” He pointed at him. “Since when?”

“Since the two of you were children. And got caught.”

“What do you mean?”

“In her room.”

“How did you know?” Nicolai asked

“Her father. Your mother's brother came to me, asked me if you'd said anything about it to me. He'd asked you to tell me. He blamed you for what happened. You were the boy. Like father, like son. That's what he said — to my face.”

“We were kids, playing a stupid game of house,” Nicolai said. “We fell asleep. Nothing happened.”

“I don't know if it did or it didn't. But I wouldn't allow him to blame my son.” He stared at Nicolai. He looked so much older, even frail. The skin around his neck hung loose.

“I'm not you.”

“That's good,” his father said. He pushed himself away from the chair. “You have a daughter. She needs you.”

“You don't have to tell me.”

“When children are young they admire their parents, love them without any questions,” he said. “That feeling they have doesn't last.”

He's trying to tell me how to be a parent, Nicolai thought. What the hell did he ever know about being one?

“Life is the same way,” he said. “Everything new is good. But time interferes. New becomes old and worn, and no good.”

Nicolai stepped aside. His father put his hand on Nicolai's shoulder as he walked to the door. Nicolai flinched. The hand dropped away. They looked at each other. You can't fool me, Nicolai thought. You only want things your way. This is just a new tack.

His father held the door handle, but didn't open the door.

Go, Nicolai thought. You've said what you wanted to say. Get out.

His father gazed at Nicolai again. His father's eyes were bloodshot, his mouth open like he was about to speak. But he didn't.

Nicolai quickly closed the door behind his father, locked it. He picked up the broken glass, the fruit and vegetables, and threw everything in the bin under the sink. He scrubbed the floor with a wet tea towel, rinsing it out and wiping the floor again. Something sharp stabbed him. He pulled his hand back. A sliver of glass was lodged beneath the skin of his thumb. He sat on the floor, rubbed at the glass. It cut in deeper. He could tell himself that was what made him weep.

Later that night, Dimitria came in and crawled into bed beside him. “I'm not myself,” she said. “It's all happening so fast.”

“Yes,” he said.

“There's plenty of time to talk,” she said and kissed him. “We'll work everything out together.” Dimitria pulled herself on top of him.

When he woke, Dimitria's head was on his chest, a leg draped over his. He stared at the ceiling. A memory of Alexia came to him. Sara hadn't been feeling well and he'd decided to take Alexia out skating. She was a kid. She needed to have some fun, a bit of fresh air. But, once he had his skates on, he sat on the bench moving his feet back and forth, listening to the sound of metal scraping against ice. He was torn. What was he doing here? Sara taught him how to skate. She should be here. But she wasn't. And he had no business being here without her. They didn't have much time left.

“Come on, Daddy,” Alexia said. But still he couldn't move. He shouldn't have come. She stood in front of him. She pulled at him. He shook his head. “I'm not going to go either then,” she said. He looked at Alexia as she balanced on her skates, her head bent.

He held out his hands. Her eyes questioned him. “Okay, let's try.” he said. She took his hand. They'd skated together for two hours that day, neither one prepared to let the other go.

He stroked Dimitria's hair. She had comforted him when he didn't think that would ever be possible. He had to tell her that. He would thank her. They'd stay friends.

Dimitria cuddled up closer. “Why didn't you wake me?” She stretched out.

He rolled his legs off the side of the bed and sat up.

She leaned towards him and touched his back. “We have to talk.”

“I have to go home.” He didn't turn to face her.

The sheets rustled as she shimmied closer to him. “Is something wrong?”

“I have to go back.”

“Will you bring Alexia with you when you return?” Dimitria asked.

“She's a child. I have to take care of her.”

“And us?”

“I'm sorry.”

“We can be a family,” she said. “Have a bigger family.”

“It's not possible for me to love anyone else,” he said. “Sara will always be my wife. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. ”

“You don't know.”

“I wish it could be different,” Nicolai said.

“Then make it so.” Dimitria put her arms around him. “We can do it together.”

She held him. He held her. His arms were numb. They sat this way until he finally got up and went into the bathroom.

“You can run with things,” he said to Achilles. “Do it your way.” They were walking along Nicolai's section of the beach. Nicolai had listened to Achilles talk, said nothing at first.

Achilles put his arm around Nicolai's shoulder. “But you wanted to be involved. This is as much your dream as it is mine.” He shook Nicolai as if to wake him. “It's your land. Don't you want to see what happens to it?”

“I have been away from my daughter too long.”

“Dimitria can be demanding,” Achilles said. “I understand this. We men do. But she's not the only fish in the sea. Next time don't get too close.”

“It has nothing to do with her. She understands. I have a responsibility.”

Nicolai recognized his father up ahead by the curve of his back. He stood with an octopus in his hand. His arm went up and he flung the octopus against the rocks once, and then picked it up and threw it down again. Its eyes popped out when it hit the ground with a fleshy splatter. Nicolai hated this way of killing and tenderizing octopus.

“Let's go this way,” Nicolai said, trying to steer them in another direction.

But Achilles continued ahead. “Hello! I thought I recognized you.”

Nicolai's father turned.

“Nice size, that one,” Achilles said.

Nicolai's father didn't respond.

“A good fisherman like you should be able to talk some sense into his son.”

“Can't you see I have work to do?” Nicolai's father said.

“He's leaving us. Don't you understand? Tell him to stay.”

“If this is true, it is a good thing.” He picked up the octopus, and again threw it against the rock.

2010

Alexia followed her aunt through the market. Christina had a bag slung over her arm, and her shoulders were rounded. “Let me carry that for you,” Alexia said.

Christina turned. “I'm not too old yet,” she said. “I can carry many things.”

“I want to help,” Alexia said.

“You are good,” Christina said, and patted her face. “You are here with us.”

You know what happened in Kalavryta, Alexia thought. You gossip about everything. But you kept this one secret.

“You have good walk with Maria?” Christina said, sniffing a melon.

“Yes, fine.”

“She has young thoughts. No?”

“You told her about Theodora.”

“Yes,” Christina said. “My sisters have always known you came to find her.”

“But you didn't say anything to Solon. Why not him, too?”

“You have to choose what to say,” Christina said, “and when to say it.” She reached for Alexia's hand. “No?”

Alexia squeezed Christina's hand. “I am going to see her again,
Thia
. I'm sorry you don't approve. But I have to see Theodora.”

“You have to choose what is right for you,” Christina said, and moved along to the vegetable stand.

Alexia pulled off her helmet and attached it to the handlebars of the moped, then ran her fingers through her damp hair. Her shirt was stuck to her back. She pinched the material, billowing it back and forth. She let go and the shirt fell limp again, fixing itself to her skin. She sniffed at her armpits. The body spray only lightly masked the smell of her sweat. She saw Theodora kneeling on the pebbly sand, a two-storey sand castle in front of her. Nicky was shovelling sand into a pail. A few feet away, their blanket lay under the shade of a beach umbrella.

“How is the moped now?” Theodora stood and hugged Alexia.

“I'm getting used to it.” Alexia patted Theodora's back. Today she was going to tell Theodora who she was and what she was doing in Greece. She couldn't keep this charade going.

Theodora released her. Alexia sat down on the blanket under the umbrella.

Theodora sat beside Nicky shaping another wing on the castle. Their feet and legs were coated in fine pink sand.

“Do you have your costume for bathing?”

Alexia slipped out of her pants and dug a tube of sunscreen out of her pack. She put a few dollops on her cheeks and nose and slathered the thick cream on her legs, arms and chest. She rubbed hard, but the pasty film remained. The light breeze kicked up sand.

“The sun is good,” Theodora said.

“Too much of anything is never good.”

“You worry so much.”

“That's what my father used to say,” Alexia said. “I'm careful, that's all.” Alexia stared out into the distance at the shadow of land on the opposite shore, then at Nicky's sand castle. “You two are experts at this castle-building.”

Sand fell away from Theodora's legs as she got up. “Nicky and me like building. Right, Nicky?”

He poured another pail on top of the new corner of the castle.

“One day we will have a nice house.”

“Your home is so cute,” Alexia said.

“No place for my pictures.”

“A studio?”

Theodora clapped her hands together. Sand fell away. She brushed more off her legs. Catching it, the wind blew the sand back at Alexia. Her eyes stung. She rubbed them. When Theodora plopped herself on the blanket, sand drizzled like spring rain.

“I brought pictures,” Theodora said. She opened the large portfolio embossed with her initials. “My mother gave me this.” One by one, Theodora flipped the first few pages: Andreas smiling at a customer, another one with him in his meat locker, still others at home, at the park and in the kitchen. Alexia knew she would like him. He had a gentleness about him that Theodora had captured time and again. There were pictures of Nicky playing at the beach and other pictures of old women standing in line at the bakery, gazing at what they wanted as if it was still out of reach.

Theodora showed her a picture of the market at the end of the day, garbage bins bursting. Bruised fruit and rotten vegetables littered the ground. “I love this,” Alexia said. “It says so much about what we don't see.”

“You have a good eye,” Theodora said.

“Only opinions.”

Theodora turned the page to the last photograph. A woman hugged Theodora from behind, resting her chin on Theodora's shoulder. The woman's eyes crinkled. Her olive skin was tanned brown and her long hair hugged her face. She had Theodora's shy smile.

“My mother. Ten years since I took this. She was beautiful.”

“What was her name?”

“Dimitria. It means…”

“Yes, I know what it means.” Alexia felt the bile in her stomach rise. How could this be? Maria had told her Dimitria was a cousin. “Because we do not like her, we used to say she was of dirt,” Maria said. Alexia took a deep breath. “It means ‘of the earth.'” She croaked, and cleared her throat. She coughed, swallowed hard. What the hell had he done? His cousin.

“It is a strong name for a strong person.” Theodora smiled.

Alexia got up off the blanket, stood out in the sun and stared at the ocean. You bastard, she thought. Why did you do this to us? We don't deserve this. Theodora doesn't deserve this. Alexia rubbed at her legs to get rid of the sand, managing only to coat her hands.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing. No.”

“What is it?” Theodora said. She grabbed Alexia's hand and pulled her back to the blanket.

“I don't know. Family. Stuff.” She tried to smile. Don't let on, she told herself. This isn't fair, Dad. It's not fair.

Theodora put her hand on Alexia's thigh. “Do not worry so much.”

Alexia nodded. “You are quite the photographer.”

“You like them?” Theodora touched Alexia's shoulder as though she wanted to make sure she'd heard correctly.

“Very much.” If and when she finally told Theodora the truth, it would surely destroy what they were building between them. And there was nothing she could do to stop that. Her father and his family had made sure of that. Christina, Maria, all of them knew but none of them had bothered to tell her. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached out for Theodora's hand. “You're very good.”

When Alexia pulled up to the house, Christina was sitting on the stoop, elbows propped on top of her legs, hands clutched together. Alexia parked the moped, ripped off her helmet. She strode over to Christina. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“We go inside. No?” Christina stood up and looked around to see if anyone was about. A neighbour hung out the window across the street. “Hey, Christina, everything okay?” Christina waved at the neighbour, put an arm around Alexia's shoulders. “This is no place.”

“Why not tell the whole world?”

Christina pushed her inside the house, slammed the door behind them. “I will make tea. We will talk. Everything will be fine. No?”

Alexia pulled away, turned to face her. Christina opened her arms up as if to show she had nothing in her hands. “What is it?”

“Dimitria is your cousin.” She jabbed at the air with her finger, heard her voice rise, tried to control it and gave up. “My father and Dimitria. Theodora is my…” She slammed her hand on the table. “I can't even say it.”

“Maria said things?”

“Theodora showed me her mother's picture. The woman was older, but I recognized her from your pictures.”

“Yes, she is our cousin.” Christina said and turned, picked up a few crumbs on the kitchen counter and threw them into the sink. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But she had other men before.”

“I'm sure she didn't. And you are, too, or you wouldn't try to hide it.” Alexia paced.

“How can I tell you this? It is a shame for me.”

“How could he have had an affair with his cousin?”

“It was not exactly an affair.” She turned away from the sink and caught Alexia's gaze. “It was only for a few months when he was here, after your mother, God rest her soul, died. It was small, nothing important. We stay away and it passes.”

“Pretend like nothing happened?”

“Why not? Your father did for so many years.”

“What do you mean?”

“He never called her or visited or talked about her. Why should we?”

“Theodora has no one else.”

“Her mother chose this when she went after Nicolai. He did not want this, I am sure, but he always had a big heart,” Christina said. “It is her fault. Not your father. He only loves those who know how to take things from him.”

“It takes two.”

“If we accept your sister now, shame comes on all our heads.”

“Then we live with it,” Alexia said.

“And what about her? Do you think she wants to know or to tell her husband and his family the story of her life, that her mother and father were cousins?”

“I'd want to know.”

Christina shook her head. “You do not live like we live.”

“I know everything,” she said, staring at Christina.

Christina shook her head.

“Everything.” Alexia held Christina's gaze.

Christina sat down hard in the chair, covered her face with her apron.

Alexia slammed the door. “Don't wait for me. I don't know when I'll be back.”

She rode along the side streets and out onto the back roads. A memory came back to her. A woman she'd spoken to when she'd called her father once while he was in Greece. Was that her? Theodora's mother? He said she was nothing to worry about or some such thing. He never talked about her again. She never thought to ask. What had she talked about with that woman? She couldn't remember.

She called Dan from a field. He was the only one she could think of to call. How had she ended up like this? No one to talk to or confide in.

She asked him how things were going at the office, but Dan cut her off.

“Something's wrong,” he said. “What's going on with you? Are you all right?”

“I'll work it out.” She kicked at the stones on the side of the road.

“Want to talk it through? Maybe I can help.”

“I should go.” I can't even make sense of it, she thought. How could you?

“I want to help,” he said. “Not everyone thinks like you do, you know. There's no shame in asking for help once in a while.”

“I'll call you in the next few days,” she said and hung up.

She found herself at Maria's door.

“Come in,” Maria said. “You have fight with Christina?”

“I know about Dimitria.”

“Come, we talk in the kitchen. Everyone is out tonight anyway.”

Alexia followed her into the cluttered kitchen.

“I make tea.”

“How did it happen?”

Alexia sat down at the table. Maria sat across from her, the tea forgotten.

“Our father made life difficult for Nicolai when he came home after your mother died, God rest her soul. And we listened to our father; we didn't help Nicolai. We are ashamed of what we did. He needed us then. If he had our support, this unnatural thing could not have happened. Our brother went to his cousin's open arms. They had been close when they were children. They got in trouble once because our uncle found them asleep together. But it was nothing. They weren't even teenagers.”

Alexia sat back. Maybe Mom was just a sorry second to him, she thought. When Mom died, he went back to Dimitria, the woman he really loved. “He left me to come back to find Dimitria. He'd been in love with her all along,” Alexia said. “Is that what you're saying?”

“No. They were just kids playing house, if it was even that. More likely they were talking, got tired and fell asleep as kids do sometimes, nothing more. Her father reacted for no reason. His dirty imagination.”

It must have been more than that, Alexia thought.

“I think it was easy for him to go to her because she made it easy for him, loved him when we turned our backs on him. And we only did this because people talk.”

“Yes.”

“And there are many sides to this story.”

“Christina was the last of us to marry, but she was the oldest of the girls. Solon's family didn't like her. They were looking for any excuse to stop the wedding. I do not think Solon would have allowed it, but Christina was scared. We were all scared for her.”

“And what does that have to do with my father?” Alexia touched Maria's forearm.

“We hid this thing between Dimitria and Nicolai. Christina married and Nicolai went back to Canada and everything was fine again.”

“But Solon's parents are dead and he didn't have anyone else. Who cares now?”

“Solon is different than his family. You are right. But he is still a proud man.”

“My father wanted me to find Theodora. Maybe he cared about her more than he cared about me.”

Maria leaned over and cupped Alexia's face. “He went back to Canada for you.”

Alexia sat back, her hands open on her lap. “He wanted me to give her the letters he wrote to her. He wanted us to meet, for some reason.”

“She has family now. Maybe she doesn't want to know.”

“Maybe he wanted to put an end to all this secrecy.” Or he wanted to rub Theodora, his love child, in her face. Alexia didn't know what he wanted.

“He want or you want?” Maria took Alexia's hands in hers. “You have to understand us,” Maria said. “I get divorce a long time ago. I know you know this because Christina and Katarina talk about it to this day. They say my son is not good because he went through a bad time after the divorce. I have a new husband now. The divorce, as I said, happened many years ago. But it is fresh in their minds like it happen yesterday. There is no happy ending like in the books. You live with us long enough and you will learn this.”