The Priest's Well (The Greek Village Collection Book 12) (8 page)

Would Nefeli want the old agreement if she knew that the big house would be for her life, too? Or would giving her the small cottage be the greater security? It might be an idea to discuss it with her but as the bishop said, it is not always in peoples’ interests to know everything. It might make the whole issue too complex for her. No, he should make the decision. She said that moving to the big house made everything seem impermanent, insecure. Well, he can reverse that. If the cottage is in her name, there can be no greater security in this life than that.

‘You mean you want me to write up a tenancy agreement?’ Babis asks.

‘No, I want to sign the deeds over to her.’ He looks at Nefeli wringing out the mop and then pouring the water from the bucket down the sink. She flashes a look at him, a twitch of a smile around her lips. The smell of the dusty water gurgling down the sink briefly takes over from Babis’ aftershave.

‘Really?’ Now Babis looks at her, from her hair down her graceful figure to her feet and back.

A week passes and the heat is building daily. His silk cassock arrives smelling of the plastic bag it came in, but it is cool and feels heavenly against his skin. Babis finishes the deed transfer and, without any slip or fuss, Nefeli signs her relinquishment of the grand house and is presented with the deeds to the cottage.

Savvas is packing up his few possessions. They agreed today they would move. His phone rings.

‘So, today is the day. Well done, my boy!’ The bishop is full of energy. ‘This is a big feather in your cap. The archdeacon is very pleased.’ He rattles on about church business as Savvas takes his phone outside and watches Nefeli on the balcony, folding sheets and putting them into a box. In the week that has passed, he has watched her confidence blossom. Her hair is tied back now and the scar has faded as the skin on her forehead has tanned. She walks with more lift to her chin and she no longer seems afraid of the grace that flows through her limbs. She moves, now, with confidence. The bishop drones on as Savvas continues to watch until she disappears inside and comes out the front door.

‘Sorry, Bishop. I have to go.’ Savvas switches off his phone and tucks it in the box waiting by the cottage door. Nefeli is bringing her first bag of things. Her long apron seems whiter than normal, and the ribbon tying back her hair is equally white. Like her forehead, her arms are a shade darker now summer is here. She smells of jasmine and fresh air with hints of freshly ground coffee.

‘I have very little to move so once I take these across, I can help you,’ he offers.

As she passes him in the doorway, her forearm rubs against him. She makes no apology but stops to look him in the face and nods and blinks her acceptance of his offer of help. Even though her hair is tied back, it is loose enough to frame her face and add drama to her black-rimmed eyes. The sun behind her blurs her edges as if she is changing into light.

Despite the heat, the day is spent pleasantly moving things back and forth. The man who owns the electrical shop in Saros turns up with a workman to put in an air conditioning unit. He seems a little perplexed by the house exchange but leaves his worker to finish the job. It doesn’t seem to take the electrician long and after gathering his tools, he waves them a hearty farewell. Nefeli is passing through a door that Savvas has just stepped in through from the other direction. She touches his hand, letting her fingers linger as she thanks him for the air conditioning unit.

‘It will make Mama so much more comfortable.’ Their faces are too close. Savvas feels almost sure that they will kiss. Until, without warning, she continues on outside.

Shortly after that, a dog joins them as if it is a game, sniffing each box and bag, ears flapping as it trots beside them, following their paths, turning around then back. They laugh in unison at the dog’s curiosity.

It is only after they are nearly finished that Savvas notices Maria standing, arms folded, in her front garden, watching them. But he doesn’t care. He has not felt this happy since before his mama died. Nefeli smiles at him as she passes with the last of her things.

Savvas stands at the doorway of his old home, looking in at her kneeling between boxes, unpacking and arranging. The sun streams through the open shutters, the place full of new life. She looks up at him hovering by the door.

‘Come in!’ she says.

‘It is not my home to come in unbidden anymore,’ he replies, and his laughter that accompanies the words is caught in his throat. The sight of her there, like a child surrounded by boxed presents, brings a surging feeling within his chest and he has to breathe in, expand his chest to make room for it.

‘Is it really mine, Papas? I mean, really mine to do as I like with?’ Her innocence is so much of her charm.

‘To do just as you like. Paint it pink if you want.’

‘And the land?’

‘Yes, and the land.’ This creates a lump in his throat. This was the reason why her home was taken from her in the first place. No land meant no marriage. Perhaps now she will marry. The feeling in his chest shifts. If she is ready to marry, and she could consider marrying him, then he will renounce his calling. Tears fill his eyes. Giving up the church is both a terrifying and a liberating thought. If he still feels the same in a day or two, he will carefully, so very carefully, bring the subject up with her, see how she feels. His instincts say she has very fond feelings for him, but his knowledge in these matters is very unsure.

‘I think I will have to ask you every day for a week before I believe you,’ she says.

‘Then ask,’ Savvas replies.

‘Will you help me with Mama now?’

They walk side by side into the grand house.

Every day she asks.

‘Is it really mine? And the land, too?’

‘Yes, it is really yours. The land too,’ he replies and they both smile.

After the second day, she adds on another sentence.

‘Is it really mine? The land too? And all the trees?’

‘Yes, it is really yours. The land too and all the trees.’

The third day she asks, ‘Is it really mine? The land? The trees? The well?’ It has become a game and he loves to play it.

‘Yes, Nefeli. It is really all yours. The house, the land, the trees, and the well.’ He wants to add, ‘And me, I am yours too, Nefeli.’ But he closes his mouth and keeps his lips sealed—for now.

From his new large bedroom, the window looks down onto the olive grove and many a time he watches Nefeli walking through the trees, graceful in her movements, a hand stroking across the bark, pulling on a low-hung leaf. She is there at night too, her skin shining in the moonlight. Her hair shimmers, unreal, as she looks up at the stars. At these moments, it takes all his willpower not to join her until one night, he can hold himself back no longer and he takes his own stroll, meeting her as if by surprise.

‘Oh, Nefeli. You are out late.’

‘And you, Papas.’

‘Can you not sleep?’

‘It is so beautiful.’ Her gaze is into the trees, the leaves shiny or dull depending on the twist of the branch. ‘Can you not sleep?’

Her scar looks angry in the pale moonlight, ugly and defacing. She may not find a suitor even now that she has the olives; men can be so fickle. But he is there.

‘I was reading the bible and pondering on a text.’ He waits for her to ask which one but she doesn’t. ‘
Ecclesiastes 4:9-11. Do you know it?’ She tuts her ‘no’ and pulls at a long grass by one of the tree trunks. ‘It says
“
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labour.”’

A flash of the whites of her eyes. He emboldens himself to continue.

‘
If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.’

The look she gives him now is not a kind one. Maybe she has misunderstood him. He must finish the quote so she is not in ambiguity.

‘Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?’

She throws her grass away. This is his moment. This is the second he must make himself plain. No better time will be offered him than this.

‘If I were not a priest, Nefeli,’ he begins. Her face is lit by the moon.

‘If you were not a priest, things would be very different,’ Nefeli states, looking him in the eye. It makes his heart race. It is beating so hard, she must be able to see it through his cassock.

‘If I was not a priest, I would find a way to make a living. I believe I am very capable.’

‘As all men are,’ she replies simply.

‘Would our relationship be different if I were not a priest, Nefeli?’ There, he has said it. There can be no mistaking what he is asking.

‘Of course,’ and with it comes a smile. A bat chirps its agreement. A black bullet. She ducks. The flying rodent catches a strand of her hair. Her hand goes to her head to make all smooth. The bat peeps its position some distance away and calm is restored. But the tender moment is gone. He has been clear but she has not. She has left him with hope but not an assurance. In what way would they be different? In the way he is hoping or in another way? The bat sweeps again and take the remainder of the intimate mood with it, along with Savvas’ courage.

The next day, she does not ask if the land, and the trees, and the well, and the house are really hers. A pain grips his heart and a tightness takes his throat, drying his mouth when he sees her.
 

The day after that is Sunday. The service is an easy one but the villagers have become used to his reflections at the end and he feels obliged to offer some wisdom. But he has no idea what topic he wants to teach, so he is unprepared and finds himself preaching from the heart. Eve as Adam’s mate seems to be the message, but he is making little sense. As he tries to recall his bible quotes to give his monologue validity, something comes from some distant corner of his memory and he begins the verse, reciting each word as it comes.

‘Proverbs five:
May your fountain be blessed, and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth. A loving doe, a graceful deer.’ From his neck to his cheeks comes an intense heat. He stammers as he remembers the final line. The congregation is silent.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he tries to remain calm. The heat in his cheeks is not subsiding, and the final line needs to be spoken to complete his quote. What on earth made him recall this verse of all verses? He opens his mouth and out the words come. ‘May her breasts satisfy you always, may you ever be captivated by her love.’ A few of the women in the congregation gasp and nudge their husbands awake. Maria, who is in her usual seat right at the back of the church, stands, hesitates and then, noticed only by him, walks out.

But he has no concern over Maria. What on earth must Nefeli be thinking? She is staring at him wide-eyed. After the shock of his words have subsided amongst the churchgoers and they stop twittering amongst themselves, their attention is back on him, but his eyes are on Nefeli.

The village follows his gaze in unison. Nefeli tenses her back, becomes rigid. Savvas would do anything to take the words back, to take the collective focus away from her. There are only a few who remain looking at their prayer books; Marina from the corner shop for one, and Mitsos, who runs the local eatery, for another. He is grateful that not all in the village are the same. He brings the service to a quick end with a prayer and a blessing and then they file out, leaving Nefeli sitting by herself near the front.

Like the coward he feels himself to be in that moment, Savvas leaves by the side door to avoid her. Her and everyone else in the village.

Back at the house, he could cry over his stupidity. He may as well have shouted his feelings for her from the bell tower. It will not be him who is frowned upon. It will be her. Lost for what to do, he goes into his grand bedroom and lays on his bed, willing sleep to take away his thoughts. The smell of goats drifts through his window, along with the slow footfall of the shepherd. No hurry; an ambling walk. As his eyelids grow heavy, it occurs to him how much easier a layperson’s life is, and in this moment he would swap all his status with that goat herder and the simple life he leads.

Towards the end of the day, but an hour later than normal, he can hear Nefeli downstairs preparing his evening meal. Maybe he should go and say something to her. Smooth the way again, apologise.

With the intention of doing something, anything, he leaves his glass of ouzo and the game of backgammon that he has been playing against himself on the balcony for the last two hours to slip, on silent feet, down the wide stairs.

She is by the sink and he has not seen her looking this miserable since he first arrived in the village. Her face is drawn and, although it seems in his mind a bit of an overreaction, it looks as if she has been or perhaps still is crying.

‘Nefeli,’ he begins, but she gives no sign that she has heard. ‘Nefeli, it was with the best of intentions. I hope I didn’t… I mean, I know how the village…’ But it is as if she cannot hear him. Her face remains unmoving, blocking him out. His breath comes in short pants, his hands turn outwards, reaching, imploring. His feelings for her press against his rib cage, bursting from his soul. He can hold himself in no longer.

‘For God’s sake Nefeli, I love you!’

She turns her head so slowly. The tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her arms hang heavily, no longer cutting the bread, her hands just resting on the table. A greater picture of misery he has never seen. Her lips quiver as if she is about to say something. He wills her to speak, to say something, anything.

She takes a deep breath.

‘She is dead.’

Savvas rocks back on his heels.

‘What?’ But he has heard what she said.

‘Mama, she is dead.’

‘Oh Nefeli.’ And without a thought for himself, he is beside her, his arms around her as she sobs into his silk cassock. She remains there, shaking and sobbing, until he slowly guides her to the sofa so she can sit and then makes her a coffee. There is no need to speak, and so they don’t. He makes her a sandwich but after a bite, she pushes it away. Her shoulders drop forwards, her hair hangs over her face as it has always done, and her defence walls are up. He sits with her.