The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) (11 page)

‘You live round here, Spiro. Have you any family in the village?’

‘What has this to do with anything?’

‘Humm, this smell is really hurting my throat. It’s like acid. And the bump on my head.’ Yanni groans.

‘What’s it got to do with my family?’

Yanni groans again. It sounds fake to him, but maybe it will fool Spiro.

‘Ah, you are bluffing. Playing games because you’re scared.’ His voice gains assurity.

‘So you have family in the village. You have a house there?’

‘You know nothing.’ The voice sounds distant, as if he has turned away from the door.

‘I know you will end up with no house. Have the surveyors been around yet?’ Yanni leans against the wall.

‘The surveyors?’ the voice is nearer the door again.

‘You want to know? Give me some air, a wet cloth for the damage you did to my head.’

‘What do you know of the surveyors?’ The sunlight from under the door is blocked. The toes of a pair of trainers shuffle in the gap.

‘I know that the surveyors are being paid. I know there is no fault under the village. I know someone who has papers to prove it.’ Yanni speaks slowly, allowing each sentence time to filter through the man’s thoughts. He digs his own toe into the dust, twisting it, making a little pit.

‘But why?’ Spiro’s voice sound incredulous.

‘Why?’ Yanni looks at the back of the door, his mouth drops open slightly, and he shakes his head. ‘Why do you think?’ The pit his toe is digging in the crumbled animal droppings is down to the compacted earth. Yanni removes his foot and watches the dust cascade down the sides.

He waits.

‘I don’t understand. If the surveyor comes to your house and says it is on the fault, you must drill columns, put in metal, fix it up. You mean Gerasimos is taking a cut of that?’

Yanni smiles, twists the ends of his moustache, and with a sweep of his foot covers over the hole.

‘And what price does the firm qualified to do this work quote?’ Yanni looks up at the sunlight filtering between the tiles.

‘Well, I understand they don’t. They give you a basic minimum and then it depends on what they come across as they work.’

‘Aha,’ Yanni agrees. ‘A limitless amount, and who is going to agree to that? Who can afford to?’

The man outside is shuffling.

‘So their alternative?’ Yanni asks.

‘To sell, and Gerasimos can arrange that ...’ Spiro’s words come out quickly.

‘There is more, but I cannot talk any more in this heat. I need some air.’ Yanni speaks through the door. ‘Come on my friend, and I will tell you all about it.’ He inclines his head towards the door. There is a scratching on the other side. Fingernails around the bolt?

‘Spiro, what are you doing!’ The voice sounds angry.

‘He says my family will lose the house.’

‘What are you bleating about?’

‘Yanni, he says it is Gerasimos that is up to no good.’

‘Yanni, who’s Yanni? Ah! Well he would, wouldn’t he?’

Yanni stands and puts himself flat against the wall by the door. For the briefest of moments, his mama comes to mind, the fear for his safety that she showed when they parted. His dismissal of her worst case scenarios and Sister Katerina talking of irrational fears, not justifiable fears, such as two men holding him against his will. The pulse in his temple throbs, he puts his hand over his heart. His body is trembling and yet he finds he is smiling, waiting for them to open the door. He does not recognise himself. His fists clench in anticipation. He is ready.

Chapter 14

Sweat runs down Yanni’s forehead.

‘Come on, let him out. It sounds like Gerasimos is doing some dirty moves that will affect everybody,’ Spiros pleads. Yanni listens as he looks to see if he can break off any of the laths. It might be useful to have a weapon, but there is nothing within reach.

‘We have been paid to do a job.’ Taki’s voice is lower, gruffer.

‘But not on this man,’ Spiros says.

‘Excuse me?’ Yanni taps on the door. The men outside go silent. ‘You’ve been paid? How much? Maybe I can beat his price.’ His hand slides into his front pocket where his coil of notes nestles.

‘What did he say?’ the gruffer voice asks.

‘He says he will beat Gerasimos’ price Taki. There, you see, I told you he was a good guy. We can get paid and keep our homes.’ The tension in Spiro’s voice has eased a little.

‘Have you the money on you?’ Takis asks.

‘Yes.’ Yanni takes out the roll and looks at it. It is not a good plan; he cannot afford to lose the money. His breathing quickens, his heart begins to race again.

‘Push it under the door then,’ the man called Takis barks.

‘And what guarantee does that give me?’ Yanni addresses the door.

‘None, but you have no choice.’ Takis again.

‘It is you who has no choice, not me,’ Yanni says.

No one says anything. The wind is still gusting through the eaves, sighing and heaving as if the old barn is alive, breathing, waiting. Yanni looks down its length to the far door. He paces it out quietly: five strides. He is fast on his feet, but is he fast enough?

‘Okay, so here is a solution.’ Yanni returns to speak through the door. ‘Spiros can be at one door and you can be at the other. I pass the money to Spiros and you open the door. No open door, no money. No money, no open door.’ The adrenaline running through his body is making his movements sharp, fast.

He hears one of them mutter something and their voices fade as if they are stepping away from the barn. He presses his ear to the door to listen.

‘You will leave the area and never come back, understand?’ Taki’s gruff tone commands.

‘It will be my pleasure,’ Yanni assures him. One of his hands creeps over his chest and covers the pocket where the book Sophia gave him lives, feeling the corners, caressing the edges, but the images in his head are of the woman in the navy skirt at the sandwich shop.

‘Right. Spiro, go the other end. Tell me when you can see the money. You inside, can you hear me? When I unlock this door, you march out and just keep going, don’t look back or we may have to give you a beating anyway, you understand?’

Yanni nods. ‘Understood.’ He doesn’t trust this Takis, and there has been no discussion about the amount he will give. But there is no choice, and he draws out his money. All the money he has in the world. His new donkey, his fare home, everything.

‘Can you see it, Spiro?’ Takis shouts.

Yanni pokes the roll under the door. Cobwebs curl around his fingers, a black beetle scuttles in out of the sun’s harsh rays.

‘Yes.’ Spiro’s voice sounds to be right by his ear.

‘Just remember your family house,’ Yanni says quietly. ‘I can help you.’

‘Okay take hold and when you have it, tell me and I will unlock the door. If he pulls the money back, I will lock it again. Ready?’

‘Yes, I have it.’

The sound of the bolt being drawn is louder than Yanni expected. The door opens a crack, he lets go of the money, and in five paces, he is out of the door and running around the outside of the barn. He catches Takis before he has reached Spiros. For the briefest of moments, Yanni hesitates. The man is a lot older than he expected. He is also rounder and shorter.

Yanni’s right hand raises to the side of his own ear, his elbow cocked and with a twist in his wrist and a sharp extension of his arm, he cracks Takis on the side of his head, feels the give of his ear. As he staggers out of balance, Takis’ hand reaches out to the floor to take the impact as his body follows. Before Takis has time to draw breath, Yanni leaps to straddle him, locking him between his knees, like a sheep ready to be sheared, an arm around his neck, pulling tight. He watches as the man’s face turns first red and then takes on a blue tone, his tongue extended, his eyes bulging.

‘Stop! What are you doing? You’ll kill him.’ A man, slightly younger than Yanni himself, but taller and bulkier, with a shallow forehead and hair that does not lie flat runs at him, bowling both of them over. A stone digs in Yanni’s back, they roll, Spiros exhales in his face—garlic—then round again. Yanni throws out his leg to stop their momentum; everything becomes still. Spiros wriggling out from under Yanni, breathing in big gasps, struggling for air.

‘Breathe slowly and deeply,’ Takis says, as if this is ritual they have been through a thousand times before. Spiros is wheezing. ‘Asthma,’ Takis clarifies. Yanni stands and backs away. The men eye each other warily, but the tension is passing. ‘Spiros, come here.’ Doing as he is commanded, Spiros shuffles across the ground. Takis holds his hand out and Spiros gives him the roll of money. ‘Right, come on.’ He looks up at Yanni, ‘There is no need for us to fight; we are all men here. We could have left you in that barn to die, but we didn’t. So be reasonable and I will be reasonable too. Here.’ He peels of a few notes from the tightly grasped wad and holds them out to Yanni.

Yanni’s ears buzz, his fists clench, his whole frame begins to tremble, and with a step, he is standing over this cockroach of a man who dares to negotiate with him with his own money, the cost of which was Dolly’s life, the money that will ensure his family’s future.

With an open hand, he slaps the man across the face, the shock and fear instantly registering in the man’s eyes. Yanni has never struck anyone before this day and he wonders if his own shock registers as clearly. He tries to unpeel his fingers; his fists have automatically clenched. If he has to strike again, it must be with an open hand. He will use fear, not force. From the look on Taki’s face, it is clear who has control now. Yanni’s spine straightens, his shoulders drop back, tensed, his chin lifts.

‘Here’s what we will do.’ Takis stumbles a little as he stands. The strength in his voice is forced. ‘We can split this and call things even.’ He holds up the money. ‘Then you and I …’ He takes a step toward Yanni, slowly, unthreatening.

Yanni’s voice comes out like the breeze through the barn, hissing, suggesting its power, the damage it could do if it gained any strength. ‘Don’t you talk to me about what “we” are going to do.’ Takis stops moving and blinks rapidly. Yanni holds out his hand, palm upwards. Takis looks sadly at the money and slowly hands it over. ‘Now go.’ Yanni can hear the growl in his voice, like a dog. He is surprised at his resolve, the emotion behind it.

Takis, looking at the ground, shakes his head and turns towards a battered truck parked at the side of the barn, which until this moment, Yanni has taken little notice of. ‘Not the truck,’ Yanni says.

‘But it’s a good few miles back to Saros. I am not such a young man.’

‘If you get into this sort of business, you must be able to take the consequences. Throw me the keys.’

Takis fishes keys from his pocket. ‘But how will I get back?’

‘Use your feet. And Takis, unless you want me to come find you and give you another slap, I suggest you stay out of sight for the next couple of days.’ Takis throws the keys to land on the ground at his feet.

Behind him, Spiros stands and shuffles forward as if to follow Takis.

‘Not you, Spiros. You have had enough bullying.’ Yanni watches Takis turn off the rough road and takes a footpath that cuts straight down the hill, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Spiros. At first his eyebrows arch, worry lines across his forehead as he watches Takis leave. Then his look of concern relaxes and slowly, he begins to grin. Finally his shoulders pull back and he shifts to stand alongside Yanni, his chin lifted high. They watch until Takis disappears behind the curve of the hill.

‘Right, drive me to the village.’ Yanni bends to pick up the keys and throws them at Spiros, who fumbles the catch and drops them.

‘Me? I cannot drive. They told me I was too stupid to learn.’ His eyes shine as tears rush them, his shoulders dropping in an instant.

‘Well, one of us has to and I have never even sat in anything more than a bus and a taxi so Spiros, it is time to learn.’ Yanni pats his shoulder before walking to the old pickup truck. His stomach grumbles. Lower down the hill are orange groves, and the thought of their sweetness, their juiciness makes him suck in his moustache in anticipation.

The truck shudders as the ignition is turned. Spiros experiments with the pressing of pedals. They shoot off quickly, to stop just as suddenly. Yanni remains patient, remembering the hours Sister Katerina sat quietly opposite him as he struggled to twist syllables into words. There is no rush. If he grips the chair and braces himself against the door and gives Spiros some time, he will get it. The truck bucks and stalls as they begin to crunch down the hill.

‘A little too much speed perhaps,’ Yanni suggests. ‘Tell it to stop.’

‘It’s not a donkey; there is no telling it. It is pedal or a lever,’ Spiros shouts over the noise of the grinding gears, his feet lifting and pressing. Their speed decreases. ‘Ha!’ he exclaims. The driving becomes less erratic and they bump along down to the bottom of the hill and onto the main road. Yanni leans from the window to grab oranges off the trees as they pass, leaves and thin branches coming, too.

‘Turn to the village. We need to see Babis.’ Yanni peels an orange and hands half of the segments to Spiros.

The truck half-mounts the pavement by the kiosk, but it attracts no interest at the kafeneio. Several trucks and many motorbikes are huddled in around the square wherever they can. One moped is leaning against the fountain, a truck is parked alongside a car, the two vehicles taking up half the road. If anything is in the way, it is not such a hard job to find the owner as he sips coffee and argues politics. Yanni cannot help but look to the sandwich shop, but there is no one outside; not even the stool is there.

The door to the house needs a shove; the coats have fallen again. Babis is sprawled on the sofa eating a cheese pie, a can of beer balanced on the arm of the sofa.

‘Ah there you are,’ Babis says, but his eyes remain fixed the television. Yanni is not sure what he expected to return to. He didn’t know what to expect, but with the sight of Babis lounging on the sofa and his casual ‘There you are’, he finds his fists clench. Whilst he has been locked in a barn, his life threatened, Babis has been drinking beer and watching the television!

‘Do you know …’ The ordeal he has been through is pressing to be released. But he hesitates. It has happened; he is no longer in the barn. How will making Babis aware of it change what is going on? But his teeth grind and he begins again. ‘Whilst you’ve been sitting here. …’ But Babis does not even look away from the screen. Yanni takes a few laboured breaths. There’s no point in feeling sorry for himself, he has suffered nothing compared to what the families of the village will suffer if their homes are taken from them. He must focus on looking forward, what needs to happen, that is the question. What needs to happen next.

‘Have you been to see the mayor?’ Yanni finally barks.

‘The mayor? Why would I go to see the mayor? Awww!’ He cries this last sound and throws one hand in the air, ‘Would you look at that? They cannot give a free shot for that!’

Yanni’s fists tighten again, his forehead knots, his eyes narrow. Can Babis really be so dim? Need he explain it? No, because Babis was the one who explained it to him. Maybe he has not understood properly?

‘From what you told me, what the mayor is doing is not only criminal but inhuman. These are peoples’ homes we are talking about.’ As Yanni, speaks Spiros puts his head around the door. Babis stops looking at the television now, his face becomes rigid, his jaw clenches. Yanni makes the introduction. ‘Babis, this is Spiros.’ Babis looks from Spiros to Yanni, fear in his eyes. ‘Oh it’s alright Babis. He is with us now.’ Yanni reassures but at the same time wonders how Babis would know that Spiros was ever even a threat. With his words, Babis’ face does not immediately relax, but he manages to compose himself.

‘
Yeia sou
Spiro.’ He says his welcomes slowly and loudly. Spiros gives a little wave and smiles. After prolonged eye contact, Babis turns from him back to Yanni. ‘Look Yanni, Gerasimos is dethroned, which leaves plenty of room for …’ He stops to think of how to express himself. ‘For things to change.’ He grins. ‘So let the mayor do what he will and let us do what we will.’ He lifts a six pack of beer from the floor and holds it out to Yanni. ‘Beer?’

Yanni steps to the television and pulls out the plug.

‘What did you do that for?’ Babis wails.

‘If you only think about how things will change to improve your life, then how does that make you any better than Gerasimo?’ Yannis asks. ‘Have you no
filotimo
? No decency, no pride, no honour, no higher thinking?’

Spiros picks up a photograph in a frame on the sideboard, a picture of Babis’ mama and baba when they were young.

‘Put that down,’ Babis says. Spiros gently replaces it. ‘Look, I have to do what I have to do. My mama has no one else. From a young age, I have done what is needed to pay the bills and put enough food on the table. It is a dog eat dog world over here, Yanni. We are not all family like on your island. The mayor is a big shot with plenty of influence. If I step on his toes, there will be no work for me even if there is no one to take my place.’