The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) (7 page)

‘My first sale is going through. I told you, right? Within months, mark my words, I will be arranging the contracts for the sale of many of the houses around here. But Yanni, when I heard you were coming from Orino, I saw it all.’ He stops, takes a breath. ‘Yanni,’ he pauses, this time for effect, ‘within a year, I am going to make you a rich man, make us both rich men.’ Babis waits for a response. Yanni can think of nothing to say. The drumming in his temples has returned and he is thinking of the brief moment he felt quite pleasant after the second, or was it the third, shot of ouzo he had earlier in the day, when everything, suddenly, seemed more manageable. Babis raises his hand and clicks his fingers at Stella, who is leaning against the door post.

‘Two ouzos,’ he demands.

Chapter 9

He had heard about it. Poems, both Greek and English, alluded to it, like being struck by lightning some had said, finding the other half of your soul, he had read. A feeling of completeness, his mama had confessed. Utter nonsense, his baba had countered. Yet there she is. No one ever said it would be terrifying. No one ever said he would feel consumed with horror. But he does. He feels horror at the disloyalty of his emotions to his Sophia. But also horror for ever having loved Sophia in the first place when everything in his being now urges him to take care and protect this missing piece to his life at which he is staring, just a few footsteps away.

Stella puts the ouzo glasses down, one on either side of the table, giving Yanni a sideways glance. He can feel her eyes on him but he cannot look away from the woman across the road who is now shifting her weight onto the stool by the sandwich shop doorway. Her navy calf-length skirt wraps around her knees, her white top twists against her chest. Her face is blank, bored. Her limbs loose, tired. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail, strands broken free and creating untidy halos around her ears. Yet she is perfect in every sense of the expression.

‘Yanni, are you listening to me?’ Babis pulls him back to consciousness. Yanni catches Babis looking over to see what has taken his attention, but his gaze does not linger, he cannot see what Yanni can see. It surprises Yanni, but at the same time, it doesn’t. She looks his way. Yanni grabs the shot glass and downs his ouzo in one.

‘
Yia mas
!’ Babis cries and he downs his, slamming his glass back onto the table top and attracting Stella’s attention. With a wink from Babis, she steps into her emporium and returns with the bottle, which she leaves on their table.

‘So what do you think?’ Babis is almost jumping about in his seat. Sweat marks are spreading in the armpits of his silk shirt and his brow is shiny in the evening’s residual heat.

The woman has met Yanni’s gaze and Yanni is stunned. He cannot move.

‘Yanni, Yanni.’ Babis pulls on his shirt sleeve. ‘I don’t think you have listened to a word.’ He pours them both another measure. ‘Drink up and we will go up to the kafeneio and I will explain it again. Stella, the bill.’

At these words, Yanni drags himself to the moment, looks quickly at Babis and then at Stella, who is adding sums on her notepad.

‘How many ouzos did you have?’ she asks. Yanni has no idea.

‘Two each,’ Babis is quick to reply.

Yanni half stands and fumbles in his back pocket for money.

‘No, no. You are in my village now, Yanni, my guest. Stella, take nothing from him.’ Babis pays and Yanni looks back across the road, but the woman has gone inside. ‘Here you go, Stella. Keep the change.’

‘Thanks, Babis. Nice to meet you, Yanni.’ She gathers the empty plates, glasses and forks on top, bread basket on top of that.

‘Oh, yes, nice to meet you too.’ Yanni manages to break through his own reverie and smile at Stella. Her face relaxes as if she has been worrying about something but now is not.

‘Hey Babis, take care of our island friend, won’t you.’ She smiles now and grabs the ouzo bottle with her free hand to take it inside.

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’ Babis retorts as he stands. ‘Come on, Yanni.’

Yanni looks from Stella to the empty doorway across the road and then to the side road that leads to Babi’s back door.

‘Who … Sorry where …’ Yanni’s words and feet stumble in unison. The village is moving slightly as if they are at sea.

‘Up to Theo’s, yes? I’ll tell you my plan again and the football is on later.’ Babis is almost level with the first chilled drinks cabinet outside the kiosk.

‘Look, er, it’s been a long day.’ Yanni looks up the side road. His feet seem to have grown a size and one is catching on the other as he walks.

‘You have all day tomorrow to sleep, my friend. Come, how many times do we have such a great reunion?’ Babis says.

‘It is very kind and I do appreciate …’ Yanni has turned his hips in the direction of the back door of Babis’ house, but he is looking over his shoulder at the sandwich shop. He is experiencing the calm feeling he felt earlier in the day after the second ouzo, as if he is floating. He wants to see her again, just a glimpse, to know she is real.

‘You don’t seem to be appreciating anything much. Why the rush for your bed? Come, I will tell you the plan again and once you understand, you will not want to sleep for a week.’

‘I must get up and go to the convent tomorrow.’ He hadn’t intended to say that.

‘The convent, whatever for? I thought you were here for a donkey?’ Babis has stopped outside the kiosk. Yanni lowers his voice to reply; he does not want the woman in the kiosk knowing his business.

‘I have to drop a letter off for Sister Katerina …’ As the sister’s name forms on his lips, he no longer floats. The woman in the sandwich shop becomes ... becomes what? He stops to think, a mirage perhaps. He looks back to where she was sitting. She is still not there, so how can he be sure she is real? Maybe she is an imagined temptation thrown to steer him off his course. No, to call her a temptress implies notions beyond her ability. A temptress she was not. She was angelic, serene, calm. What was he saying? Oh yes, ‘Drop a package off and maybe arrange to see one of the sisters there.’ It feels important to state this out loud, make it solid.

The possibility of seeing Sophia is suddenly critical, a return to sanity, his real life. He rubs a hand across his chest, sucking in big lungfuls of air, images of the woman in the sandwich shop crowding his thoughts. One chaotic reaction has folded over another ever since leaving Orino Island; he has experienced such a wreckage of emotions since stepping off the boat that it is entirely possible he is losing all sense of reason. He is certainly struggling with his grip on reality. Falling asleep on the bus with all the noise and clamour around him, how was that even possible? And then he doesn’t even remember falling asleep again on setting foot in Babis’ house, only waking up and it being evening. He twists the ends of his moustache with one hand, his other seeking his tobacco pouch. It’s possible that his feet are not touching the ground. He looks down to make sure they are and, unbidden and, to his mind, wholly inappropriately, he finds he is chuckling.

‘Here, have one of these.’ Babis pulls out his soft pack and shakes two cigarettes free. They are the last ones and he screws up the empty packet and throws it in the kiosk’s swing-top bin, which advertises instant coffee.

‘If you want to see one of the nuns, you’d best go tomorrow during the day. In the evening, they will be in prayer and the day after, they won’t open their doors to anyone, as they will be preparing for their
panigyri
—celebration. Then there’ll be the open day itself, then the clear up day afterwards, so you won’t get another chance till after that at the very earliest,’ the lady with perfectly set hair inside the kiosk calls out to them. Something in her voice suggests it is her role to pass on as much information as she can.

‘Vasso, this is Yanni, my second cousin from Orinio island. Yanni ...’ Babis searches for his lighter but Yanni has his own, which he reaches out to offer, holding it lit whilst Babis says, ‘Vasso is the heart of the village.’ Yanni notices some of her lipstick is on her teeth. He nods to acknowledge their introduction. Babis has hold of his hand, which is swaying, to light his cigarette from his lighter, which Yanni has forgotten he was holding.

‘I have had a comment a bit like that before, but I still think I am more like the lungs, with the amount the men in this village smoke. You want your usual, Babis?’ She giggles to herself as she turns to the stack of packets next to her inside her wooden hutch. She puts the pack on top of the boxes of chewing gum displayed in front of her little window. The chewing gums compete with boxes of biros, packets of tissues, plastic cups wrapped in more plastic, the gaily coloured writing on the outside telling of the coffee and sugar and dried milk within - just add water and shake for a frappe - packets of biscuits and opened packs of batteries so it is possible to buy just one. Yanni looks away. There is too much to take in.

‘Thanks.’ Babis picks up the pack and searches his pockets. ‘So there you go, Yanni. Tomorrow’s your best bet. On their open day, they make food for anyone who goes up there. Most of the village will go. The sisters will all be so busy, you will find no one.’ Babis pays for his cigarettes. ‘But I suppose it depends on how long you are here for.’

‘Then tomorrow it must be,’ Yanni says, more to himself than Babis.

‘You here long? Yanni, was it?’ Vasso asks. Babis nods to the second question.

‘No.’ Yanni wants to leave his answer at that. To say how long will commit him, even if it turns out to be longer than is necessary. To say, ‘As short as possible’ might offend, but they are both looking at him. He has to say something. One day to deliver the package to the nuns and see Sophia, one day to buy a donkey and go home? ‘Two days.’

‘Two days! Is that it after all this time! We will have to make the most of it. See you, Vasso.’ Babis swings an arm across Yanni’s shoulder and leads him towards Theo’s kafeneio. ‘So listen, this time. I will tell you the plan.
Yeia sou
Theo.’ They trip up the three steps into the high-ceilinged room. Along the back wall runs a counter. Cups and plates are stacked as if used and awaiting washing, clustered here and there along its length. Behind the counter, on the back wall, shelves reach from end to end and as high as a man can reach. Clean cups and glasses cause the shelves to bow slightly in the middle. In the room itself, there is little by way of adornment, no pictures, nothing unnecessary. White walls brown with age and tobacco smoke, metal tables painted pale grey, chipped in places and rusty at the joints, wooden chairs painted the same grey. Stark, basic, serviceable, practical, and a little tired-looking.

A man with a mop of greying frizzy hair nods at them as they enter. His crown of hair bobs with the movement. He is serving coffees to two men who can only be farmers, their baggy dark trousers stained with earth at the hem, their shirts rolled to the elbow for ease of movement.

‘Well hello again, Yanni,’ Theo says once he has set down the cups he is holding. Yanni wonders if a reply is expected and if so, what would be appropriate. Babis is shaking hands with two men at a different table and then raises a hand to wave to four men in the front corner of the room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows that look down across the square meet the floor-to-ceiling windows that look across at the corner shop.

‘
Yeia
.’ Yanni settles for a short greeting that is only just audible. Theo smiles and, picking up a dirty ashtray on the way, goes behind the high wooden counter and busies himself. Yanni can now hear a tap running.

‘You know, if tomorrow is my only chance, I should get some sleep.’ Yanni sidles nearer Babis. His feet have stopped floating, his legs are now made of lead. They only move with a great deal of effort.

‘Two days, Yanni, for God’s sake, two days. You think I am going to spend them asleep, my cousin!’ Babis pulls out a chair at a free table. Its wooden legs scrape across the concrete floor, the paint worn off the foot rail and stretcher to show the layers of different colours it has been over the years. The pointed toe of Babis’ Cuban boot hits the metal leg of the tripod table as he sits down, ringing out. ‘Two ouzos, Theo, please. Glasses, not shots. Now sit down, Yanni, and listen.’

Is there a choice? He must keep his focus. He is here for a reason. But he must not be rude. It is kind of Babis to give him a bed; he knows he could not have afforded to stay in paid accommodation. Also Babis has taken him out for food and welcomed him with an introduction to everyone they have met. He could not be a better host. Buying a donkey, this is work, and so everything that buying the animal entails must also be regarded as work. He has never shirked from work. Besides, another ouzo might bring back that floating feeling and, also, from this table he will have a view across the square, Stella and Mitsos’ taverna on the left and the sandwich shop on the right. There she is!

Yanni sits down, his legs not quite doing his bidding.

‘Right, listen.’ Babis moves his chair in front of Yanni, blocking his view. ‘Orino Island has become a playground for the rich, yes?’ 

‘What?’ Yanni leans to look over Babis’ shoulder.

‘The yachts at the weekend, the holiday homes for the Americans.’ Babis’ arms are crossed in front of him on the table and he is leaning towards Yanni.

‘So?’ Yanni is also leaning over slightly to concentrate on the view behind Babis’ head. She has gone inside again. He looks at Babis’ face, his youth very apparent at close range. He has rings of dense eyelashes round his eyes which give the impression that he is wearing eyeliner. His cheeks are plump and a little bit saggy, as if his body cannot decide whether to be fat or thin. Dark circles run under both eyes and he has a line between his brows as if he frowns a lot. It is not an unpleasant face, but it is always too close when he talks. Yanni pushes his chair back a little.

‘How many estate agents are on the island?’ Babis asks

‘No idea.’

‘No, go on. How many have you heard of? You must have heard who is doing that sort of thing,’ Babis insists.

‘I haven’t heard of anybody, but then, it is not something I would remember.’ Yanni stubs out his cigarette. The commercial filtered ones are all right for a change but they are strong and taste of chemicals.