Black Butterflies (13 page)

‘
A long way to come to see no one.’

He struts about the enclosure with the hen under his arm. Marina stands to leave.

‘Are you going?’

‘
I suppose. You don’t have any water, do you?’

The boy drops the hen and shuffles through the gate of the enclosure, ensuring it closes behind him. Marina presumes he has a bottle of water on the other side but instead he runs away, the soles of his feet like white rabbit-tails behind him, his blonde mop streaming.

‘See you, chickens,’ Marina says, and pushing her weight forward rises slowly and begins to walk away. She cannot think how to carry out her mountain-top task. She cannot knock door to door with any discretion and she can think of no other way of finding who lives where. In the dimness of her mind a cloud of misery folds over her.

‘
I probably just haven’t had enough sleep,’ she says to the cockerel.

‘
My dad says I should sleep longer in the afternoon but I never do.’

Marina only twitches this time.
‘Don’t do that!’

‘
Do you still want this?’ The boy holds out a bottle of water, frosted over with cold. Marina takes it and drinks deeply. It spills down her dress but she doesn’t care. The sun isn’t over the highest hill yet but the air is warming. Everything will dry within minutes soon enough.

‘
Are you going back down?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Can I come? I’m allowed as far as the first corner, by the fallen pine.’

Marina smiles her reply and they begin, at his pace, slow, stone-kicking, no time limits. He is not more than six, seven, maybe a small eight. It has been too long for Marina. Her children grown, she cannot judge their ages any more. She must look like an old granny to him. Actually, maybe not, now she is in a blue dress. She feels younger in it.

‘Who says you can go as far as the fallen pine tree?’

‘
My mum. Vikki’s not even allowed to the hen coop but she is only five. But that’s in the summer. In the winter we are allowed as far up the road as the pine trees and the other way just to the beach, not along the coastal path.’

He picks up a stone and throws it at an olive tree. It ricochets into a bush and something scuttles away.

‘That’s if I am at the boatyard. But since I started school I lived last winter with an aunt in town so I could go to lessons every day.’

‘
Is Vikki your sister?’

The boy stops and darts off the path and returns with a tortoise. It is a large old one. He puts it on the road heading the way they are going and begins to walk with steps so small he is keeping pace with it. Marina stops walking and looks around her to gauge the sun
’s progress. She is still holding the bottle and drinks again.

‘
Can I have some?’ Marina hands him the bottle. He drinks and pours some on his head - an action copied from an elder – and gives the bottle back. ‘She’s my cousin. We live in the same house at the boatyard in the winter when our dads are working, but in the summer we live next door.’

‘
So you are a Kaloyannis?’

‘
Yes, Dimi. What’s your name?’

Marina thinks to withhold this. What if Eleni is his dad
’s secret lover? It could get too complex for Marina to think through.

‘
What’s your dad’s name?’

‘
Dad.’

‘
And your uncle’s name?’

‘
Uncle Toli. He’s great. He lets me climb up his front, over his shoulders and down his back, and then through his legs without touching the ground.

Tolis Kaloyannis,
Marina crosses herself and thanks the mother of Jesus for all her help. She smiles from ear to ear and ruffles his hair. He pulls his head away sharply and smooths a hand over his scalp. He takes a step away from her and pinches his mouth closed, his movements subdued.

‘
Big guy, is he?’

Hair-ruffling forgotten, his limbs take on new life and he turns and runs backward a little as he explains with his hands just how big Uncle Toli is.

‘He is a giant! Nearly as big as Dad,’ he concludes. ‘I have seen him pull a rowing boat into the yard by himself! Once when a boat in the yard was being held up by sticks it started to topple, and he held it up until my dad found more sticks. But he scared me then. He shouted so loudly at me.’

‘
Shouted at you?’

‘
Get out of the way!’ Dimi bellows in the lowest pitch he can manage. ‘Oh, there’s the pine tree.’

Marina stops her slow walk to turn to her companion, but he has turned already and is walking away. He looks back and calls,
‘Who did you say you came up here to see again?’

‘
I think I came up here to see you!’

Dimi grins and waves, before taking off at a run.

The journey down from the fallen pine to the boatyard seems to be so swift, but as Marina comes out of the pine forest and enters the boatyard
’s valley she can see the sun is peeking over the high hill, so she knows the coastal path will be basking without shade in the morning sun. It is already hot. Marina finishes the bottle of water.

The houses with roofs that she thought were uninhabited in the basin behind the boatyard have their shutters open. Near the road there, a man scoops water from a large blue-painted barrel, bucket by bucket. Tree by tree, he waters young olives. He calls a cheery
‘good morning’ as Marina passes and waves his bucket in salute.

Even the boatyard house with the arch has one shutter open, and the slight breeze brings the smell of old leather, wood and polish.

But still the boats in the yard lie untended, the only life the small chugging fishing boat which is now skimming around the outside of the bay, with one man on board, trailing a line. The cockerel is still crowing, and the sun lights up one half of the valley. Soon the valley will be thick with heat, holding in the warmth until the evening.

Marina turns out of the shade onto the coastal path, and the heat of the sun hits her. From dawn to full heat in a single step. She pulls her hat down so the brim hides her face and, looking down at her feet, marches for home.

The loose thread she spotted earlier on the toe of her shoe has now worked its way into being a loop, and the leather that it was stitching shows the smallest gap. The black butterflies have increased in numbers and sit still on the path until her footsteps tread and they flit and weave around each other, pairing off in circles of courtship.

Despite her anticipation of the heat on this stretch of the journey, the sun
’s power is weak compared to her expectation. She estimates it is still only about seven thirty, maybe eight. A firm pace brings her to the cluster of houses where she finds a rarely used bin for her water bottle. Fresh donkey manure on the road tells her that for some work has begun. The butterflies seem to relish their warm early morning breakfast.

She takes the back road that she came by, back to Zoe
’s house. One or two people wish her a good day as they sweep their front steps, water their vegetable patches or sit for the first moments of their day: men with the eternal cigarette, woman in plain black dresses and head-scarves.

Marina
’s legs are tiring, and she keeps her head down as Eleni could be around any corner. The spillage from when she drank out of the bottle has left a water mark on her dress and her shoe now has a hole, her sock clearly visible. The thought of lying down back in her room appeals strongly.

The stairs up to her door are almost too much, and Marina pushes her hands on her knees to lever herself up the last few.

The clock by her bed says eight thirty as she steps quietly into her room, her day’s work already done and with no chance of bumping into Eleni. She is pleased. As she pulls off her shoes the hole becomes bigger. Marina sticks her finger through it from the inside and wonders if she can stitch it. She is too tired to care, and stuffs her socks, one in each shoe, and throws them in the corner. Just before succumbing to the lure of her mattress she takes out her piece of paper and puts a line through Apostolis Kaloyannis. She feels smug at her cunning ability to cross him off without even having met him.

Two names to go, Socrates Rappas and Alexandros Mavromatis, and then, no matter what the outcome, she must think of her own needs. She is aware that her care for Eleni is acting as a smothering blanket over her own emotions that she must face before leaving the island. She must deal with the pain of all those years ago. She closes her eyes. There is an owl hooting outside the window even though the day is now well established.

‘
Ela, ela, pame
.’ Come on, let’s go, someone is shouting. Doors bang. Marina hovers on the edge of sleep trying to make sense of the noises, which are dreams and which reality.

Many voices all talking at once.

‘Calm down, how do you know?’

‘
I had a call and now the line is dead. Please come, hurry.’

‘
Roula, I have to go.’ It is Zoe’s voice. Marina can hear Roula crying. Sleep dispels. Marina rolls off the bed and pushes on her flip-flops.

‘
What’s happening? Can I help?’ Marina stumbles out to the balcony, rubs sleep from her slack face. She tries to straighten her hair. There is a strong wind blowing. It feels cooling. Marina relaxes in its gentle kiss.

‘
I have to go now, please.’ Irini’s eyes are wide, her body twitching. Signs of panic.

‘
What’s wrong?’ Marina puts a calming hand on Irini’s shoulder. She tries to still her with her hand’s pressure.

‘
Irini’s fiancée called. He said he hit some rough water. Now his line is dead.’ Zoe is hugging Roula, who is crying. Her eyes reflect the raised tension. ‘She called one of the other taxi boats. They say his VHF radio is also dead.’ Roula wails. Zoe tries to encompass her in her arms.

‘
Marina, come with me?’ Irini asks, her voice trembling.

‘
Yes, of course, my dear. Where?’

‘
Port police. Get them to go and find him. I was about to go but …’ Zoe looks down at Roula, whose head is against her chest. She is stroking her hair.

Irini takes Marina by the arm. Marina is all but pulled down the steps and out onto the street. They are on the path to town before Marina comes to her senses and realises she has forgotten her bag and her hat. But neither hat nor bag seems important. Marina releases her mind from the thoughts of Irini
’s fiancée and realises she has just agreed to walk right into the place she needs to avoid the most. Port police. Eleni.

They enter the harbour area. Irini begins to ask people where the port police are. Marina wonders what the date is. Has her daughter begun working yet. If she hasn
’t, will the port police want to take her name? Can she avoid going in?

‘
Irini,’ Marina begins. She cannot go into the port police office.

‘
Look, all the other boats are in.’ Irini points at the taxi boats and begins to cry, and walks faster. The wind is whipping round the port. The cats huddle in shop doorways. The waiters are inside. The outdoor tables have been cleared of napkins, glasses and menus. The sky is darkening. A donkey on the corner begins its loud sad bray. It echoes. The town feels empty.

Irini runs ahead and stops a man who is getting off one of the taxi boats. He turns his back to the wind as he talks to he
r, his chin tucked in and shoulders hunched. His words are whisked away from Marina by the wind. When she catches up with Irini she sees her face is wet with tears. The man slopes off to a café.

‘
He says all the other radios are still working. The port police are just here.’ Irini turns to a door between two shops. A small white sign outside, no bigger than a postcard, declares its importance.

‘
Irini, I …’ Marina begins again, but Irini’s frightened tear-stained face shows more sorrow than she can bear. Marina closes her mouth and allows herself to be pulled into the port police office. After all, Eleni is not due to start for another couple of weeks.

There is no one behind the desk. Marina looks around for a newspaper to hide her face, just in case. The room is sparse, blue and white themed, with a coffee table and one wooden rush-seated chair. The walls are decorated with damp-buckled prints of stormy seas behind dirty glass in thin frames. Judging by the counter top, which has been painted a sharp blue, Marina can tell it has not been decorated since the seventies, and that even then it was done on a budget.

Irini is tapping impatiently on the counter. From somewhere in the depths, through another door, they can hear someone on a fizzing radio declaring
apagoreftiko
, a shipping ban due to high winds. The severity of the situation sinks in. Marina looks at Irini. She is tapping for attention with renewed persistence, her mouth a thin line of self-control. Marina takes a step towards her. She gently puts an arm around her.

‘
He has only been using the boat this year. He doesn’t know much.’ Irini stops tapping and falls into Marina’s arms, crying. Marina holds her as if she is her own, stroking and kissing her hair, soothing her noises. She clucks and cuddles and becomes lost in the action.

A clicking of hobnailed boots approaches. Someone has come in through the door behind the counter. Marina looks up with a start.

For a split second there is a loaded silence.

Eleni has her hair tied back under her black cap. Wide eyed, she sees her mother, her mouth hard. Marina loosens her grip around Irini.

In the same second Irini turns and pulls away from Marina. With her hands on the counter she shouts through her tears.

‘Petta’s on the boat
Hera
. He’s missing. Dead radio. End of the island.’

Eleni drags her stare from her mother
’s face, quickly taking in her blue dress.

Marina can feel her cheeks are red. But her attention is jolted. The
Hera
.

‘
Petta? The
Hera
? The dancing man?’ Marina demands. Eleni turns back to her.

Irini ignores her. Time slows, allowing Marina to think.

She pieces it together. Irini saying he wasn’t there when looking at the taxi boats. Her conversation with the boat man saying he has only been a year with the boat, and Irini’s statement that he has only been using the boat this year. Both had said they were engaged. Marina puts it all together.

‘
Panayia. Mother of God, keep him safe.’ She crosses herself three times and kisses the cross hanging around her neck.

Eleni, who is still looking at her, now appears puzzled and opens her mouth to finally speak. Irini slams her fist down on the counter.

‘Now!’ she demands.

A man comes rushing through the door behind Eleni.

‘We’ve had a Mayday on the radio. End of the island. VHF intermittent, no mobile. We are the nearest boat. Come on, we’re off.’

He shoves Eleni out from behind the counter in front of him. Irini is shouting for them to hurry. Marina makes a prayer for the dancing captain. Concern for Eleni
’s recognition is lost in the greater concern over her friend’s life.

Irini runs out after them.

The skies are even darker. The water is choppy even in the harbour. Lines slap noisily against the masts and the wind hums through the metal stays of the yachts. Out in the bay the waves are white-capped, the mainland opposite a menacing black outline.

Four port police are running ahead of Marina to their boat. Irini is in their way, and a big port police man lifts her bodily to one side. Marina hurries her steps and puts an arm around her as the port police boat casts off.

Eleni is coiling ropes at the back of the boat, and as the tail end passes Marina she shouts above the wind, ‘Stay safe.’ Eleni’s look freezes her. Irini turns to Marina and cries, as if the event has reached an inevitable conclusion already. Marina wraps her arms around Irini, comforting herself as much as the little waif.