Authors: Sara Alexi
Marina sits on the flat-top rock she has claimed as her picnic chair and brushes the cheese pie crumbs from her blouse. She holds her arms out to the side to allow her underarms to dry in the breeze. She feels somewhat revived by the food but really needs a good meal. That will have to wait. She adjusts her feet and stands. She is tired, but at least going back will be all downhill. But there is no point in being up here at all unless she talks to Yanni, or his parents, and besides, she really needs a drink of water.
She pushes past the last of the trees and the ridge opens out before her. A couple of cypress trees stretch to the blue sky a short distance away, with bushes at their feet, indicating the presence of people. It is unlikely that they would have self-seeded and stayed alive up here without some nurturing in their early years. Through the bushes there is a hint of orange. Marina wonders if it is a tiled roof. As she gets closer she can see it is a single-storey shepherd’s cottage. Marina runs her hand across the whitewashed stone, large boulders at the base supporting smaller and smaller stones towards the roof. Layers of thick whitewash defuse the contours, softening the whole into an organic mound.
Goat bells can be heard behind the building and Marina rounds the windowless dwelling, past the bushes, to see two donkeys munching placidly from their nosebags. A little distance away a woman sits on a barrel, and in the hammock of her skirt stands a tiny kid that she is bottle-feeding. It sucks hungrily, pushing vigorously at the bottle, and the woman
’s stout arms brace in resistance. Her free hand helps the kid keep its balance, its little hooves tap-dancing in excitement, the woman’s skirt being tested for strength.
‘
Hello, how are things?’ Marina, up here so far from anything, leaves ceremony behind.
‘
Kalimera! Come help me feed the goat!’ The woman, not startled, beams happily and greets Marina as if she has known her all her life. There is no space for formality in these surroundings. It is a survival existence, everyone pulls together.
‘
I think I am more thirsty than your goats!’ Marina sits on a box next to the lady and takes the bottle and the baby goat, which bleats furiously at the interruption to its meal. The lady disappears into the dark of the hut. Marina puts her arm around the kid to stop it falling off her knee. The goat’s odour is pungent and not unpleasant. The woman reappears with a tin mug and a bottle of water, which she puts on the ground next to Marina, who is now struggling with the kid thrusting at the bottle, its spiky little hooves bruising her thighs.
The bottle empties and the baby goat pushes and noses with even greater energy, its upright tail wiggling backwards and forwards at a frantic pace. Marina pulls the bottle from its reluctant mouth to stop the little mite gulping air. It bleats in protest. Marina lowers it to the ground and it skips and jumps about until the woman lifts it into a square pen with three other kids. They happily head-butt each other.
‘Done!’ she announces, and slaps both thighs as she sits back on her barrel.
Marina is on her second mug of water.
‘So, are you out for a walk?’
Marina finishes drinking and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.
‘Yes, I felt the need to be away from people.’
‘
Naturally! I spend the winter months down there.’ The woman jerks her thumb towards the path down to the main town. ‘That’s enough for me. Trouble is, when I come up here my husband and son follow. There’s no peace!’ She chuckles.
‘
Now how would they be surviving without you?’
‘
Exactly! But I tell Yanni, my son, he should stay down in the summer. He won’t get any trade up here.’ As if on cue one of the donkeys bursts into a yodelling bray, drawing its call out at the end, thinning to nothing. The sound echoes down the hill.
A man strides from the hut, tucking in his shirt.
‘Hello,’ Marina says. It takes her a minute to recognise Yanni from the port, with his hair all over his face.
‘
Eh?’ He pushes his hair back, and walks to one of the donkeys and strokes its nose before striding over to the wooden saddles behind them, and lifting one onto the larger donkey’s back.
‘
Well, he can have a little trade now if he’s going back down. I am exhausted. What do you say, Yanni? Give an old woman a lift down the hill?’ Marina giggles.
‘
Sure he will!’ A man hobbles out of the hut, pulling up his braces. ‘He’s a good lad, a bit moody, but good to his mother and me. Are you not, Yanni?’
‘
Nai
,
Baba
.’ Yes, Dad. He saddles the second donkey and makes to leave. Marina sees an opportunity to ask him a few questions along the way if she accompanies him, but shies from his gruff attitude. She hopes it is not him that she is looking for.
He walks towards the path, leading the first donkey, the second roped behind.
‘Yanni, give the lady a ride?’ The woman stands up from her barrel and puts a friendly hand on Marina’s shoulder.
‘
I’ll walk with you a little first, and when I can walk no more I’ll hop on!’ Marina addresses Yanni, and finds the mental picture of herself hopping onto a donkey amusing and giggles. Yanni sees no humour in the situation.
‘
As you like.’ He doesn’t look at her as he replies.
‘
Goodbye, then. Thank you for the water.’ Marina shakes the woman’s hand.
‘
Thank you for feeding the goat. Come again next time the people are too much!’ The woman slaps her heartily on the shoulder.
‘
Yanni, get me some razors, I look like a wild man,’ his father calls.
They set off on the path along the ridge, heading down towards the pine forest, Yanni on one side of the lead donkey, Marina on the other, the haunches of the donkeys dipping and rising as they find their feet down the rocky slope. Marina is thankful she has worn her old shoes again. They make slow progress at first, down the top slope of the ridge.
Marina tries to think of the most subtle way to phrase the questions she wants to ask. ‘Very remote up here.’ She wishes she hadn’t said that, it’s too vague. Yanni does not reply.
‘
How long have you lived up here in the summer?’ Better.
‘
All my life.’ He keeps his eyes on the path.
‘
Even when you were a boy?’ Marina wishes she was naturally sly.
‘
All my life.’ He twists his moustache with his fingers.
‘
Surely as a boy you preferred to be with other boys down in the town, playing football and so on?’ Marina thinks this is a good question.
‘
No.’
‘
What about as a baby? Perhaps it was a bit hot up there in the summer for you as a baby?’ Marina turns her face away to hide her embarrassment, aware of what a ridiculous question this is. When she turns back Yanni gives her a look of contempt, but does not reply. Marina cannot think of anything else to say. Yanni offers nothing. He moves his hand further up the rope he is leading the donkey by.
‘
And surely your grandmother would not be happy with you being so far from her. She was in the town?’ Marina’s cheeks colour. It does not come naturally to her to pry.
Yanni takes a single cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lights it with a lighter from his jeans. He takes a long drag before putting the lighter away. Marina waits, feeling sure he is about to say something.
‘Grandma Sophia was up there until she died. She was born up here, and delivered me. Born and died there. I will do the same.’ He flicks the loose end of the rope at the donkey to make it walk faster.
‘
Ah. No girlfriends beckoning you into the town then?’ Yanni casts a sour look and clicks his disdain with his tongue on the roof of his mouth, an emphatic Greek no.
‘
You ride now.’ It is not a question. Yanni has stopped the donkeys and adjusts the saddle on the rear animal before beckoning Marina round. He offers his hands, fingers locked together, as a step-up. Marina pulls hard on the donkey’s saddle and Yanni hoists her up as if she weighs nothing. She sits traditionally, side-saddle.
‘
My, you are strong,’ Marina chuckles. Yanni, grim faced, pulls the saddle straight before he returns to the lead animal and takes up the rope rein. He gives it length, using it like a leash, seemingly to create as much distance as he can from Marina. She understands the message and doesn’t mind. She has the information she wants, and she is very happy he is not with Eleni – or anyone else, for that matter! Let him be grumpy, she will focus on her beautiful surroundings. They have an hour. Less maybe, before sunset, the island peaceful.
They enter the pine forest and the sounds of the hooves are muffled, everything else silent. Marina enjoys the sway of the motion and looks up at the hues of the pale blue sky through the treetops, towards the town, until under the tree branches, down by the water, the sky glows softly pink and orange as the sun drops into the sea.
Marina thinks she may have even drifted off a little with the gentle sway of her mild animal. The journey down seems even quicker than she expected. As they leave the pine trees Marina realises that Yanni might be going down to the right, to the area Zoe had pointed out as being the vicinity of the store that kept her order. A more direct route back for Marina will be to the left.
‘
Hey?’ she calls.
Yanni stops the train and turns his head, an unlit cigarette dangling under his moustache, lighter poised.
‘I’ll jump down here and go left, quicker for me.’
‘
As you wish.’ He offers her no assistance for her descent, so Marina just slides, a very dignified dismount. She smiles at her ability.
‘
OK, how much do I owe you?’ Marina scrabbles in her bag for her purse as she walks towards him.
‘
Nothing.’ He is looking down at the port.
‘
But I must, it is work.’
‘
I was coming down anyway.’ He takes up the reins, holding close in to the donkey’s mouth.
‘
I insist.’
‘
Insist all you like.’ He clicks with his tongue to signal the animals on and begins his steady walk, away to the right. Marina finds a two euro piece and runs to catch him up. He falters, and she tucks the two euros in his chest pocket.
‘
Buy yourself a coffee.’ Marina smiles.
‘
As you like.’ He twists his moustache and clicks the donkeys on.
Marina smiles again as he walks away.
The way through the houses back to Zoe’s is a joy after such an easy descent, each house a step nearer to a prolonged rest. The cheese pie she ate is a distant memory and her stomach rumbles. At a corner a sign above a stone arch announces the ‘
Taverna tou Kapetaniou
’. There is no need to make choice, the ‘Captain’s Restaurant’ will do fine, and Marina marches in.
The courtyard is a cool haven, with vines growing up three walls and across a wooden frame, providing a ceiling of leaves. Crude paintings hang on the walls and in the corner a boy is picking through a piece he is learning from sheet music on his bouzouki. They are alone except for a couple in the corner, obviously English, or maybe Dutch, by their
‘everything new but slightly scruffy look’, Marina decides. Marina has had years of practice guessing the nationalities of lost tourists coming into her shop. She smiles at them. It is too early for most diners.
The waiter takes his time and eventually ambles over to her table. He wishes her a good evening and begins to list all the food that is ready, or can be prepared quickly, in the kitchen.
Marina orders a large Greek salad of cucumber and tomatoes, stuffed vine leaves and
saganaki
– she just loves this grilled cheese, even though she suspects it is not good for her, but after all, she has walked a very long way today. She wonders if the stuffed vines leaves will be from a tin. When they come they are fresh and obviously home-made. Marina doesn’t even need to squeeze lemon over them as they are served in a light lemon sauce into which she delights in dipping her bread. She has just begun when she decides to be daring. She catches the waiter’s eye and orders half a kilo of red wine. She feels like a queen, presiding over her table for one, and doesn’t stop eating until she feels she might burst.
The bouzouki boy is making progress with his piece until his mother comes out and orders him inside to do his homework. The resulting quiet silences the gentle talk of the English
– Marina has decided they are English after all – couple, who after a pause begin to converse again in hushed whispers.
Marina pushes her chair away from the table and leans back. No sooner has she has done this than a black and white cat jumps on her knee, demanding attention. Full and happy, Marina strokes the cat and feeds it leftovers. It turns its nose up at the salad but is keen on everything else. Marina finishes the wine and takes a piece of paper from her bag. It is her list of one to twenty with
‘Yanni – donkey man’ written against number one. She looks in her bag and finds a pencil. Licking the end of the pencil, she flattens the sheet on the table and puts a line through his name with great satisfaction, and a big cross at the end of it. One down.