Black Butterflies (7 page)

The remaining numbers stare emptily back at her.
It will come
. Marina feels, at this moment, with half a carafe of wine and a good meal inside her, that she can do anything.

The English couple pay and leave, and the restaurant begins to fill. Greek families with young children and American tourists mostly, and a few Germans, Dutch, and a Japanese couple who Marina thinks she vaguely recognises from earlier that day. She begins to feel sleepy. With the long hours in her shop she always needs to catch up on her sleep. She pays her bill and leaves a generous tip. She was grateful for the fresh food and passes her thanks on to the chef. The waiter tells her to wait a second, the chef is his father, and he comes out to shake her hand. He is flattered by her compliments and they chat about serving the public and the decline of tourism. He suggests she comes again and says,
‘We will not charge you tourist prices!’ Marina forgets to ask the waiter how old he is and doesn’t think about it until she has left, when she decides it is too late, and beside she is sure she is a little drunk …

She walks slowly back to Zoe
’s. She climbs the stairs and is passing Zoe’s door on the way to her own room, when she hears her name called. She is too tired to answer but the call comes again. It is not Zoe calling, the words are too slurred. One more time, and she realises it is Roula. She pushes the door open.

‘
Everything all right, Roula?’ she asks. There is no sign of Zoe.

‘
Shhh, Mum is sleeping,’ Roula whispers.

‘
Sorry.’ Marina backs out of the door.

‘
Wait! Mrs Marina,’ Roula hisses.

Marina opens the door again and Roula hands her a piece of paper. She hears a guttural chuckle. Bobby is slumped lower than usual in his chair and his head is nodding to his laugh.

Marina opens the sheet and there is a list of names.

‘
What’s this?’ Marina asks.

‘
It’s what you asked for. I told you I was your man.’ Bobby’s jacket has all but fallen off, and as he laughs he slips further in his chair.

‘
Shhh!’ Roula commands.

Marina slides into the room and straightens his jacket and offers to pull him up a bit. He accepts without embarrassment. She hears him drawing in her scent as she lifts him into his chair. The old scoundrel.

‘Where did you get this?’ she whispers, holding the list in front of him.

‘
Aha, that would be telling.’ Bobby’s eyes shine.

‘
From me,’ Roula hisses. She is watching the television with the sound off.

‘How would you ...?’

‘
Grandma told me.’ She is bouncing a little, excited by the event, but still with her eyes on the screen.

Bobby chuckles to himself, proud of his teasing ways that got Roula to engage Grandma enough to recall the good old days, and to translate whilst he wrote it all down. Holding the pen and paper had been the biggest challenge. He stops chuckling and looks at his gnarled twisted hands.
‘These bloody hands!’ he says out loud.

‘
Uncle Bobby, that’s rude!’ Roula hisses.

‘
Shhh, Roula. You’ll wake your mum.’ Bobby is teasing.

‘
So how does Grandma know all the boys aged thirty-five that are still on the island?’ Marina asks.

‘
She was a teacher back in those days. Once she worked out one name of someone who must be thirty-five this year, that was it! The whole class came back to her, and some of the nicknames too. I haven’t heard her laugh so much ever. Really cheered her up.’

Marina is beaming. ‘So this is all the boys?’

‘
Well, no, we took off the names of those we knew had died – that was three of the poor buggers.’ Bobby’s eyes take on a sorrowful look.

‘
Uncle Bobby! Bugger’s rude!’

‘
Shh, Roula. You’ll wake Zoe.’ He grins at her and she turns to stick her tongue out at him. ‘Then I knew two of the names of families that had moved away, ones that had been friends of Zoe’s. So you are left with a list of possibilities, who may or may not be here.’

‘
Well, Bobby, you are a sly one! Thank you, Roula.’ Marina can see Roula is back in her own television world.

‘
What?’ Roula says.

‘
Thank you for helping,’ Marina replies.

‘
Helping with what?’ She is absorbed in the wordless screen.

‘
Never mind. Bobby, where is Grandma, so I can thank her?’

‘
She is sleeping now, but she will not remember a word of what we have talked about. Give it a few days and neither will Roula. In fact, your only threat will be me. So you had better be nice to me. If I was a young man again …’

‘
Shhhh.’ Bobby’s voice is rising now.

‘
It’s OK, Roula, I am going now anyway. Thank you very much.’ Marina waves the paper.

‘
Good luck.’ Bobby tries to wave a twisted hand in response.

Marina steps outside the door and hears Bobby whisper
‘Keep me informed’ before the door closes completely.

Tired as she is, she nearly skips her way back to her room where she opens the window wide, kicks her shoes off and then lies face down on the bed to read her list. There are fewer names than she expected and it takes a little moment to understand the shaky writing.

Costas Voulgaris
– The Cockerel – because he was noisy – Father owned Kafenio by the port.

Panayotis (Panos) – His father was a barber. Grandma has seen young Panos walking past the house.

Socrates Rappas – Always fiddling with things, quiet.

Yannis Harimis – Known as ‘Black Yanni’ because he is so brown in the summer – his Grandmother was the midwife.

Aris Kranidiotis – Very naughty – his sister married the Papas from the church across on the mainland.

Apostolis (Tolis) Kaloyannis – His father owned the boatyard on the mountain village path.

Alexandros Mavromatis – She says he made her laugh. Known as ‘The Butterfly’ for his flitting from one girl to the next.

Marina can picture them all sitting in class. Most of them would probably have left before they were twelve, and it’s unlikely they would have attended regularly during their time at school. It occurs to Marina that the person she is looking for might never have even been to school. They might not have come down from the mountain village. She dismisses the thought as it makes things too complicated.

Taking out her pencil, she enjoys putting a line through Yanni for a second time, although he was very kind about not wanting payment to take her down the hill on his donkey, and his mother was lovely. She releases the pressure as she finishes drawing the line, relenting her harsh opinion. His grandmother was the midwife. She puts a full stop at the end of the line.

Marina hears a mosquito and slips her feet half-back in her shoes to turn out the light, and opens the window wider, hoping the irritation will fly out seeking somewhere lighter. She pauses to look over the town below the ridge at night. It is so beautiful, the whitewashed houses now blue-grey with eyes of orange. She goes out onto the front balcony where she can see out to the sea. On the paths between the houses lights are dotted brightly at uneven intervals and warm interior lights glow in between them where shutters are still open. The moon is bright and the whitewashed walls appear ghostly, but the warmth in the air and the smell of jasmine nearby give the view a romance that stirs Marina’s soul. She can hear the muted tones of a bouzouki coming from a far corner and quite unexpectedly a donkey brays, his retching sound echoing from across the gully where houses descend to the harbour.

Someone shouts from another quarter at the donkey to be quiet.

The next day Marina finds herself in the harbour early. There is a welcome breeze, cooling everything down. The port is like an ants’ nest, a mass of people all busy doing something or going somewhere. There is a large ship at the pier. Marina came down to buy breakfast from the bakery but decides to sit at one of the cafés and watch life a little. After some time the waiter stops chatting to his friend and ambles up to her.

‘
Nai
?’ He has no notebook for her order, and his white shirt is a little grey.

‘
Ah yes, frappé, sweet, and do you have any
bougatza
?’ Marina tries not to eat
bougatza
too often. The soft pastry with cream filling is delicious but does nothing to help her clothes fit her.

‘
Nai
.’ He flashes the most charming smile at her and Marina feels like a tourist. It is quite exciting. She smooths her blouse and sits up a little straighter. His trousers fit well.

‘
What’s the big boat?’ Marina asks just as he pivots to leave.

‘
The
Zeus
. Three islands, one-day tour. Drops the tourists off for an hour, they spend their money, take pictures, and leave.’ He bends to stroke a cat before taking her order indoors.

Further along the quayside a pair of donkeys are being loaded, luggage on the front one, and on the rear one a Japanese tourist, a woman in white gloves, holding a parasol. Marina wonders why they wear white gloves. If it is to protect them from dirt then surely black ones would be more practical; less washing to do whilst they are away from home.

The donkeys wind their way through the throng, and to Marina’s surprise Yanni says hello as he passes her, and she smiles and waves.

She sits for a while and enjoys people-watching, and her coffee. The breeze is getting stronger. There is a yacht trying to leave the harbour. It reverses and she can hear the rattling of the anchor chain as it is winched in. The man leaning over the bows, watching the chain, puts up his hand to signal the man at the helm. He shouts something, in German, Marina guesses. The boat moves forward again, letting out its chain, and then tries again, but still the anchor is stuck. The German crew line the rail of the yacht, leaning over to look into the water, and all talk at once. The yacht swings helplessly on its mooring, stuck fast, the anchor presumably snagged on something on the sea bed.

A burly man on the dock hails them. He strips off his shirt and mimics diving. The helmsman nods acceptance with a relieved look on his face, and the burly man, who has a very hairy chest, dives into the water, swims like a fish to the bows of the yacht, takes a deep breath and disappears.

Marina calls the waiter for the bill and stands to leave as she waits for her change. As the waiter counts out coins she sees the burly hairy man appear again on the surface. He shouts to the helmsman, who fishes in his pocket, unfolds some bills and throws them to the man in the water. He catches the floating notes, rolls them up and puts them in his mouth like a cigarette before heading back to the shore.

‘
I don’t suppose you know a barber called Panos, do you?’ Marina asks the waiter.

‘
Panos,
Nai
,’ he answers in the affirmative.

‘
Does he have a shop?’ The waiter explains how to find the shop and flashes another sparkling smile. Marina’s movements become more feminine as she walks away. She allows her hips to wiggle ever so slightly.

She turns for a last glimpse back. The yacht is now taking in its anchor easily and the hairy man is putting his shirt back on. The waiter has disappeared.

Marina walks across the harbour to the corner where the commercial boats tie up. At this point she turns right on the wide path inland.

The lane is lined, for a short distance, with stalls selling lace. Large pieces hang from coat hangers strung on string, stretched from rusty nails across the shop fronts. Smaller pieces are draped over the tiny shops
’ shutters. There are pieces on trays on the ground and women sit on stools in the shop doorways tatting new pieces, their fingers dancing spiders spinning their creations.

Marina, as instructed, passes the lace makers and turns hard left. The lane is very narrow, single file only, and she wonders if she has taken a wrong turn as the way ahead, further along, is blocked by a wall. But as she progresses she sees, as she comes level with it, a recessed door frame that has been painted in red and white diagonal stripes. There is no door. An arrow painted on the wall inside the door frame points up the stairs, which to Marina seems funny as there is no other way to go. She smiles to herself. The steps have dropped slightly so Marina feels that with each tread she could slide backwards. They are thickly painted in grey and the middle of each has been worn smooth, back to the wood. She holds the handrail, which rattles on loose screws. At the top of the steps another door stands open to a room from which light pours, from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the port. The panes are not large and several have cracks running across them. Two, near the bottom, have been boarded up. But the view through them is magnificent, the mismatched cracked windows giving the impression of a stained-glass replica of the harbour scene.

There is a strip of mirror, also floor to ceiling, on one wall by the window, reflecting even more light into the room, and through this Marina first sees the man
’s back. Tall, with neat hair –
well he would, wouldn’t he?
– wide shoulders, narrow hips, perfectly proportioned. ‘Smart but casual’, Marina thinks the term is. Perfect. She gazes at him with compassionate eyes. He is sweeping the unadorned wooden floor around a single barber’s chair.

Marina turns to face him in the flesh, blushes slightly, and her movements become awkward.

‘
Welcome.’ The man smiles. He has beautiful teeth, and holds out his hand. Marina breaks her gaze and shakes it. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asks.

Marina hesitates. She had not prepared for this moment, and it suddenly feels as if it has all happened rather too quickly for her to gather her thoughts. If this is Eleni
’s young man, and let’s be honest who would not want him as their young man, he is bound to tell Eleni that she has been asking questions and, even if those questions lead nowhere, Eleni will still be furious. Marina feels she cannot think fast enough.

‘
Panos?’ she asks. The man nods, so she continues. ‘I have a son.’ Marina looks at the floor and then furtively at Panos, afraid the lies will show. ‘He is not on this island.’ She doesn’t want to start by giving the man competition. ‘He is thinking of opening a barber shop.’ She impresses herself with her quick thinking.

Panos indicates the chair and Marina sits. Panos produces some glasses and pours them both some water from a plastic bottle. It is already hot in his shop, more of a greenhouse than a shop, with all those windows. Marina conjures an image of herself as a flower with petals around her head and chuckles. Panos looks at her enquiringly and she thanks him for the water.

His smile broadens into a grin. He has a boyish look about him, despite the thin layer of stubble. ‘Oh yes. A good trade, men always want their hair cutting and when they don’t their wives want them to have it cut anyway,’ he informs her, and as he laughs he wraps his arms across his thin tight T-shirt, his muscles bulging, veins prominent. Thin skin, thinks Marina, I bet he scars easily, poor boy.

She pulls herself back to the moment. ‘Do you think an island is a good place to start or would he be better off on the mainland?’

Panos unwraps his arms and pulls a stool from against the wall, his limbs supple, his movements like liquid.
‘An island is a captured clientele, they have no choice! But the mainland has more people, so it is probably the same.’

‘
Do you think,’ Marina selects each word carefully, her speech slowing, ‘that being born and raised on an island, with a local family, makes it easier?’

‘
Oh yes. My father was a barber before me, which helped to bring the old boys in, but I went to school with the majority of my clients.’ Panos really does have amazing teeth, so white. The whites of his eyes are very white too.

Marina feels she is doing quite well and relaxes. ‘Yes, that would help, wouldn’t it. Do you think you got your skills from your dad?’

‘
That’s what he says.’ Panos laughs and wraps his arms around himself again and leans back against the wall. ‘Mum says the old boys come in because I am the spitting image of her – she was a bit of a looker in her day. Bless her.’

Panos looks at the floor and shakes his head.
‘I moved from the island to Athens for a while. I found the island too, how shall we say, limiting, for someone like me, for a while.’

Marina feels she has lost the thread of the conversation somewhere and begins to frown. Panos catches the frown and shifts in his seat. At that moment footsteps can be heard on the steps and a young woman enters the room. Panos stands. Marina is immediately on the alert for signs that this is his girlfriend.

‘Hello,’ the woman says. Nice face, but doesn’t match Panos. She is wearing pale grey linen trousers with a white shirt over the top. She looks cool in the heat, her clothes are for comfort and her hair is tied in a loose knot by itself. Marina guesses it must be very long to be able to do that and thinks of the work it must take to wash and dry.

Panos fills her in on Marina
’s enquiry and the girl nods knowingly. There is something very calming about her, and Marina immediately likes her. Her voice is soothing and her movements graceful, no rush. She also looks very strong. Marina searches for the words to describe her. Sinewy! Practical. Yes, not one to avoid work for breaking a nail. She giggles and then coughs to cover it and says, ‘Hello, you must be Panos’ girlfriend? Or his wife?’

Both the girl and Panos now laugh, but when they see Marina is not joining in they pull themselves together and Panos opens his mouth to speak. Apparently, their brief laughter has covered the sound of more footsteps on the stairs as a young man with golden hair unexpectedly strides into the room. Just as Panos is about to speak, and before the blonde man sees Marina, he ruffles the girl
’s hair and leans across her to give Panos a lingering kiss on the lips. Marina cannot help her audible intake of breath.

The golden-haired man starts, Panos blushes and the girl smiles serenely.

‘And here we have the reason I found the island difficult for a while and why I moved to Athens briefly …’ Panos grins at Marina. The blonde man says hello.

Marina isn
’t as taken aback as she thought she would be. Of course, she has read about such things and there is always gossip about one person or the other in the village and the usual teasing of the weaker boys growing up. But here are two men, neither weak, both, well, to be honest, very handsome, and they are, what would you call them, a couple. Marina feels strangely liberated.
Why not
, she thinks, and smiles warmly at the new man, and returns his hello.

The young people relax as they see that Marina is neither shocked nor embarrassed. They all smile warmly at her. Marina considers how she must look to them. Her hair is greying a little, her skin is sun-worn, she is dressed in black and she is a little stout. To them she must look like a regular old woman. She doubts they expect a positive response from someone like her. She smiles, thinking of herself as a cool old lady, and then chastises herself for calling herself old, when she
’s not even fifty yet.

Marina stands and thanks them for their time. She can, obviously, cross this young man off the list of possibles as Eleni
’s boyfriend. A shame, because she liked him, and his friends. They tell her to drop by any time if she wants to ‘hang out’. Her initial response is to check her blouse is tucked in, but fortunately this is misconstrued as a joke and makes them smile all the more, and they encourage her to return.

She is about to leave but takes one last look out of the magnificent window and sees that the
Zeus
has gone. In its place a hydrofoil is tying up and the passengers are getting off. An old couple are struggling with the steps down from the vessel, and behind them is a girl who looks remarkably like Eleni.

‘
Panayia!’ Marina exclaims to her god, and she can feel the blood drain from her face.

The three friends turn to look out of the window to see what has caused their new friend such consternation, but they do not detect anything out of the ordinary. When they turn back to Marina she has gone, her feet slipping on the steps. She makes it down the last two on her bottom.

The lace shops have taken in a great deal of their wares now the tourist boat has gone, and there is more room to move, but fewer places to hide. The lace left hanging is banging against the shutters as the wind has really picked up now.

Thoughts race through Marina
’s mind. Is Eleni here permanently? Has she moved early or has she just come for a day or two? She was not supposed to be starting work for another three months or so. Marina feels exposed and wants to return to her room to think things through. But that means passing through the open port area. She edges towards the harbour and scans the faces for Eleni. She cannot see her at first, but then spots her bending over, zipping up her case before standing to walk on, less than ten metres away. Marina tries to think. She could go up the lane she is on, inland, and try to find her way across town in the back streets but she would probably get lost, or … There is no ‘or’.