Nicolai's Daughters (11 page)

The sudden heat and brightness made Alexia reel. This place was too much. First the museum, then this church, Christina's stories, the old women in black. The harsh light. And those statues, that scene. Why couldn't she get that little girl out of her head? The girl just stood there watching her mother struggling with the dead body. It was the girl's father. It had to be. He lay on the ground like Alexia's father had lain in his bed when she found him that morning. Tucked under the blanket as if he were still asleep, as if nothing was wrong. Except everything was. His room was freezing. Had she turned down the heat the night before? She couldn't breathe. Where had the air gone?

The sun burned into the top of her head. She raised her arm to shade her eyes. She should have worn a hat today. Why hadn't she?

She shook her head, stuck on her sunglasses, and took a deep breath. Stop it now, she said to herself sternly. It'll be okay. She repeated the same words she used to say to herself when she was a child, soothing herself to sleep. It worked then. It would work now.

Christina came out of the church, wiped her face and put on her sunglasses. “Please turn off the phone.”

“I didn't know it was on.”

“This is a holy place,” Christina said. “It is to respect.”

“I know.”

“If you know, you do not act this way. It is a shame for me and for you.”

Christina walked towards one of the three cafés in the square. Alexia watched her take a seat first, before she sat down beside her. An umbrella shaded them from the sun. Out of the dark building, an old waiter shuffled to their table. Christina ordered orange juice for the two of them without asking Alexia what she wanted.

“I'm sorry,
Thia
,” she said. And she was.

Christina met her gaze and smiled. “This is first time.”

“Excuse me?”

“First time you call me
Thia
.”

“I'm trying to learn a few words.” She smiled weakly.

“You make us proud, Alexia, if you learn your language.”

Alexia nodded and sat back. She took a deep breath. The images were already waning. It was just this place that made her think of things she didn't like to think about. She had to refocus.

She was curious about why Christina had lit seven candles. Her father used to light candles in the church at home. When she asked him about it, he said, “I light one for your mother, one for my family and one for you,
paidi mou,
so God watches over you.”

“Why seven candles?” Alexia asked Christina.

“One for your mother, one for your father, one for people who die here, God rest their souls, one for your
thio
so he no make me mad all the time, one is for the family so they find way and one is for you. The last one is for someone you do not know.”

“Theodora?” Alexia spoke her name before she'd had the thought.

Christina didn't move. Perhaps she hadn't heard.

The waiter appeared with dessert menus and two glasses of water. Christina dismissed him with a dark look.

“It is good he told you,” Christina said.

“Did everyone know but me?” Alexia stared at Christina.

“It was never easy for him.”

“It's not easy for me. I'm left to make a delivery for a
yoes.
”

“Do not talk about dead father this way.” Christina pointed her finger. “It no right.”

“He fathered a child with another woman and left her to bring it up. He never even bothered to see that child. What would you call that?” Alexia turned to face the church. Two girls sat in front, holding hands. They watched the boys and cheered. One of the boys kicked a soccer ball down the street and they scattered and ran after it. The girls skipped along behind them. Alexia wished she could follow.

“No his idea.” Christina touched her forearm.

Alexia turned in her chair. “Things happen.” She shook her head. “Is that it?”

“What is delivery?”

“He left a package for Theodora. He wanted me to give it to her in person.”

“What it is?”

“I don't know. Why should I care?”

“You with family now. Take time. We look in package together.” Christina took a sip of her water, licked a drop that ran down the side of the glass.

Alexia wondered what else Christina knew.

“I was hoping I could leave it with you so I can go back to Vancouver and forget about it.”

“Vancouver again. Why? You stay here and not see her. She lives in Aigio, has husband and son and life. You do not have to run away from her.”

Alexia leaned in toward Christina. “So you're saying I shouldn't see her?”

“It complicated. No?”

Christina swallowed a bit of water and coughed. Alexia patted her back and signalled to the waiter for another glass of water. Christina's eyes glistened and tears marked her cheeks.

“What does Theodora know about me?”

“She know nothing about you and nothing about Nicolai, God rest his soul.”

2010

Christina and Alexia wandered through the back streets of Kalavryta, heading for the path that led them to Kappi hill where the cross stood towering over the cypress and pine trees. Neither had said more than a few words to each other since they left the café. Christina said this was a place of sacrifice and Alexia wondered if she was talking about Nicolai rather than Kalavyrta and the war.

“Dad would have loved it here,” Alexia said. Perhaps he had been, she thought. Not that he told her anything about it.

“It is sad place,” Christina said. “There is nothing to love.”

“Yes.” She'd put her foot in it again. How could she talk to her aunt about her father? About Theodora? She needed to know.

The road came to an end and a stone pathway began. On one side, a pristine lawn surrounded by pine, cypress and oleander trees. It looked peaceful, Alexia thought. You could lie here in the shade and read a book, forget yourself. On the opposite side, a low stone fence separated them from the twisting road that led to a parking lot at the top of the memorial.

“The ones who died here walked this hill,” Christina said. “Out of respect for their sacrifice, we no drive. We walk.”

Christina's back was stooped as she trudged up the steep path. She crossed herself and muttered under her breath. Alexia kept her eyes on the cross ahead and the tall concrete slabs keeping vigil at its foot.

The manicured grounds near the top of the hill were punctured with metal crosses leaning into the grass. From each cross hung a chain necklace bearing a tiny wood plaque with a name and date. She couldn't read the Greek letters. The numbers were the same: 13 – 12 – 43.

Christina stopped in front of each cross and prayed. Alexia stood behind her, waiting. Stay focused, Alexia told herself. She pushed the thought of that awful statue at the museum out of her mind. Clouds drifted over the sun, obliterating its bright light. She wrapped her sweater around herself, crossed her arms.

Beyond the crosses, the lawn disappeared into a forest. They found a path through the trees and walked up to the cross and the three lofty concrete slabs. Alexia held her skirt down against the wind. Etched into the concrete was a list of names and beside each name, the age the person died. 13. 15. 17. 14. Christina wept. Alexia stood to one side and poked at a pine cone with the toe of her shoe.

Alexia stood waiting for what seemed like hours. She reread the numbers over and over as if reviewing a spreadsheet of figures for a potential merger she was negotiating. Except there was no making sense of these numbers. She gazed out over the mountains, the way they cradled the valley below. Groups of mourners lingered on the grounds. What am I doing here with these people? I don't understand them or what they've been through. I'm not Greek. Christina should have brought Theodora. She'd get these walls, this place. She'd know what to do, how to act.

Christina dried her eyes and led Alexia down into the small bunker dug into the hill. Medallions lined the walls and dangled from the ceiling, tributes from the families of the dead. They glinted in the light of hundreds of candles burning inside the tiny space. Christina lit one more.

Back in the village, Alexia followed Christina into a
taverna
and sat at the bar out of the sun's reach. The stone walls were garlanded with white and yellow plastic daisies sprouting from dusty green foliage. B
ouzouki
guitar replicas stood silent on the shelves beside motionless ceramic dancers in traditional dress. Sorrowful music wailed from speakers. It was the kind of music Nicolai had listened to every Sunday morning just before dawn, his eyes closed as if in a dream, his hands, like those of a mime, moving in time with the beat. Alexia was about ten the first time his music woke her. She'd crept out of bed and found him lying on the living room floor. He smiled as he sang and hummed. For a long time, this was their Sunday morning ritual. She listened and watched, then slipped back into bed before he noticed her. Though the language and the sounds were foreign, she felt safe. He was there. They were together. When she was older, she'd stay in bed, a pillow over her head, willing herself back to sleep. Just when she thought she couldn't stand another Sunday, he started bringing his girlfriends home. That was the end of the Greek music.

Her father would have loved everything about this
taverna
, she thought, from the old men who smoked and gossiped as they nursed coal-black, thimble-sized coffees, to the chatty bartender who talked with his hands, poured drinks and served food, unperturbed by the soup and coffee he spattered on his pants. If her father were here, he'd watch the bustle of people eating and visiting, and find a way to insert himself, make friends. He'd introduce her to everyone, “This is my daughter, the lawyer.”

Alexia preferred to keep her distance. She didn't want to be beholden to anyone.

She pulled her sweater off and draped it over her shoulders, as Christina said the cave lakes and the
Agia Lavra
monastery were close by. She pointed over her shoulder as she swallowed another bite of her chocolate crepe. Alexia nodded. She needed to talk to Christina about Theodora. Alexia had to decide what she was going to do about her. Chocolate dripped onto Christina's chin. Alexia touched her own face and mumbled, “There's something.”

“An insect?” Christina asked.

When Alexia shook her head, Christina swallowed another mouthful. “Then nothing to worry about.”

“Do you know Theodora? What's she like?”

“Again with this?” Christina threw up her hands. “Think about the history so close to you. The monastery of
Agia Lavra
is in the trees, only five kilometres away.”

“You talk about people all the time,” Alexia said. “Why don't you want to talk about Theodora? She's part of my history too.”

“Yes, but you have time. No rush. First you think of bigger history.”

Alexia picked the olives out of her salad and dropped them onto a side plate.

Christina bit down on her lip, shook her head. Her eyes burrowed into Alexia. “What kind of Greek you are?” Christina asked.

“I've never liked them.”

An olive rolled off her fork and onto the floor. She ripped her paper napkin in two, scooped up the olive, scrunched up the package tight and stuck it in the ashtray.

“
Paidi mou
, you smart girl. No?”

Alexia wondered what might come next, because her father used to say the same thing just before he made a condescending remark. “I like the oil, not the actual olives.”

“But you Greek. No?”

The smell of fried batter and stale grease in the air made her queasy. Alexia sniffed at her sweater to see if the odour had settled. To anyone watching, it would look like she was wiping her nose on her shoulder. No one was paying attention.

“Our banner with real bullet holes is in monastery.” Christina leaned into Alexia, touched her arm. “You should see.”

“Shouldn't I want to deal with these family things first?”

Alexia's cell phone rang.

Dan got to the point. “What's the status on the Springs and Gordon merger? I've had several messages. Anything I should know?”

“What happened to ‘how are you doing? Are you having a nice time?'”

Christina took the phone out of her hand and stared at it as if to see which end she should speak into. “We have lunch now,” she said while holding it out in front of her. “She calls you back. Later. Late, later.” Christina poked at several buttons. “Where is off?” Without waiting for a reply, she said, “Did I tell you cave lakes are 827 metres?”

Alexia snatched the phone back and listened to dead air. “Hello, hello. Hello?” She shook the phone. “That was my office, my work. It was important.”

“You on vacation.” She took a mouthful of chocolate. “No?”

“If there's a problem, I need to deal with it.”

“Problems wait. Never worry about this. Lakes inside cave more interesting. How you say, unique. Do you know about them? You study in school these things?”

“I don't know.” Alexia rolled another olive to the side of her plate.

“Spend time looking, instead on phone. It better than worry about your father and sister, all those things. You learn about your history. Think about things first and the answers come. This history. It is who you are.” She pointed her gooey fork in Alexia's direction. “Who we are.” Christina made a circle with her fork and aimed it back at herself. Her eyes were clear, her voice strong and firm, and her hands punctuated her points. She would have made a convincing lawyer, Alexia thought.

“Oh,
paidi mou
,” Christina said, and pointed to Alexia's chest.

Chocolate speckled Alexia's white linen blouse. Christina spit on her napkin and rubbed at the stains. Alexia sat still, unable to move. Her face felt warm. Christina didn't look up from her task. Her hand was heavy against Alexia's chest.

“Everything is fine.” Christina tucked her napkin away on her lap.

“I'll take care of it.” Alexia pressed her napkin against the wet spots.

“You worry too much.” Christina garbled through a full mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“Stains clean. Broken things fix.” Christina swallowed, patted her mouth with her napkin and dropped it on the table beside her. “Only time, you no bring back. You exactly like your father. He worry about too many things.”

Alexia shook her head. “He wasn't the type.”

“He no show, but he worry,” Christina said and swallowed her last bite of crepe. “When we children, he worry about the anger in your
pappou
and he protect me, all his sisters and our mother. I try to keep the peace in the house, but he would fight our father if he tried to hurt us.”

Alexia didn't know who Christina was talking about. It sure didn't sound like her father. “He had friends and went to parties. He didn't like problems, refused to deal with stuff. His answer to any question was, ‘it's too complicated'. He left me when Mom died.” She shook her head. I took care of him and he still left. And when he came back, I took care of him again, well, at least until he started dating all those women. Then he had no time for me. You just didn't know him. “He wasn't someone who worried.”

“Parents protect their children. This is why you no see.”

Maybe some parents do, Alexia thought. That's what you're doing for Theodora right now. I can see that. I can't figure out why. But I will.

Alexia excused herself and went to the bathroom. In the privacy of the stall, she patted each dribble of chocolate with pieces of wet toilet paper. She rubbed harder and elongated the marks. Her shirt was now spotted in faded brown dots and frayed toilet paper. Flicking away the paper, she took off her shirt, squirted some of the pink dispenser soap hanging above the sink onto it, and washed it, making sure she didn't touch the grimy sides of the sink. She rinsed her shirt, squeezed every drop of water out of it and rolled it up in some paper towels. She put on her sweater and buttoned it up, knowing she'd be hot when they left the restaurant. She thought about what Christina had said. Anything could be cleaned. Really, how do you wipe away Theodora? A child was not like a shirt or a napkin or underwear you could wash out.

The image came clearly. She'd locked the bathroom door at school. She was in grade seven. She took off her panties and tried to wash the sticky gore away. When she couldn't, she stuffed her panties with toilet paper, put them back on, felt cold wetness against her thighs, the clump between her legs, took a breath to steel herself, unlocked the door and went home without telling anyone. Nicolai looked up from his desk as she walked in. He put his pen down. “What are you doing home so early?” he asked.

“Wasn't feeling well.” Standing in the hallway, pack on her back, she couldn't move. She hadn't expected him to be there.

He quickly slipped the file into his desk and came to her. “What is it?”

“Bleeding.” She couldn't come up with anything else.

He removed her pack, checked her arms, hands, face and legs. “Did you fall?” He stood in front of her. “I don't see anything.”

Why did he have to ask questions? She pointed to the area below her stomach. He stood still like he didn't know what to do either. Maybe she shouldn't have told him. He was her dad. He wouldn't know about this stuff. She should have called Mavis.

“
Paidi mou
, I'm so happy for you,” he said. “You are becoming a woman.” He hugged her. The familiar scent of forest on his shirt reassured her. His ponytail dangled over his shoulder. She smiled in spite of all that had happened.

“Your mother, God rest her soul, would be so excited if she were here.” He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose, patted his eyes. “This is a good day. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed the top of her head.

Later he'd bought her books, took her to the store to buy pads, and answered questions she'd thought about asking but couldn't find the courage. He talked, she listened and eventually she became comfortable enough to respond, ask a few questions.

She remembered other times when he'd surprised her with his thoughtfulness. At her first concert, she saw him in the audience, leaning into the people around him, talking and pointing at her. His eyes glistened and he pulled out that handkerchief her mother had given him before she died. They had been close then. After he came home from Greece, it was just the two of them gossiping into the night about what they did during the day until she said, “I think I should go to bed now, Daddy.” Later, when she went to high school, Nicolai started to bring women to her basketball games. He used to call them “my friends.” They were much younger, the same age as Mom when she died, but showy like him, nothing like Mom. Alexia heard them in his room, laughing and talking. What had she done to make things change?