Nicolai's Daughters (13 page)

Katarina and Zak came over for dinner that night. Along with the discussion about when to pick the olives, who they'd sell them to now that no one in the country had any money to buy things, and what the politicians would do next, Zak mentioned a man he worked with he thought Alexia should meet. “He is no good,” Katarina said, and nudged Zak. “The young baker is a different story. I know is perfect for you.”

“I'm not looking for a boyfriend,” Alexia said.

“You have friend in Vancouver?”

“Work keeps me busy.” She put a small piece of lamb in her mouth.

“It good to marry someone your own kind,” Katarina said. “You be happy this way.”

“I thought you discouraged marriage.”

“They complain,” Solon said, “but they know they have good life.”

Christina slapped his shoulder. “Better than some.”

“
Po po po,
how she can put up with that son, I don't know,” Katarina said.

“They have hard life.” Christina nodded, chewing her meat.

Alexia noticed that blood and meat juice was already beginning to congeal on Christina's plate.

“She deserves this.”

“Who are you talking about?” Alexia asked.

Christina and Katarina exchanged a glance. Christina shrugged. “Maria. Who else?”

“Her son born bad,” Katarina said. “Hard to change.”

“It not his fault,” Christina said. “She took care of herself. Travelled, had fun, men. Never give him what he need. Now she has problems.”

Katarina nodded and added, “She this way from birth.”

“She thinks only of herself and what she wants.”

Alexia had heard it all before.
Selfish. Unloving. Only cares about what she wears. Finally Maria remarried. It took long enough. This husband at least better.
He put some sense into her.
Their eyes flashed with anger and a kind of satisfaction she'd seen in her father's eyes. Why did they only see fault? They seemed to enjoy it. But why would they enjoy someone else's struggles? And why did they want to convince her to join them in this gossip? She didn't want to be part of their club. It was mean and petty.

Alexia liked Maria. At least that aunt didn't talk behind your back the way Katarina and Christina did. If you couldn't say something directly to a person, you had no business saying it at all. Then again, Alexia had seen more of Katarina and Christina than she had of Maria.

Nicolai used to call one of their neighbours Tarzan because he was always climbing the trees in his yard to trim them. When she called the neighbour Tarzan
,
he laughed and asked her why. “That's what my dad calls you,” she said.

Later, Nicolai scolded her. “Some things we don't have to share. Understand?”

“That's not very honest,” Alexia had said. “Mom said we should tell the truth.”

“Yes, but there are some things you keep to yourself, things that stay in the family.”

She couldn't describe the look he gave her that day, but she never forgot it. There was nastiness in it she didn't understand. “Why say anything at all?”

“To pass the time,” Nicolai had said. He smiled in that same way he did with his friends and clients. It didn't make any sense. Did he like these people, or hate them? Which was it? No, it didn't make any sense then, and it didn't make any sense now.

“What do you say about me when I'm not here?” Alexia asked Christina.

“Maria has problem,” Katarina said. “We help.” She shrugged.

“Why not talk to her?”

“You people do this. Say what you feel and think. We no hurt people the way you do in America. This is better.”

“How does it help?” Alexia asked.

“We talk, we find solution,” Christina said. “Then we guide in nice way.”

She couldn't help herself. “And you call this nice?”

“Women,” Solon said. “They like their secrets.”

Over the next few days, Alexia dreamt of meeting Theodora, imagined conversations. Each time she stopped herself by studying the Greek book and the elementary notes Solon had given her.

One day, nothing seemed to work. She wandered out to the field to ask Solon a question about a Greek word she'd written down, but now could not read. He'd distract her.

“
Paidi mou,
you put the accent here,” he said. “Don't say it like the English. Say it like a Greek, from your heart.”

“And with a lot of spit.”

“
Ne
. Exactly.” He smiled for her.

Alexia walked the olive groves with Solon, listening to his history lessons. The next day she helped her aunt shop, weed the pots on the terrace and dust Christina's collection of ceramic knickknacks. But the distractions were not doing the trick. She couldn't stay in limbo forever. Nicolai had given her a responsibility. She needed to get it done and go home. It didn't matter what he had written in those letters to Theodora. He had left his belongings for her, not his thoughts and musings.

At the end of the week, Alexia took the bus again to Aigio. This time, she put the letters in her pack, intent on getting rid of them once and for all. She sat on her hands and looked out the window, the pack on her lap. The land was more scorched than ever. Did it ever rain in this country? She thought about the letters. How was she going to explain why she had them? She'd figure it out as she went.

The bus came to a stop. Three young girls got on, laughing and talking over each other. They squeezed into one seat across from Alexia, their spindly arms around one another's shoulders. Alexia glanced over at them. One of the girls noticed and whispered to the others. They giggled. Alexia turned to face the window. It had been a long time since she was a kid at school, laughing with her friends, worried about all the silly things that girls worried about when they were teenagers. As an adult she had work friends she got together with on a Friday night for a drink, and Mavis and Stuart, who she saw some Sundays when she and Nicolai went over for dinner.

When Alexia arrived in Aigio she went directly to Theodora's house. She had no trouble finding it: she remembered every turn. She watched the house for two hours, walking up and down the side streets that ran parallel. The straps of the pack etched themselves into her shoulders. She tried pushing her shoulders back, but it didn't help. It was easier to carry than her briefcase or even her purse, but her shoulders hadn't gotten used to carrying things this way.

Finally, Theodora came out, a child on her hip bunching up her floral skirt and grabbing at her pink blouse. Christina had told her Theodora had a son. And here he was. Theodora too. Close enough to say hello.

The child was dressed in a blue sailor outfit and wore a ball cap. She guessed he was maybe two or three years old. That woman is my sister, that kid is my nephew, she thought. How could this be? Here was something else this woman had given Nicolai, a grandchild. Alexia's jaw tightened. Nicolai was a grandfather. He would have liked that. “You know the kind of schedule I keep,” she'd say when her father asked her if she had someone special in her life.

Theodora slung a large canvas bag over her shoulder and carried a wallet in her right hand. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall. She was striking, handsome more than pretty, with high cheekbones, long sandy-blonde hair, full lips and olive skin. Alexia couldn't see her eyes, but she was sure they had the contrasting tinge so clear in the picture. Theodora looked quite a bit younger than Alexia had expected.

Theodora walked down the street and disappeared beyond the next corner. Alexia followed. Theodora peered in every store window and dawdled. Alexia stopped when Theodora stopped, glanced away, but kept Theodora in her sights. She was not good at this game. Why not come clean and tell her? I tell her the story, give her the letters, get the hell out. Part of her couldn't wait to put an end to all this nonsense. The other part liked that she had a secret her father had shared only with her.

In the market Theodora went to a stall near the back. She chose a bunch of bananas, a carton of strawberries, some apples and a vine of bright, red tomatoes. Garlic, a couple of cucumbers and three large green peppers were also bagged for her by a rotund clerk in a crisp, white apron. Theodora sniffed everything she selected. Her hands were like Nicolai's and Alexia's: meant for holding delicate things very carefully, as her father used to say when she complained her hands were too small for her to be good at basketball.

As she left the market, Theodora stopped to talk to a woman who had her hand extended and her head bent low. Alexia had passed this woman in the market when she was here before. She remembered the woman's stale grease scent. She'd walked past her without making eye contact.

Theodora spoke to the woman, smiled, then handed her a package she'd dug out of her bag. The woman hugged Theodora.

She's a better person than me, Alexia thought.

Alexia followed Theodora to the butcher shop. She waited outside, watching her through the shop's front window. Four chairs stood in a row inside. Three women and a man sat in the chairs, waiting their turn. Theodora made her way to the front. She talked to the butcher for several minutes and he stroked her arm when she leaned against the glass case displaying all forms of dressed meat. The butcher kissed the child's cheek.

Theodora had a few words with each of the women and the man, then blew a kiss in the direction of the butcher as she walked out. She had a nice smile.

Outside, Theodora's son leaned his head into her leg, then pushed himself away from her and whimpered. She bent down, picked him up and whispered in his ear. He rubbed at his eyes.

Theodora carried on down the street to a park, where she dropped her bag and slipped out of her shoes. Holding her son, she climbed the slide, sat with him in her lap and slid down. She held him tight around his waist. His hands were above his head, holding her face. Both laughed.

The breeze kicked a few dry leaves towards Alexia. She stepped out of the way, allowing them to gust past.

Theodora sat at the bottom of the slide, dug out a hanky from her pocket and wiped the boy's nose. She kissed the back of his neck and he giggled. She made circles in the sand with her feet and her son was transfixed.

Theodora brought her arm up and over her son's head to look at her watch. Her smile disappeared. She slipped her high heels into her bag and put on a pair of black ballerina flats. With her bag draped over one arm and her son in the other, she rushed across the street, turned up at the next corner and into a café. Now what? Alexia wondered. I should go home. I should. Or maybe go to that Internet café I saw earlier and do some work. I should.

Alexia found a seat at a table near where Theodora was sitting across from an older woman. She plunked her pack on the floor. The sun slanting through the floor to ceiling windows made her squint. A waiter pulled down the blinds. She nodded.

The older woman looked at her watch. Alexia recognized the Greek word for late. She called Theodora “my dear.” But the words seemed wrong coming from her mouth. Her jaw was rigid, her smile plastered in place with heavy makeup. As she spoke, fine lines turned into crevices.

“Elena, I'm so sorry. We stopped at the park,” Theodora said. “To play.”

Alexia understood what was going on between these women by the tone of their voices, the expressions she saw when she stole the odd glance. The language lessons with her uncle had helped too. She picked up fragments of sentences: “don't worry about me. I am only worried for your son. He is like his father, gets ear infections.”

Theodora grinned helplessly.

“I'm sure you don't want your son to get sick. You want to be a good mother. And of course, I know you are,” the old woman said.

The boy shimmied to the floor, searched through Theodora's bags. The older woman scolded him for being on the floor.

Theodora picked him up. He had one of her high heels in his hand.

The older woman shook her head. “
Xanthoula.”

Little blonde one.
Solon always made note of anyone with fair hair.

What the hell was wrong with that old bag? Alexia wondered.

Alexia sat on a bench in a park and picked at her
souvlaki
thinking about Theodora. From what she had glimpsed of Theodora's world, her life was already complicated. She didn't need anything else. Nicolai had wanted her to have those letters, but this was likely more for his benefit than for this poor girl. It was a way to deal with his guilt. Nothing more. She watched people walk by and left her half-eaten
souvlaki
to a crow too bold to worry about her feeble attempts to shoo him away.

The sky darkened. She felt a chill and a couple of drops of rain. Now it decides to rain, she thought, looking up at the sky. It could have waited until I got home.

Heading to the bus depot, she took a couple of turns, but didn't recognize the street she walked up. Finally she came around another corner and found herself in the park where she'd watched Theodora play with her son.

Theodora sat on a bench while her son dug around in the sandbox. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. Her high heels were beside her, her feet bare.

That old bag wasn't worth crying over, Alexia thought. I don't know a thing about you, but there's no way you deserved what that bat dished out. Nice in one breath, mean in the next. Okay. I can't get involved here. I don't even know this mystery sister. She's the sister Nicolai pulled out of a hat. She has her life and she has to deal with it herself.

Alexia walked towards the road she now knew would lead her back to the bus stop. But she couldn't stop thinking about the older woman. She was a bully even though she was trying to be subtle about it. Alexia had seen enough of that type at the negotiation table to last a lifetime. Theodora was clearly unable to defend herself. Alexia slowed down. She retraced her steps and got back to the park. Okay, I guess I'm doing this, she told herself. I just want to make sure she's all right. Nothing more. Not just yet, anyway. Alexia shifted the pack.