Nicolai's Daughters (12 page)

They were back in the car. Alexia sat quietly, watching the scenery dash by.

“Do not think too much.” Christina had a tight grip on the steering wheel and manoeuvred the narrow road back towards Diakofto.

“I'm looking at the scenery.”

Christina patted Alexia's thigh. “You think about her. But the past is done.”

Alexia leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. The voice in her head would not stop. There's no point discussing Theodora with you. You won't tell me anything anyway. He wanted me to deliver that stupid shoebox, don't you get it? He didn't ask me how I felt about it. He forced me into this. And now you're not going to help me either. Alexia tucked her hands underneath her. I don't want to deal with it either. But I have to. I knew I'd end up doing this on my own.

Christina was calling up to her. “We go to the market. Katarina is here already. And we can have lunch after we finish shopping. You come, yes?”

“No!” Alexia said, more emphatically than she intended. She pictured Christina standing at the bottom of the stairs, her liver-spotted hand on the handrail peering up the staircase in the direction of the attic. “Thanks,” Alexia called down. “But I have to work.” It sounded like a growl even to her. They'll probably talk about me, she thought.

Alexia peeked out the attic window. Katarina was pacing in front of the house, her shopping cart rattling behind her. Finally, Christina joined her. Alexia heard Katarina mutter and point in the direction of the window. Christina shrugged. Alexia moved from view.

She lay on her stomach on the floor, Theodora's picture propped against her book. She stared at those two different-coloured eyes — innocent, happy, hinting at mischief — and tried to imagine how this girl would react to having a sister. What would she do with Nicolai's letters? That's what was in the box. When she'd returned from Kalavryta, she went straight to her closet and flipped the lid of the shoebox only to find stacks of envelopes, each addressed to Theodora Christopoulou from Nicolai Sarinopoulos. He'd used his full name even though he'd gone by the name of Sarino ever since he'd immigrated to Canada.

“We have to fit in,” he'd told Alexia when she asked him why they didn't use their full name. “This is easier.”

A few of those envelopes lay beside her book. She picked up the first one, flipped it forward and backward, examining it to see if there was a slight tear or opening she could pry. She'd convinced herself she needed to know. It might help her figure out how to approach Theodora. The envelope was sealed. She pictured Nicolai licking the envelopes and then stamping each with his company seal, his beloved Greek flag. She picked up a handful of envelopes, looked outside her window to make sure Christina and Katarina were gone and went down the stairs into the kitchen. She put the kettle on the burner, lit the flame and stood watching it, her hands behind her back, the envelopes on the counter beside her. She waved the first over the screaming kettle. The envelope became damp. She wiped it against her shirt quickly, turned off the gas and ran back upstairs. She unfolded the letter and found it was written in Greek. All that effort and she couldn't read it. She put the letter back in the envelope and put the envelopes back in the box in the same order she'd found them. Theodora could have the letters and the old shoebox, Alexia thought, but not Mom's ribbons. He'd probably used them when he ran out of tape. He was thoughtless that way. She hid the ribbons under her pillow.

Nicolai sometimes made her funny cards for her birthday, but he'd never written her a letter, not even when he left her. What did he write about in those letters to Theodora? And why her? What was so special about her? Alexia flung the picture towards the wall. It floated and fell short. Don't be so childish, she told herself, and picked it up. The floorboards groaned as she paced. She pressed the pointy end of the picture against her temple, leaving tiny needle-size impressions on her skin.

A bus pulled up in front of the roadside shelter where Alexia stood with five others. She'd decided that just laying eyes on Theodora might help her figure out what to do. But now that she was about to get on the bus to Aigio, she wasn't so sure. Her stomach felt hollow, her throat tight.

A white-bearded Greek Orthodox priest — in a black square hat, floor-length black tunic and scuffed loafers — stood with his back to her. In front of him were four young, stocky women in navy skirts and pastel blouses, their babies slung on their hips. Each stood with her legs slightly apart, in flat, practical shoes. One child screeched. Alexia jumped. The baby's mother raised the child over her shoulder and patted its behind, then adjusted her hair band and bags. Gurgles replaced gasped protests. Calm down, Alexia told herself. Start worrying when you arrive.

The women nodded to the priest and he stepped onto the bus first. He touched their heads and those of their babies as he passed and they kissed his hand. Alexia waited well out of his reach, smelling diesel fumes.

She got on board and stopped to count out the fare. She flipped each coin back and forth to make sure she knew what it was worth. The bus driver clucked his impatience. He took what he wanted from her outstretched hand and nodded for her to move to the back.

Walking up the aisle, she received guarded smiles and nods from a few passengers. Did they know what she was up to? She had no reason to feel guilty. She was simply doing what her father wanted, fulfilling his last wish. Still, she couldn't shake the image of Christina's smile or the feel of her hand on hers when they were in Kalavryta. Christina had said, “We help. You not alone with this.”

She took a seat next to the window. Stop thinking, she told herself. It's too late to turn around. You're committed now. And besides, Christina's not telling you everything she knows, so she's not being very helpful, is she? And she had suggested not seeing Theodora at all, hadn't she?

Unlike the cramped buses in Vancouver, this one had reclining seats, leg room and air conditioning. There was no scent of damp sweat as there was on rainy days she rode the buses in Vancouver where soaked passengers stood sandwiched. She would never get used to that dank stench.

Every few minutes, the bus jolted to a stop. She tried to distract herself by watching the passengers who got on and off with shopping carts, packs and farm tools. She focused on these people, looking at what they were wearing, imagining who they were.

When the bus arrived in Aigio, Alexia left the station and walked to the first main square with a water fountain. She cupped water into her hand and slurped away her thirst, then splashed her face and the back of her neck. Benches flanked the triangular sides of the square
.
She'd read about this place in her guidebook. It was an embarrassment to the community because the renegade planner had designed the square as a triangle. Squares were supposed to be square. Why hadn't there been simple, easy-to-follow rules like this for her life?

She wandered among the village streets and through some of the parks beyond the main shopping area. The guidebook said Aigio had a population of about 30,000. Who would notice her? If she didn't manage to track Theodora down, she'd at least see another Greek town. Be a tourist. And she might be able to find an Internet café here that actually worked so she could update Dan, deal with whatever he and the office needed.

She walked into an open market and as she turned a corner she saw a short, husky woman fondling and sniffing a large cantaloupe. She was holding a child who had his legs wrapped around the woman's hips. The woman's long hair, her tiny shoulders — reminded Alexia of Theodora, although the woman's hair was dark, not light, and she was heavier than she'd been in the picture. But who knew when the picture was taken? Her hair could be dyed now. And she could have put on weight. Christina had said Theodora had a son. She'd at least given her that much information.

Alexia moved around the stack of tomatoes, stumbled over a crate of oranges and fell against the stranger. Oranges crashed into tomatoes and rolled in all directions. The woman pushed her away. Alexia caught her balance and stood still. The child whimpered. The woman stared at her the way opposing lawyers did whenever they suspected her motives. The woman's eyes were different than Theodora's, her face chubbier and older. It wasn't Theodora at all. The woman turned and disappeared into the crowd.

The clerk ran out from behind his stand, kicked at the mess on the ground and waved his hands. He shouted but she didn't understand what he was saying. She shrugged. A few women stood around, no doubt wondering what would happen next. Alexia's face felt warm, her armpits damp. She calmly picked up the tomatoes and bagged them. “Here,” she said, sticking out her hand. The clerk snatched the Euros he wanted. “I'm sorry.” He didn't respond. She walked away, ignoring his grumbles.

Get on with it, she told herself as she stood outside the market trying to control her breathing. You didn't come here to dilly-dally. Go see where she lives. Maybe you'll figure out why Christina doesn't want you to meet Theodora. That was true, wasn't it? She'd made it pretty clear. She wouldn't bother to answer a few simple questions. “We help,” Christina had said. Then answer my questions, for God's sake.

Alexia pulled the crumpled piece of paper with Theodora's address out of her bag along with the small map in the guidebook. The address looked to be a few blocks away. She could walk there. She didn't have to find the right bus or flag a taxi.

The number was on the fence. She checked it against the one in her hand. It was the right house. Alexia glanced briefly at Theodora's house as she walked past, careful not to stare. She went around the block and came back. She found a spot in front of a boarded-up shop where she thought she'd go unnoticed and stuck the guidebook in front of her face. She moved it down slowly for a better look and held her breath. The house looked more like an oversized garden shed with one window out front and a door to the side. Just behind the front façade, there seemed to be a second storey with a couple of windows. The curtains were drawn. Clumps of sunflowers and other wild flowers lined the white picket fence and gave peek-a-boo views of the vegetable garden. Two plastic lawn chairs leaned against the house as if done for the season.

Something moved. She saw the sunhat first. A young woman in jeans and a T-shirt stood up just behind one corner of the fence and stretched. The woman gazed down at the garden, wiped her face with the back of her hand, then kneeled down again. Oh, God. Now what? Alexia heard her heart pounding in her ears, and forced herself to calmly stick her book in her bag, turn around and walk away from the house. When she rounded the corner, she picked up her pace, heading toward the bus depot.

All the way back to Diakofto, Alexia had one thought: what now?

As soon as she got to her room, she tucked Theodora's picture into her laptop bag and placed it in the bottom drawer of the armoire.

She hid the brown paper bag that read
Aigio Market
under her laptop and placed the tomatoes in Christina's hanging basket.

“Some stores have no good quality,” Christina said, when she saw the tomatoes. “Where you get these? I can take back to
kleftis
who sold them to you.”

“A small shop,” Alexia said, and picked up her book, gripped it tightly.

“Where you go today? Why you no come with us if you want to buy tomatoes?” They were on the terrace. The parched sun dipped behind the mountains. Christina stood very close to Alexia, her hands on her hips.

“Exploring,” Alexia said.

“You find what you look for?”

“I wasn't looking for anything in particular.”

She turned her mind away from the problem of Theodora and focused on routine. It was the only way she was ever going to make a rational decision. She ran most mornings. No one stared at her anymore. They were used to seeing her. After her run, she did push-ups and sit-ups, then a series of squats and lunges as she lifted large cans of cling peaches and other fruit she found in Christina's pantry. She went to the market with Christina and Katarina or took walks along the path leading to the beach. Another week or so passed. And again the questions forced themselves to the front of her mind — when am I going home? should I meet Theodora or leave things as they are? how do I get this package to her? what is Christina hiding from me? That day, she doubled up on her run, then sat with the fishermen a little longer listening to their chatter, trying to decipher all the Greek words. They put bait on her line, placed the rod in her hands. The line wiggled and jumped; she screamed and almost dropped the rod. Laughing, a fisherman took it off her line and offered her the slimy body. She shook her head, pushed it back in his direction. “
Efcharisto. Oxi.”

She called Dan from the government telephone centre, the OTE.

“You said it would only take a week or so,” he grumbled. “It's already been more than three weeks.”

“I know,” she said, “but I haven't figured things out yet.”

“What's to figure?” he asked. “You've had a nice visit, eaten all the Greek food you're probably ever going to want and now it's time to come home.”

You have no idea, she thought. “It's not that straightforward.”

“I don't like not having you around.”

“What are you talking about? You've got a whole office full of people. My being gone for a little while isn't going to make much difference.”

“It does. To me.”

“What's going on?”

“I don't know what I have to do.”

She wanted to ask what he meant. It wasn't like she hadn't been available to answer his silly questions, listen to him go on and on about a problem with one of the accounts. Before she could get the words out, he passed the phone to one of the lawyers who was looking after her cases. Dan was frustrated. She got that. But, he only cared about what she could do for the firm and the precious clients. At least she'd found a way to deliver when the Internet was working at the café, calling him at the OTE. Why couldn't he just be happy with that? Wasn't that enough?