Nicolai's Daughters (23 page)

He pulled Dimitria on top of him, and buried his head in her long hair. Shifting, she took him inside.

Nicolai woke to a banging at the door. He sat up quickly, knocking Dimitria away. Half awake, she whispered, “What's wrong?” He put his finger to his mouth.

“It's Christina. Let me in.”

He heard the slap of her hands against the door and didn't move. Dimitria pulled the covers up over her breasts. Her head fell back against the headboard. He shook his head, whispered to her to be quiet. She sat still.

The noise stopped. Christina must have gone. He threw off the covers, intending to go and check, then stopped.

“Are you in there?” Christina kicked at the door. “Please, Nicky.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held his breath.

“I know you're here. Your car is in the parking lot.”

Moments passed. He heard Christina pace on the narrow sidewalk in front of his door, stopping every few minutes to jiggle the handle. He bit at his lip and held his breath. Could he outlast her? As a kid, she'd always been good at finding him when they played hide and seek. Once, he'd hidden in a small cupboard in the kitchen. He'd found it by accident. He was sure she hadn't seen it, but she didn't give up. Twenty minutes, half an hour passed. He was ready to come out. His legs and arms were sore. Finally, she flipped open the door. “Got you,” she said. She had more patience than all the rest of the family put together.

“You can't hide forever.” Christina thrust herself against the door.

“How did she find me?” he whispered to Dimitria.

“It's a small place. Achilles might have talked.”

He tiptoed to the window, peeked through a crack in the curtain. “I think she's gone.” He turned. “I've got to get you home.”

“There's no rush,” she said, reaching to pull him back to her.

“We can't keep doing this.” He held himself away. “I can't add more craziness to my life right now.”

But she was beyond listening. He saw it in her eyes. She was pulling him on top of her, nuzzling his neck, making everything so damn difficult.

They sat in a crowded café, surrounded by men standing at the bar. “Why don't you come back?” Christina asked, her eyes pleading, rather than angry now.

The conversation the men were having at the bar flared in anger, quickly doused by nervous laughter, a slap on the back. Nicolai grasped bits of their talk. “The government is driving us to ruin. We have to starve before they're happy. Why do they keep the prices of our olives so high? We can't compete.” They all nodded, clinked their glasses one against the other. Nicolai sat facing the men and the bar, his shoulder pointed towards Christina.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “It's not right.”

“You know why.”

“Mamma is heartbroken.” She shook her head.

“I can't do anything.” He sipped his coffee slowly.

Christina leaned back in her chair. “She's made you this way.”

He turned to face her. She looked so much like their mother. Her eyes drooped slightly as if a weight was pulling at each corner, slanting them.

“What are you talking about?” Nicolai asked.

“I know about Dimitria.”

“She has nothing to do with this.” He slammed his fist against the table and the men at the bar turned. Christina hunched over, her hands covering her ears. Nicolai shrugged. “This is my sister,” he said.

The men nodded as though they understood, then went back to their conversation.

“She's your cousin.” She stole glances across the room and kept her voice low. “This is a big shame for us.”

“Have you been following me? How do you know what I'm doing?”

“People talk.”

“People talk about many things. They are not all true.”

“But this is,” she said.

She glared at him the way she used to when they were kids, silently commanding him not to argue with their father yet again. “We are the oldest. We have to keep the peace.”

“And what our mother did to keep our father wasn't shameful?” Nicolai shot back.

She shook her head.

“He always felt trapped.”

“He made choices during the war. Choices he still can't accept.”

“I'm so sick and tired of hearing about how the war made him what he is. There were lots of men who suffered in the war. How many turned out like him?”

“Maybe they didn't give as much as he did.” She looked at the cup in front of her. She raised it to take a sip of the coffee she hadn't yet touched, then changed her mind. She put her hands around her cup.

“They lost their parents, they saw the massacre, and many starved to death. Then, the civil war. They nearly killed each other off. They all went through the same thing.” He flicked his open hands at her as if to rid himself of her. “I know what happened to them.”

“No. He did more.” Her knuckles were white.

“Like what?”

“We shouldn't be talking about this.” She looked beyond him, towards the front window of the café. “It's not good for any of us.”

“If you're going to play these games, I don't want to know.” He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It felt raw. He must have burned it with the coffee. He took another small sip and swallowed hard, making things worse.

“He became friendly with the Germans.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“So?”

She dabbed at her eyes with the crumpled napkin and blew her nose.

“What? For Christ's sake. What the hell is it?” He growled the words, his hand clutching at her shoulder.

She jerked away.

He turned his chair, his back now to the men at the bar. He wished he could be part of that group, talking about politics and crop prices rather than watching his sister weep.

“I went to the village, talked to people. He told them he'd fix things and scrounged food for them when he could.”

“Great, he was a hero.”

“I thought if I knew, things would be easier.”

“And is it?” I know he lied about his age, he thought. You're not going to tell me anything I don't already know. Spare yourself. It's not worth it. I know.

“What else could they have done?”

“He lied about his age to get out of being killed. There, I said it. That's what you couldn't get out. Right. Now I've said it. Stop crying.”

Christina cleared her throat. “You'll never understand, will you?”

“He made his choices. I can't do anything about that.”

“Then do it for me.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Solon's family is pushing him not to marry me. If they hear you've been fighting with our father or someone sees you and our cousin, I will lose him,” she said, reaching for his hand. “We need to show we are a good family.”

“So that's what this is all about.” He got up, threw some bills down and left Christina at the table, alone.

Achilles walked into the café as Nicolai was leaving. He spun around, put his arm in Nicolai's. “Where are you going in such a hurry? Let's have a coffee.”

“I'm busy.”

Christina pushed her chair back, threw the napkin on the table and left.

Achilles watched her departure. “Family trouble?”

Nicolai returned to the same table he'd shared with his sister, ordered himself and Achilles a coffee. Why was Achilles being friendly? He knew what had happened with Dimitria. Punch me out or yell, he thought. Let's get it over with. “So how's it going with the boardwalk?” Nicolai asked.

“Still waiting for people to come through with the money they promised.” Achilles waved to the men at the bar and nodded.

“I'll invest.” Nicolai shrugged. “It's as safe as anything else.”

Achilles turned to face him. “So, first you steal my woman and now you think your money will make things better.”

“The boardwalk is more important to you.” He pointed his spoon at Achilles. “You know it and I know it. Let's not dick around.”

“Sometimes I wish I could have more,” Achilles said. “Just once. Just to experience what it's like.” He stared straight through Nicolai. The grin gone. Then just as quickly, Achilles tilted back in his chair, stroked his beard. “You'd better be careful. She's not interested in just having a little fun.”

“We're friends. We both understand that.”

Achilles shook his head, then brought all four legs of his chair to the floor. He extended his hand. “Should we seal our new arrangement? It's a small sacrifice for me to make to guarantee my dream.”

Nicolai wasn't sure why, but Dimitria's hopeful smile came to him just then. How was he any different than Achilles?

Nicolai sat at the kitchen table in his room with the phone to his ear. The line rang busy again and he put the phone down. A few seconds later, he picked it up again. Still busy. He wondered if Alexia was talking to one of her friends or if Stuart or Mavis were on the line. He tapped the receiver against his head.

A knock rattled his door. “Yes,” he said.

Nothing. He hung up the phone, opened the door. The black shawl over his mother's head made her seem older, smaller.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to let me in?” She pushed the shawl down around her shoulders. She stared at him in that determined way of hers and he stepped back to let her in. Nicolai looked out into the parking lot. His father was sitting in the car, staring straight ahead. The engine was running.

“He brought you?”

“This was important to me.”

Nicolai pulled out a chair. She shook her head. He walked to the other side of the table. They stood, the table between them.

“We said some stupid things,” his mother said. “It's time for you to come home.”

“I can't live under the same roof. Too much has happened.”

“We'll forget everything and go on like every other family.” Her arms were crossed as if she was prepared to wait until she persuaded him to see things her way. She had to be strong to handle his father, keep their family together.

“I can't.”

“You have to think of others more than yourself,” she said. “This is important to your sister, too. You know the problem Solon's family has given her.”

“You can't change him. Or the decisions the two of you made.”

“Your father was right. Your cousin fills your head with stupidity.” Her eyes scolded him as if he was a boy again and she was mad at him for not having fed the chickens before he went to school. “You can't see that now. But you will.”

“It's not her fault. What you did has nothing to do with Dimitria.”

“Do not use that name in front of me.” She threw her hands, then her chin at him. “She is to be blamed for all of this.”

“It's your fault, yours and Pappa's.” He jabbed the air with his finger. His voice cracked. “It's always easier to blame someone else.”

“Your father brought me here. He's a good man.”

“You've convinced yourself of that. Good for you.” He walked over to the door, opened it. “He came because he wants to avoid any more talk, any shame I might bring to him. You know it and I know it. There's nothing else.”

He looked over at the car. His father glared at him.

“Why do you do this, Nicky?”

She reached to touch his cheek. He moved away. “It's too late.”

She walked through the door. He kicked it closed behind her.

Dimitria lay beside him, her leg and arm against him. “My mother is giving me trouble,” she said. She squeezed in closer. “I'm bringing shame. If I don't stop seeing you, she wants me to move out of the house.”

He stroked her hair. There were moments when they were together, having sex, when he forgot about his family, all these problems. Even so, he hadn't been able to completely let go, not the way he had with Sara. Dimitria's perfume tickled his throat and he coughed. “Sorry.”

“We're adults. I don't know why they don't see this.” She kissed his chest. “They're treating us like children. Like the time my father found us sleeping.”

“Your father was pissed off,” Nicolai said, leaning against the headboard. “He said I had to tell my father what I had done. I didn't. Why would I? I didn't do anything. We were kids playing and we fell asleep.”

“Was that all it was?”

“Nothing happened,” he said. “I never told my father a thing.”

She sat up and faced him. “Your father knew. That's why the two families stopped seeing each other. Why your sisters hate me.”

“Come on,” he said. “How did he know?”

“They always know,” Dimitria said.

He fingered her hair. “They made the mistakes.” He pulled her against him. “You could move in here. With me, if you want. There's lots of room.”

She shrugged.

She wants to know if I mean it, he thought. I don't know. It will fix the problem we have right now. I can't think past that.

“You could for a little while just until we see what happens.”

“Just a little while?”

He covered his eyes with his arm. “I've told you. This isn't an easy time for me.”

“You're not the only one.” She kissed his arm. He brought his arm down, held her.

2010

Alexia and Maria sat across from one another at the kitchen table, talking about Maria's new sweater. The low-cut cashmere hugged Maria's curves. “It's the best store in the village,” Maria said. “You'd like it.”

Alexia thought about the tailor she used to go to in Vancouver, the suits she had custom-made. You're a professional, you need to look the part, she had told herself. She hadn't missed those suits one bit.

Alexia heard what sounded like a book fall in the living room. “Can we help?” she called.

“Don't worry about Christina,” Maria said, leaning closer. “She likes to do things her way.”

A few minutes later, Christina came into the kitchen, a stack of photo albums in her arms, her face flushed.

Alexia stood up quickly to help.

Christina hugged the albums to her chest and waited while Maria cleared the cups, creamer and sugar bowl, then she dropped them on the table with a sigh.

“I thought you were going to call us to come in there,” Alexia said. “Wouldn't that have been easier?” She fingered the velvet cover of one of the albums and caught a whiff of something old.

“In the kitchen we are comfortable. No?”

“You don't like to use the other room, do you?”

“She keeps it for important guests.” Maria rolled her eyes, smirked. “We are family. Not so special.”

“My heart is in the kitchen,” Christina said. “This is where I live.”

“The rest of house is a museum,” Maria said.

“What do you know? You do not come very much.”

“The children, husband,” Maria said. “You know.”

They'd been speaking to Alexia in Greek for more than a week. She didn't understand everything and often had to reply in English, but she'd learned enough in the six weeks she'd been with them to have a basic conversation. Had it really been six weeks? She'd learned a language. At least, she'd done that.

Christina picked up one of the chairs, placed it beside hers and patted it for Alexia to sit down. Christina's leg was warm against hers. It made her think of her mother, and the Saturday mornings they spent at the kitchen table sitting side by side eating the cookies they'd just baked. “Are you ready for another one?” Sara asked as she touched Alexia's leg.

“
Ella
, Christina. You're almost on top of the poor girl. It's enough,” Maria said. “Give her some air to breathe.”

Alexia crossed her leg, detaching herself from Christina.

Christina picked up the first photo album. She pointed to the chair across, directing Maria to sit down. She grinned.

Maria tsked. “And she's supposed to be the oldest, the most mature of all of us.”

Christina reached across the table and patted Maria's hand. “And the smart one.”

Maria shook her head. They laughed like young girls sharing a secret.

“We laugh when we can,” Christina said. “We have to because nothing lasts. You see this with the riots in Athens. The money problems. There is always problems.”

No kidding, Alexia thought. When her father finally came home from Greece, her life should have been easier. They settled into a brand new condo and she started in a new school. He went back to work and the only thing he said about his trip was, “Everything was okay.” She knew he could leave her behind again anytime. Sometimes he picked her up after school, sometimes she walked home. He went to all her concerts, came to parent-teacher interviews, and they had special nights once a week, just the two of them. That first time they had one of those special outings, she stared at her burger, the ketchup she slopped on her fries and she thought she was going to be sick.

“We'll take it home if you're not hungry,” he said, then he gulped her fries one after the other, talked about what he was doing with the new account.

She smiled the way he liked her to and waited for that break in his voice. If it came, she knew what would happen next. He was going to tell her he was leaving again, explain it away as another business trip.

That night, she listened for his snoring. When she couldn't hear it from her room, she got up, quietly opened his bedroom door, and watched him while he slept, his body curled away from her. That was when she began to save her allowance. She wanted to be prepared in case he left again.

The day her father discovered her jar of coins he said, “Money is to be enjoyed. You can't take it with you.” He towered in front of her, his hands on his hips, waiting for an explanation.

“I might need it.” She met his gaze. “That's all.”

“For what?”

“I don't know right now,” she said. “But one day…”

He laughed that deep belly laugh of his. “I will take care of you. Don't worry so much,
paidi mou
.”

Christina cracked an album. A spider scuttled out. She swatted it with the tea towel tucked into the waistband of her apron. She threw the carcass into her cup. “I will put it down the sink later.”

Maria scrunched up her face, grabbed the cup and put it in the sink.

“Your father.” Christina pointed to a black and white picture of a baby leaning against a stack of pillows. He held a rattle in his fist. His knuckles were dimpled. Below one eye, a single tear. Alexia saw herself. “Like your father since the day you were born,” her mother had said when Alexia asked who she looked like. “I wanted another me, got another him. I'm happy with that. Don't get me wrong.”

“Beautiful baby, your father. No?”

His face was slightly bony even then.

“He has a small tear under his eye. Do you see?” Maria pointed.

“Even as a baby, he knew life was not going to be easy,” Christina said.

“What do you mean, Christina?” Maria asked. “He went to America to live like a king.”

“
Ella,
he was the only boy in the family. You know how our father was,” Christina said. “You know the things he said. Why are you only a B student? You're not working hard enough. Come home after school, stop fooling around with your friends. Playing is for babies. It was always the same thing, over and over again.”

Maria shrugged her shoulders, thrust her chin forward, closing her eyes in that way Alexia had come to see Greeks do when they didn't agree with what was being said. “He did this to all of us, don't you remember?”

“He used the belt on him for stupid things,” Christina said. “He was always in trouble. And when Nicolai had enough and left us, our father did not even see him off at the ship when he went to America. He didn't write to Nicolai and when Nicolai married your mother,
po po po
.” Christina bit at the bottom of her lip. “He didn't send a gift, a card, nothing. It was as if Nicolai had died, just because he didn't marry a Greek girl.” Christina shook her head and wiped at her eyes with her apron. “Our father, your
pappou,
was from a different time. He saw many things to make him like that. It was not only his fault.”

“He was this way with all of us,” Maria said. “He asked Katarina what was wrong with her after her fourth miscarriage. She still blames herself for not having a child. And look at you, you refused to have children. You know Solon wanted them, but you refused.”

“
Ella
, the right time never came.” Christina shrugged.

“You were afraid to be like him or maybe like our mother. Admit it.”

Christina shook her head. “This is what she thinks.” She placed her hand on Alexia's leg. “She only has strange ideas. No one pays attention to her.”

Maria shrugged. “Believe what you want. You know it's true.”

Christina turned the page. A girl dressed in white lace sat stiffly on a wooden chair. A boy stood behind, his hands on her shoulders. The rims of the girl's eyes were creased as if to stifle a giggle. His were focused and stern, angry with the photographer maybe for wasting his time. “Our parents,” Christina said. She crossed herself. “God rest their souls.”

“But they are just kids,” Alexia said.

“Yes, they were very young, teenagers only,” Christina said. “Maybe too young.”

Alexia thought about her father. He never told her much, never complained, but during one of their last conversations, he'd hinted about his own father.

“I didn't want to be a dad at first,” Nicolai said.

“You didn't want me.” Alexia said.

He shook his head and hugged her. “You don't understand.” He kissed her head. “I was afraid I'd be like my father. But I think you made me a better father. Not that I didn't make mistakes.”

“Your
pappou and yiayia,
” Christina said. “On their wedding day.”

“They don't look happy,” Alexia said.

“Happy? No one thought about this then,” Maria said. “She held us together.”

“My father used to say the same thing.”

“He wasn't a bad man, our father,” Christina said. “He made us learn English, helped us buy houses, and did things to help. He helped Nicolai, too.”

“How?” Alexia turned.

Christina shook her head. “One day, God willing, you will understand.”

“He didn't help Nicolai after he came home when your mother died,” Maria said. She reached over and touched Alexia's hand. “He was a stubborn man.”

“He thought Nicolai brought his own trouble when he married someone outside our church and culture. This is what he told us, but I think he always wanted the best for Nicolai. He wanted him to do better with his life.”

“Christina forgets many things.” Maria laced her fingers around her cup. “You didn't agree at first with Nicolai and his marriage either.”

“I listened to our father, then,” Christina said. “But when I met Sara, I changed.”

“How can you say that?” Maria glared at Christina. “You didn't like how she kept her house. You told us that Alexia's toys were all over the place, there was no discipline because they played all the time, there was dust and I don't know what else.”

“
Ah,
did I say this?” Christina stared down at the picture.

“After you came back from America.”

“But I went,” Christina said and shrugged as if what Maria was saying was information she hadn't heard before. “None of you did.”

“Maybe if our father helped Nicolai after your mother died,” Maria said, “life might have been different. We might have stayed close.”

Alexia caught Christina eyeing Maria severely.

“It was a different time. Solon's family was demanding. Our father thought that Nicolai might hurt Christina's chances of getting married. Christina thought so, too.”

“Why?” Alexia asked.

“Gossip, talk, who knows.” Christina sighed. “They have funny ideas in those days.”

“You had those same ideas, don't forget,” Maria said. “You still do.”

Christina shook her head and rolled her eyes. She turned another page. Nicolai was older in this picture, in his early twenties. The collar of his shirt drooped around his neck even though his tie looked like it was bound as tight as a noose. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his suit jacket. Still, he looked like a little boy lost in his father's clothes. That suit had been in her father's closet since she was a child. “I bought the best I could afford,” he said, when she asked him about it. “I keep it to remember where I came from.” After he died, Alexia found it at the back of the closet. She'd cleared out most of his stuff, but kept this suit.

“Maybe if your father had brought you with him to Greece,” Christina said, “after your mother died. We might have been together.”

“It's hard to know,” Alexia said.

She felt Christina's stare and looked down at his picture.

His eyes seemed to be laughing as if he'd gotten a joke no one else could. He had that same silly grin most of his life, Alexia thought as she stared at the picture. Except maybe for the time after Sara got sick.

“He couldn't manage,” Christina said. “And he probably thought our father would not accept you. We don't know why we do things until much time has passed.”

“Your father told us you were very brave,” Maria said. “You took care of him after your mother died.”

An image came to mind. One of the lists she'd made to help her clean the house. The cleaning ladies had helped her make that list.

“You didn't like to help your father. No?”

“I wasn't given a choice.” Alexia shrugged.

Maria ran her hand through her hair and sighed. Christina turned to the album, outlined Nicolai's face with her finger. “He had hopes for himself and for you, too, Alexia. You were the most important person to him. The most important. He made many choices to make sure you had a good life.”

“Like what?”

“One day.” Christina dabbed at her eyes with her apron.

“You haven't seen these pictures before?” Maria asked.

“
Oxi
,” Alexia said.

“This is Christina's fault.”

“Our history has to be in one place,” Christina said. “How else can we find what we need when we need it?” She dropped her apron, wiped her hands over it.

“Christina is the keeper of the pictures,” Maria said. “I beg and still she won't give me any.”

“You still don't know how to take care of things.” Christina pointed to the oven. “Get the buns, will you?” She shut the album and reached for the next one.

Using a tea cloth, Maria slid the buns out of the oven, placed them on the counter, turned off the element and opened one cupboard door after another, moved things around as she searched.

Christina put her hands over her ears and shook her head. “Stop!”

“Where is a platter for these?”

“Leave them to cool first,” Christina said. “We'll eat soon.”