The Island (29 page)
Authors: Victoria Hislop
Fotini, who had been hovering in the background, saw where this conversation might lead. Even if he did not intend to, she knew that Stephanos was likely to forget Giorgis’s desire to keep the facts of Eleni’s tragic death from leprosy a secret from the Vandoulakis family.
‘Here you are, Manoli!’ She dived forward with a plate of sliced aubergines. ‘These are freshly cooked. With garlic. I hope you like them. Would you excuse us a moment?’
She grabbed her husband’s arm and led him back to the kitchen.
‘You must be careful!’ she exclaimed. ‘We
all
have to forget that Anna and Maria’s mother was ever on Spinalonga. It’s the only way. We know it’s nothing for them to be ashamed of, but Alexandros Vandoulakis might not see it that way.’
all
have to forget that Anna and Maria’s mother was ever on Spinalonga. It’s the only way. We know it’s nothing for them to be ashamed of, but Alexandros Vandoulakis might not see it that way.’
Stephanos was shamefaced.
‘I know, I know. It slips my mind sometimes, that’s all. It was really stupid of me,’ he muttered. ‘Manoli comes in here so often, I forget that he’s connected with Anna.’
‘It’s not just Anna’s position I’m thinking of,’ admitted Fotini. ‘Maria has feelings for Manoli. They met only once, up at Anna’s house, but she hasn’t stopped talking about him, at least not to me.’
‘Really? That poor girl needs a husband, but he looks a bit of a rogue to me,’ replied Stephanos. ‘I suppose there’s not much choice around here, is there.’
Stephanos only saw things in black and white. He understood what his wife was getting at and realised that he and Fotini had a role to play in bringing these two together.
It was precisely a week later that the opportunity to engineer a meeting between Maria and Manoli presented itself. When Manoli appeared that Friday, Fotini slipped out of a side door and ran to the Petrakis house. Giorgis had eaten and gone to the bar to play backgammon and Maria now sat in the fading light, straining to read.
‘Maria, he’s there,’ Fotini said breathlessly. ‘Manoli is at the taverna. Why don’t you come down and see him.’
‘I can’t,’ said Maria. ‘What would my father think?’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ replied Fotini. ‘You’re twenty-three. Be bold. Your father needn’t even know.’
She grabbed her friend by the arm. Maria resisted, but only feebly; in her heart she yearned to go.
‘What do I say to him?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Don’t worry,’ Fotini reassured her. ‘Men like Manoli never allow that to be your concern, at least not for long. He’ll have plenty to say.’
Fotini was right. When they arrived at the taverna, Manoli was immediately in charge of the situation. He did not question why Maria was there, but invited her to join him at his table, asking her what she had been doing since they had last met, and how her father was. Then, more boldly than a man normally did in these situations, he said, ‘There’s a new cinema opened in Agios Nikolaos. Would you come there with me?’
Maria, already flushed from the excitement of seeing Manoli again, blushed even more deeply. She looked down into her lap and could hardly reply.
‘That would be very nice,’ she said eventually. ‘But it’s not really the done thing around here . . . going to the cinema with someone you hardly know.’
‘I tell you what, I shall ask Fotini and Stephanos to come as well. They can act as chaperones. Let’s go on Monday. That’s the day the taverna shuts, isn’t it?’
So before she knew it and had had time to be anxious and think of all the reasons against it, the date was agreed. In a mere three days from now they would all go to Agios Nikolaos.
Manoli’s manners were impeccable and their outings became a weekly event. Each Monday, the four of them would set off at about seven in the evening to spend an evening watching the latest movie, followed by supper.
Giorgis was delighted to see his daughter being wooed by this handsome and charming man, someone he had liked for many months even before his daughter had got to know him. Though it was a very modern approach - all this going out before there was any kind of formal agreement - they were, after all, moving into a more modern era, and the fact that Maria had an escort helped to contain the mutterings of disapproval from the older ladies of the village.
The four of them enjoyed each other’s company and the trips out of Plaka changed the texture and pattern of their otherwise routine lives. Laughter characterised their times together, and they were often bent double with amusement at Manoli’s jokes and antics. Maria began to allow herself the luxury of a daydream and to imagine that she could spend the rest of her days looking at this handsome, lined face, aged by life and laughter. Sometimes when he looked straight into her eyes she felt the invisible hairs on her neck stand on end and the palms of her hands dampen. Even on a warm evening she would feel herself shudder involuntarily. It was a new experience to be so flattered and teased. What light relief Manoli was from the colourless backdrop of the rest of her life! There were moments when she wondered if he was actually capable of taking anything seriously. The bubbles of his effervescence spread to everyone around him. Maria had never enjoyed such carefree happiness and began to think this euphoria was love.
Always weighing on her conscience, however, was what would become of her father if she should marry. With most marriage arrangements, the girl left her own family and moved in with her new husband’s parents. Clearly that would not happen with Manoli since he had no parents, but equally impossible was the idea that he might move into their small Plaka home. With his background, it was inconceivable. The problem went round and round in her mind, and not once did it seem absurd that Manoli had not yet even kissed her.
Manoli was on his best behaviour and had long since decided that the only way he would win Maria was by conducting himself faultlessly. How absurd it sometimes seemed to him that in another country he might have taken a girl to bed when they had scarcely exchanged names, and yet here he had spent many dozens of hours with Maria and had not yet touched her. His desire for her was intense but the waiting had a delicious novelty. He was sure his patience would be rewarded and the wait only made him want her all the more. In the early months of this courtship, when he gazed at her pale oval face framed by its halo of dark plaited hair, she would look down bashfully, afraid to meet his eye. As time went on, however, he watched her grow bolder and stare back. If he had looked closely, he would have had the satisfaction of seeing a quickening pulse on her pretty neck before her fine features broke into a smile. If he took this virgin now he knew he would be obliged to leave Plaka. Though he had deflowered dozens of girls in his past, even he could not disgrace the lovely Maria and, more importantly, a voice inside urged him to hold back. It was time to settle down.
From a distance, Anna smouldered with envy and resentment. Manoli had hardly been to visit her since Giorgis and Maria had come for lunch, and on some occasions when there were family gatherings he had stayed away. How
dare
he treat her that way? Soon she learned from her father that Manoli was wooing Maria. Was this just to provoke her? If only she could show him that she really did not care. There was no such opportunity, however, and therefore no such catharsis. She desperately tried not to think about them together, and irritably threw herself into increasingly extravagant projects about the home to distract herself. All the while she knew that in Plaka events were inexorably unfolding, but there was no one in whom she could confide, and the fury built up inside her like steam in a pressure cooker.
dare
he treat her that way? Soon she learned from her father that Manoli was wooing Maria. Was this just to provoke her? If only she could show him that she really did not care. There was no such opportunity, however, and therefore no such catharsis. She desperately tried not to think about them together, and irritably threw herself into increasingly extravagant projects about the home to distract herself. All the while she knew that in Plaka events were inexorably unfolding, but there was no one in whom she could confide, and the fury built up inside her like steam in a pressure cooker.
Andreas, dismayed by her strange mood, repeatedly asked her what was wrong and was told not to bother her. He gave up. He had sensed for a while that the halcyon days of early marriage, with its loving looks and kind words, were over, and he now busied himself more and more on the estate. Eleftheria noticed the change too. Anna had seemed so happy and vivacious just a few months before and now she seemed permanently angry. For Anna, concealing her emotions like this was the antithesis of everything that came naturally to her. She wanted to scream, shout, yank her hair in handfuls from its roots, but when her father and Maria visited her from time to time, Manoli was not even mentioned.
By some instinct, Maria felt that her friendship with Manoli might have strayed into her sister’s territory and that perhaps she regarded the Vandoulakis family as her own domain. Why make things worse by talking about it? She had no idea of the scale of Anna’s anguish and assumed that her air of vagueness was something to do with the fact that she had so far failed to conceive a child.
One February evening, six months after the weekly nights out had begun, Manoli went to find Giorgis in the bar. The old man was sitting alone, reading the local newspaper. He looked up as Manoli approached, a plume of smoke curling above his head.
‘Giorgis, may I sit down?’ Manoli asked politely.
‘Yes,’ Giorgis replied, returning to the paper. ‘I don’t own the place, do I?’
‘There’s something I want to ask you. I’ll get to the point. I would like to marry your daughter. Will you agree to it?’
Giorgis folded the newspaper carefully and placed it on the table. To Manoli it seemed an age before he spoke.
‘Agree to it? Of course I’ll agree to it! You’ve been courting the most beautiful girl in the village for over half a year - and I thought you might never ask. It’s about time!’
Giorgis’s blustering response concealed his absolute joy at the request. Not just one, but now two of his daughters were to become part of the most powerful family in the province. There was no snobbery at the heart of his sentiment, just sheer relief and pleasure that both their futures were now secure. It was the best a father could possibly hope for on behalf of his children, especially a father who was a mere fisherman. Behind Manoli’s head he could see the twinkling lights of Spinalonga through the half-shuttered window of the bar. If only Eleni could share this moment.
He put out his hand to seize Manoli’s, momentarily lost for words. His expression said enough.
‘Thank you. I will look after her, but between us we will look after you too,’ said Manoli, fully aware of the lonely situation Maria’s marriage could put her father in.
‘Hey! We need your best
tsikoudia
!’ he called out to Lidaki. ‘We have something to celebrate here. It’s a miracle. I’m no longer an orphan!’
tsikoudia
!’ he called out to Lidaki. ‘We have something to celebrate here. It’s a miracle. I’m no longer an orphan!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Lidaki, sauntering over with a bottle and two glasses, well used now to Manoli’s verbal stunts.
‘Giorgis has agreed to be my father-in-law. I am to marry Maria!’
There were a few others in the bar that evening, and even before the girl in question knew anything about it, the menfolk of the village were toasting her future with Manoli.
Later that night when Giorgis returned home, Maria was getting ready to retire to bed. As her father came in through the door, shutting it quickly to keep the February wind outside and the warmth of the fire in, she noticed an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was suffused with excitement and delight.
‘Maria,’ he said, reaching out to grab her by both arms, ‘Manoli has asked for your hand in marriage.’
For a moment she bowed her head, pleasure and pain somehow mixed in equal measure. Her throat contracted.
‘What answer did you give him?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘The one you would have wanted me to. Yes, of course!’
In all her life Maria had not felt this unfamiliar mingling of emotions. Her heart felt like a cauldron of ingredients that declined to blend. Her chest tightened with anxiety. What was this? Was happiness meant to feel so like nausea? Just as she could not imagine someone else’s pain, Maria did not know what love felt like for anyone else. She was fairly certain she loved Manoli. With his charm and wit, it was not hard to do so. But her whole future with him? A host of worries began to gnaw at her. What would happen to her father? She voiced her anxieties immediately.
‘It’s wonderful, Father. It’s really wonderful, but what about you? I can’t leave you here alone.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I can stay here - I wouldn’t want to move out of Plaka. There’s still too much for me to do here.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, though she knew exactly what he meant.
‘Spinalonga. The island still needs me - and as long as I’m fit to take my boat there I’ll keep going. Dr Lapakis relies on me, and so do all the islanders.’
There were as many comings and goings to and from the leper colony as ever. Each month there were new arrivals and supplies to be delivered, as well as building materials for the government-funded refurbishment that was being carried out. Giorgis was an essential part of the whole operation. Maria understood his attachment to the island. They rarely spoke about it now, but it was accepted between them that this was his vocation and his way of maintaining a connection with Eleni.
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