The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) (13 page)

‘You know, I think I saw her in there.’ She points to the doors with all the commotion.

The stone room is hot, hotter than outside. Trestle tables fill the space, each seating eight or ten people, everyone talking and everyone eating, the nuns staggering between with plates laden with food, smiling as they go.

‘I can’t see him,’ Babis says.

‘Who?’ Yanni asks. There is a nun whose movements suggest she is not so old serving at an end table, but he cannot see her face.

‘The mayor.’ Babis sound incredulous. ‘
Yeia sou
Stella. Mitsos,’ he calls. For a second, Yanni’s attention is taken as Stella calls back.

‘
Yeia
Yanni, Babis.’

She is sitting next to Mitsos, who is next to Theo from the kafeneio. Theo has a woman beside him whom Yanni has not seen before, and he is holding her hand. Vasso sits opposite and next to her is the woman in the navy skirt, only today she wears a dress, also in navy. Next to her, a woman with blonde hair who does not look Greek. But Yanni’s eyes only touch on her, as they are drawn back to the woman in the navy dress and he tries to swallow but his need for breath comes first and he starts to choke. She looks up at the sound and their eyes meet.

Chapter 16

At the end of the hall, a plate smashes and the nun young enough to still have energy in her limbs bends to pick up the pieces.

The room is oppressively hot and the small windows do not let in much light. There is a haze in the room, a mix of dust and smoke from the wood burning stove in the kitchen. Yanni cannot understand the appeal of sitting and eating in such a stifling atmosphere.

‘Come on.’ Babis is growing impatient. ‘If we get this done, we can sit and eat, too.’ Spiros has a hand on his stomach as he watches plate after plate being brought out from the kitchen, steaming and aromatic—tomatoes, garlic, and oregano. Yanni, bending backwards slightly, still can’t see her face even as she stands; the side of her headscarf has dropped forward. Another nun, older, stouter, who is helping her to pick up the pieces, gets in his line of sight. He leans the other way. A man at another table stands to shuffle his chair in, momentarily blocking the view of both nuns.

Above the joyful chatter of the throng, the scraping of wooden chairs on the stone floor, and the clatter of knives and forks against plates Yanni hears a voice in his ear.

‘Would you gentlemen mind waiting for the next sitting outside,’ a middle-aged nun requests, with a rather stern expression on her face. She seems fazed by the number of people in the room. ‘It’s getting a little difficult to move in here.’ She presses up against Yanni, muttering her apologies, as another nun pushes past her with a jug and glasses. Yanni only glances at the nun talking, and the one who pushes past for a second, but when he looks back to where the plate pieces were being cleared up, the younger nun is gone. He scans the room; she is nowhere to be seen. Looking from corner to table, he scans each of the nuns who are serving and those hovering, eager to be of service around the tables. In his search, he makes eye contact with the woman in the navy dress again, who now has a sadness in her eyes. She holds his gaze for a fraction of a second and then breaks the connection by looking down at her food. She is not eating. Her food sits untouched, her hands in her lap. Without thought, one of Yanni’s feet lifts to take him to her.

‘Yes, I’m hungry,’ Spiros says and Babis pulls on Yanni’s sleeve, breaks his trance, and with a determined tug, they leave the room together, Yanni’s legs moving mechanically. As he walks, he looks behind him; it is Spiros who leads. His hand is over his breast pocket, over the book given to him by Sophia. His mind’s eye creates pictures of the woman in the navy dress but his thoughts are focusing, sharpening on getting him home, leaving this madness behind. The whole emotional situation is too much. It would be simpler to be alone the rest of his life, on the top of the ridge. Alone with his goats and away from these things that torment.

‘There he is,’ Babis announces.

The smell of incense wafts out of the chapel before Yanni’s attention is grabbed by the shimmer of the thousand lit candles reflecting on the gold surrounds of the icons. Next to the
manoulia
, glittering with its tiers of prayer candles, stands a big man in a dark suit, his chest puffed out as he talks to a priest. The holy man only appears the taller of the two due to his black pillar-box hat. There is an insincerity in the suited man’s voice and he does not look the priest in the eye as he talks. Instead, he gazes far away at the ideas and aspirations he vocalizes. He has his arm around the priest’s shoulder. The mayor speaks loudly and laughs strongly. Next to him is a slim man also in a suit, but his is a pale grey, of thinner material. This man’s eyebrows are formed as if he is permanently surprised and there are smile lines around his eyes. His arms dangle by his side. In one hand, he holds a candle as if ready to be lit, to say a prayer. It gives the impression that the thin man came in to kiss an icon and the two of them being there together is a coincidence, although they are standing close enough together to suggest they know one another.

The priest shakes the big man’s hand and departs.

‘That him?’ Yanni asks. Babis nods but seems to hesitate. Yanni’s mouth sets hard as he jerks his head, encouraging Babis to make a move. Babis stands rooted. Yanni gives him a last hard stare and turns to go to the man himself, which creates a reaction in Babis.

‘Leave it to me.’ Babis puts a restraining arm across Yanni’s chest as he steps forward. ‘But we cannot talk of such things here in God’s house.’ Yanni opens his mouth to say something as the big man notices them and steps towards them.

‘Ah, the new lawyer,’ he says loudly but as he does so, his focus flicks across to Spiros, his eyes darkening, his smile wiped away for a second and his bottom lip twisted. He recovers quickly.

‘Lawyers.’ Spiros adds the plural. It is Yanni’s turn to glance at Spiros, but the mayor speaks.

‘Might be needing you, my friend. What’s your name again?’ His voice fills the domed room, echoing off the gold leafed frescos. The faces of saints look down on them, smoke from the hundreds of flickering candle swirling upwards.

For a second, Yanni watches Babis falter, a smile on his lips at the thought of being needed by the mayor, perhaps? Yanni steps closer to him. Spiros comes around his other side, in between Babis and the thin man in the light suit who smiles broadly at him.

‘I think we need to talk.’ Babis regains control of his smile, his brows knot, but his resolve seems shaken. Yanni steps even closer, so his shoulder touches Babis’.

‘Any time, my boy, any time. My door is always open to you, and like I said, I might be needing you to help me with a little project.’ He leans towards Babis to say more quietly, ‘Could be very interesting work. Interesting in many ways perhaps.’ He straightens and resumes his booming baritone. ‘Gerasimos was going to look at it for me but his mama has taken ill, you know. He has been called back to Thessaloniki.’ He laughs from his stomach, spittle coming white in the corner of his mouth. It seems inappropriate after talking about a sick woman.

‘That’s the very thing I, or rather we,’ Babis looks at Yanni and Spiros, one either side of him, ‘wish to talk about.’ Yanni can see Babis is ever so slightly trembling. He puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes it briefly to let him know he is there, to give him some confidence.

‘Good, good.’ The mayor eyes Spiros again, who has been distracted by the gold leafed icon painting on the
templon
. He looks from one to the next, his mouth open slightly.

‘Perhaps not so good,’ Babis regains the mayor’s attention, ‘but I do not wish to say all your sins here in the sight of God.’ Saying this seems to harden his resolve. In any case, he stops trembling. ‘Sufficient to say I have enough evidence for you to need to say your prayers tonight. We can meet tomorrow.’ Babis’ own chest puffs out with these words.

The colour drains from the mayor’s face and it takes on a waxy sheen. There is a pause and no one seems to know what to say or do next.

‘How are you, nephew?’ the thin man, who Yanni had completely forgotten about, says kindly to Spiros.

‘Oh Yanni,’ Babis is suddenly animated, ‘you haven’t met the new judge of Saros, have you?’ Babis introduces the thin man, who holds out his hand to Yanni.

‘You are this man’s uncle?’ The mayor’s voice is not so loud now as he addresses the judge. His forehead is speckled with beads of perspiration, each drop reflecting icons and candles, giving the effect that he is almost on fire.

‘Is something amiss, my boy?’ the judge says and puts an arm around Spiros, declaring an affiliation to him.

‘I think I need a glass of water.’ The mayor pushes past them out into the courtyard.

‘He knows we know,’ Babis says, an edge of triumph from his voice. ‘We will see him tomorrow!’

‘It all sounds very intriguing,’ the new judge says, his words light, calm. ‘I suppose I will get the hang of everything eventually. Oh, look, there’s your aunt, Spiros. I’d better go to her. I said I would only be a minute.’ With this, he quickly lights his candle, plants it in a sand tray that is illuminated by a hundred others, crosses himself, and strides outside to a woman who is beckoning him to hurry. By the surge of people going in through the doors opposite, it’s clear the second sitting has been called.

‘So, there we go. There is no turning back now,’ Babis says. ‘You happy now?’ There is a smugness in his voice and energy in his limbs, one hand rubbing his stomach, perhaps in anticipation of food he might now be able to go and eat.

Yanni’s face is like stone, and Babis takes a step back, a puzzled look on his face. ‘What is it, Yanni? I thought you would be pleased …’ Without warning, Yanni’s fist drives towards Babi’s face. Spiros leaps between them and the blow glances off his shoulder, sending Yanni reeling into the chairs that line the side of the little church. Spiros recovers first and puts his hands out to help Yanni up, brushing him down as he stands.

‘What the …’ Babis holds back the expletive and crosses himself for his thoughts. ‘Now what’s wrong with you?’ He holds his arms out towards Yanni in submission and takes a couple of steps to put himself behind the
manoulia
, adding distance and solidity between them. Spiros is standing with arms open, first facing one of them then the other, clearly confused by the situation.

‘When exactly did you know the judge was Spiro’s uncle?’ Yanni spits as he speaks.

‘I told him when you went for a walk,’ Spiros is quick to say, turning to Yanni. ‘He was badmouthing the referee on the television and saying everyone who is in a position to judge judges badly, so I got cross and told him my uncle was the new judge, which he seemed to like and he gave me a beer.’ The words rush out.

‘So that speech of yours that you gave me when I came back from my little walk, how did it go? “It is every man’s duty, blah blah blah. What a small sacrifice my career will be blah blah, as a lawyer for the people and so on”. All those flowery phrases that you met me with when I came back were because you knew Spiro’s uncle was the judge.’ Yanni clenches his fists.

‘Well obviously it had some bearing …’ Babis looks quickly to the door, but Yanni moves to block his exit. ‘But I am not sure why that would move you to strike me, cousin?’

‘So as soon you knew the judge was not in the pocket of the mayor, as soon as you knew he was the uncle of someone on your side, as soon as you know you are safe, then and only then do you think to act on the peoples’ behalf?’ Yanni is so cross, flecks of spittle leave his mouth as he tries to speak without shouting, ‘And you haven’t even got the decency to say so. Instead you put on that little performance about being the lawyer of the people. A performance to me! Me, of all people! Who are you really trying to impress? Yourself?’ He draws the tone down at the end of the sentence; he has finished. Babis’ eyebrows raise as he shuts his mouth. ‘What’s more,’ Yanni hisses, animated with new thoughts, ‘I saw you hesitate to speak out in front of the mayor just now. I saw your hesitation when he said he “needed” you.’ Yanni sucks his teeth in disgust. ‘You would have stepped into Gerasimos’ shoes without a care for anyone if you thought you could get away with it.’

‘Yanni, the ways of the world are harsher than you think ...’

‘The ways of the world are as you make them ...’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You have two parents back on your precious little island. Your memory is short, my friend, and you have forgotten the things that happened to me here in the real world …’

‘I have not forgotten,’ Yanni says, more quietly now, ‘but that is no excuse to make the world a worse place.’

‘But I am not. We are not. We are going to face him.’

‘Only because it will further your career now. Have you no
filotimo
, Babis?’ Yannis uses the last of the air in his lungs to spit these final words. He turns his face away and takes a lungful of incensed air. A teenage girl comes in, assesses the situation in a glance, and walks out again.

‘I don’t think with you both being lawyers, you should argue in the house of God,’ Spiros whispers loudly, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.

‘And where did you get the idea I was scum like him?’ Yanni explodes. ‘I am no lawyer.’

‘But, he said you were.’ Spiros points to Babis, who is waving his hands as if to stop him. ‘That night that we …’

‘When?’ A stillness has come over Yanni.

‘When we first saw you in the bar. I asked Takis which was the one we were to beat up, which one was the lawyer and Babis looks up, he must have heard me, he pointed to you, and then when you left, he called you “lawyer” again.’

Babis backs away from Yanni, his eyes on the door, the only exit. ‘Look, I am sorry, Yanni. I just thought you would deal with them better than me. I am not athletic like you.’ Babis’ eyes shine as if tears have filled them. ‘Gerasimos is known for his hard-handed approach, and the way they were looking at us,’ his eyes flick to Spiros, ‘but really I just thought someone like you could brush them off.’ His voice is pleading, the sweat stains on the armpits of his shirt growing rapidly, the smell over the incense just discernible.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ Spiros asks.

Yanni watches Babis shrinking and turns to Spiros. ‘No. You can be proud.’ His emphasis is on the word
you
. His step is sure and controlled as he walks from the church.

The nun who asked him to wait outside comes trotting as fast as she can across the courtyard.

‘I have saved you and your friends a place.’ She smiles through the words.