When the Cypress Whispers (19 page)

“Okay. But we have a lot to talk about once this little vacation is over.”

Yia-yia watched as Stephen inhaled the stew that she had slaved over since before the sunrise. She leaned in and whispered into Daphne’s ear. “Your young man has good taste. But have you warned him about those little onions that he loves so much?”

Daphne brought her hand to her face and laughed. She shook her head
.

“Ah,
kala
. He’ll have a nice souvenir from his first day in Erikousa,” Yia-yia muttered under her breath.

That was all it took. In an attempt to keep from laughing, she pursed her lips inward, biting both her top and her lower lip. She tilted her head down, allowing her hair to fall in front of her face. The veil of black curls obscuring her features might have done the trick and hid the fact that she was laughing, but it was the way her entire body jiggled up and down that gave her away.

“What’s so funny?” Stephen pierced another pearl onion and plucked it from his fork with his teeth.

“It’s nothing.” Daphne tried composing herself, but one look at Yia-yia had her dissolving into giggles again.

“Really, what’s so funny?” he asked again.

“It’s the onions,” Popi offered as she filled her beer glass again.

“What’s so funny about the onions?”

“They . . . how do you say . . .” Popi tapped her glass with her fork as she searched for the right word. “They, you know . . . make air.”

“Huh.” Stephen took another sip of beer.

“They make air.” Popi waved her arms around her as if she might be able to capture the correct word from the passing breeze.

“They give you gas.” Daphne took a very large sip of her Mythos, not certain how Stephen would react to where this conversation was heading. As much as Stephen had a fine sense of humor, these were unchartered waters for him. With Greeks, no conversation was ever off-limits; nothing was ever considered too gross, inappropriate, or even risqué for dinner table conversation. There was basic, primal humor to be found in body functions, and Greeks always seemed to value a good punch line over propriety.

“Farts!” Popi yelled, slamming the empty bottle of Mythos on the table. “Yes, that’s the word. Farts.”

Daphne hid under her hair once again.

Popi placed her hand on Stephen’s shoulder and leaned in closer toward him. “Cousin, be glad you are here outside with us and not in one of your important meetings.
Stifado
is so good.” She smacked her lips. “But not good for business.”

And from the way Stephen squirmed in his seat and dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief, it seemed it wasn’t good for dinner-table conversation either.

Twenty-six

After everyone had stuffed themselves with the
stifado
, Daphne insisted Yia-yia stay seated so she alone could clear the table. Daphne knew how much work had gone into this lunch, and she didn’t want Yia-yia to exhaust herself any further. She cleared the plates one by one, scraping what little bits were left into a large bowl to give to Nitsa so she could feed her pigs later that evening. Daphne noticed how little was left on each plate; the
stifado
had been too extraordinary to leave any morsel behind. She felt sorry for the pigs whose evening slop would be slighter than normal. As she lifted Stephen’s plate, she laughed out loud, noticing how he had picked the bowl clean except for the tiny pearl onions, which had been left behind in a smattering of sauce.

“Daphne
mou
, I’ll sit here and rest a moment.
Efharisto
.” Yia-yia sat with her hands folded on her lap and watched as her newly extended family went about the business of getting to know each other. But like any good Greek hostess, she always had enough food to feed the entire village. And like any good Greek village, the villagers were more than happy to show up and enjoy the hospitality.

Nitsa was the first to arrive, her heavy footsteps heralding her arrival before the squeaky gate could do the honors. Nitsa was followed by Father Nikolaos and his entire family, as well as half a dozen or so
theas
and
theos
who were happy to indulge in Yia-yia’s delicious
stifado
as well as the entertainment of getting to know Daphne’s rich American.

“Stephen. How is your first day on our beautiful island?” Stephen braced himself as Nitsa approached. Cigarette in hand, Nitsa enveloped Stephen in her arms and hugged him close, pressing his face deep into her bosom.

“Great. Just great,” he managed to spit out, despite the fact that Nitsa’s humongous breasts were now blocking all of his air passages.

“Excuse me, Thea Nitsa.” Daphne pulled Stephen away before the lack of oxygen could do any harm. “I need to borrow my fiancé. He still hasn’t met Father Nikolaos and Presbytera.”

“Thanks,” he whispered, red faced, as she pulled him away.

“Don’t mention it.” Daphne laughed. She led him back to the table where Yia-yia still sat, now surrounded by Father Nikolaos, his wife, and their baby.

“Father.” Daphne took the priest’s hand and kissed it. “Father, this is my fiancé. This is Stephen.”

“
Yia sou
,” Stephen said. The priest reached his hand out. Instead of kissing the priest’s hand, as was the custom, Stephen shook Father’s hand as if he were closing a deal. If Father was offended, he didn’t show it. The priest simply smiled. He lifted his right hand and formed the sign of the cross in the air between Daphne and Stephen. “God bless you” was all he knew to say in English.

“Same to you,” Stephen replied.

“Stephen, this is Presbytera. She was kind enough to offer to make our wedding crowns from local flowers. Isn’t that wonderful? Now that is a true blessing.”

“
Yia sou
, Stephen.” Presbytera stood, her gurgling baby straddling her hip as she kissed Stephen on each cheek. “Daphne, tell your young man we are so happy and honored to welcome him to our island and to God’s house. I pray Agios Spyridon watches over him and that God grants you both many children, and many years of health and happiness.”

Daphne translated Presbytera’s wishes for Stephen, who smiled politely in response.

As the sunlit afternoon gave way to a beautiful sunset, the welcome party thinned considerably. It had been a long afternoon filled with food, laughter, and a lot of translation as Daphne found herself interpreting well wishes the entire afternoon.

“Congratulations.”

“Welcome to the family.”

“Welcome to Greece.”

“May God bless you.”

“Why are you so skinny?”

“Is this why you are so rich, because you spend no money on food?”

“Exactly how rich are you?”

“My son wants to come to America. Can you give him a job?”

W
HEN THE PLEASANTRIES AS WELL
as the food were finally exhausted, Daphne stood alone on the edge of the patio and watched as the sun tucked itself away behind the faraway shelf of the Ionian Sea, reveling in the fleeting quiet and the magical golden light. She looked around her and took in the moment. There was Yia-yia, huddled over and making coffee by the fire. Evie played quietly in one corner of the patio with her favorite baby chick, her kitten curled up in her lap. And there, huddled together under the olive tree, were Popi and Stephen, once again deep in conversation.

Just as the final glimmer of the sun’s orange orb disappeared behind the horizon, Daphne was about to turn and join Yia-yia for coffee, but the creaking of the gate made her turn instead toward the noise.

“
Yia sou
, Thea Evangelia.”

It was Yianni. He carried a brown net draped across one shoulder and a large white bucket in his hand. “Thea Evangelia . . .” He dropped his net and bucket at Yia-yia’s feet and bent down to kiss the old woman on both of her cheeks. “Thea
mou
, tonight the sea delivered many gifts. She was very generous as I lifted my nets. I thought, with your family growing every day . . .” He looked around the patio and saw that everyone—Daphne, Evie, Popi, and even Stephen—had stopped what they were doing to watch him. “I thought that you might like to share in her bounty.”

“Ah, Yianni
mou
. You are always so good to me, so kind.” Yia-yia poured him a cup of coffee before he could ask for one.

Daphne felt the uneasiness return in her belly, the knot in her neck tighten. After their time together on the
kaiki
, when he told her the story of how their
yia-yias
had survived the war together, she had seen another side to this man whom she had once so strongly disliked. Daphne no longer saw Yianni as a danger. He was no longer a threat. When they had first met, the mere thought of Yianni unleashed the vicious furies in Daphne’s mind. But from the moment he had opened up to her, had shared his
kaiki
, his stories, and the sea urchins, Daphne realized, that was no longer the case. There was nothing to fear about this mysterious man. And like the bloodthirsty furies who had their fill of vengeance and ultimately turned benevolent in the story of Orestes, Daphne felt a shift in their story as well.

“
Yia sou
, Yianni.” It seemed the arrival of a single, eligible man was what it took to pry Popi away from Stephen. “Yianni, this is Stephen. This is my cousin, Daphne’s fiancé.
O Amerikanos
,” Popi announced.

“Welcome to Erikousa. I hope you will come to love our island as much as we do.” Yianni spoke directly to Stephen and in perfect English.

“You speak English?” Stephen scanned Yianni head to toe. With his deep tan and frayed denim shorts, he wore the appearance of a man who spent his life on the open sea, not in a classroom learning proper English.

“Yes, I speak English.” Yianni sipped his coffee. “I studied at Athens University before continuing my degree at Columbia.”

“I didn’t know that. You never said you lived in New York.” Daphne stepped forward. She thought she had learned so much about him on their trip to Kerkyra. Now, once again, she felt she knew nothing.

“Yes. The classics. I was going to be a great professor, you know.” He laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, the laugh of a man trying to convince himself as much as the others. This time Daphne had no trouble reading Yianni. She could see the longing in his eyes, hear the disillusionment in the crack of his voice. Everything about this man was so foreign, yet so familiar.

“My plan was to come back to Athens and to open the minds of the younger generation to the lessons of our ancestors.” Yianni laughed at how ambitious it all sounded, how futile. “But things didn’t work out as planned. I studied at Columbia but left after a year.” He looked from Daphne to Stephen. “Ivy League life was not for me. I prefer the simplicity of life here. I was like a fish out of water. A bad pun, I know.” There was that laugh again. “But it is the truth.”

“When were you there—when were you in New York, I mean? You could have gotten in touch with me, Yia-yia could have told you how.” Daphne surprised herself with the sincerity of her words.

“It was years ago, Daphne. That was before I met your
yia-yia
, before I came to this island. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“That’s too bad. We could have met each other a lifetime ago, as you said.” It was Daphne’s turn to laugh now, thinking how nice it would have been to have had some link to Erikousa back home in New York. Daphne always felt like she straddled two worlds, her Greek life and her American life. She had always wished there were a way to bridge the gap between the two. But once Mama and Baba died, there was nothing or no one to share her Greek self with; it was as if part of her identity had died along with her parents.

“Yes, it is too bad. I might have given New York another try had we met back then. Maybe I would have stayed longer, had reason to try harder. Things might have been different,” Yianni replied, never taking his eyes off of Daphne.

“Well, it is beautiful. Amazing though, don’t you think that in this day and age things can still stay so old-fashioned”—Stephen glanced around at the sloped and cracked patio, past the gate to the dirt path in front of the house—“so unchanged.”

“This place is unlike any other, and so are its people.” Yianni tugged at his beard. “But don’t be fooled by our outward simplicity, my new American friend. There are many layers to the people of this island, and many incredible things here besides the sea and its natural beauty.”

Yianni took his hand from Yia-yia’s shoulder and leaned forward to grab Evie as she chased the chick across the patio. He plucked the little girl up and tossed her into the air, her laughter dancing across the treetops and across the island like a tender melody carried on the evening breeze. Yianni planted a gentle kiss on Evie’s head before setting her down again. The little girl stood there for a moment, looking up at Yianni, her cheeks red from laughter, her eyes glistening with mischief. She reached her little hand up and tickled Yianni’s belly with her tiny fingertips and was rewarded with a deep belly laugh. Evie stuck her tongue out at him and ran away, her giggles trailing behind like ribbons in the wind.

Perhaps this is one of the magical things Yianni was talking about, Daphne thought as she watched Evie skip away. Daphne had never seen her little girl so at ease with a man before. Having grown up without a father, she wasn’t used to having men around; in fact, she was still getting used to Stephen.

“Well, I guess I’m just a New Yorker, like my fiancée, right, Daphne?” Stephen pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. It was an unusual gesture from a man who rarely indulged in public displays of anything. This fact was not lost on Daphne.

“Well, then, my congratulations again for the happy couple. It seems you were meant for each other.” He put his cap on his head, pulling the brim down so the black pools of his eyes were now shaded, almost obscured. “So, as I said, we may be simple people, but we are generous. What little we have, we share.” Yianni lifted the bucket from the floor and dumped its contents on the patio. “I know the bride likes sea urchins. Consider this a wedding gift.” About two dozen black and brown sea urchins spilled across the patio, the spiky creatures rolling in every direction along the uneven surface.

“
Kali
nichta
—good to meet you, Stephen. I hope you enjoy your visit with us.” Yianni kissed Yia-yia good-bye and tipped his hat to Popi and Daphne. He opened the gate and was hurtling down the stairs before the last of the sea urchins had settled into place.

As one of the urchins stopped at her feet, Daphne bent to pick it up. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe she was just tired. But whatever the reason, Daphne was a bit more careless than usual when she bent down to pick up the black spiked ball at her feet. She cupped her fingers around the barbs and pressed on the sea urchin just a little harder than she should. She flinched as the spike penetrated her skin, a tiny red drop of blood emerging where it had broken through. Daphne brought her finger to her mouth and sucked until the blood disappeared in her mouth, the copper taste spilling across her tongue as she watched the gate slam shut.