When the Cypress Whispers (26 page)

It was no louder than a soft murmur, like the sound of a hummingbird’s tiny wings flitting on the breeze. She stayed there, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, forcing her sobs to quiet down so she could hear.

And finally, she did.

Even as the tears continued to spill down her cheeks, a broad smile spread across Daphne’s face. She was amazed that in the midst of such despair, such sorrow, there could also be such beauty and joy. She clutched her hands to her chest, sobbing and laughing simultaneously. The voice she heard was not the booming baritone of some great and powerful God, nor was it the ethereal mutterings of some nameless, faceless deity. The voice that greeted Daphne on the breeze was a familiar one. It was the voice of Yia-yia; soft, comforting and loving—singing softly to Daphne now, just as she had so many years ago, so many times before.

I love you like no other . . .

I have no gifts to shower upon you

No gold or jewels or riches

But still, I give you all I have

And that, my sweet child, is all my love

I promise you this,

You will always have my love

Thirty-five

Wearing the black uniform of mourning, Nitsa, Popi, and Daphne worked side by side all morning preparing Yia-yia for her funeral. There was no mortician to summon for such duties. Here, in death as in life, families took care of their own. Daphne searched the closet and found Yia-yia’s nicest black dress, the one she had planned on wearing to the wedding. She hand-washed the dress in the basin out back and placed it on the clothesline, infusing the fabric with the island breeze that had meant so much to the old woman.

The three women worked together through their tears. They laughed, thinking of all the wonderful times they’d shared together, and cried, thinking that Yia-yia would no longer be waiting for them by the fire. Together they bathed Yia-yia’s lifeless body, but Daphne insisted she be the one to braid Yia-yia’s hair for the last time. They lifted Yia-yia into the simple wood casket and placed her hands on her chest. In her hands they placed a single red rose plucked from her garden along with an icon of her beloved Agios Spyridon
.

“So you can always tell me your stories,” Daphne whispered into Yia-yia’s ear as she tucked a cypress sprig beneath her grandmother’s body.

Daphne had toyed with the idea of holding the wake in the church, but instead she chose to honor the island tradition of a home wake. She wanted Yia-yia to spend her final moments in the simple and sparse home that had provided them all with immeasurable riches. At first Evie was frightened by the sight of Yia-yia lying still and silent in the middle of the living room. The little girl could not understand why her
yia-yia
was lying in the brown box and would not get up to see the newly hatched chicks, as Evie so desperately pleaded with her to do.

“She’s gone, honey,” Daphne tried explaining as she stood next to the casket, stroking Evie’s hair. “She’s up in heaven with your daddy and your other
yia-yia
and Papou. They’re watching over you, sweetheart.”

“But why won’t she get up, Mommy? Tell Yia-yia to get up,” Evie cried as she stomped her feet. Seeing her little girl in tears brought them once again to Daphne’s eyes as well.

Stephen stood perched in the doorway as if death were contagious. He had never seen anything like this in his life and wasn’t quite sure how to process it. Back home, there were people who dealt with this sort of thing. For Stephen, death, like cleaning the tub or doing your taxes, was something to be outsourced.

“Don’t you think we should move her to the church?” he asked as he first walked into the house. He didn’t wait for Daphne to answer. “I really think we should move her to the church.”

It seemed the entire island filed in to the little house to pay their respects to Yia-yia. One by one they entered the living room, knelt at Yia-yia’s side, and spoke to her, sang to her; caressed her face, kissed her hands, and showed her the same reverence, warmth, and affection in death as they all had in life. For a full day and night the entire island gave up their own homes for the sake of keeping Yia-yia company as she left hers.

Sophia was one of the first to arrive. She brought with her a tray of homemade
koulourakia
, simple braided cookies. “I thought you could serve these to everyone as they drank their coffee.” She smiled at Daphne as she placed the tray on the table. “Your
yia-yia
was always so good to me, Daphne. I know we don’t know each other well, but I want you to know how much she meant to me. There were so many afternoons spent here, drinking coffee. Thea Evangelia would comfort me and tell me to be strong, not to lose my faith, not to care what the gossips say about me. Her friendship meant everything to me. She told me to have faith when I had lost mine. She told me that despite what the gossips said, Petro had not forgotten me. That he still loved me and would send for me. And she was right.” Sophia squeezed Daphne’s hand. “He has sent for me, Daphne. He’s saved enough money, and I am finally going to join him in New York. We’re going to have a new life together, Daphne. Just as Thea Evangelia told me we would.”

“She was always right.” Daphne brought one of the
koulourakia
to her lips. She was surprised to realize just how hungry she was, that she had forgotten to eat all day. “I am so happy for you, Sophia. Really I am. Yianni speaks very highly of you as well.”

“He is a good man, Daphne. I feel lucky to call him my friend.”

Me too, Daphne thought. Me too. “Excuse me,” she said as she turned away from Sophia. She heard the gate creak open and was surprised to find Ari standing there, holding a small cluster of wildflowers.

“Ari?” Daphne couldn’t help saying his name as if it were a question. She’d known everyone on the island would come say his or her good-byes, but for some reason she had not envisioned Ari showing up.

“You sound surprised to see me.” He held out the flowers for Daphne to take. “Here, these are for you. Well, for you and Thea Evangelia.”

“Thank you.”

“I just wanted to say good-bye to her. She helped me, Daphne. Even though I know she meant what she said that time about using her machete—” Daphne and Ari both laughed at the memory of Yia-yia hunting Ari down and threatening to cut off his manhood. “Even though she owed me nothing, she helped me, Daphne. I never told a soul, but somehow she knew that I was going to lose my house—that I had no money left; that I had gambled and drunk it all away. I went to the bank to turn in my keys, and by some miracle they told me my debt was gone, that it had been paid in full. A few days afterward, your
yia-yia
and I passed each other on the road to the port. She reached her walking stick out and blocked my path. ‘You scare the young girls,’ she said to me. ‘Leave them alone and let them be. Our young girls have enough to worry about without you lurking in the shadows. You’ve been given a second chance, a fresh start in your home. It’s only right to give a gift back. It’s time to give our girls the gift of peace.’ Then without another word, she removed her walking stick from my path and went on her way. And so I made a promise that day. I never bothered another girl again. I keep my hands and my eyes to myself. I know it was Thea Evangelia who paid my debt. I made a promise to her, and I will never break it.”

Daphne put her hands on her hips. “Come on, Ari. Save your stories for someone else. I saw you, Ari, remember? I was there that day on Big Al, the day you mauled that blond girl. Her boyfriend would have killed you if we let him. Don’t try to tell me you’ve changed. Not when I’ve seen you with my own eyes.”

“I promised never to look or bother another
island
girl, Daphne,” he insisted. “That girl was German.”

As she stared at Ari grinning back at her, Daphne heard a piercing wail coming from inside the house. She left Ari standing there and ran inside to find Nitsa laying her rotund body across the casket, covering Yia-yia’s with her own.

“Daphne
mou
, Daphne, my child.” Nitsa sobbed and pounded on her chest with her fist, her black slip tangled up between her legs, exposing her knee-high stockings, her fat knees bulging over the elastic that dug into her flesh.

“It is a black day that you have left this earth, Evangelia. A black, black day. One last hug—one last hug from you, my friend.” Daphne didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as Nitsa hoisted her skirt up farther between her legs so she could lean in to give Yia-yia another hug.

Daphne looked from Nitsa over to Stephen, who was still hovering in the doorway, watching with a mix of wonder and disgust on his face. Surely, Daphne thought, he had never seen anything like this in the proper funerals he had attended back home. But as confused as Stephen seemed to be by the overt displays of grief, Daphne was surprisingly comforted by them. In all these years, she had hated the dramatics of wailing lament songs. But this was different. This time Daphne was just as overwhelmed herself. She too would have beaten her chest, pulled out her hair, clawed at her face, or thrown herself on the casket, if it would only bring Yia-yia back. Daphne finally understood that for these people, mourning was not a contest. There was no prize for the person whose grief outshone others, the one who cried the loudest or beat her chest the hardest. This was emotion, pure unfiltered love and emotion, and it was all they had to offer. They had no money for large charitable donations in Yia-yia’s name; there were no monuments to be built for the simple old woman, no full-page obituaries to buy so everyone could read about her virtues. This was the only way they could honor her; with their emotions, their voices, and their grief. And these things, Daphne realized, were far more precious and meaningful than anything she could imagine.

“Daphne
mou
. Oh, Daphne, I am so sorry. What will we do without her?” Popi fell into Daphne’s arms. “Look at you. You were supposed to be wearing white, the white of your wedding dress, not dressed in black for mourning.”

“It’s okay, Popi. Don’t worry about me.” She meant to say more, to tell Popi that there would be no wedding, but the touch of a hand on her shoulder made her turn around before she could continue.

“Yianni.” She swayed ever so slightly. Perhaps no one else would have even noticed, but he did. He placed his arm around her waist and steadied her.

“I am so sorry, Daphne.” He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept himself.

“I know.” She looked up at him, his disheveled hair, his gray stubble. She felt comforted by the touch of his hand, as if she knew those hands could support her, could keep her safe. “I know you loved her. She loved you too. You were very special to her.” She made no effort to move away.

“I feel blessed to have known her, Daphne. She changed my life. She gave it meaning.” His dark eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again, Daphne noticed how red they were, how dark the circles under his eyes appeared. She also couldn’t help but notice that his hand was still around her waist. That fact was not lost on Stephen either, who for the first time that morning entered the room where Yia-yia’s body lay.

“Daphne.” Stephen finally moved from his perch outside the door and entered the room. “Are you all right, honey?”

As if on cue, Yianni dropped his arm from Daphne’s waist. “Excuse me,” he said as he walked to the casket. Instantly, the comfort was gone.

Daphne watched as Yianni walked over to Yia-yia and knelt beside her body. He closed his eyes as if in prayer. When he was finished, he leaned in and touched Yia-yia’s hand before whispering something into her ear.

“So are you?” Stephen was speaking to her, but she was so immersed in what Yianni was doing that she didn’t hear what he was saying.

“Am I what?”

“I said, just come spend the night at the hotel with me. There’s no one left to judge you, Daphne.” He put his arm around her waist just as Yianni had done. “Come stay with me.” He tugged her closer.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I want to stay here. I need to be here.” She pulled away from him just slightly. “I need you to understand. I really need you to understand why this is so important to me.”

“I know. But I thought I was important too,” he said before dropping his hand from her waist and walking over again to his perch in the doorway.

Daphne didn’t follow him. She stood and watched as Yianni reached his hand out and lay it on top of Yia-yia’s, smiling down at his dear friend. He leaned in and kissed her one last time. Finally he turned away from the casket. He bent his head to put his cap on, the glistening streak of a single tear sliding down his face.

After a few more hours, the house slowly emptied out. As she walked around the patio, Daphne was struck by how clean and orderly everything was. Each of the women had helped; washing dishes and sweeping the patio so Daphne could focus on her grief and not be distracted by mundane tasks like cleaning and housekeeping. That was the way of the island women. Sure, they might gossip about you behind your back, but when it came to matters like weddings, deaths, and births, they would go to the ends of the earth to help each other, knowing that one day their friends and neighbors would be there for them in their time of need as well.

Daphne walked over to the garden wall, where Evie and Popi sat looking through a stack of old photos.

“You see, Evie,” Popi said as she lifted a faded and yellowed picture and handed it to Evie. “That is your mommy when she was a baby, and her mommy and Yia-yia. Three beautiful and special women.”

Evie and Daphne both leaned in to get a better glimpse of the picture. It was a photo of Daphne in her cradle, Yia-yia and Mama hovering over the sleeping baby with broad, proud smiles on their faces. The picture was taken in the very spot where they sat now. It was just as Yia-yia had described it.

“Can I have this, Mommy?” Evie snatched the photo from Popi’s hand and waved it at her mother. “Can I have it so I can put it in my room? I want to look at it every day so I can remember Yia-yia. Is that okay?”

“Of course you can.” Daphne picked Evie up, balancing the little girl on her hips. “I think that’s a great idea, a perfect idea. So we can both remember Yia-yia and my mama. They were special women, you know, just like you’ll grow up to be.” Daphne hugged Evie closer.

“Just like you, Mommy.” Evie wrapped her arms tighter around her mother’s neck. The photo shook in the breeze that worked its way across the patio.

“Now, honey,” Daphne said as she placed the little girl on the ground once again. “Gather your things; you’re going to spend the night at Thea Popi’s so I can get everything ready for tomorrow, all right?”

“All right, Mommy.” Evie disappeared into the house to grab her bag.

“Cousin, is Stephen going to stay here with you?” Popi asked as she motioned over to Stephen, who was once again talking on his phone on the other side of the patio.

“No, he’ll go back to the hotel. I want to be alone. I need to be alone with Yia-yia. One last time.”

“Of course, Daphne.” Popi reached out to hug her cousin as the tears began again. “I understand, of course you do.” Popi released Daphne from her embrace as Evie came out of the house, carrying her suitcase.