Escape to Ikaria Read online

  It was four thirty when we got the last sack on to the lorry, by which time the skipper was snoring loudly, slumped over the now empty bottle of ouzo. Adonis and I had taken to each other, not that we said anything, but we both knew we had enjoyed working together. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but he cut open one of the sacks and put some potatoes in a bag for me and then drove off down the quayside into the breaking light of a new day. As for me, I walked back to Lefkada, exhausted but satisfied with the night’s work.

  It was Seth’s birthday. He was three years old, and I could honestly say that, so far, he had ambled through life. Although Sam and Lysta had built up the arrival of his big day and we all stood over his bed and sang it to him, he denied it.

  ‘It’s tomorrow,’ he said and seemed quite annoyed, as if he had something else planned for the day.

  A lot of thought had gone into what we were going to give him. We wanted him to have only things that would occupy him through the months to come. Ros couldn’t bear it when children discarded their presents the very day after receiving them. Sam and Lysta gave him a butterfly net and a pencil case. And from Ros and me he had a magnifying glass. We were sure Seth would enjoy these gifts, and we were right. Being only three foot tall and close to the earth, he spent most of his time lost in a world of little scampering treats. He already had a cardboard box next to his bed full of dead insects which he could now empty out and study in the finest detail. Once he got the hang of the magnifying glass he spent most of his birthday on his hands and knees looking at everything that moved, and a lot that didn’t.

  Maria brought out a most unusual cake with a plastic donkey stuck on the top of it and what appeared to be two wise men sunk into the icing; obviously old Christmas decorations. She had to light its three candles several times, because the breeze kept blowing them out.

  In the taverna that night Seth sat holding a jam jar with a grasshopper in it. I told him it needed air and would die if he didn’t undo the lid, which he did, but unfortunately it hopped out. Armed with the magnifying glass he crawled under the tables, returning without the grasshopper but with a spider instead, for which he crumbled up dry eucalyptus leaves as a tasty treat. After that he’d had enough of his birthday, and fell asleep for twelve hours.

  It never ceased to surprise me who worked with whom on Ikaria, how families were connected, what financial arrangements were in place. Why, for instance, was Stamati delivering trays of baklava to Maria? He pulled up outside the taverna squashed into the cab of a Daihatsu three-wheeler, the engine sounding like an over-revved lawn mower, still wearing his apron. He kissed me on each cheek, playing the injured soul, saying that I had neglected him.

  ‘You have no use for me now.’

  I wasn’t going to respond to that. Yannis helped him carry the trays into the kitchen while Maria sat at one of the tables counting out the drachma. Stamati stuck the money into his trouser pocket and offered to buy me an Amstel, a Dutch beer which had become my favourite drink now the days were hotter. It was cold and refreshing, unlike retsina, which dried your mouth out.

  It was pure chance that I should be sitting there with Stamati, but he didn’t hold back in voicing his opinion about my activities on the island.

  ‘You are a fool to work with Jim. Anybody will tell you that; the man has no money. And now you work in the monastery. The sister is without friends and what will you get from her? Food for the family, nothing else.’

  There was no point in asking how he knew all this, because everyone knew everything. He was so condemning that it made me wonder why he should feel so strongly about it. Why did he always show such interest in me?

  ‘Stelios pays me, but I could do with more work,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, and who brought you Stelios . . . me, yes?’

  Well, that was true, but what was Stamati’s point? Why was he so concerned?

  ‘And I will tell you something as well. Jim’s brother, he will be trouble for you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You think he will pay you when he sees the work on his house?’ he said, with a sarcastic laugh. ‘You can work with me in the restaurant . . . serve at the tables, yes, and I give you more money and you will be happy.’

  ‘Thank you, Stamati, but I couldn’t work in a restaurant. I need to be outside, and I’m no waiter.’

  He swallowed the last dregs of his Amstel and wiped the froth from his lips.

  ‘Will you come and see my mother? She is old, she is sad. Come and tell her of your life in Wales . . . yes, you must promise me this.’

  With that, he stood up, went over to pay Maria for the beers, and left.

  I went back to the house. Ros was making a Greek salad on the terrace with Lysta beside her, intently reading out loud Enid Blyton’s Five Go Off to Camp. I started to tell Ros what had happened, but didn’t get very far.

  ‘Dad, that’s rude. I was in the middle of a sentence.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I have to talk to Mum for a minute. Ros, what is it about Stamati? I find all the attention he’s giving me quite peculiar. Now he’s offered me a job.’

  Ros’s reaction was an amused smile that gradually crept across her face and she looked at me sweetly; her hands smelled of onion when she caressed my cheek. What had I done to deserve this?

  ‘You know I wouldn’t have you any other way, but you really are quite naïve.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I noticed it the first week we were here. He’s lonely, he likes you, he lives with his mother.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . . are you saying he fancies me?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Asking you to be a waiter in his restaurant! Whatever next?’

  ‘Mum, can I carry on reading now?’

  ‘I wouldn’t encourage him if I were you.’

  ‘He’s already kissed me on both cheeks.’

  ‘Dad, you’re being silly. Men don’t kiss each other.’

  Sam appeared then, struggling up the steps with a heavy bag.

  ‘Mum, if I peel these apples for Maria, she’s going to give me a vanilla paste.’

  Lysta continued with Five Go Off to Camp, and I left to go to the monastery to milk the goats. Ros told me to be wary of one of them that she thought had come into season and had head-butted her between the legs.

  ‘Painful,’ I said.

  ‘Not as painful as it would be for you.’

  ‘I’ll roll up a T-shirt and stick it down my trousers.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  7

  The Kidnappers

  We had moved into our new house. Although we’d left all the windows open, we should have waited another couple of days: everywhere smelled of paint. Maria’s cousin, who lived over in Raches, was so delighted with what we’d done that he’d furnished it for us. We now had a chest of drawers, chairs and a kitchen table. He also gave us three beds for the children and it was still rent free.

  Datsun Jim had given us what was originally his grandmother’s bed, which he delivered, together with its long history. Apparently six children had been born in it and his grandfather had died in it before it was lent to his mother, who carried on the family tradition, giving birth to another five children and yes, finally, Datsun Jim, who emerged into the world in this bed. Made of iron, which was just as well, it looked in remarkably good condition considering its eventful past, but then I suppose every bed could tell a story. It was quite rigid once it was slotted together, and on all four corners brass knobs glowed in the sunlight. Our mattress fitted perfectly. At last we might look forward to a good night’s sleep.

  But, as always with Jim, nothing was simple. His grandmother hadn’t actually given us the bed. She was ninety-two years old and had a habit of forgetting things and then remembering them. So the bed was on loan, and if she realised it was missing we would have to return it.

  ‘Where does your grandmother sleep now?’ Ros asked.

  ‘She is happy with a single bed at her a
ge.’

  We said we couldn’t possibly take it, but he was adamant and insisted. Ros thought he was trying to show himself in a better light. His brother was expected back any day now, and at long last I might get paid.

  I described Stelios in a letter to my mother as a man who was a law unto himself, who never rehearsed for the day that lay ahead, because the only thing that was predictable was the unexpected. He was naturally extrovert and had already shown me he wasn’t averse to taking risks. He was larger than life and there was an invincibility about him.

  So when I found him sitting cross-legged mending the nets, which always had gaping holes in them, I wondered what had happened. He was usually glad to see me, impatient to be off, but now he looked bedraggled and seemed subdued and withdrawn. The Karelia stuck in the corner of his mouth had nearly burnt down to the filter. There was no sparkle in his face today, and the calm Aegean was clearly doing nothing to lift his inner gloom.

  Out at sea, with the sun high above, the light refracted in the clear water, I could see shoals of fish zigzagging beneath us, their silver scales sparkling like jewels, no more than two feet below the surface, but Stelios didn’t say a word. Only when the nets were down and we lounged on the deck did we talk. He threw me an old denim cap, telling me to put it on so the sun didn’t burn my head.

  ‘I am a quiet man today,’ he said, scooping up a handful of water and washing his face.

  ‘You have no words in you,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I do . . . but not to speak.’

  ‘Not even one?’

  ‘Ha! I have one, no, two . . . bloody women!’

  When the day’s fishing was done and we returned to Aghios Kirikos he ought to have been a happier man, for the catch was the biggest I’d seen since we had been fishing together. We set out at least a dozen boxes of fish on the quayside and almost immediately a kind of chaotic auction took place. I had no idea how anybody understood what was going on, but then I couldn’t in the cattle market back in Bryncir, where everything was sold to a buyer who raised an eyebrow at the right time. It was the same here: a lot of fast talking, with the highest bidder kicking away his box of fish and slapping the auctioneer’s hand. When the deal was done and the money counted out, young boys out to earn a few drachma rushed in and carried the boxes away. These buyers must have been restaurant owners because I saw Stamati amongst them, bidding in the mêlée.

  When it was over and Stelios gave me my usual bag of fish, I knew there was no room in Maria’s fridge for the octopus and squid. Perhaps I could sell them to Stamati, who was walking ahead of me empty-handed, pretending not to know I was there.

  ‘Hey, Stamati, you haven’t any fish.’

  ‘The price is too much for me.’

  ‘I have some octopus and squid if you’re interested.’

  ‘So this is why you talk to me.’

  I ignored that. ‘How much will you give me?’

  ‘Because you treat me badly, no more than a hundred and fifty,’ he said, looking into the bag. He knew a good deal when he saw one.

  When Lysta said that she wanted to do the shopping for us in Aghios Kirikos, my first reaction was an absolute no. Not after what had happened to Sam. But she put up a good argument as to why she should be allowed to prove herself.

  ‘He’s only five minutes older than me, and you said boys don’t mature as quickly as girls. It’s not fair.’

  I did remember saying that, but I made her promise that she wouldn’t get into anyone’s car and would come straight home. At least she was less likely than Sam to be tempted by a large lunch and football on the beach.

  It was a Saturday, which meant nothing at all; every day on Ikaria was the same, except the children didn’t go to school at the weekend. It was nearly the end of June, and not unusual for the temperature to be up in the eighties.

  Whilst Lysta went shopping the rest of us went to the beach, less than a five-minute walk from Lefkada. As we passed the taverna, Maria ran out and grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and showed me the small freezer compartment, which was full of octopus and squid again.

  ‘Yours,’ she said, pointing at me. ‘No good.’

  We were still not eating through the catch, which wasn’t surprising as no one except me liked octopus or squid, and I’d had enough of eating them every day. So she suggested as it was Saturday, and because some Greek-American families were now back on the island, she’d use them in a traditional meal that night.

  ‘No more in my fridge. You understand?’

  I realised I might have reached the point when another squid would be a squid too far, and the last thing I wanted to do was upset Maria. We had grown fond of her and Yannis. It felt as if they had adopted us, and they often gave the children their favourite vanilla drink, waving away payment.

  We ate at the taverna every night, something that would have been beyond our pocket if the barbunia I gave Maria hadn’t been popular with everyone, so that she was reluctant to charge us for meals. If I asked Yannis how much I owed him, he just said, ‘Avrio.’ So we slipped into this unspoken arrangement. I just hoped that if they thought we owed them anything, Yannis would put a bill on the table. We spent more time at the taverna than we did at home; what with the people we met there and the long evenings, it felt as if we only went back to the house to sleep.

  Ros, Sam and Seth were already stripped down to their swimming costumes when I caught up with them. The small sandy beach was no more than five yards below the coastal road, protected from the wind by a jutting peninsula of dark rocks.

  ‘Ros, I think this might be a good time to bring up the delicate subject of my swimming trunks.’ It was an annual occurrence and usually took place on a beach.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she said, resigned to the fact that the matter had to be discussed. ‘I really don’t know why I haven’t,’ she added, squirting the last of the Ambre Solaire on to Sam’s and Seth’s pink bodies.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll do what I always do, swim in my shorts.’

  This all went back to when Ros threw out a pair of hideously tight-fitting swimming trunks that she had bought for me at a jumble sale. They were too obscene to describe, but I had dared to wear them on Harlech beach on a rare hot day in Wales and I ran into the sea in front of a crowd of spectators. She’d covered her face in embarrassment and told me later that her girlfriends couldn’t understand what she saw in me. She had promised to buy me a new pair that would give me a less controversial look.

  That was three years ago. So now I swam in a pair of baggy shorts, held up by a belt. Not the most attractive beachwear, but not bad enough for Ros to do anything about it.

  We were the only ones on the beach that morning, enjoying the crystal-clear waters of the Aegean. The Ikarians preferred to swim after their siesta. It had become an interesting pastime to watch the various ways the locals entered the sea. Middle-aged women rarely went in alone, preferring to brave the water in the company of a friend. Under wide-brimmed straw hats, they talked incessantly, and only ever walked in up to their waists. Sometimes when a wave rushed in they rose up together, like synchronised bobbing sea birds, keeping their plumage dry. They never submerged themselves, or swam a single stroke. When they came out they strolled up and down the shoreline, still engrossed in their chatter.

  One who sought attention was a silver-haired man in his early sixties. Suntanned and muscled up, he ran into the water without hesitation, like an athlete, and dived over the incoming waves, breaking into the crawl. With the style of an Olympic swimmer, he was far from the shore in seconds; even the way he breathed between each stroke looked professional. As he walked from the sea he swept his hair back, exuding a virile self-awareness. He also put on a show drying himself, adjusting his black trunks so his manhood was centrally positioned. He finished off this little performance by doing a few press-ups, then lay face down on his towel. The act was the same every time he came to the beach.

/>   ‘If he’s still got it, let him flaunt it,’ said Ros. ‘What’s wrong with having pride in your body?’ she added, suggesting I might be a little jealous.

  ‘Me jealous? Watch this.’ And I did twenty press-ups there and then.

  ‘I must say, you are pretty fit. And not an ounce of fat on you.’

  ‘Fancy me, do you?’

  ‘I’ve never stopped.’

  ‘Feel that,’ I said, tightening my biceps.

  ‘You’re a Greek god with an English accent, but you’ll do for me.’

  ‘Efkharisto, baby.’

  We went home for lunch, thinking Lysta should be back soon. In fact, she had already returned and had left two bags of shopping on the kitchen table, with a note: I’ve gone to look for you.

  ‘Why don’t you go and find her while I make lunch,’ said Ros.

  I asked Maria if she had seen her, which she had, half an hour earlier, carrying the shopping. She must have headed off again in the other direction, which was strange, as she knew which beach we always went to.

  So we decided to eat, convinced Lysta would turn up in a few minutes. She didn’t, and those anxieties that come when a child has not returned rolled in again. So I walked up the road towards the monastery, and fifteen minutes later saw a car I recognised, the red Fiat I had dragged Sam from, parked by the roadside. They were on the beach, the whole family having a picnic, Lysta amongst them. I didn’t rush down and join them; I could see Lysta was enjoying herself. I decided to take the cold, unfriendly approach, controlled but aloof.

  ‘Dad, Dad!’ shouted Lysta, waving at me, but I ignored her. I stared straight at the father, who was lying on the sand, eating a hard-boiled egg.

  ‘Will you please stop kidnapping my children,’ I said. ‘I’m fed up with it.’