pies from the rest of her shopping.
‘ Right, well, I’ll be off then. I had planned to go for a little walk and I don’t want to leave it too late.’ Marina looks through the door. It is late afternoon and the sun slants golden.
‘ Oh, I got you a pie too. Will you not stay and eat with us? Roula, wait until I have made some salad to go with it, and we need to see to Grandma first,’ Zoe says.
‘ But I am hungry,’ Roula replies.
‘ Thank you, Mrs Zoe, but I think I will take my walk. Bobby, it has been a pleasure. Roula, thank you for the water.’ Marina turns to Aunt Eleftheria but she is still asleep.
‘ Well, take your pie with you. It is the least I can offer for your kindness,’ Zoe says.
Marina ’s stomach responds appreciatively; she has only eaten a slice of Irini’s cake since breakfast. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you. See you all later.’
No one replies. Roula is back watching another programme. Zoe is arranging what she needs to take into Grandma. Marina looks at Bobby, who winks and mouths, ‘I’m your man.’ Marina smiles. He has kind eyes, but he is a bit of a silly old fool. She closes the door behind her feeling twenty years younger than when she entered.
C hapter 6
Out on the balcony it appears the town is still sleepy from the afternoon mesimeriano , the siesta. Not many people are stirring yet and few sounds can be heard. Marina feels lighter for her chat with Bobby and heads for the steps, which the cats have now deserted. She begins her ascent at a steady pace and rests every few steps. It is a great deal easier this time and she wonders why she made such a fuss of it earlier.
She stops halfway up and admires the view, but decides not to sit down. At the top she will rest, when she reaches the doorstep of the building she once knew. But when she gets there she is invigorated, not tired, and she pushes on, trying to ignore the memories the lonely building evokes. Unwillingly, she is catapulted back through the years and remembers the loneliness she felt then, the months that ticked by. Aunt Efi was kind but Marina wanted to be outside, and she felt scared, constantly.
A little further on, the shop that was in someone’s front room has grown and extended and occupies three of the whitewashed building’s rooms now, and extends into the street. The vegetables on trestle tables are covered with a cloth to show that the shop is closed, but the hessian sacks of rice and beans sit with their top edges rolled down, ready for business.
On the left Marina sees a door she remembers. It is low with no handle and no keyhole, painted a thick, shiny brown. It hasn ’t changed at all, not even the colour. It had been ajar back then. Marina had snuck out just for a change of scenery, unbelievably bored with being cooped up. She estimated she had an hour or so before Aunt Efi would wake up from her afternoon sleep. She need never know she had been out.
It was the smell that made her curious back then. A rich smell of honey and something else she couldn ’t put her finger on. She had gone closer to the door to breath in the sweetness more fully. It was dark inside, but through the open crack she could see a flickering light. She pushed the door open slightly. The smell got stronger. The room was dim and it took a minute for Marina’s eyes to adjust, and she could see candles hovering. She stepped in, mesmerised by the apparition. The sweet honey aroma, mixed with the smell of wax, was almost overpowering once inside, and she felt pleasantly dizzy.
The room was lit by candles distributed unevenly around the walls, lodged on ledges and in niches between the stones. Years of dripping wax from these crevices had created stalactites and frozen wax rivers that ran to the floor.
The brightest light, though, came from a small fire in a pit in the floor in the middle of the room, over which stood a wide black cauldron full of gently shimmering wax. Marina took all this in but was most
‘ Right, well, I’ll be off then. I had planned to go for a little walk and I don’t want to leave it too late.’ Marina looks through the door. It is late afternoon and the sun slants golden.
‘ Oh, I got you a pie too. Will you not stay and eat with us? Roula, wait until I have made some salad to go with it, and we need to see to Grandma first,’ Zoe says.
‘ But I am hungry,’ Roula replies.
‘ Thank you, Mrs Zoe, but I think I will take my walk. Bobby, it has been a pleasure. Roula, thank you for the water.’ Marina turns to Aunt Eleftheria but she is still asleep.
‘ Well, take your pie with you. It is the least I can offer for your kindness,’ Zoe says.
Marina ’s stomach responds appreciatively; she has only eaten a slice of Irini’s cake since breakfast. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you. See you all later.’
No one replies. Roula is back watching another programme. Zoe is arranging what she needs to take into Grandma. Marina looks at Bobby, who winks and mouths, ‘I’m your man.’ Marina smiles. He has kind eyes, but he is a bit of a silly old fool. She closes the door behind her feeling twenty years younger than when she entered.
C hapter 6
Out on the balcony it appears the town is still sleepy from the afternoon mesimeriano , the siesta. Not many people are stirring yet and few sounds can be heard. Marina feels lighter for her chat with Bobby and heads for the steps, which the cats have now deserted. She begins her ascent at a steady pace and rests every few steps. It is a great deal easier this time and she wonders why she made such a fuss of it earlier.
She stops halfway up and admires the view, but decides not to sit down. At the top she will rest, when she reaches the doorstep of the building she once knew. But when she gets there she is invigorated, not tired, and she pushes on, trying to ignore the memories the lonely building evokes. Unwillingly, she is catapulted back through the years and remembers the loneliness she felt then, the months that ticked by. Aunt Efi was kind but Marina wanted to be outside, and she felt scared, constantly.
A little further on, the shop that was in someone’s front room has grown and extended and occupies three of the whitewashed building’s rooms now, and extends into the street. The vegetables on trestle tables are covered with a cloth to show that the shop is closed, but the hessian sacks of rice and beans sit with their top edges rolled down, ready for business.
On the left Marina sees a door she remembers. It is low with no handle and no keyhole, painted a thick, shiny brown. It hasn ’t changed at all, not even the colour. It had been ajar back then. Marina had snuck out just for a change of scenery, unbelievably bored with being cooped up. She estimated she had an hour or so before Aunt Efi would wake up from her afternoon sleep. She need never know she had been out.
It was the smell that made her curious back then. A rich smell of honey and something else she couldn ’t put her finger on. She had gone closer to the door to breath in the sweetness more fully. It was dark inside, but through the open crack she could see a flickering light. She pushed the door open slightly. The smell got stronger. The room was dim and it took a minute for Marina’s eyes to adjust, and she could see candles hovering. She stepped in, mesmerised by the apparition. The sweet honey aroma, mixed with the smell of wax, was almost overpowering once inside, and she felt pleasantly dizzy.
The room was lit by candles distributed unevenly around the walls, lodged on ledges and in niches between the stones. Years of dripping wax from these crevices had created stalactites and frozen wax rivers that ran to the floor.
The brightest light, though, came from a small fire in a pit in the floor in the middle of the room, over which stood a wide black cauldron full of gently shimmering wax. Marina took all this in but was most
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