Read Online Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) by Paul Johnston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Johnston
Ads: Link
dive into the freezing January waters to retrieve the cross.
‘Kyra Maro? Are you hearing me?’ Rena’s hand was on hers. She always addressed the older woman respectfully as Mrs Maro. ‘Don’t cry.’ Then the younger woman let out a sob herself. ‘Oh, why shouldn’t you cry? Everyone on Trigono is crying tonight.’ Outside, the screams were louder than ever as all the island women joined in the grieving.
Maro pulled her hand away and tried to cover her ears. That sound, the sound of desperate keening, was killing her. She’d done it herself when loved ones died and she couldn’t bear to hear it again. Until her eyes betrayed her, she’d gone to her fields on the slopes above the Kambos whenever there was a death in the village. Stayed out there with her donkey tethered to the ridge wall till the funeral had taken place and the
miroloyia
, the ritual lamentations, were over.
‘What…what happened?’ she said, staggering to her feet and moving towards the door.
Rena was quickly by her side. ‘Oh no, Kyra Maro, don’t go outside. They won’t…they won’t like it. Yiangos’s mother Popi is in a terrible state, what with her husband, Lefteris, in Syros…the other women are rallying round her and Nafsika’s mother, but it’s not…it’s not a good time to go out, Kyra Maro…’
She felt herself being taken back to the table, Rena’s arm around her back. ‘Thank you, my girl,’ she said, the words making her eyes flood again. My girl, my daughter. Maro had no daughter, no one to look after her in her decrepitude as was the custom. Her own family hated her, refused to have anything to do with her. Only Rena cared for her, came in every day to check that she had enough to eat and to refill her drinking-water bottle at the public tap; did her laundry, even swept the floor of her tiny two-roomed home in the metre- thick walls of the old fortress. Rena, who’d come from Serifos to marry a local builder and been left a widow, childless and barely tolerated in the village because she had refused to move out of the house her husband’s family wanted back after his death. She’d defied them, insisted on what was legally hers, and people hated her, said terrible things about her. But she was a good woman, she still wore the black of mourning and refused to return to her own island. She said she’d put down roots on Trigono and enjoyed renting her spare rooms out to tourists in the summer.
‘They were in the nets, Kyra Maro,’ Rena said haltingly. ‘It seems that Yiangos had taken his father’s trata to check the equipment or maybe to do some illegal fishing, and Nafsika went with him. Oh God, who knows what they were doing?’ She leaned closer. ‘They were both naked, clinging together. And the boat was drifting towards the rocks off Vathy inlet. Some fishermen from Paros came round the western end of the island and managed to get a rope on the trata before it was smashed to pieces on the rocks.’
Maro looked up and blinked, her vision more blurred than usual. ‘They were naked?’ she repeated.
‘Naked and caught in the nets,’ Rena said, nodding. ‘They were being dragged through the water.’
‘Drowned,’ Maro said softly. ‘My God, drowned. Not more victims of the sea. What happened? The wind isn’t so strong, is it?’
Rena shook her head. ‘Not very. And Yiangos knew how to handle a boat. Kyra Maro?’ She watched as the old woman’s head dropped forward till it was almost touching the embroidered tablecloth. ‘Are you all right, Kyra Maro?’ She lowered her own head and tried to see Maro’s face. The eyes were half open and there was a faint groaning coming from her mouth. Maro often sank into a reverie. She could remain in such a state for hours.
‘Ach, old age,’ Rena said quietly. ‘Yes, Kyra Maro, you go off into your own world. It can only be better than the one the rest of us have to live in.’ She got up and moved towards the door, cocking an ear. The wails
‘Kyra Maro? Are you hearing me?’ Rena’s hand was on hers. She always addressed the older woman respectfully as Mrs Maro. ‘Don’t cry.’ Then the younger woman let out a sob herself. ‘Oh, why shouldn’t you cry? Everyone on Trigono is crying tonight.’ Outside, the screams were louder than ever as all the island women joined in the grieving.
Maro pulled her hand away and tried to cover her ears. That sound, the sound of desperate keening, was killing her. She’d done it herself when loved ones died and she couldn’t bear to hear it again. Until her eyes betrayed her, she’d gone to her fields on the slopes above the Kambos whenever there was a death in the village. Stayed out there with her donkey tethered to the ridge wall till the funeral had taken place and the
miroloyia
, the ritual lamentations, were over.
‘What…what happened?’ she said, staggering to her feet and moving towards the door.
Rena was quickly by her side. ‘Oh no, Kyra Maro, don’t go outside. They won’t…they won’t like it. Yiangos’s mother Popi is in a terrible state, what with her husband, Lefteris, in Syros…the other women are rallying round her and Nafsika’s mother, but it’s not…it’s not a good time to go out, Kyra Maro…’
She felt herself being taken back to the table, Rena’s arm around her back. ‘Thank you, my girl,’ she said, the words making her eyes flood again. My girl, my daughter. Maro had no daughter, no one to look after her in her decrepitude as was the custom. Her own family hated her, refused to have anything to do with her. Only Rena cared for her, came in every day to check that she had enough to eat and to refill her drinking-water bottle at the public tap; did her laundry, even swept the floor of her tiny two-roomed home in the metre- thick walls of the old fortress. Rena, who’d come from Serifos to marry a local builder and been left a widow, childless and barely tolerated in the village because she had refused to move out of the house her husband’s family wanted back after his death. She’d defied them, insisted on what was legally hers, and people hated her, said terrible things about her. But she was a good woman, she still wore the black of mourning and refused to return to her own island. She said she’d put down roots on Trigono and enjoyed renting her spare rooms out to tourists in the summer.
‘They were in the nets, Kyra Maro,’ Rena said haltingly. ‘It seems that Yiangos had taken his father’s trata to check the equipment or maybe to do some illegal fishing, and Nafsika went with him. Oh God, who knows what they were doing?’ She leaned closer. ‘They were both naked, clinging together. And the boat was drifting towards the rocks off Vathy inlet. Some fishermen from Paros came round the western end of the island and managed to get a rope on the trata before it was smashed to pieces on the rocks.’
Maro looked up and blinked, her vision more blurred than usual. ‘They were naked?’ she repeated.
‘Naked and caught in the nets,’ Rena said, nodding. ‘They were being dragged through the water.’
‘Drowned,’ Maro said softly. ‘My God, drowned. Not more victims of the sea. What happened? The wind isn’t so strong, is it?’
Rena shook her head. ‘Not very. And Yiangos knew how to handle a boat. Kyra Maro?’ She watched as the old woman’s head dropped forward till it was almost touching the embroidered tablecloth. ‘Are you all right, Kyra Maro?’ She lowered her own head and tried to see Maro’s face. The eyes were half open and there was a faint groaning coming from her mouth. Maro often sank into a reverie. She could remain in such a state for hours.
‘Ach, old age,’ Rena said quietly. ‘Yes, Kyra Maro, you go off into your own world. It can only be better than the one the rest of us have to live in.’ She got up and moved towards the door, cocking an ear. The wails
Similar Books
