the ferry turned into the entrance of Mgarr harbour, he started talking.
“Leonie, you’re a good actress. I dug up some videos of some of the TV series that you’ve been in. On the face of it the role you’re going to be playing in the next six months looks easy, but in reality it’s going to be very difficult.”
“Why?”
He gestured at the island.
“Gozitan people are among the friendliest and most hospitable in the world. They lead simple lives, are deeply religious, and have big families. The men drink a lot and love shooting at every bird or rabbit that moves. They don’t work very hard, except at their hobbies. Most of the foreigners that come here usually fall in love with the place, and come back time and again. Some come back forever. The problem for you is that you’re going to hate the place.”
“Why?”
“Because the Gozitans are going to hate you.” He sighed. “And the moment we step off this ferry, they’re going to dislike me.”
Again she asked, “Why?”
“I’ve been living here for years, I married a Gozitan girl. Most of my friends are Gozitan. I live in their style, I’ve been totally accepted…but therefore I’m expected to respect their ways. If a Gozitan loses a wife or husband they go into mourning for at least a year. Some up to five years. The same thing happens when they lose a parent, even an uncle or aunt. The women wear black and don’t go out. It’s changing slowly, but very slowly. The idea of a Gozitan marrying again five months after his wife died is unthinkable. You will be bitterly resented. When you go to the shops, when we go out to the cinema or to a restaurant or a bar, you will meet blank faces.”
He pointed to a building on the waterfront, with a long balcony jutting out.
“That’s Gleneagles bar. That and the restaurant below is run by two brothers, Tony and Salvu. They are very close friends. I spend a lot of time with them, get my mail there. In their way they both loved Nadia. We will go in there now and you will find out what I mean.”
The ferry was warped in against the quay, and the ramp dropped with a great clang. Creasy picked up her new Samsonite suitcase and his battered old canvas bag and they followed the crowd off.
“My jeep will be parked behind Gleneagles,” he said as they walked up the hill.
“When will I meet Michael?” she asked.
“He’ll be waiting at the house; I left word.”
There was a ramp leading up to the bar. The jeep was parked near the entrance. He dropped the suitcase and the bag into the back of it, then took her hand and said, “You start acting from now, and you keep it up for six months no matter what. In public you show me the normal affection of a new wife, but don’t overdo it.”
They walked into the bar. Some fishermen were playing Bixkla in the corner. There were several men bellied up against the bar. Salvu was behind it, younger than Tony and with more hair.
Creasy waved at the card players. They looked up only briefly. He nodded to the men at the bar. They nodded back. Salvu was looking at Leonie. Creasy was still holding her hand. He said, “Salvu, this is Leonie, my wife.”
With a face showing no expression, Salvu held out his hand across the bar. She shook it. It was a very brief handshake. His voice was as flat as a piece of paper.
“Welcome to Gozo, Leonie.”
“Thank you,” she smiled at him. “I’m so glad to be here.”
Creasy gestured at the men at the bar and introduced them by their nicknames. “Shriek, Bajlo, Bazoot, Wistin.”
Four more brief handshakes, a few muttered words. Salvu handed some packages and envelopes across the bar. Creasy took them and said, “Thanks, can you book me a table for two tomorrow night at the restaurant?”
“Sure.”
There was a silence, and then Creasy said to Leonie, “Come on, honey, let’s go, I’ll show you the house.”
He took her hand again and they walked out.
They drove in silence towards the centre of the island,
“Leonie, you’re a good actress. I dug up some videos of some of the TV series that you’ve been in. On the face of it the role you’re going to be playing in the next six months looks easy, but in reality it’s going to be very difficult.”
“Why?”
He gestured at the island.
“Gozitan people are among the friendliest and most hospitable in the world. They lead simple lives, are deeply religious, and have big families. The men drink a lot and love shooting at every bird or rabbit that moves. They don’t work very hard, except at their hobbies. Most of the foreigners that come here usually fall in love with the place, and come back time and again. Some come back forever. The problem for you is that you’re going to hate the place.”
“Why?”
“Because the Gozitans are going to hate you.” He sighed. “And the moment we step off this ferry, they’re going to dislike me.”
Again she asked, “Why?”
“I’ve been living here for years, I married a Gozitan girl. Most of my friends are Gozitan. I live in their style, I’ve been totally accepted…but therefore I’m expected to respect their ways. If a Gozitan loses a wife or husband they go into mourning for at least a year. Some up to five years. The same thing happens when they lose a parent, even an uncle or aunt. The women wear black and don’t go out. It’s changing slowly, but very slowly. The idea of a Gozitan marrying again five months after his wife died is unthinkable. You will be bitterly resented. When you go to the shops, when we go out to the cinema or to a restaurant or a bar, you will meet blank faces.”
He pointed to a building on the waterfront, with a long balcony jutting out.
“That’s Gleneagles bar. That and the restaurant below is run by two brothers, Tony and Salvu. They are very close friends. I spend a lot of time with them, get my mail there. In their way they both loved Nadia. We will go in there now and you will find out what I mean.”
The ferry was warped in against the quay, and the ramp dropped with a great clang. Creasy picked up her new Samsonite suitcase and his battered old canvas bag and they followed the crowd off.
“My jeep will be parked behind Gleneagles,” he said as they walked up the hill.
“When will I meet Michael?” she asked.
“He’ll be waiting at the house; I left word.”
There was a ramp leading up to the bar. The jeep was parked near the entrance. He dropped the suitcase and the bag into the back of it, then took her hand and said, “You start acting from now, and you keep it up for six months no matter what. In public you show me the normal affection of a new wife, but don’t overdo it.”
They walked into the bar. Some fishermen were playing Bixkla in the corner. There were several men bellied up against the bar. Salvu was behind it, younger than Tony and with more hair.
Creasy waved at the card players. They looked up only briefly. He nodded to the men at the bar. They nodded back. Salvu was looking at Leonie. Creasy was still holding her hand. He said, “Salvu, this is Leonie, my wife.”
With a face showing no expression, Salvu held out his hand across the bar. She shook it. It was a very brief handshake. His voice was as flat as a piece of paper.
“Welcome to Gozo, Leonie.”
“Thank you,” she smiled at him. “I’m so glad to be here.”
Creasy gestured at the men at the bar and introduced them by their nicknames. “Shriek, Bajlo, Bazoot, Wistin.”
Four more brief handshakes, a few muttered words. Salvu handed some packages and envelopes across the bar. Creasy took them and said, “Thanks, can you book me a table for two tomorrow night at the restaurant?”
“Sure.”
There was a silence, and then Creasy said to Leonie, “Come on, honey, let’s go, I’ll show you the house.”
He took her hand again and they walked out.
They drove in silence towards the centre of the island,
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