Read Online The Priest's Well (The Greek Village Collection Book 12) by Sara Alexi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Alexi
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the whitewashed cottages and neatly flowered gardens close in on him as he draws into the village. Looking up to the clear blue sky, he blocks out as much as he can of the rural scene, keeping one eye on the road ahead, and pulls up beside the church. Opening the door of his new car lets the new smell escape and the heat enter. The days are becoming hotter and hotter now. The cicadas have started their relentless mating call and he has ordered a catalogue of vestments. He needs to buy a cassock for the summer; otherwise, he will die from this heat. Unlocking the door to his little cottage, it occurs to him that he could even demand an air conditioning unit for the place. It is totally unreasonable not to have one. The thought of this concession to civilisation cheers him a little.
The catalogue has arrived and the postman, Costas, who does come to his services, has pushed it under the door. Perhaps he will get a silk cassock. They say silk is warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
With the door closed behind him, it is not unpleasant to be back in his cottage. To a degree, he has grown accustomed to the space. Although outside home, the village is very parochial, once he is inside his little house, everything seems less pressing. One thing the village has taught him so far is that there is no rush. Life continues. That attitude of the villagers seems to have got into his bones.
His phone rings.
‘Savvas, did the car arrive safely?’
‘ Kalimera , Bishop. Yes, it is fine. Is it hot where you are?’
‘Oh my, yes. The summer is upon us, I fear.’
‘You have air conditioning, I take it?’
‘Oh, yes indeed. Of course.’
‘Then you are a lucky man, Bishop!’
‘Ah, I see. You have not, I take it?’
Savvas does not answer this.
‘Are you still there?’ the bishop asks.
‘Just mopping my brow, Bishop.’
‘Very well, I will see what I can do, but expenses are not what we want right now, Savvas my friend.’ The bishop clears his throat. ‘This new government, I think they have it in for us! They want us, the church I mean, to pay our own way! Pay priests and bishops ourselves, from church funds. I think they forget how much the church did for this country when we were occupied by the Turks!’
Savvas takes the phone through to the bedroom and sits down at the bureau, where he can look out into the olive grove through the window. He did not shut the casement last night, nor the shutters, and the sounds of goat bells coming through the trees had soothed him to sleep and later, in the small hours of the morning when he woke from a dream in which Nefeli preached a sermon with Maria’s voice, the gentle rustle of the olive leaves against each other caressed him back to his slumbers.
‘If that comes to pass, then each church will need a big windfall from somewhere.’ The bishop speaks with enthusiasm. ‘They are also rumours that we may have to pay taxes. We must keep our wits about us. By the way, I do not recall how much you raised for the insulation of your church in America?’
A-ha! Now it becomes clear why the bishop has called. Maybe the church is more cunning than he thought and this is the reason he was brought over to Greece in the first place. This is his strength; he is good at raising money. With a long, drawn-out expiration of air, he feels like he has suddenly come home. He is in his comfort zone, as the world at large expresses these things.
But the bishop does not wait for a reply and Savvas feels very certain that the bishop knows exactly the amount, probably to the last cent.
‘Although,’ the old man continues, ‘I have to say I am not personally bothered as I will retire soon, which of course leaves this bishopric open for a good man to come up.’ There is no subtlety in what he is inferring. Savvas estimates a bishop’s wage and envisages the colourful embroidered vestments on his own person. Within this brief dream also comes the big house as his home and Nefeli in her
The catalogue has arrived and the postman, Costas, who does come to his services, has pushed it under the door. Perhaps he will get a silk cassock. They say silk is warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
With the door closed behind him, it is not unpleasant to be back in his cottage. To a degree, he has grown accustomed to the space. Although outside home, the village is very parochial, once he is inside his little house, everything seems less pressing. One thing the village has taught him so far is that there is no rush. Life continues. That attitude of the villagers seems to have got into his bones.
His phone rings.
‘Savvas, did the car arrive safely?’
‘ Kalimera , Bishop. Yes, it is fine. Is it hot where you are?’
‘Oh my, yes. The summer is upon us, I fear.’
‘You have air conditioning, I take it?’
‘Oh, yes indeed. Of course.’
‘Then you are a lucky man, Bishop!’
‘Ah, I see. You have not, I take it?’
Savvas does not answer this.
‘Are you still there?’ the bishop asks.
‘Just mopping my brow, Bishop.’
‘Very well, I will see what I can do, but expenses are not what we want right now, Savvas my friend.’ The bishop clears his throat. ‘This new government, I think they have it in for us! They want us, the church I mean, to pay our own way! Pay priests and bishops ourselves, from church funds. I think they forget how much the church did for this country when we were occupied by the Turks!’
Savvas takes the phone through to the bedroom and sits down at the bureau, where he can look out into the olive grove through the window. He did not shut the casement last night, nor the shutters, and the sounds of goat bells coming through the trees had soothed him to sleep and later, in the small hours of the morning when he woke from a dream in which Nefeli preached a sermon with Maria’s voice, the gentle rustle of the olive leaves against each other caressed him back to his slumbers.
‘If that comes to pass, then each church will need a big windfall from somewhere.’ The bishop speaks with enthusiasm. ‘They are also rumours that we may have to pay taxes. We must keep our wits about us. By the way, I do not recall how much you raised for the insulation of your church in America?’
A-ha! Now it becomes clear why the bishop has called. Maybe the church is more cunning than he thought and this is the reason he was brought over to Greece in the first place. This is his strength; he is good at raising money. With a long, drawn-out expiration of air, he feels like he has suddenly come home. He is in his comfort zone, as the world at large expresses these things.
But the bishop does not wait for a reply and Savvas feels very certain that the bishop knows exactly the amount, probably to the last cent.
‘Although,’ the old man continues, ‘I have to say I am not personally bothered as I will retire soon, which of course leaves this bishopric open for a good man to come up.’ There is no subtlety in what he is inferring. Savvas estimates a bishop’s wage and envisages the colourful embroidered vestments on his own person. Within this brief dream also comes the big house as his home and Nefeli in her
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