Read Online The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) by Sara Alexi - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara Alexi
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have delivered to that convent. I would not trust it to go by post, so this is the only way. Will you deliver it for me, Yanni?’ The request is so gentle, but even in the moonlight, he can just see her eyes are sparkling, mischievous, alive. He nods; what else can he do? After all she has given him, the hours of her time, the patience, all he has learnt, how could he say no to anything she would ask of him? Especially something so simple as a delivery? It is so little to ask, and while he is there, he can buy a donkey.
‘Good.’ Sister Katerina draws out the word and rolls to her feet to glide indoors, returning after some time with a paper parcel bound up tightly with string. She hands it to Yanni.
Yanni turns it in his palm before finding a pocket in which to store it.
‘Now, you should go tomorrow, I think.’ Nothing she says sounds rushed or pushing, but her delivery is emphatic nonetheless. ‘Don’t you have some family in the village over there? A second cousin was it? He came here once, I seem to remember. What was his name? Your mama will know.’
Yanni feels he is falling into a hole. It seems not only that he must go but somehow, it has been decided that he must go tomorrow. The ground is opening beneath his feet and he dangles.
Sister Katerina must see his hesitation as she takes a gliding step towards the boundary door. Yanni reacts by standing and walking mechanically by her side.
‘Tell your mama that if she needs to telephone your second cousin so he can prepare for you, she can come to use the convent phone. Also, as long as you are on God’s business, tell your mama you will be safe and I will be praying for you—personally.’ She indicates his pocket with the missive. ‘It makes sense for you to buy your donkey whilst you are there, does it not?’ They are at the big wooden door. Yanni nods his head compliantly. As an afterthought she adds, ‘If your mama has any worries tell her to come down to me anyway.’
With this, she gently bustles Yanni out of the door, handing him a delicate rose that she nips off from the nearest of her bushes for him to give to his mother.
Outside alone with Suzi, it is quiet. It is dark.
A day to get there, a day at the convent and the donkey breeder’s place, and a day to travel home, he reasons, but he doesn’t really believe he is going anywhere yet.
He puts the Nun’s parcel in the saddle bag and his hand automatically reaches for his tobacco pouch.
Chapter 8
It is dark. There is a door, no, a window, a light beyond. So bright. Better to keep his eyes closed, just for a moment. The bed he is on, sagging, soft, swirling. Still swirling with his eyes closed. Water would be good. It’s possible to make out the shadows of the ceiling. An oblong room. It is not home. But where, what time? It’s dark. Do the animals need feeding? He knows where he is, he knows everything, it’s lurking just beyond his grasp, teasing, taunting. What can he remember? A boat and a bright sea, his island receding. And then? Then voices, women with bags. Jostling and swaying. A sickness in the stomach. Voices arguing. A goat amongst people, bleating, terrified. More arguing, the goat leaving, more swaying, so hot. A change of people, laughing and rocking and then, and then …
Perhaps if he sits up. Slowly. No, bad idea, lie down. His hand creeps across his stomach, up his chest, over his jaw, sweeping his eyes. Pressing and rubbing his temples does not alleviate the pain or the steady beat of the drum. Twitching his legs, his feet heavy; he still has his boots on. Why would he still have his boots on if he has laid down? Where did he walk? Images of orange orchards, rich and lush, leaves so green, like nothing he has ever seen on the island. And olive groves, with bushy trees thick with fruit and, yes, he remembers that - water coming from pipes beneath them, the ground soggy with the excess. Then? What then? A turn in the road, a school with a brightly coloured fence.
‘Good.’ Sister Katerina draws out the word and rolls to her feet to glide indoors, returning after some time with a paper parcel bound up tightly with string. She hands it to Yanni.
Yanni turns it in his palm before finding a pocket in which to store it.
‘Now, you should go tomorrow, I think.’ Nothing she says sounds rushed or pushing, but her delivery is emphatic nonetheless. ‘Don’t you have some family in the village over there? A second cousin was it? He came here once, I seem to remember. What was his name? Your mama will know.’
Yanni feels he is falling into a hole. It seems not only that he must go but somehow, it has been decided that he must go tomorrow. The ground is opening beneath his feet and he dangles.
Sister Katerina must see his hesitation as she takes a gliding step towards the boundary door. Yanni reacts by standing and walking mechanically by her side.
‘Tell your mama that if she needs to telephone your second cousin so he can prepare for you, she can come to use the convent phone. Also, as long as you are on God’s business, tell your mama you will be safe and I will be praying for you—personally.’ She indicates his pocket with the missive. ‘It makes sense for you to buy your donkey whilst you are there, does it not?’ They are at the big wooden door. Yanni nods his head compliantly. As an afterthought she adds, ‘If your mama has any worries tell her to come down to me anyway.’
With this, she gently bustles Yanni out of the door, handing him a delicate rose that she nips off from the nearest of her bushes for him to give to his mother.
Outside alone with Suzi, it is quiet. It is dark.
A day to get there, a day at the convent and the donkey breeder’s place, and a day to travel home, he reasons, but he doesn’t really believe he is going anywhere yet.
He puts the Nun’s parcel in the saddle bag and his hand automatically reaches for his tobacco pouch.
Chapter 8
It is dark. There is a door, no, a window, a light beyond. So bright. Better to keep his eyes closed, just for a moment. The bed he is on, sagging, soft, swirling. Still swirling with his eyes closed. Water would be good. It’s possible to make out the shadows of the ceiling. An oblong room. It is not home. But where, what time? It’s dark. Do the animals need feeding? He knows where he is, he knows everything, it’s lurking just beyond his grasp, teasing, taunting. What can he remember? A boat and a bright sea, his island receding. And then? Then voices, women with bags. Jostling and swaying. A sickness in the stomach. Voices arguing. A goat amongst people, bleating, terrified. More arguing, the goat leaving, more swaying, so hot. A change of people, laughing and rocking and then, and then …
Perhaps if he sits up. Slowly. No, bad idea, lie down. His hand creeps across his stomach, up his chest, over his jaw, sweeping his eyes. Pressing and rubbing his temples does not alleviate the pain or the steady beat of the drum. Twitching his legs, his feet heavy; he still has his boots on. Why would he still have his boots on if he has laid down? Where did he walk? Images of orange orchards, rich and lush, leaves so green, like nothing he has ever seen on the island. And olive groves, with bushy trees thick with fruit and, yes, he remembers that - water coming from pipes beneath them, the ground soggy with the excess. Then? What then? A turn in the road, a school with a brightly coloured fence.
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