A Song Amongst the Orange Trees (The Greek Village Collection Book 13) by Sara Alexi Page A
Authors: Sara Alexi
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husband, another smell for her dead parents, one for the saints.
The number of people around him grows, the name Costas on everyone's lips. Once or twice, someone mentions that he sings, but mostly tales are told again of his baba's boat trip in crocodile country. The slashing of the crocodile’s neck becomes a split from throat to tail. The crocodile grows in size, the boat shrinks, the number of people saved increases, and hearty slaps on Sakis’ back reduce him into being Costa's son once more.
There are so many people and so much fuss is being made that Sakis does not see the barbecue being lit. Nor does he notice women running back and forth to their houses, bringing meat to grill and wine to drink. Yorgos is over by a hydrangea bush offering a cigarette to Jules, who takes two and puts one in his mouth and one behind his ear. Something Jules has said has amused him and he is laughing heartily as he offers a light. The women fuss over Sakis, bring their daughters who are too old to be at school and too young to be married to stand shyly around the congregation’s edge. More tales of his baba are told, some of which are new to him.
'Hey, you remember when he carried Theo's baba all the way back from Saros over his shoulder after a heavy drinking session?' Anna of the green fluffy slippers says and laughs as she holds out her glass to Thanasis for more ouzo.
'Ha, yes, and then there was the time he lifted a donkey for a bet and the donkey emptied its bowels,' Thanasis counters, and this is met with much laughter.
'What about the time he walked to Epidavros to see his sick uncle, what was his name, when his car was not working?' bird-like Katerina says. The response to this includes serious nods and murmurs and someone hands her a small glass of pale red wine. It seems there is no end to the tales, and each is accompanied by a slap on Sakis' back, as if he were the owner of the story. Each slap knocks a little more of the singer out of him. Jules is still talking and laughing with Yorgos, a glass of wine in his hand.
'Hey Yorgos, you were small but you remember Sakis' baba, right?'
Yorgos pauses his conversation with Jules.
'I remember him being a mountain! His big hands would take hold of mine and he would encourage me to walk up his legs, over his stomach, onto his chest, climb up him using my feet as he held my hand. Up and over his broad shoulders and sliding like a snake, down his back until I could reach his hand through his legs and I would tuck myself up tight and he would pull me through his legs. The game was not to touch the floor. Once round and then he would throw us up in the air like a ball. He did that to you too, eh Sakis?' He lifts his glass.
Sakis nods, raises his glass in return. He is doing his best to say as little as possible, save his throat.
'So, my boy.' Thanasis takes centre stage. The smell of roasting meat drifts amongst them, salads have been cut and put on the table along with piles of plates and forks. A woman is putting a tea towel over a big dish of feta to keep the flies off and a dog is sitting by a table leg, licking his lips, looking up hopefully. 'What brings you to breaking into your own house?'
A rumble heralds the school bus, noses press against the windows as the children inside spot the unexpected gathering of people. The bus drives past the house and stops in the village square further along. Within a minute, the schoolchildren begin to mix into the gathering. Hands reach for hunks of bread and slip under the tea towel for feta. A sea of black olives in a deep dish in the centre of the table drops a level and pits are thrown over the wall into Sakis' yiayia's overgrown garden. More glasses are brought and the water jug is refilled. Jugs of local wine cluster round an ouzo bottle on a separate table.
His neighbour is waiting for an answer. Why was he breaking into his own house?
It is a tricky question. If he tells them he has nowhere to live, he knows these people
The number of people around him grows, the name Costas on everyone's lips. Once or twice, someone mentions that he sings, but mostly tales are told again of his baba's boat trip in crocodile country. The slashing of the crocodile’s neck becomes a split from throat to tail. The crocodile grows in size, the boat shrinks, the number of people saved increases, and hearty slaps on Sakis’ back reduce him into being Costa's son once more.
There are so many people and so much fuss is being made that Sakis does not see the barbecue being lit. Nor does he notice women running back and forth to their houses, bringing meat to grill and wine to drink. Yorgos is over by a hydrangea bush offering a cigarette to Jules, who takes two and puts one in his mouth and one behind his ear. Something Jules has said has amused him and he is laughing heartily as he offers a light. The women fuss over Sakis, bring their daughters who are too old to be at school and too young to be married to stand shyly around the congregation’s edge. More tales of his baba are told, some of which are new to him.
'Hey, you remember when he carried Theo's baba all the way back from Saros over his shoulder after a heavy drinking session?' Anna of the green fluffy slippers says and laughs as she holds out her glass to Thanasis for more ouzo.
'Ha, yes, and then there was the time he lifted a donkey for a bet and the donkey emptied its bowels,' Thanasis counters, and this is met with much laughter.
'What about the time he walked to Epidavros to see his sick uncle, what was his name, when his car was not working?' bird-like Katerina says. The response to this includes serious nods and murmurs and someone hands her a small glass of pale red wine. It seems there is no end to the tales, and each is accompanied by a slap on Sakis' back, as if he were the owner of the story. Each slap knocks a little more of the singer out of him. Jules is still talking and laughing with Yorgos, a glass of wine in his hand.
'Hey Yorgos, you were small but you remember Sakis' baba, right?'
Yorgos pauses his conversation with Jules.
'I remember him being a mountain! His big hands would take hold of mine and he would encourage me to walk up his legs, over his stomach, onto his chest, climb up him using my feet as he held my hand. Up and over his broad shoulders and sliding like a snake, down his back until I could reach his hand through his legs and I would tuck myself up tight and he would pull me through his legs. The game was not to touch the floor. Once round and then he would throw us up in the air like a ball. He did that to you too, eh Sakis?' He lifts his glass.
Sakis nods, raises his glass in return. He is doing his best to say as little as possible, save his throat.
'So, my boy.' Thanasis takes centre stage. The smell of roasting meat drifts amongst them, salads have been cut and put on the table along with piles of plates and forks. A woman is putting a tea towel over a big dish of feta to keep the flies off and a dog is sitting by a table leg, licking his lips, looking up hopefully. 'What brings you to breaking into your own house?'
A rumble heralds the school bus, noses press against the windows as the children inside spot the unexpected gathering of people. The bus drives past the house and stops in the village square further along. Within a minute, the schoolchildren begin to mix into the gathering. Hands reach for hunks of bread and slip under the tea towel for feta. A sea of black olives in a deep dish in the centre of the table drops a level and pits are thrown over the wall into Sakis' yiayia's overgrown garden. More glasses are brought and the water jug is refilled. Jugs of local wine cluster round an ouzo bottle on a separate table.
His neighbour is waiting for an answer. Why was he breaking into his own house?
It is a tricky question. If he tells them he has nowhere to live, he knows these people
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