Watching the Wind Blow (The Greek Village Collection Book 9) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Sara Alexi
bath on legs with big industrial-looking taps.
That initial feeling of sinking beneath the warm water was such a luxury, she thought she might never climb out. Stathoula and Glykeria left her alone, and she marvelled at her luck. She did not want to soil their world with her own experiences. She wanted to embrace her new life and her cousins. Cast off the street. Forget the horrors she had seen. Lock it all away, pretend it had never happened.
It was a natural thing to do, even if not the best. If only she had found her tongue back then, talked to them, told them about the time between losing her parents and their Yiayia’s funeral. Talked about it all when it was fresh rather than letting it settle, bury its way into her, become a part of her, stagnating.
Maybe talking today will help loosen some of the armour she has put up. Let people in a little closer?
But just a couple of hours at lunch is not even enough time to give all the thanks she needs to give Stathoula, let alone talk. Still, if she only stays for a couple of hours, an hour even, or just five minutes, enough time to see her face, feel her embrace, it will be a moment of completeness, an acceptance, an absolute joy.
Besides, now that she is settled, maybe they can find ways to see more of each other. Kalamata’s not so far to see Glykeria. Even Germany these days is only a few hours on a plane. She could get a passport.
The toilet is flushed by using a hand pump, and Irini pumps vigorously, drawing sea water into the bowl and back out again into the sea. It gushes and rushes through unseen pipes. As she is pumping away, the first aid box shifts from its place on the shelf by her head and she struggles to push it back. The lid has come off and something inside jams it open. The water in the toilet gurgles and for a moment, Irini doesn’t hear the new noise. But as she stops pumping, she can hear a definite throbbing and the duckboard beneath her feet seems to be juddering. It is as if someone has switched on the engine. Things from the first aid box rattle out and a tube bounces off the toilet seat and onto the floor. Maybe Captain Yorgos has forgotten she is on board. Could he be back already, with day trippers? It’s a little early. If he casts off now, he may be reluctant to put her back ashore.
As she backs out of the toilet, the first aid box falls onto its side by the sink and she bangs her hip against the door handle. Wincing and bending with a hand covering the pain, she rushes to the steps that lead up to the deck.
‘Captain Yorgos. Hey Yorgos, have you forgotten I am on board? Don’t cast off.’
Chapter 3
With the light behind the figure streaming in from above deck, Irini has no idea who or what she is looking at. Initially she thinks it is Captain Yorgos, his arm outstretched, handing her something, and her hand twitches in response to accept the offered item. But there is something in the way the person moves and the steadiness of the hand that holds the object outstretched towards her that makes her hesitate and take a step back.
The figure fills the space at the top of the steps. Irini takes another step back as the glare lessens, and the figure descends one step. The object is still held out, the shape becoming real. The round black hole at the end of a shaft lined up with her forehead. His grip unswaying around the handle. His cheek level with its sights, suggesting images from films. Irini gasps, sweat breaking into beads on her forehead.
‘Who are you?’ the gruff voice asks in a clear English.
‘Kanenas ,’ Irini’s voice croaks in Greek, generating a flick of incomprehension on the man’s face. She repeats herself in English ‘No one, a cleaner.’ She vaguely lifts the cloth in her hand as proof. The saloon blurs but she dare not move even to wipe her eyes. Coloured spots dart in her vision and she feels slightly sick.
He looks about himself, quickly, animal-like. In the aft of the boat are two
That initial feeling of sinking beneath the warm water was such a luxury, she thought she might never climb out. Stathoula and Glykeria left her alone, and she marvelled at her luck. She did not want to soil their world with her own experiences. She wanted to embrace her new life and her cousins. Cast off the street. Forget the horrors she had seen. Lock it all away, pretend it had never happened.
It was a natural thing to do, even if not the best. If only she had found her tongue back then, talked to them, told them about the time between losing her parents and their Yiayia’s funeral. Talked about it all when it was fresh rather than letting it settle, bury its way into her, become a part of her, stagnating.
Maybe talking today will help loosen some of the armour she has put up. Let people in a little closer?
But just a couple of hours at lunch is not even enough time to give all the thanks she needs to give Stathoula, let alone talk. Still, if she only stays for a couple of hours, an hour even, or just five minutes, enough time to see her face, feel her embrace, it will be a moment of completeness, an acceptance, an absolute joy.
Besides, now that she is settled, maybe they can find ways to see more of each other. Kalamata’s not so far to see Glykeria. Even Germany these days is only a few hours on a plane. She could get a passport.
The toilet is flushed by using a hand pump, and Irini pumps vigorously, drawing sea water into the bowl and back out again into the sea. It gushes and rushes through unseen pipes. As she is pumping away, the first aid box shifts from its place on the shelf by her head and she struggles to push it back. The lid has come off and something inside jams it open. The water in the toilet gurgles and for a moment, Irini doesn’t hear the new noise. But as she stops pumping, she can hear a definite throbbing and the duckboard beneath her feet seems to be juddering. It is as if someone has switched on the engine. Things from the first aid box rattle out and a tube bounces off the toilet seat and onto the floor. Maybe Captain Yorgos has forgotten she is on board. Could he be back already, with day trippers? It’s a little early. If he casts off now, he may be reluctant to put her back ashore.
As she backs out of the toilet, the first aid box falls onto its side by the sink and she bangs her hip against the door handle. Wincing and bending with a hand covering the pain, she rushes to the steps that lead up to the deck.
‘Captain Yorgos. Hey Yorgos, have you forgotten I am on board? Don’t cast off.’
Chapter 3
With the light behind the figure streaming in from above deck, Irini has no idea who or what she is looking at. Initially she thinks it is Captain Yorgos, his arm outstretched, handing her something, and her hand twitches in response to accept the offered item. But there is something in the way the person moves and the steadiness of the hand that holds the object outstretched towards her that makes her hesitate and take a step back.
The figure fills the space at the top of the steps. Irini takes another step back as the glare lessens, and the figure descends one step. The object is still held out, the shape becoming real. The round black hole at the end of a shaft lined up with her forehead. His grip unswaying around the handle. His cheek level with its sights, suggesting images from films. Irini gasps, sweat breaking into beads on her forehead.
‘Who are you?’ the gruff voice asks in a clear English.
‘Kanenas ,’ Irini’s voice croaks in Greek, generating a flick of incomprehension on the man’s face. She repeats herself in English ‘No one, a cleaner.’ She vaguely lifts the cloth in her hand as proof. The saloon blurs but she dare not move even to wipe her eyes. Coloured spots dart in her vision and she feels slightly sick.
He looks about himself, quickly, animal-like. In the aft of the boat are two
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