Gwennie's Girl Page 14

  ‘OK,’ he called back in a whisper.

  Lizzie and Sam made their way up and entered a room with no furniture except a low table and carpets and cushions all around the walls. On one carpet she could make out a white shape that she guessed must be the sleeping Ali. This was confirmed by Kris who added, ‘He sleep naked, so I needed to check he was covered.’

  Giggles from Sam in the darkness; the two men clearly thought this was hilarious. However, by the time she arrived in the room, Lizzie was getting past caring; she was so tired. She took off her blazer, kicked off her shoes and settled onto the carpet which was silky to the touch. She thumped the more roughly textured cushion and fell asleep, vaguely aware of an ‘Ouch!’ as she had thumped Sam who was snuggling up next to her. Lizzie slept with Sam’s arms around her. Strange how safe she always felt with Sam—even when he was giggly drunk it seemed.

  When she woke, it was to find sunlight pouring into the room through wide windows. Sam, Kris and Ali, all looking fresh and sprightly were sitting cross-legged at the low table smiling at her. ‘Hello, Ali. Good morning, Kris. Hi Sam,’ she said and rolled over and went back to sleep.

  They must have left her for another hour or so and then Ali woke her, handed her a thin towel and a piece of soap, pointed to a basin of water and left leisurely. Lizzie stripped, washed and changed, putting the “office gear” at the bottom of her pack with her briefcase, not to be seen again for three weeks. When she wandered downstairs, the village was well into its morning routine. The dust had been watered down, loaves of bread were stacked outside the bakery, and women were chatting as they made their way to and from the general store and the stall selling vegetables. Sam was waiting. ‘Breakfast at Mehmet’s,’ he greeted her and took her arm.

  ‘Just how long have you been here, mate? You seem like a local already.’

  ‘The power of shared alcohol among boys,’ he grinned.

  There was definitely something endearing about Sam’s grin. I wonder if this will last three weeks? The longest we have spent in each other’s company outside a war was a week. Interesting.

  Mehmet was the young businessman with a hundred and one projects on the go to make money. He supported a wife, “some” children, his parents and two younger brothers. The family had “always” been carpet makers and Mehmet had begun collecting old examples of the beautifully woven silk and wool craft. Really an art, Lizzie had often thought. They cleaned and repaired them where necessary and had a shop that was the nearest thing to Aladdin’s cave that Lizzie could imagine. It was dim inside so the sun never faded the glorious colours. Lizzie had already bought two beautiful carpets. Mehmet and the visitor or buyer would sit on the floor or on slightly raised cushions and sip hot spiced apple tea for at least a couple of hours, while carpets would be unfolded from stacks along the wall and flipped open in front of them. The woollen weaves were thick and rich like heavy cream and fresh baked bread. The silk carpets were magic; flipped open, they rippled in the old gloom of the air in the shop, then slithered down at Lizzie’s feet. The silk glowed. Soft pinks, deep rose, greens and aquamarines and all variations of the bay that waited outside, rich heavy golds that brought the sun inside. The shapes were memories and silhouettes of birds, flowers, animals, leaves and vines.

  Aahh, Lizzie would sigh.

  Mehmet sipped his tea and talked softly. ‘This one is particularly beautiful,’ he would say occasionally.

  Sometimes, but very seldom, he would say sadly, ‘This one has not been cared for.’

  Gradually, a pile would accumulate of those Lizzie wanted to consider. Then the process began again as she selected fewer and fewer until finally, there would be only two or three. Then Mehmet became the salesman “par excellence”.

  ‘Take all three, Lizzie. They will bring you joy. The price is small, very small.’

  ‘I cannot take all three, Mehmet. I am a single lady. I have no husband. I must feed myself.’

  ‘This is sad, Lizzie. So you must have something beautiful in your life. Three carpets will bring peace and serenity into your home. Maybe they will help you find a husband.’

  ‘I don’t need a husband, Mehmet. I don’t want a husband, Mehmet. I can’t afford a husband, Mehmet.’

  A sigh. ‘Then, Lizzie, you should have three carpets.’ And so it continued. They both enjoyed the ritual and both were smiling when the deal was finally done.

  This morning, they did not go to the carpet shop. They passed by, greeted a woman who sat on the ground in front of a low fire and hot plate where she rolled out the dough that became wonderful flat bread. They passed the shop itself where a “cousin” of Mehmet’s sat with folds of silk over his knees as he repaired a carpet. They walked up the soft dust of the street and entered a fine shaded area of dappled, early morning sunlight where someone had just watered the garden, and there was a green smell of mint and a ripening smell of tomatoes. A long, wooden table was set with plates and glasses and wooden benches waited lazily for them.

  ‘Lizzie!’

  She was greeted with hugs, compliments and a welcome that was warm and genuine. Sam was introduced with openly curious glances going from him to Lizzie. Grins from the men. Smiles from the women.

  ‘You see here, Lizzie? This my new hotel,’ Mehmet could barely wait to show her.

  It was a small stone building, newly whitewashed and glistening in the clean golden air. ‘Now, I have accommodation for the people who come to buy my carpets…and I shall sell carpets to those who come to stay at my hotel,’ he beamed. Mehmet already owned the best restaurant in the village so he could feed them too.

  ‘Sit, Lizzie, sit. You must eat. Captain Kris has told me of your journey. I have asked why you and this handsome man, this Sam, sleep on those rags with Kris at Ali’s place instead of my hotel. It is not fitting. If you are not on the Aquarius, you should be in my place. Sit. Eat. Eat.’

  Creamy cheese appeared in slices. There were tomatoes that were really red, not the pale copy orange found in supermarkets under plastic wrap. There was warm bread for the breaking and a boiled egg in a plastic cup.

  ‘See, Lizzie, I shall cut off its head and you can eat the golden heart.’

  In a brief moment of shadow, Lizzie was back watching a felt tip draw a face on brown shell, and she heard the tap, tap of the knife before it cracked and cut through the whiteness. Then the shadow became the past once more, and she ate the egg, drank the thick, dark coffee, exhaled, smiled and gave thanks to someone or something that she was here in this beautiful place.

  Mehmet, Sam and Kris were talking to her. They would spend the morning loading more supplies, then lunch at Mehmet’s water front restaurant and leave early afternoon. There was gossip about life in the village and the people that Kris and Lizzie had met: one was married; one was cheating on his wife, with a tourist. To sleep with a tourist was not such a bad thing. Tourist women… well… Lizzie gave a mock hurt look at Mehmet. ‘You are not a tourist Lizzie. You are our friend,’ he countered. ‘Maybe you think of living here with us?’

  Now that would be an adventure. Kris gave his news. He was thinking of buying a house in Likya Han. Mehmet, of course, would be his agent.

  ‘This is a good man,’ said Mehmet smiling at Kris. ‘He is a good man, Lizzie. Like Sam, he is a good man too Lizzie. Even Ali, he is a good man. Plenty of good men, Lizzie.’

  Thank you Mehmet. It seems the world is filled with good men. Not really my experience, but I am smiling at you on this sunny day with the sea waiting, the sky blue and at least one of these men looking good so far—and it does not have to go far.

  Sam and Lizzie smiled at each other. Mehmet continued, ‘A good man works hard. He is careful with his money. He is healthy.’ Kris and Sam were just about simpering into their coffee. ‘Now, Kris will have a house here, Lizzie. He will come to live here when it is warm and he can sail. Maybe you, maybe Sam too, will come here to live.’

  It was not a question but a statement of an option. Kris interrupted to expla
in that, at first, it would only be for a few months a year but, eventually, he planned to move permanently. He loved the village, the life and the sailing, and with his computer business it would only be a matter of time before he could afford to make the change.

  He was excited and Lizzie could share his enthusiasm. With at least some level of acceptance by the village community, it could be an idyllic life. Kris was not interested in politics and would bring capital with him so there should be no difficulties. Germans were welcomed because of historical alliances. Lizzie was pleased for Kris because he seemed a lonely sort of man, despite the partying that he did during sailing trips when he often did not finish until four or five in the morning, would sleep on deck and wake to make breakfast at six.

  Waking to Kris’ breakfast was a major joy of these holidays. He began by playing soft, gentle music, maybe Bach or Mozart, that gradually seeped into Lizzie’s cabin—now Lizzie and Sam’s cabin—and slowly brought them to consciousness of the movement of the boat, the light and the breeze coming in the cabin window (or porthole). As the smell of coffee slipped under the door, the music would get louder and brassier; whatever was popular at the time.

  One year, there had been a revival of old Dean Martin songs. For weeks all along the coast, they heard “When the moon hits the sky like an old pizza pie, it’s Amore”. They bought some old copy tapes and sang along all day. Kris was popular with the locals as well as with his crew and Lizzie could imagine him enjoying the slight notoriety of being a sailing captain and an outsider who was warmly accepted. She could hear his enthusiasm and smiled at his excitement.

  ‘The only thing,’ said Mehmet, ‘The only thing Captain Kris needs now is a wife.’ He stopped and smiled at Lizzie. ‘A Turkish wife is good, but Captain Kris would be better with a wife of his own people. Someone who is a good woman, who will look after him and talk to him about his own things. Someone who will be obedient.’

  Lizzie felt Sam’s grin and she turned to Kris expecting a grin in return. He was watching her, but he was not grinning. ‘You like it here, Lizzie?’ he asked.

  ‘I love it here, Kris. I think you could be really happy.’

  Was she imagining it or was Sam’s grin now a little forced? Mehmet was grinning mischievously now at both men. Lizzie continued, ‘Of course, it would not suit everyone. I mean, take someone like me who has to work and travel, who has a job and doesn’t want anyone else to have to look after. It wouldn’t work for someone like me. But, for you, Kris, it sounds great. We can visit you each year and be your best customers for the sailing.’

  She babbled on, into the silence under the vine. Sam’s grin was more real.

  ‘Lizzie,’ said Mehmet, ‘You do not want a husband? Truly, you do not want a husband?’

  ‘Mehmet, truly I do not want a husband. I would not be good as a wife. I am too old.’

  Now Mehmet look struck. ‘How old are you, Lizzie?’

  ‘Too old, Mehmet, too old. I know that and Kris knows that, so you should not tease us.’

  Mehmet looked thoughtful. Kris smiled slowly. Lizzie continued talking about her work and where she had been in the last year, until gradually, conversation resumed, the sun grew hotter, they drank a last cup of coffee and wandered down to the small harbour.

  There was the shaky little jetty that Lizzie remembered. It sloped its way along the waterfront, coming right to the edge of Mehmet’s restaurant then sliding along for wooden fishing boats and dinghies to catch onto it. Many of the boats were painted green or blue, simple craft that were usually rowed, sometimes driven by small motors. Women and kids managed them as well as men.

  One morning, last year, Lizzie actually got up before dawn and Kris had taken her along the shoreline a little with her camera. He left her alone in the silvery time as she wandered through the grass and rocks and waited for the day to arrive. There were some old sarcophagi strewn about and neglected. This was a country where such things were commonplace and taken for granted by the people. Perhaps, living in a place where death was hundreds of centuries old made it easier to accept? Maybe. Maybe not. A rat scuttled in front of Lizzie and she felt her pulse increase. It had been not much more than a movement but she sensed the pointy snout and sickening smell. She stamped her feet and hurried out of the long grass back to the water’s edge.

  Lizzie was not given to rising early, but on the few occasions when she did get up, she marvelled at the daily spectacular of sunrise. Here she could see the sky lighten and then the distant arc of gold on the horizon. A three-mastered wooden yacht stood out in the harbour, gilded. The Aquarius changed from a sliver of lightness to sparkling white with her double smiling in the mirror at her feet. As the gold spread through the silver air, there were twin boats everywhere in the smoothness of the sea. Green on green. Blue on blue. Occasionally, red on red. The small boats posed in the quietness and stillness.

  Lizzie perched on an old box and watched and waited as the village awoke. An old man came down slowly, smoking a sleepy cigarette. Two younger men came quietly but quickly, shook out some nets and pulled out into the bay without even speaking a word.

  A woman stood for a moment at a window and looked out to nothing. Lizzie wondered where the woman’s mind was flying and if her soul were sad. Her own soul was melancholy with that twinge of loneliness that adds piquancy to being alone but she was at peace with the world and herself as she saw the sun grow bolder and the villagers begin their day. It would be easy to assume that, here, people were content and life was simple and relationships quietly happy. Maybe that is the way of things. Maybe not. Lizzie hoped that the villagers had time to remember and register the beauty of their world. Hoped that beauty did not become so familiar that it faded into ordinary. So many things could become ordinary: terror, pain, despair, violence. Why not beauty, contentment and honesty?

  Bloody hell, woman, you do blather on. Shut up and wave to the boat. There. Kris has seen you.

  He had been on his way into shore, and she went to eat breakfast.

  Today, they found the rubber dinghy at the end of the jetty and Lizzie clambered in with Sam clutching her pack and with only two false starts, they puttered out towards Aquarius. The morning was glorious and Lizzie and Sam were both laughing for the joy of it, the freedom and the fun. There were a few other boats in the bay.

  One was an expensive catamaran anchored not far from Aquarius with an extremely elegant young woman on deck in a tiny black bikini and an enormously brimmed straw hat. Blonde hair touched her shoulders, and one long slender leg was stretched from her chaise-longue up towards the blue sky. Kris was back to being the flirtatious, audacious captain. He called to the young woman who removed her sunglasses—oh so languidly—and nodded the slightest of nods in his direction. Kris gave a yell and headed for the catamaran.

  At the last moment, Sam, Lizzie and the young woman realised what he was doing. He was headed through the catamaran. Lizzie squawked, Sam yahoo-ed and the young woman screeched to someone below decks. Kris held the dinghy on course with laughing determination. ‘Duck!’ Lizzie threw herself as flat as she could in the cramped space of the dinghy. They were under the cat. They were between the two side bits—(what the hell are they called?) They were through. They were out and circling. The young woman was gasping, but clearly impressed. Her husband?—father?—brother?—was clearly not impressed. He was yelling at Kris who was still laughing and waving as though he were being greeted by friends. Lizzie and Sam were laughing too, now that they were safe. Kris turned and headed for Aquarius, decidedly pleased with himself and the world. Later, he might meet that young lady at one of the coastal bars. She would remember him. Sam clearly had a bit of the devil in him too.

  By the time they had the dinghy over to Aquarius, the others were all on deck to hand Lizzie aboard with welcoming hugs. They had already met Sam, and he seemed already a favourite. They removed the sandals they wore ashore. Kris was a strict captain and shoes that had been ashore could bring tiny pebbles or dirt aboard,
could mark the wooden decks of Aquarius. Always, they had to be removed and either bare feet or a pair of sneakers just for the yacht were the standing order.

  Kris ordered “Captain’s Drinks” and with only a few pretend protests about it being too early, everyone agreed. Kris’ Captain’s Drinks were usually only for late afternoon or evening when they arrived at their night destination and dropped anchor. He kept a supply of oranges and squeezed them himself before mixing the juice in a saucepan with Campari. Campari and orange juice would always mean memories of sailing with Kris.

  While the drinks were in the making, Lizzie unpacked. She loved this cabin with its funny shaped bed that was wider at the head than at the foot. She loved the glow of the polished wood and the brass fittings. It would be interesting to share it this year. Quickly, she checked her life jacket and unpacked. The briefcase was tossed at the bottom of the cupboard: she found her old black baseball cap, pulled it on with the peak to the back took off her watch and put it away for three weeks. Bliss.

  Back on deck, Kris had erected the table and the drinks were ready (with lots of orange juice Lizzie was pleased to note—Kris was not as irresponsible as he sometimes liked to appear). There was more catching up with everyone speaking English, lounging about putting on sun lotion to protect their newly arrived skin. Most provisions were already aboard but there was a final check, a trip to the shore for a light lunch and then, at last, they waved to Mehmet and to some of the guys who came out in dinghies to say good-bye and they were off. After this flurry, Lizzie collapsed prone on the top of the cabin and half-slept the afternoon hours away. Sam joined her some time later after spending time with Kris at the helm and finding his way around the controls. It was the beginning of Lizzie’s holiday.