Black Butterflies (15 page)

Eleni has frozen. The wind buffets her against the handrail. She cannot see the possibility of his escape. He pulls the ring over his wide chest. He waits. The slack in the line is taken up as the captain eases the police boat forward. When it is taut the man on the rock readies himself. The captain is looking over his shoulder as he drives, watching the man. As the rope starts to pull, the man on the rock jumps. Eleni sees the rocks beneath him. She swallows hard. The captain edges the boat forward, a little too fast, and the line snaps taut, pulling both ring and man forward with a jerk as they sail through the air. He lands in the dark. The captain eases the speed back. The engine strains at slow revs against the wind. Eleni cannot see the man.

The crew are silent. Watching. The wind howls, the noise of the channel booming. The engine throbs.

‘
There!’ they all shout in close unison. A dark shape and an orange ring bob to the surface. The crew rush to winch in the line, hand over hand. The captain keeps the vessel steady.

The second in command and Spiros jump down onto the step below the back of the boat. The man appears lifeless, his arm hooked through the orange ring. His shirt is torn and Eleni can see blood on his skin. They haul him into the boat and for a moment they stand around him, exhausted. Eleni snaps into action first and feels for a pulse. The captain, seeing he is aboard, throttles forward and heads for the harbour at full speed.

‘He’s alive.’ Eleni smiles up at the other crew members. The man coughs violently and rolls onto his back, and opens his eyes.

‘
Of course I am alive!’ he coughs again. ‘And I will dance at my wedding!’

The dancing man. Eleni likes his smile. It seems familiar.

‘What is your name?’ the captain asks.

‘
They call me Petalouda – the butterfly.’

‘
A name well deserved, my friend,’ Spiros teases as he recognises him. ‘You flitted from girl to girl all your life, like a butterfly from flower to flower.’

‘
Petta for short,’ he tells Eleni. He coughs again and tries to sit up. He winces and lifts the collar of his shirt to look at his shoulder. ‘Huh! The island bit me! What took you guys so long?’

Eleni takes the first aid box from above the chart table and crouches down to unbutton his shirt. The gashes in his shoulder are jagged and deep but they are not bleeding profusely. She presses a pad of gauze over them and begins to bandage him.

‘Captain, can you do me a favour?’ Petta tries to turn to the captain, who nods. ‘Can you call Petro at the taxi boats and see if he can go pick up the boat?’ Petta turns to Eleni. ‘Not my boat – I will wish I had died back there if I don’t return it.’ He laughs heartily until he winces.

The skies are lightening but the wind is not dropping. The police boat tosses and ploughs back past the boatyard, level with the two rock islands topped with churches. The crew cross themselves as they pass. Eleni makes the decision to tell her mum her secret; they have been apart too long. Time to reclaim her mother or mourn her loss.

‘One minute you’re safe, the next you are nearly dead!’ Petta exclaims, grinning.

Eleni decides to tell her mother as soon as they get back to shore.

‘Yeah, what happened out there, buddy?’ Spiros offers Petta a cigarette. He takes it casually and Eleni starts to coil the ropes attached to the life rings. One has fallen down on the step behind the boat. It has become stuck. She leans over to release it.

‘
I had just dropped some tourists on the beach at the back of the island. Oh my goodness, they will still be there! Captain, can you call a taxi boat to pick them up?’

The ring will not come free. Eleni puts a leg over the rail, a hobnailed boot on the step. The spray blinds her. The propeller churns the sea. The wind changes direction, snatching Petta
’s words away. She reaches for the ring, pulls on the rope to free it. It is fast. She wraps the rope around her wrist for grip. The wind changes again. Petta’s tale is accompanied with the spray.

‘
Engine just cut. But when I tried to restart it the battery was flat …’

Eleni straddles the handrail. She uses both hands to pull the rope. The boat wallows and rears. Coils of rope fall into the sea. Eleni sees the danger. Releases the rope. It is caught round her wrist. The propeller takes the rope, sucking it under. Coiled around its shaft, grinding. Hauling it down, twisting, cutting. Eleni
’s breath quickens. She scrabbles to release her hand. The slack is all but gone. The propeller draws all attached to it to the deep. She will be pulled under. Shredded. Drowned.

‘
I tied it to the rock when all was calm …’ Petta draws deeply on his cigarette. He is still on the floor. He looks up to Spiros and then beyond. He jerks up to sitting. Spiros follows his gaze. A leg and a hobnailed boot. The wind and engine too loud. A silent splash.

‘
Man overboard!’ Spiros yells, jumping to his feet and throwing his butt end into the sea. He leaps to the handrail. ‘Cut the engine!’

‘
What!’ The captain is aware that cutting the engine in such conditions means losing his control to the sea. But no sooner have the words left his mouth than he can hear the propeller whining. Then screaming. The engine dies. They are adrift.

The second in command has the rope around a winch in seconds. They wind it into the boat, at first with great effort. Spiros joins in, hoping Eleni is on the end of it. A frayed end shoots into the boat.

‘Mother of God, where’s the girl?’ The captain bellows. Spiros points to the stern. The captain jumps over the sprawled men. He is over the handrail, onto the step. He searches the sea. The second in command is on his feet, life ring in hand. ‘There.’ He points. She is face down.

‘
Drop an anchor,’ yells the captain, and dives over the side. He pulls through the water with ease, his life jacket buoyant in the heaving, breathing brine. He grabs at her. Draws her closer. Flips her onto her back. Wet hair straggles her face. Her eyes are closed. The life ring is thrown, and the rope attached is clipped to her buoyancy jacket. Eleni and the captain are hauled to the craft.

With one hand Spiros pulls her into the cockpit and checks for a pulse. The captain climbs aboard. He coughs and heaves for air before he and the second in command turn their attention to the rope around the propeller. No propeller means no engine. The wind is still strong and they have drifted nearer the island. The gusts are broken by the rise of land. The edge is rocky all the way along, with nowhere they can safely land. The boat rocks, the movement no longer harsh.

‘Why are we drifting? Check the anchor,’ the captain shrieks. The second in command looks at Spiros, who is turning Eleni’s head to one side to clear her airways of water.

‘
You didn’t drop a bloody anchor! Are you simple? Panayia! Drop it, drop it now,’ he shouts into the second in command’s face.

Water pours from Eleni
’s nose and mouth. Spiros straightens her head to begin artificial resuscitation. Petta looks on, his shoulder bleeding through the gauze and bandage.

The captain has a knife between his teeth. A rope round his waist is tied to the handrail. He must cut the rope from the propeller. He removes his life jacket, slips into the sea, one hand on the step, head under water. He lets go. The swirling black encloses him. He is back within seconds.

‘Too dark,’ he yells to the wind. He pulls himself aboard. Spiros lifts his head from Eleni, who arches her back and coughs, spraying him with water. The captain strides over her to the VHF.

‘This is port police vessel KA66172. Repeat port police Kappa Alpha 66172. Can anyone hear me? Vasillis, are you there? Stamos, are you around?’

‘
The anchor’s not holding, sir.’

‘
Did you give it enough line?’

‘
All we’ve got.’

‘
Vasillis, Stamos, anyone there?’

‘
Shall I try the boatyard, sir? Tolis listens in on channel 20.’

The captain shakes his head and tuts.
‘He’s up in the mountains this time of year.’

‘
Worth a try though, sir. He does go down and tinker in the boatyard sometimes.’

‘
Tolis, are you there? This is port police KA66172.’

Eleni is coughing and trying to sit up. Petta, despite his bleeding shoulder, is trying to assist her. Spiros lights a cigarette. The VHF crackles. The wind seems to be dropping.

‘There’s no answer, sir.’

‘
Try again.’

‘
Tolis, are you there? Tolis?’ The line crackles.

‘
Forget it,’ the captain says.

The island is a wall of rock. They are close enough to see where birds have nested. The water is crashing around the base, black and ominous, with white foam on top.

‘
Eh? Is that you,
Kapetanio
?’ The crackling line becomes clearer. The captain grabs the radio, and smiles at the sound of Toli’s voice and his use of his official title, despite the fact that they grew up together.

‘
Tolis, you lazy rat, can you pull yourself away from your fancy satellite television and give an old friend a hand?’

‘
Couldn’t possibly. I’m just about to watch the match. What’s your trouble, my friend?’ The captain smiles and his frown relaxes.

‘
The rookie got a rope around the prop. Cut the engine, just past your yard. Drifting to the rocks.’ His frown is back.

‘
Is that all? I thought it must be serious, what with you calling me by name, personal like. It will take me about an hour and a half to get to you if I watch the match first, or I could be there in five or ten minutes if I hurry.’

‘
Right then, see you in an hour and a half, you lazy rat.’ The captain is grinning but the line is already dead. Tolis is on his way. The captain kisses the evil eye pendant around his neck and tells his crew they are such a bad lot that they have the luck of the devil. The captain turns. Eleni’s head is resting back against the seat locker. Petta has his eyes closed. The second in command is at the bows trying to secure a hold with the anchor and Spiros is standing next to him, one hand on the rail and the other holding a cigarette.

The captain breathes out heavily. He leans his weight against the dashboard to steady himself, lights a cigarette and takes a small silver flask from his pocket and takes a nip, followed by another, and another.

The wind is dropping. Eleni opens her eyes and focuses on the island. The storm seems to be passing as the sky has lightened, even though the sun is still masked by a layer of grey cloud. She watches the island a while longer. They are not motoring and yet they are moving. There is no thumping of the engine.

She turns to look at Petta sitting next to her. His shoulder is still bleeding and his eyes are closed.

‘
You asleep?’ He doesn’t answer.

She turns to look at the helm. The captain is swigging from a silver flask. Beyond him, standing on the bows, she can see Spiros and the second in command bent over the anchor chain.

She looks down at herself. She is wet. Then, like a tsunami, the memory of falling in the water engulfs her. Her breathing stops and her throat constricts until both give way to a sob. She puts a hand over her mouth to hide her emotion. She longs for her mother. To be held in her arms. To be young and safe again. To feel loved by her. To not have her secret that drives them apart.

The sound of an engine can be heard. The captain pockets his flask.

‘Ahoy, you pirates!’

‘
Ah, Toli. Now you come! What took you so long? It’s been five minutes.’

‘
Close your mouth and open your fist and catch this.’ A rope falls into the boat over Eleni’s head. The captain steps over her legs to retrieve it, and makes it fast on a cleat.

The crew return from the bows.

‘So what do you want me to do, you old sea dog? Take you back to my boatyard and claim you as salvage, or tow you into the port to leave the islanders to make fun of your botched rescue?’

‘
That reminds me, Toli, I haven’t seen your licence for some time now …’

‘
Ach! Licences are for mainlanders. So where shall we go?’ The two men face each other, each captain of his own vessel. ‘And before we go, give me a nip from that flask you keep attached to you!’

The captain slips out the flask and throws it across.

‘You must have been scared, my friend! This is half empty!’ He takes a hearty swig and tosses it back. ‘Come on then. You’ll need the rest of the day to do your paperwork.’ Tolis laughs from his belly, all six feet of him shaking.

Spiros undoes the line from the rear cleat and walks it to the bows. The second in command is pulling up the anchor. Spiros ties the line to the bow cleat.

Eleni makes a move to stand but finds she has neither the energy nor the balance. She can feel her cheeks glowing. Until now she has always felt strong and sure in her uniform and hobnailed boats. Now she feels small and useless. She wonders if tangling the line in the propeller will affect her new position on the island. She knows she will be subject to much jesting, but her main concern is will it land her permanently behind a desk?

There is a jerk. Petta
’s head rolls to rest on the other side. Eleni looks up. The captain is at the helm, flask in hand. Spiros is smoking and the second in command is sitting looking blank. The boat begins to move. They are under way and soon they build some speed.

It takes no more than a few minutes before their speed is cut and they enter the harbour. The sun is peeking through the clouds over the hilltops above the town and a shaft of sunlight spreads glitter on the tiled roofs. Eleni feels exhausted and closes her eyes with the comforting thought of the proximity of solid ground.

Marina and Irini are wet through from the rain and the spray. They huddle in the doorway of a shop on the harbour. Marina
’s instincts put her in the way of the wind and spray to protect Irini as much as she can. Irini has not stopped crying, first loud and hysterical, now a continuous quiet sob.

When they hear the engine of a boat coming around the corner Irini jumps from the doorway and begins to run towards the sound, only to sink onto the wet flags when she sees it is a private boat.

Marina looks a little longer, to see the police patrol boat being towed behind. She helps Irini to her feet. Irini is no longer crying. She is still.

The rigging of the yachts moored in the harbour i
s no longer clattering and the hum of the wind through the stays has subsided. The clouds over the top of the island have parted even further and a shaft of light is descending on the town. Some of the cafés open their doors. Snippets of laughter can be heard and the breeze carries the smell of tobacco and coffee, beer and roasted tomatoes.

The stunted clock tower chimes the hour and Marina walks Irini nearer the harbour edge.

A group of men come hurrying into the port carrying various pieces of equipment on their shoulders. When they come level with Irini and Marina they put two long canvas rolls on the ground and open them out length-ways, snapping pieces together to make stretchers.

Irini
’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open.

‘
It means nothing,’ Marina coos, but her own heart quickens its pace. She cannot believe that she has kept her secret from her children for so long, long enough to alienate Eleni. She has been foolish and selfish and she will tell Eleni all as soon as she returns. ‘God, let her be safe.’

‘
Let them all be safe,’ one of the stretcher bearers says.

The stretcher bearers and Marina all cross themselves. Irini, a generation younger, kisses the stone in a small band of gold on her ring finger.

The boats pull alongside. Ropes are thrown, and the stretcher bearers tie them to bollards on the pier.

‘
Geia sou Toli.’ One stretcher bearer greets the first captain. Marina takes a momentary interest. His boat has a sign with the boatyard number.
So this is the mountain boy’s uncle, Tolis Kaloyannis.
It feels odd to Marina to know something about this man without him knowing her, as if she has invaded his privacy. She nods to him when he looks her way, and he returns the nod blankly.

A port police man gets off the second boat, smoking. He turns and puts out a hand to steady a man who is being all but carried off. Irini squeals.

‘Petta!’

‘
Irini, my love.’

‘
You are hurt.’

‘
It is nothing.’ But his strength is failing him, and it takes little persuasion to get him on a stretcher. Irini holds his hand. It appears that the world has ceased to exist for them beyond their eye contact with each other.

Marina is all but laughing at the sight of them. Her relief relieves the tension in her chest slightly. There is a commotion aboard the police boat and Marina turns her attention and looks for Eleni. She will tell her straight, with no introduction. She will just blurt it out and Eleni can do what she will.

A big man in uniform is carrying someone in his arms. Marina gasps. The person is small. She can see long wet chestnut hair.
Eleni!
She rushes towards her but the stretcher bearers cross her path. The port police are surrounding Eleni, fussing.

‘
I’ll be fine,’ Marina can hear Eleni say, and she exhales.

‘
Just let the doctors check you over. Call it overtime!’ the big man in police uniform says, as he takes a small silver flask from his pocket. ‘Medicinal!’ He offers it, but the stretcher bearers have raised her and the port police walk by her side. She is encircled by people. For Eleni’s sake, Marina decides her confession must wait.

Feeling bewildered by all the excitement, Marina remains on the harbour side as the commotion subsides. She needs a minute alone before she follows. The first stretcher has already turned onto the lane away from the port towards the hospital, the bearers treading carefully on the wet flagstones. Eleni and her entourage are not far behind. A cat joins her party, weaving between legs. The boats that had been the centre of so much activity now bob abandoned in front of her. She scans the police boat, Eleni
’s world. She sees something black on a cleat, trapped by a rope holding a fender. Marina steps towards it, an idle interest wishing to blank her mind from the swirling emotions within her. She releases the item to see it is a police cap. She turns it in her hands, looks inside it to see if it is lined. There is a label with Eleni’s name written in capitals.

Marina intakes a sharp breath, her heart palpitates and her legs feel strangely weak. She clutches the cap to her mouth, holding back all sound. Her face contorts behind the rough serge. A soundless wail rises in the back of her throat, forbidden, unbidden, strangling her airways, pushed from a place deep within. Her eyes crease to slits, tears on her eyelashes distorting the port like prisms. Marina is terrified of all that is rising from within her. It feels like standing on the edge of a very deep abyss. Her hands begin to shake. Her daughter could have died this day. How many years of bad relations have been the result of her suppressed feelings?

Clutching the hat, she hurries after the stretchers. Turning from the port, she can see them entering the hospital grounds. The sun is now out and the way is speckled with cats washing themselves and basking. Marina breaks into a trot and is reminded of the last time she ran. That had also been for Eleni.

The sun has dried the steps up to the little hospital’s entrance. The double doors stand open and Marina can smell disinfectant. There is a screen half-folded in the middle of the high-ceilinged entrance hall for no apparent reason and a group of people stand, two of them in white coats, chatting and smoking. One has a styrofoam cup in her hand. They ignore her.

Gloss-painted grey doors, chipped and worn, lead off the entrance hall on both sides. The first one on the right opens to a sunny reception room. The desks are covered in papers, ashtrays full, and there is no one there. The next room on the right has two beds in it. Both are empty and stripped. The room is stark.

Marina negotiates her way through the hall between the talking people, the screen and a trolley of instruments that she had not noticed before. The first room on the left has two beds and Petta is lying on one, with his shirt off. A nurse is treating his wounds. Irini sees Marina and pulls her in.

‘
Well, well, if it isn’t my Lady Peacock.’ Petta smiles and holds out a hand in greeting. Marina takes it and he pulls her in to kiss her on each cheek, friendly but traditional. As she moves away a priest bustles in, black robes flying, book in hand, his tall black pork pie hat knocked to an angle. He straightens himself and tries to look solemn.