A Self Effacing Man by Sara Alexi

Author:Sara Alexi [Alexi, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oneiro
Published: 2016-10-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The Christmas decorations displayed on Marina’s counter appear to be the same ones she had last year – and the year before that, no doubt – and they serve to remind Cosmo that the days have become months and he has still not worked out how he will find out who has written the letters.

‘Do you want a snowman?’ Marina says.

It has been a long, hard day for Cosmo. After his rounds, he had to mend the back fence again. Grigoris, who was working on his own fence in the next orchard, told him that the gypsies cut holes in the fences so they can harvest a crate or two of oranges whenever they choose, a couple from each orchard, and sell them cheap to the stallholders at the laiki. That was his mama’s way of thinking too, to blame the gypsies, but the fences are old, and there’s bound to be a place where they are weakest. Surely it could be age, or a dog, just as easily? But Grigoris clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes when Cosmo suggested this.

It took Cosmo a couple of hours to pull the fence together and weave new wire to hold it. It was more strenuous work than he expected and he is tired now.

‘A snowman – when do we ever have snow?’ he asks, with a frown of surprise.

‘Ach,’ Marina says, ‘they were sent by some company in Athens. A promotion.’ She picks up one of the snowmen and peers at it for a moment, then puts it down again on the counter.

‘I’ll stick to the traditional New Year festivities, thank you, Marina,’ he says.

She looks at the snowman’s cartoon-like face and smiles before putting it down.

‘A small bottle of Plomari, please.’ Cosmo takes out his money, thanks Marina kindly and feels very pleased to be going home. A nip of ouzo and then maybe he will be recovered enough to go for some supper at Stella’s. No, a meze will do at the kafenio. Or perhaps Stella’s would be nice … He will decide after his ouzo.

At home, he flops onto a kitchen chair and, with a sigh, he stands again to get a glass. He has moved all the canisters from the shelf and given them to Poppy, who was very pleased with them. She said they were from the fifties, possibly Italian. Cosmo could easily believe they were that old, if not more. They had been there ever since he could remember and he was glad to see the back of them. The coffee is still kept on the shelf, but in the foil packet now, and the rest of the shelf he uses for glasses and cups. But he might eventually pare them down; after all, he only uses one at a time and it is simple enough to rinse them. Behind the glasses, propped against the wall, are the letters to Maria. Once every few days he takes the time to think how he can find the writer.

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