Page 21 of The Greek Café

‘Kalimera.’

Today she is wearing a white cotton dress, her red nails matching the colour of her lipstick, her sunglasses pushed up on her head. She manages to look impossibly glamorous day or night.

‘Thank you for stepping in,’ she addresses Summer. ‘I give one chance for sickness, unless a doctor can prove otherwise. There is no time for any tebelis here. I think the English word is “slacker”.’ She frowns. ‘I know I do not have to worry about you ladies though.’ She stands between us and places a hand on each of our shoulders, making sure we get the message loud and clear.

‘Of course not.’ Summer smiles and I nod in agreement.

‘Best not get in her bad books,’ she says as Zeta walks off, her floral perfume still hanging in the air.

Later that afternoon I head out for a walk as the sun drops lower in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the greenery. From the elevated position of the hotel, I glimpse the distant sea that is already darkening, its brilliant turquoise slowly turning a darker shade of blue.

Presently, I arrive at the lemon grove, gently pushing open the unlocked gate. Beyond the building, rows of lemon trees spread out across the land as bees drift between the flowers of the blossoming lemons, the scene captivating me at once. The stillness is so soothing that I can already feel my body beginning to relax.

Another glance inside seems to confirm to me that the building appears structurally sound.

Windows and doors would need replacing and some landscaping outside, but I am certain it could be a little gem given its gorgeous location. A few tables outside would give diners a stunning view of the sea down below.

As I look around, my hand running over an outside windowsill, once more I feel as though someone is watching me. When I glance around though, there is definitely no one there.

Feeling ever so slightly spooked, despite a family walking a dog, just outside the gates, I turn to head back, when a woman, dressed in widow’s black, seems to appear out of nowhere. It is so quiet here, I am surprised I never heard her come through the gates, but then I had been daydreaming, I suppose. The woman watches me carefully, before she speaks.

‘I see you here before,’ she tells me in her strong Greek accent. ‘Usually the gates are locked. Sometimes I forget,’ she says as she eyes me suspiciously.

‘So the lemon grove belongs to you?’

‘Nai.’ She nods.

‘It’s beautiful. And yes, I walked here the other day.’ I smile. ‘I cut through here on a forest walk back towards the Apollo Hotel. I am working there over the summer.’

‘You look at the kafenion?’ She indicates the abandoned building. I know that this means ‘café’ in Greek.

‘I did. I was wondering what happened to it?’ I ask her.

Her eyes meet mine, and I notice a sadness behind them.

‘It was once mine. But it is too much now that I am elderly. I worked alongside my husband, but now he is gone.’ She catches her breath before she looks heavenward and crosses herself.

‘I am sorry for you loss,’ I say sincerely.

‘Efcharisto. It makes me so sad to see the kafenion this way. During the lemon harvest, the café was always so busy.’ She shakes her head slowly. ‘Now, the workers bring their own food and drink.’

‘I am right in thinking the harvest takes place over the winter months?’ I ask.

‘Nai. The workers would use the café when they pick the Maglino.’

‘Maglino?’

‘It is the type of lemon that grows in these parts. The tourists, they used to come in the summer months too.’ She sighs. ‘I made lemonade, jams and cakes to sell. But these hands are too old now.’

‘Did you never think of selling the kafenion?’ I ask.

‘I did not want to in the beginning,’ she tells me. ‘And when I did, the buyer, he change his mind. Now it is katastrofi.’

I squint, remembering my Greek history from school. I think she means catastrophe, often used to describe a ruin, although it is hardly that. At least not from the outside.

‘People want the cafés in the town. I have no energy to make it work anymore,’ she says resignedly. ‘So I lock the gates until the pickers come and harvest the lemons. At least most days.’ She manages a smile.

She speaks slowly, concentrating on every word as she speaks, although her English is quite fluent.