Greek Tragedy
Sarah Barry
Ouzo
My eyes smarted as dust kicked up
from the worn tyres of the tour bus. The radiant heat joyfully penetrated my
pores and made the discomfort of life subside. The dreamy villa stood tall and
inviting beckoning me to drag my wheelie bag over the rough surface. More dust
clung to my back as I wondered what I had actually packed into the
overstretched suitcase. What did I actually need for a week of R and R? Amongst
the rest and relaxation I also yearned for the H to happen too – the healing.
I dared to
think that we could remember the happiness, how we used to laugh, maybe we
could rediscover each other in every way. The security of Lucy and Richard
being in the villa next door gave me the courage to think that a break from the
banal routine was the solution to the unhappiness marriage had thrust on us during
the last few months.
I plonked myself down heavily on the kitchen
chair and marvelled at the scrubbed surfaces and tiny cracks in the tiles on
the kitchen floor without so much as a speck of dirt lodged in them. The room
felt homey, loved, cared for, treasured, not perfect or pristine but beautiful nonetheless.
I fumbled with the slightly twisted key as I persuaded it to let me venture
onto the balcony. I was bombarded with a host of welcomes; waves gently
caressing the sand I could not see; the unknown, yet strangely reassuring scent
of the lovingly grown flowers adorning the balcony; the cool stone soothed the
anxiety from my feet whilst my fingers played with the ancient ironwork of the
balcony. As I stood there in that moment, hope pushed despair from my mind, and
it landed softly below in the shrubbery.
This was going to be the perfect week, my
heart was set and I wanted to rediscover the part of me that had locked away
the laughter and kept my lungs squeezed tight with fear. I would set the
laughter free and remember happiness. And it worked. The first night in the
taverna the retsina loosened the tension and the melting feta zinged on my
tongue. My body started to waken from its numbness and the strange spices
stimulated my senses. Conversation came easily to the four of us and my muzzy
head confused me into realising that a holiday was all we needed. The crisp but
strangely rough white sheets welcomed me to sleep, and the golden alarm clock
finally roused me the next day with the help of a rumbling lorry. Lucy’s early
morning discovery of the cheesy pastries and strong black coffee in the village
bakery cemented the notion that my happiness had bubbled closer to the surface
than I dared to believe.
That
was a week ago. Each day had followed the same pattern of idle routine, long
breakfasts, a slow walk to the beach, reading, swimming, sleeping, the odd chat
and a refreshing Greek salad in the beachside shack that proudly pronounced its
taverna status. Early evening saw us meander back to the villa I loved, before
changing and strolling along to the friendly greeting of the Greek waiter.
But the fifth day was different. I suppose I
knew it was just a brief reprise from the misery he doused me with. I wandered
in still laughing from my banter with Lucy, to find blackness in the kitchen
that hadn’t been there a few minutes earlier. I didn’t notice it at first as my
eyes adjusted from the brightness outside. Then with the accusations and unreasonable
jealousy came the realisation that my life with him could never be any
different. Lucy excused herself quickly and disappeared into her safe haven
next door.
And then it really started.
I could not hear waves or laughter now as the
shaft of light tricked my eyes and I found it hard to focus on anything. I
finally understood that the screaming and shouting would never stop unless I
made it. Inside my head the grating and banging grew stronger as his words
expanded the bitterness and hatred. My eyes wandered away from the epicentre of
my fear and struggled to concentrate on the roses in the ceramic jug freshly
picked from the garden below. My eyes strained to find anything that could
help. The aroma of pastries still filled the room, the plates unmoved, coffee
still warm waiting to be drunk. The
curtains not drawn yet and now I wondered why as the beauty of the day outside
was shielded from me. The lack of light hindered my eyes’ ability to help me. The
shouting had subsided, now replaced by the low threatening voice that scared me
more. The traffic trundled along outside and I heard the door creak open
downstairs. Still I prayed for help. No-one could release me from this fear but
me. His jealousy was insane and unfounded, but we were already past reason in
this argument. 'No-one will ever want you' his pathetic voice repeated. In that
moment I thought the bread knife on the table was my only escape. As I edged
unassumingly away from the open window that must have spilled our secrets to
the world, I barely heard what he was now screaming at me. It was then I saw
the vision silhouetted behind him in the doorway.
How could so many lives all change in
under a minute? He laughed hysterically his power finally cracking his mind,
and with it his restraint. He grabbed my neck and started squeezing my
frightened breath out of me.
When I awoke to the rapid babble of Greek
all around me, I saw Lucy’s pleading eyes staring down. I could still feel the
fingers pressing hard, even though they weren’t there. He was been tended to on
the other side of the room blood dripping down into those tiny cracks in the
tiles. I wondered who did all the scrubbing. I passed out again, and awoke to
safety in a room where I could finally see those unbound waves play on the shoreline.
Lucy was sitting staring at the beautiful scene too.
After the
interviews with interpreters and consuls, policemen and lawyers, I understood
how Lucy had saved me. She had smashed the ceramic jugs of roses down on his
head to make him stop. As his fury turned to her, she had grabbed the beautiful
blade from the table. His aggressive lunge at her ended only in his own brutal
wound, as she held the knife to defend herself and his weight forced the blade
to puncture his lung.
At least the screaming has stopped and the
healing has started now. The healing I yearned for will come from time in this
beautiful place after all.
Author Bio
Sarah
Barry lives in Co. Kildare, Ireland where she recently completed a creative
writing course with the inspirational author Niamh Boyce. Sarah has been
focussing on writing Flash Fiction and Short Stories, as rapid bursts of
writing have to fit around caring for her four children. Sarah’s first
published work was a flash fiction included in the anthology Once Upon A Time: A Collection of Unexpected Fairytales (ed. SJI Holliday and Anna
Meade) and another flash fiction was included in the “Flash Flood” that
cascaded throughout the 12th October, 2012. Sarah’s blog can be
found at www.relishingwriting.blogspot.ie
or follow her on twitter @saraheebarry
