ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

Kiki Grows
Alexandra Mavridis
Kiki loved to hear the sound of her husband’s car entering the
driveway. It was probably a sound uninteresting to most, but for
her it was a prized piece of the rhythm of her life. Just like the
sound of Demetrius whistling ritualistically as he lathered up his
face to shave; these were the elements of her life that gave her joy
and purpose; that and the sound of her boys rising in the morning,
eyes slightly puffy and full of sleep.
It was Saturday morning and Kiki was already feeling tired. She
had worked hard yesterday baking bread and savoury pastries
for the rest of the week. Don’t complain she told herself as she
remembered her mother’s stories of hardship back in the village;
the grinding of the wheat by hand, the preparation of the wood
oven coals and the washing of the clothes along the rocks by the
riverside.
Today was her washing day and fortunately the chance of rain
predicted earlier in the week had been revised to sunny with
occasional cloudy patches. It was a relief to get the washing hung
out and brought back in on the same day; it cut the workload in
half. Autopilot seemed to be her setting.
‘Two weeks with me and I will turn you into a robot,’ her sister
Tina would declare. It hurt to remember the delight that her sister
showed when she delivered that line to her; her eldest sister’s
comments permeated her unconscious. She had succeeded.
During the school holidays it had been Kiki’s job to stay at her
sister’s place and babysit her two sons and keep house. Tina
lived in the suburbs; she had the perfect house, according to her
parents. Kiki hated not seeing friends, God knows she didn’t have
very many, but with time she had grown attached to her nephews.
They had given her the name Kiki.
She had a lot to be thankful for—her role as a mother was paramount—a
beautiful home in a good suburb, an adoring husband
and two healthy sons. Still, a feeling of emptiness had begun to
overshadow her days; on waking it was there like a lead blanket
on her chest. It was a relief going to bed each night. Kiki
would stare at the ceiling rose and try to calm her mind that
had become full and chaotic; she would ruminate about all the
things she hadn’t got right, that she would probably never get
right. During the day she found herself fixating about the house;
washing things in the kitchen that had already been cleaned,
changing the bath towels continually; it was becoming difficult
just to watch television without attending to specks of dust that
she spied on every surface.
Her mother had trained her well: she had learnt the ways of good
housekeeping from the tender age of ten. She laughed sardonically
within herself as she remembered the compliments her mother
received in church.
‘You will have no problems marrying this one off, Sotiria,’ crowed
the elders.
‘You know my grandson’s a good boy,’ chimed a plump lady in the
aisle.
‘We’ll have to come and get her to make a Greek coffee for us,’
they continued.
‘You haven’t let her go out have you?’ one elder screeched.
‘You know what happens to those girls that get away?’ they resonated
in harmony.
Kiki knew all right, her friend Despina had got away. She’d married
an Australian boy. She never saw her again. Despina wed and
went to live interstate, eventually Robert got a great job offer and
now they lived in New York. Occasionally, she received postcards
from places like Paris and Egypt saying ‘wish you were here’.
She had chosen a white damask tablecloth for her dowry from the
travelling quilt man who would drop by every Sunday to show
his wares to all the prospective maidens of the Greek community.
The paplomatas would call her Kori, a name she despised—it
simply meant daughter—she was not his daughter, she was not
his anything. She had a name; Kiryaki Sidiropoulou and she told
him so. Did he know her better than she knew herself? Had she
become the sort of woman she despised?
Standing at the kitchen sink and gazing out of the window Kiki
watched the family dog run around in circles as he chased flies
and other insects. Demetrius and the boys kicked a ball while her
roast was cooking. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw that her
sons had grown into young men, soon enough they too would
have wives and it would just be her and Demetrius. The house
would be hollow like a mausoleum with only a suggestion of the
living.
It was two o’clock and it was time to lay the table.
‘Come to the table for lunch my darlings,’ she said as she placed
the last of the accompaniments on the table.
‘Is that enough olives?’ asked Demetrius taking his usual seat at
the head of the table.
‘I shall bring you more,’ said Kiki
‘Can I have more meat,’ said Ilias
‘Give the boy more meat, did you see the hair on his legs,’ said
Demetrius.
‘Me too,’ piped up Michael.
‘Where is the bread?’ said Demetrius
‘I should have put it closer to you, sorry,’ said Kiki in a shrill voice.
‘I heard a good story at the coffee club. Petros’s wife was found in
bed with her lover. He had a heart attack while climaxing! Perhaps
the dead really do return to watch over us?’ said Demetrius,
smirking at Kiki.
‘Not to be trusted that woman. Doesn’t shed a tear at her own
husband’s funeral, refuses to wear black. Shouldn’t be allowed
back to church,’ said Kiki, scoffing.
Ilias and Michael broke out into laughter and soon Demetrius
joined his sons.
‘When was the last time you went to church?’ asked Kiki.
Abruptly, Kiki got up and started to clear the table. All dirty dishes
were to be dealt with straight away, that was the way Demetrius
wanted it and she had learnt the ways of her husband. Every
day was the same. What was Despina doing at this moment?
Probably at the Museum of Modern Art looking at Picasso’s
painting of the Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, she always liked a bit
of nudity; and she?
‘Shall I make the coffee now?’ said Kiki as she wiped her brow.
‘Bring some Koulourakia as well,’ said Demetrius, grinning. He
found his wife incredibly sexy when she looked slightly dishevelled.
Still he knew better than to make any advances towards
her; it was a running joke amongst their friends that they were
more like sister and brother now.
‘I picked up some fresh Loukoumia yesterday,’ said Kiki. ‘The
melons are cut already, chilling for supper tonight.’
ReadFin Literary Journal 29