The Art of Becoming Homeless

by Sara Alexi

  ‘Sure. It sounds easy, but he has this way of bending logic, altering the way I think,’ Dino says.

  ‘He could argue black was white and make you think it was true. The government should employ him to promote their propaganda.’ Adonis’ arms are folded over his chest. He leans to one side slightly and raises his hand to his mouth as he laughs at his own joke.

  ‘Hey Dino! Is that you? You are here! Welcome home, my friend.’

  ‘Ilias! How is the water-taxi work?’ Dino greets him.

  ‘Good, good. My Baba’s out there now.’ He holds up two paper parcels from the bakery. ‘Just getting some breakfast, been on the early one. You staying or are you going over the hill?’ He nods across to the mainland.

  ‘He wants to stay,’ Fanis says.

  ‘Who doesn’t? Every tourist who arrives wants to stay. You are a tourist now, my friend,’ Ilias teases.

  Dino swears at him, calls him a “malaka”. Ilias returns the insult. Dino throws a soft blow to his stomach, and Ilias grabs him round the neck, still holding his breakfast, and pulls. Adonis pushes them both apart.

  ‘I have to go, but you must find me before you leave.’ Ilias pats him on his shoulder but doesn’t make any move to depart.

  ‘You haven’t said what has brought you. Your Baba, he is not ill is he?’ Adonis asks.

  ‘He will be. I quit.’ Dino smiles as he says the words but there is no humour in his eyes.

  ‘You quit your job with the green lamp and the secretaries? Panayia! Mother of God! Your Baba will go ballistic,’ Adonis says.

  ‘But you know, my friend, without joking, things are not so easy here …’ Fanis’ brows crease into a frown again. ‘Maybe your Baba is right. In Greece now no one is building, and I have no new clients, only one or two construction projects that started some time ago. But when those finish ….’

  ‘Speaking of jokes, I heard a good one!’ Adonis is in high spirits. ‘You know what the unemployed architect says to the one who has a job?’ He waits, and Fanis rolls his eyes. ‘Can you guess?’ Adonis claps his hand on Dino’s shoulder as he delivers the punch line. ‘Two souvlaki and a portion of chips!’ He dissolves into laughter, but no one else is much amused.

  ‘It’s no joke, my friend.’ Fanis’ countenance is heavy. ‘I know many colleagues who have closed their offices.’ He makes his excuses and the party breaks up. Ilias lopes off to join his father, who is beckoning him for his breakfast. They all look towards the old man, who waves to Dino with one hand and beckons his son with the other, from one of the brightly coloured water taxis lined up in one corner of the port. Dino nods.

  They agree they will all meet up later, and Adonis and Dino are left alone. Adonis the taller of the two, lithe, Dino muscular by comparison, but they could be brothers, with the same dark straight hair swept back, straight noses, full eyebrows. Dino is pale by comparison; the English rain has washed away his tan.

  ‘Coffee?’ Dino asks.

  ‘No, work.’ He tips his head up a side street towards a little bar with its doors closed, chairs stacked on tables. ‘Come.’ He begins to walk.

  ‘Actually …’ Dino begins, nodding toward the café where Michelle sits. Adonis frowns, and then smiles and nods knowingly.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he says. ‘I will see you later then.’

  ‘Can’t avoid it, my friend. It’s a small island.’ Dino grins.

  Michelle has finished her drink by the time he returns. They sit a while longer, soaking up the sun and the bustle of life around them. The ship they arrived on gives three sharp hoots and begins to back slowly away from the dock. More of the harbour comes into sight from where they are sitting. Halfway along the edge facing out to sea is a stumpy clock tower with carved stone columns on the corners by the clock face. Opposite, low in the water is a rusty blue cargo ship, strikingly at odds with the sleek white yachts and motor-cruisers that surround it.

  Michelle surmises that many of the things needed for daily life must be shipped in to these little islands. She looks around, and the absence of any roads suddenly strikes her. There are many little streets and passages, but they are all too narrow for a car or a truck.

  ‘I did say, didn’t I? There are no cars, motorbikes, or bicycles here; just legs and donkeys.’ Dino’s smile lights his eyes. He seems thoroughly content.

  As if to prove the point, a string of donkeys, one behind the other, is led out from a side street to the edge of the pier near the cargo boat. One of the donkeys lets out a braying call. A pair of donkeys follows and these are brought past the cargo ship to the corner where Michelle and Dino are sitting. A man with a flat cap and the most magnificent moustache Michelle has ever seen is holding the reins. He turns to stroke the lead donkey’s head. He twists the end of his moustache on both sides before taking out a pouch of tobacco and beginning a well-practised ritual. He cannot be much over thirty. That, or he is very well preserved.

  ‘Donkeys!’ Michelle is on her feet. ‘I love donkeys.’

  Dino slurps to the bottom of his glass, throws some coins on the table, nods to the waiter, and hastens behind her.

  The donkeys smell just as she remembers them. She smooths their shaggy coats and pats them.

  ‘Juliet and I once skipped school …’ She briefly turns to Dino but almost doesn’t meet his gaze.

  ‘Tell me,’ he encourages.

  Chapter 4

  She pats the donkey. ‘We weren’t very good at school, really. We kind of egged each other on. She’d come up with the ideas, I’d never think she was serious so I would join in, but she always was and then I would find myself actually doing the thing we had been talking about.’ She laughs, realising, all these years later, how petty it really was.

  ‘We skipped school and took a bus to Liverpool. We ate candyfloss ….’

  ‘Candyfloss, what is this?’ He nods to the donkey owner, who nods in return, and who appears much younger close up, a little older than Dino, with a sad, distant look in his eyes. The cuffs of his thin, denim shirt are frayed, but he has taken the time to trim them; his boots are soft with wear but no longer polished, the light brown stained and mottled.

  ‘You know, spun sugar you get at fairs.’ Michelle looks back from the donkey owner to his animals.

  ‘Ah, “malli grias”, old woman hair’, Dino murmurs.

  ‘Then we went down to the beach where there were donkey rides. We had very little money, but it was a dull day and not many people were around, so we begged and pleaded to have a go on a donkey until Juliet said something like, “If people see you standing here doing no trade, they’ll think you’re over-priced or something, but if they see people riding, especially girls like us with no money, they’ll know you’re a bargain and they’ll all queue up.”’

  ‘Gift of the gab, she had, and the man was talked into it. But after a few minutes, Juliet got bored so she slapped the rump, you know, the bottom, of my donkey and it went crazy and belted off down the sands. The man and Juliet on her donkey came hurrying after, only for Juliet to lose her grip, and she fell off onto the sand. It was chaos; the man didn’t know whether to chase after me or help Juliet up and make sure she wasn’t hurt. He was livid, but we couldn’t stop laughing.’ Michelle runs her hand along the saddle before turning back to Dino.

  ‘Can we?’ she asks, her hand still on the saddle. Her eyes bright, like Mama when she was happy, but something else too. For a tall woman she has grace, the movement of her hand delicate, as if everything she touches might break.

  ‘Dino?’

  He can’t help smiling. Inside he feels happy when she talks. He turns to the donkey man.

  ‘My friend, er …?’ Dino pauses. He has forgotten the man’s name. He knows him by sight, as he knows almost everyone on the island by sight, but he cannot recall if he has spoken to him before. Someone is bound to have said his name at some point or other. Dino twists his hand, palm up, in question.

  ‘Yanni,’ the man answers.

  ‘Dino,’ he responds. �
�My friend Yanni, she wants to ride the donkey. Is it possible?’

  ‘Both donkeys for half a day?’ Yanni asks.

  ‘No, I was thinking … ah, OK, why not?’

  ‘I will lead.’

  ‘No need, my friend. I know where I am going.’

  ‘Usually I go where they go.’ Yanni’s grip tightens on the rein.

  ‘Well, if you insist, but if I were you, I would take the time to sit and do nothing. Life is hard enough. Take what you can.’ He grins. If Juliet can do it for Michelle then so can he. Yanni’s hand relaxes, and after a moment’s hesitation, he hands Dino the rope and they agree a rate.

  ‘Suzi,’ he pats the first animal, and bends and whispers something in its ear, ‘and Dolly.’ He pats the second beast and fondles its ears. ‘Be back before two. It gets too hot for them.’ And he walks away, hands in pockets, knees facing out just slightly, rolling from one soft sole to the other.

  Michelle watches the donkey man leave, twisting his sandy moustache. Dino leaves his big bag at the café. He’ll pick it up later.

  ‘Ela,’ Dino says. ‘Come.’ He reaches out to take her waist to help her up.

  ‘I can’t believe this!’ Michelle takes her bag from her shoulder and puts it over her head.

  ‘In Greece we sit sideways.’ He points to another donkey man who is sitting side-saddle, his legs dangling, one hand holding the single rein, which he flips onto one side of the neck and back to the other, a gentle tap to keep the beast moving.

  ‘I think I would feel safer with a leg each side,’ Michelle decides. Dino offers his hands as a stirrup, and Michelle is surprised at how easy it is to get up, but once seated, her proximity to the ground makes it clear—her feet dangle only a foot or so off the ground.

  Dino sits side-saddle, looking like he has never been off the island, never been to university, as if it would be a miracle if he spoke anything but Greek. There is more depth in his few years than in most of the people she works with, their knowledge so specific, their learning all within hallowed walls, remote from the buffeting of everyday life.

  Visions of the office bring to mind her desk, sinking into the time-worn dark floorboards with the weight of casework spread across it waiting for her return. But first this claim must be wrapped up before she can move on. This one could be a real feather in her wig. Work’s important, but she’ll not think about it till Monday. That was the whole point of coming early: to sneak a weekend in the sun. Then get the work done and enjoy a week’s holiday after at Juliet’s.

  She casts work from her mind. The donkeys plod slowly along the path around the port, weaving between the people, past shops selling gold jewellery and linen dresses, past the fishing boats, onto the coastal path. Steep rock and soil to their left, plants and shrubs desperately clinging with exposed roots, and the expanse of the shimmering, island-dotted sea to the right. The horizon ripples with blue whispers of distant places.

  Here and there houses seemingly grow out of the rock, overlooking the breath-taking view, some dug into the slope, others low down near the water. The occasional steep track leads inland.

  A lizard darts across the stones that form the coastal walk.

  They come to a second smaller harbour, on past a shingle beach and slowly the town is left behind, until there are just the four of them. The cobbled stones give way to dusty earth.

  ‘It’s so hard to believe this. Yesterday I was sitting behind a desk in a rather damp wood-panelled, crumbling office in central London, and today I am sitting on Dolly the donkey in the sunshine,’ she pats the animal as she says her name, ‘with a Greek bloke I hardly know looking at one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen!’

  ‘That is life. You can pretend you have control, but really there is no control, for good or bad.’

  Michelle wonders if something tragic has ever happened to Dino. He is full of joy and vitality, but he comes out with things that don’t fit. Curious, interesting; she is intrigued. The sun is getting hotter. It won’t be long before her shoulders are burning. Why did she not buy sunscreen in the port? At least Dino has a bottle of water.

  Dino’s donkey, Suzi, is the more spritely of the two, and he stops to wait for Michelle to catch up. When Dolly is nearly level, he clicks his tongue to move Suzi on. The donkey’s rhythm shakes thoughts from his head until he is lost in the landscape, at one with his surroundings, home. He sighs contentedly.

  Michelle has stopped thinking too; she experiences an unfamiliar contentment.

  Directly under her right foot, Michelle can see the edge of the path, and far below, the sea. The donkey rocks to the right. Michelle grips the saddle and leans left, inland, and looks forward to where the way widens. Snorting, the donkey throws back its head. A front foot stumbles, its hocks buckle. Michelle yelps as the hind legs sink. The beast whinnies. The ground breaks.

  She grabs its mane. The earth slides under them. Michelle hears a rushing sound, the tumble of rocks and dry soil falling outside. Someone screams. She grips with her knees, but the animal’s rear legs are skidding backwards down the drop. Its front feet scrabble, but the dirt crumbles and they tumble, the animal falling one way, Michelle sliding the other. Her speed accelerates. She thinks she hears Dino call. Bushes and rocks tear at her. Her shoulder jolts against something immovable. The pain blinds her. She spins onto her back and judders, slowing. Soil and small stones rush past her ears. Her shoulder is throbbing. Everything stops. She opens her eyes to judge where she has landed. Her legs are entangled in a bush, her crotch against its stem, only an inch thick. Past her feet the cliff curves in under her, below are jagged rocks and the sea.

  Lungs heaving, eyes wide, she spots a movement. There to the right. Panic in the waves. The donkey’s front legs scrabble, its back legs unmoving, the sea turning red, its fore-hooves desperate. Eyes wide at the scent of death. Snorting. The beast’s movements become manic, the whites of the eyes showing, teeth bared. The head goes under.

  ‘No!’ Michelle hears her own voice.

  Its muzzle surfaces, the whites of the eyes more dominant, ears flat against its head, the nostrils flare, the animal whinnies, despairing, an infinitely sad sound. Awareness that the battle is lost. A desperate plea for life. Just one more minute, one second, one more breath. But the legs gain no purchase and Dolly slips, in full consciousness, under the water.

  ‘Noooo.’ Michelle shuts her eyes. Still clinging to the bush with one hand, she wraps the other around her face.

  ‘Michelle! Micheeelle?’ Dino’s voice comes from above.

  Michelle’s throat is so tight, strangled sobs stutter from her chest.

  ‘Michelle?’ Dino calls again.

  There is panic in his voice and she twists her head to look up, but the bush hides him from her sight.

  ‘She’s dead …’ Michelle calls.

  ‘Michelle!’ There is such relief in his voice.

  ‘She’s dead,’ Michelle repeats.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Dino shouts. He sounds on the verge of tears.

  ‘Dolly fell in the water.’ Michelle’s fingers search for roots to cling to.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Below the bush. She couldn’t get a grip.’ Michelle does not recognise her own voice. It sounds high-pitched, full of sorrow.

  ‘Are you safe?’ Dino’s voice is deep, shaky.

  Michelle looks at the bush that she straddles on the sheer slope, the second bush stem she grips with her left hand, and the root the fingers of her right hand have twisted round. Down by her feet, she can see a grey rock sticking out of the loose, dusty brown soil. She is twenty feet from the sea. She tentatively shifts one foot and tests the rock. It feels firm.

  ‘I’m fine. My shoulder hurts. Dolly’s dead. She drowned.’

  ‘Never mind the donkey. You are safe, yes?’

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘I am coming down to get you.’ A rattle of twigs, pebbles against foliage, a curtain of dust falling.

  ‘No, Dino, no! It’s all
loose.’ Michelle looks up quickly and feels the bush she is clinging to shift. Her knuckles grip white. The confetti of soil stops.

  ‘I could slide down. How far down are you?’

  ‘Don’t. I’m near the sea.’

  There’s a sound of leather creaking against leather, a rattle of chains, distinct but meaningless sounds.

  ‘Here, catch this,’ Dino huffs in exertion.

  There is a rustling sound in the bushes above. She can just see the end of a piece of rope hanging down. It looks like Suzi’s reins.

  ‘Is it long enough?’ he calls.

  Michelle yawns and her eyelids flutter and close. She is glad the bush is providing shade, but it is so hot.

  ‘Michelle? Is it too short?’

  ‘What? Yes.’ She shakes her head, opens her eyes wide, yawns again, wonders if she could be concussed. ‘But if it was longer, the bush would hold it out from the cliff side.’ She closes her eyes again.

  ‘You OK?’ he calls again.

  ‘Yes. I feel sleepy.’

  ‘Did you bang you head?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t sleep, Michelle. Stay awake. I might have to go for help.’

  There is a scuffling sound. The rope end disappears.

  ‘Michelle? Do you have your phone with you?’

  ‘No, it fell.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘No. Gamoto!’ he swears in his native tongue.

  ‘Just what I was thinking: Gamoto.’ A strong British accent on a word that has no meaning for her. She tries to laugh but cannot find the wind.

  Dino looks around frantically. He has no idea what he is looking for, but there must be a solution near to hand. He cannot leave her.

  He pulls the blanket off Suzi’s saddle and tests it, pulling it between his hands. He could split it, tie the pieces to make a rope, and shimmy down. At first it doesn’t give. He pulls harder to be sure of its strength. The fibres tear, coming apart with feathery dust, crumbling to nothing, the smell of age filling the air. He throws the remains to the ground. The saddle is now bare wood, he pulls it free of the donkey and tries to take the wooden slats apart. Maybe he can wedge them into the loose soil end on, use them as footholds. He slams it against the ground, kicks it. But the saddle is solid; nothing gives.