The Art of Becoming Homeless

by Sara Alexi

  ‘So, where will he be?’ Dino asks. ‘I have some things to say to him.’ He lays the beads in the palm of her hand, curls them round on themselves and bends her fingers over to cover them.

  ‘Ach, away up on the land. You know he got planning permission? So now all his free time is spent in this fantasy of building a home for me, a proper kitchen, a separate bedroom.’ She smiles and relaxes with these words. ‘Dear boy that he is, he says he will live here.’ She casts a dismissive hand across the room’s interior. ‘Not right a grown man has to sleep in the same room as his mother, not right at all. But what to do? It is all we have. But he is trying, with the little money we have.’

  ‘You better explain yourself!’ Michelle says, stuffing biscuits into her bag. Koula had insisted she take them with her, couldn’t bear the idea of her leaving empty-handed. The biscuits had been presented on a little tray with a lace cloth, along with the tiny cups of Greek coffee. She had chattered away in Greek and proudly showed Michelle all the interesting things her late husband had accumulated over time: a British gun from before the Boer war, with its firing pin missing, a Turkish knife from the occupation, a Nazi helmet complete with a Swastika on one side and a bullet hole in the other, and a very old leather-bound book, which she stroked and was obviously very attached to. Dino did his best to translate, but even he did not seem to understand the significance of the book.

  ‘Hmm?’ He strides out ahead.

  ‘What was all that with the beads? I didn’t know you had taken them from the cave. They should have gone to the authorities as evidence. And why are we running?’

  Dino stops. ‘They belong to Adonis. He is building his mother a home up on their land. We are going to talk to him.’

  Michelle does her best to keep up with him but the slope is steep and she is out of breath. Finally he stops by some scrubland. A bank of earth and some rocks stop them from seeing over the top.

  ‘Hey, Adonis?’ Dino calls

  ‘Hey, my friend, you sober now?’ Adonis calls back.

  ‘Been fishing recently?’ Dino asks the head that appears.

  ‘No, why?’ Adonis scrambles down the bank that forms the border of his land to stand on the path and face them both. He nods to Michelle, but there is no warmth.

  ‘Maybe you are rich enough not to need to fish now, eh?’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Adonis grins and puts a soil-ingrained hand on his shoulder. Dino shrugs it off.

  ‘Well, you are making good use of the boat, but not to fish. So what is it you are doing?’

  ‘I think you are not used to the sun my friend, too much living in England, you have sunstroke.’ He rubs his palms on his jeans, trying to clean them.

  ‘It is not I who has sunstroke; it is you who are crazy. Do you think you can sell them and not be caught?’

  ‘What? Ah!’ He stops rubbing and stands very still, his shoulders slumped slightly, some of his vigour gone. ‘No, you do not understand …’

  ‘What is there to understand? You find the pots, you hide them away, waiting to sell them …’

  ‘Keep your voice down! Look, my Mama cannot keep sharing her house with me; I am a man now. This land is all we have. I need to build a house.’

  Dino cannot keep his voice down. ‘But what you are doing is wrong. Better to be homeless. They are national treasures. Have you no pride in being Greek?’ He knows this will rile Adonis, and it is his intention.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about being Greek, you who have gone to live in England for an easy life. What? You don’t think we could all do that?’ Adonis’ fists clench, his voice loud and strong.

  ‘You are making bad choices my friend.’ Dino takes a step towards Adonis.

  ‘I am making bad choices? I am doing the best I can do without running away or leaning on anyone else.’ He casts a look in Michelle’s direction. ‘It is you who are making bad choices. You ditch your job in England, you cannot face your army service to live here, and you ask me if I have pride to be Greek. She will leave you to return to her English life, her rich friends, and leave you behind, how clever is all that?’

  Dino’s knuckles are white; he is trembling. Michelle puts her hand on his shoulder trying to soothe, but he shakes it off. Greeks always seem to be shouting. How can she tell how serious it is?

  ‘How dare you try and justify what you are doing by throwing your opinions on my life! You did your national service because you did not know what else to do with your life. You fish for women, pull them from your barbs, play with them a while and throw them back before they even know what has happened. You don’t care if they are hurt or if they can still swim, so how dare you condemn me.’

  ‘It is not you I am condemning, it is her. She plays with you.’

  ‘And you should know.’ Dino spits.

  ‘I do know and I wish to save you from her.’ Adonis reaches for him.

  ‘Go to hell, Adonis.’ Dino backs off.

  ‘You are out of your depth.’ Adonis lets his arms flop to his side.

  ‘You are jealous.’ Dino points, his finger to the middle of Adonis’ face.

  ‘I am realistic.’ Adonis looks down the island and out to sea.

  ‘We have told the authorities.’

  ‘What? What the hell did you do that for?’

  Michelle steps in between them, as Adonis’ voice rises again.

  ‘She is a lawyer, Adonis, how can she turn her back on all she knows?’

  ‘And you are a Greek man and my friend. How can you turn your back on all you know?’

  ‘She is right.’

  ‘You choose her over me?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was you when ….’

  Adonis raises his fist.

  Chapter 16

  ‘Stop!’ Michelle shouts and steps between them, a hand on each of their chests. Adonis’ shirt is open and he is sweaty. Dino’s chest feels familiar, but his heart is racing.

  Dino pushes against her hand, glares at her and turns from them both, marching away down towards the houses, turning at a corner and disappearing from view.

  Swiping her hand away, Adonis scrambles back up the bank and he is gone.

  ‘Dino?’ Michelle trots down the steps after him, but at the first crossing of paths she has no idea which way to turn. He is nowhere in sight.

  Has he run out on her, or does he just need to cool down? How was she to know it was Adonis who was dealing the pots, and besides, what difference does it make? Right is right and wrong is wrong. She would like to know what was said between the two of them, but it doesn’t really matter. Adonis obviously justified what he had done and had the cheek to give Dino a hard time for it.

  Her footsteps slow and her head drops forward. No matter what she thinks of Adonis, he is Dino’s lifelong friend. It was a bitter day when she and Juliet returned from their holiday in Greece, all those years ago, not speaking. A simple quip on the last day about Juliet’s good-for-nothing husband had started the hugest of rows, which lasted until their plane landed back in England.

  They lost touch for a while after that. Juliet had her hands full with her two small boys and Michelle was studying and working night and day toward her bar exams. But even after the boys had grown a bit and Michelle was established, even then, for years, the relationship was reduced to nothing but phone calls—if Michelle called. Juliet never phoned, not until recently.

  She would not wish that on Dino. She wouldn’t even wish it on Adonis. Maybe there is something in what Dino was saying earlier, that things are never so straightforward, so black and white. But how was she to know it was Adonis?

  Poor Koula, who has nothing but a single room and a makeshift kitchen. Where on earth does Adonis take his conquests? Michelle wonders suddenly. Surely not in the garden, with Koula just inside the house? No, it is unthinkable. He probably has an arrangement somewhere, like Richard did at the Queen Vic hotel, until he had the guts to come clean. In a way Michelle was glad it was the Vic, somewhere nice and seedy
for Lady Whatnot.

  To be fair on Adonis, it is understandable that he wants to give his mother a proper home. Her comfort must be so much more important to him than a few ancient pots. But to sell them for gain, that is just plain criminal.

  She turns and heads along a straight path that seems to cross the town, right through the bowl of houses above the harbour, neither down to the port nor up towards the hills at the top of the island. The intermittent view is astounding, visible in glimpses between the houses. Walking on the flat is not bad and this entire stretch is shaded.

  Michelle stops. She has no idea where she is. The alley seems to end, and it opens onto some very steep scrubland with black stone steps set into it, climbing all but vertically towards the ridge on one side of the town. She turns to look back at the view, but there are houses in the way.

  The black stones are high, and it takes a big step and pushing on her knees to ascend each one.

  ‘Should have double-checked my facts.’ Michelle talks to herself as she climbs. ‘Not even double-checked, just found some facts to begin with.’ The process of climbing soothes her. ‘But then, it is not my job to check the facts.’ She can feel sweat running down her back. The exertion is pleasant in a sticky sort of way. ‘Although it is a small island.’ She stops for breath and turns to see the view.

  ‘Oh my!’ It is like looking down on a Mediterranean toy town, with orange bricks for the roofs, white bricks for the buildings, sweet-wrapper blue for the water, toy boats huddling in the harbour, a yacht listing out to sea. The blue hills of the mainland form a distant backdrop, with tiny islands dotted by a child’s hand across the waves. So many incredible places to see in the world. She can understand Dino not wanting to spend his youth stuck in an office. If she had it to do again, would she?

  The top is close now, so she continues to climb, towards a cluster of orange tiles beyond the ridge, a telltale sign of habitation.

  Suddenly she’s atop the last step, and before her, oddly solid in the dry, dusty scrubland, is a stone wall. After catching her breath, she begins to circumnavigate it, trailing her hand along the sandy stone until she comes to a big wooden door propped open.

  The sign is only in Greek, but it is apparent by the cross over the door that it is a church or … the penny drops. The convent that she can see from her balcony at Zoe’s.

  She puts her head around the open door, curious. How can anyone live so separate from society?

  The outer wall encloses a courtyard, with a tiny church in the middle. A line of doors on two levels behind it are, she presumes, the cells. But her attention alights on the area between the door and the church, which has been laid out as flower beds, a mass of colour, a sea of flowers competing with each other in size and intensity, not a plant that is not blooming, not a fallen leaf on the ground. Tall, majestic green stalks with flower bells hanging from them; pale pink geraniums, dark red roses and an array of zinnias; a purple ground-covering flower that is trying to engulf everything. One bloom after another catches Michelle’s eye.

  ‘Kalos orisate.’

  Michelle jumps. She had not seen the figure in black bending, tending to the flowerbed on her left, hidden behind the door.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ She backs out.

  ‘Please come. I am sorry, I thought you were Greek,’ the nun says. Michelle would rather not intrude, but it seems rude not to accept the invitation.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘It is my pleasure. Please come in.’ Her voice has a strange accent, her words over-annunciated, like a character in a black and white film.

  The nun opens the door wide and gestures for Michelle to enter. The care and order in the courtyard is accentuated by the contrast with the wild scrubland outside. Butterflies dance in pairs, and dragonflies hover over a small pond. It is an oasis.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Michelle whispers.

  ‘They are all gifts.’ The nun smiles, making a self-deprecating gesture with her arms. ‘I think water would be a good idea. Please.’ She indicates a slatted wooden bench set in the shade by the church. ‘A good spot to think.’ She laughs, an easy sound.

  Michelle sits and straightens her clothes but soon forgets herself, gazing at the garden before her. A movement on the path between the rows of flowers catches her eye, and she watches enchanted as a large tortoise plods from the soil onto the stone path. It stops, quite still, nose up, before continuing.

  ‘Ah, is she there, that old lady?’ The nun returns with a tray on which is a metal jug and two metal beakers. ‘Yes, there she is.’ She looks at the tortoise as she sets the tray on the bench between them. ‘She has been in this place longer than me, can you believe it? She comes and goes. I believe she just walks through these walls.’ She raises a crooked finger to indicate their enclosure before pouring water and handing Michelle a mug.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So, what brings you here?’ Her voice is quiet and gentle, lowered to invite confidentiality.

  ‘Oh, no reason. I just stumbled on you.’

  She nods as if she knows a secret.

  ‘No really, I am just a tourist, I came for a day trip ….’ At this point a donkey brays, quite close outside the walls of the monastery. Michelle’s head jerks up suddenly at the sound. She feels the catch in her throat again and takes a sip of water.

  ‘Are you troubled?’

  ‘No, it’s not me. You see I saw a donkey die. We fell down a cliff and now the owner will not allow me to make it right.’

  ‘That sounds like a great ordeal.’ There is compassion in her voice. The way she speaks indicates she has all the time in the world. ‘You were spared and the donkey is gone.’ She pauses to watch the tortoise as it turns to face them on the path. ‘Is there really any right and wrong in that?’ Michelle searches for an answer to this, but the nun speaks again. ‘We cannot fight life itself, and with life comes death, don’t you find?’

  ‘I wanted to buy the man a new donkey but he wouldn’t accept.’

  ‘But was it a new donkey the man was wanting?’

  ‘No, of course not, but what else could I do?’

  ‘Indeed.’ The nun takes a sip of water and then leans over the jug that divides them and pats Michelle’s hand. ‘Time moves on, and the things we want change.’

  Michelle sighs. She wonders where Dino is, if he is all right.

  ‘I have only been here, let me see … I arrived on Friday. Today is …?’

  ‘Wednesday.’ The nun helps.

  `Wednesday. So, gosh, six days.’

  ‘And much has happened in those six days?’

  ‘So much. You know, I think in those six days just about every thought I have in my head has been questioned. I came here thinking about my work and keeping my crumbling old house from falling to pieces. But the house itself is such a burden and only gives the illusion of security.’

  ‘But it is not your home.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You call it a house, not a home.’ The tortoise is almost at the nun’s feet.

  ‘I called it home.’

  The nun takes a lettuce leaf from her apron pocket and leans over towards the tortoise. It retracts its head inside.

  ‘Didn’t I?’

  ‘What do you think makes people happy?’ The nun straightens, and the tortoise slowly puts its head out and nibbles on the green leaf by her sandaled toe.

  ‘That’s a bit of a big question, isn’t it? If we knew the answer, someone would have bottled it and slapped a patent on it, and we lawyers would be in business forever.’

  ‘And would that make you happy?’

  ‘No, of course not. Although being productive is a great part of happiness.’

  ‘Or is it for the accolade of your colleagues?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ But the happiest days of Michelle’s life come to her in a stream: school days with Juliet; one or two early days with Richard; Christmas with Juliet; and these last few days just passed. She gasps as ‘the
last few days’ are added to her mental list, and also notes that not one of these times was ‘productive’.

  ‘Your happiest times were …?’ The nun asks, her eyes closed, head leaning back against the church behind them. ‘No, let me guess.’ She chuckles, kindly and softly, but keeps her eyes closed. ‘They were with people you love.’ She pauses. ‘Or with God,’ she adds as she opens her eyes and smiles at Michelle. ‘Who I imagine you would call Nature.’ She smiles, her head framed in sunlight.

  ‘People.’ Michelle hears her own voice reply.

  ‘Yes, that is what is missing.’ The nun nods her head. ‘Faith.’

  ‘In God?’ Michelle can feel a smirk forming. She tries to keep it suppressed.

  ‘In life.’ The nun’s eyes close again, a smile on her lips.

  Chapter 17

  She could sit all day. The courtyard is so still, so peaceful. At one point, the nun glides away and returns with coffee and glacéed fruit on a plate with a teaspoon. She waves a wasp away and passes the plate to Michelle. It is very sweet, and it sets Michelle’s teeth on edge. The nun calls it ‘melitzanaki’, ‘little aubergines in syrup,’ and explains that she made it herself, so Michelle eats the rest, in tiny bites between sips of coffee. The nun offers more.

  ‘No, thank you. I really must be going. Thank you so much for your hospitality.’

  She takes a last look around, the garden so peaceful yet so full of life, a hum of bees, butterflies. She spots the old tortoise with its front legs on a dish, its head bowed to the water the nun must have thoughtfully put down. They walk amicably together to the door.

  ‘So nice to meet you.’ Michelle offers her hand to shake.

  ‘You are very welcome.’ The nun takes Michelle’s hand in both of hers, patting and stroking.

  ‘By the way, how come you speak such perfect English?’ Michelle enquires.

  ‘I learnt a little bit at school, and the rest by keeping one step ahead whilst teaching an illiterate goat-herder.’ She laughs, an easy, soft sound.

  ‘Your accent is so precise,’ Michelle comments.