The Explosive Nature of Friendship

by Sara Alexi

  Dawn slipped over the horizon. The Germans awoke, the engine was started and they headed for the harbour. Boys and girls, arm in arm, happy, and still a bit drunk, headed for the bakery; the Germans staggered towards their hotel; the local men ambled to the kafenio for a much-needed coffee.

  Manolis stretched and filled his pockets with the cash he had taken, handing a wad of notes, uncounted, to Mitsos. Mitsos’ pockets were still full of the money Manolis had stashed on him when the men in white shirts appeared. Manolis waved it away as Mitsos offered it back. Mitsos wondered if Manolis knew he gave the money to Marina, and this was why he was so generous. He was too tired to talk about it so he ruffled his hair smooth and sucked on his furry tongue.

  The girl who made the cushions was at the harbour. She smiled longingly at Manolis, who winked at her and told her he did not know what he would do without her. He pointed her towards the boat, indicating the bucket and mop by the pile of nets on the pier. She smiled at him but he offered no intimacy or money, instead kissing his own finger ends gathered around his thumb before opening them, throwing the kiss at her. She giggled, delighted, and turned to the boat with energy.

  ‘Coffee?’ Mitsos felt he should get some sleep and go home to deal with some of the dried brown weeds in his olive groves before the summer heat was really upon them, bringing with it the risk of fire. But coffee seemed like a good start to the day and he sat on the nearest chair in the nearest cafe.

  They had been there five minutes when they were joined by two port policemen who smiled, ordered coffee and then said that they would have to inspect the boat and count the number of life jackets if Manolis and Mitsos intended to sail with tourists on board.

  Manolis smiled broadly and offered breakfast as if they were long lost friends. Breakfast was declined but the coffee arrived and the men drank. They relaxed and asked Manolis how many life jackets he had already; it would save the effort of actually having to inspect the boat. Mitsos could see that Manolis was about to lie, and he caught his eye and shook his head, just a fraction. His tried to convey in his expression, ‘Give them credit for some intelligence …’

  ‘Actually, I haven't got around to that yet. Where do you suggest I get them from?’ Mitsos was impressed with this cunning answer. This was Manolis thinking on his feet; it reminded him of school days. Wherever the port police decided to send Manolis to buy the life jackets they would be credited as a source of customers. As the order would be for many life jackets, and probably for distress flares, a medical kit, maybe a life-raft too, it would ensure discounts for the port police in the future, whiskys bought, dinners paid for, everyone happy. The port police were happy to discuss with Manolis what to buy, and where from.

  When the port policemen stood to leave they shook hands with Manolis and patted him on the back. They hoped he would make the purchases this week and Manolis assured them that he would. They reminded him that he already owed over two weeks’ port fees and would he mind dropping in to pay sooner rather than later.

  Mitsos, once again, was left with the impression that Manolis was running a business and working for a living just like everyone else. He decided that when Manolis became more used to his success he would guide him back to spending some time at home with Marina. And perhaps Manolis would appreciate some home cooking and a little peace and quiet after the hectic environment of the Love Boat.

  He leaned back in his wicker chair and sipped his coffee and looked out over the bay, the sun shining, the sky so blue, the sea breeze pleasantly cooling the warmth. He could happily spend the day here. He turned to Manolis to suggest they order breakfast for themselves. Manolis sat with his legs crossed in front of him, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, his shoulder-length hair spread over the back of the chair as he had slid down into a comfortable position. Mitsos could just hear him snoring quietly. He turned his attention back to the sea and watched the seagulls lazily floating in the thermals.

  The next day they went to the same cafe for breakfast. Manolis slept again and Mitsos ate before returning to the village, slipping an envelope under Marina’s door, tending his trees for an hour or two before sleeping until the evening. As far as he was concerned, life could continue like this for some time. Marina was alone, but at least she was spared the dubious pleasure of Manolis’ company and she had steady house-keeping money. Manolis was not in trouble and was enjoying some degree of success. In all, it seemed like they had hit a balance.

  A week later the port policemen turned up as they drank their morning coffee. Mitsos smiled at them but Manolis groaned as they approached. He sat up, forced a smile and called the waiter to offer them coffee.

  ‘No, thank you,’ the policeman called to the beckoned waiter before turning back to Manolis. ‘It seems you have not taken our advice about the life jackets. That, or we must presume you bought them elsewhere. So now there will be an inspection, tomorrow, to make sure you have the jackets. No life jackets, and you will be fined. Also your harbour fees are now three weeks behind and there will be more fines if you do not pay what is owed soon.’ Mitsos’ eyes widened. The port police left.

  ‘Why on earth did you not buy the jackets? They offered you a chance to make things friendly and you have just succeeded in annoying them. Now they will be down on you every chance they get. Panayia!’ Mitsos called on his god for strength.

  ‘Yeah, first it’s jackets, then it’s something else. The moment you comply they feel their strength and start pushing you around. To hell with them.’

  ‘But that’s crazy! They have the law on their side. They will fine you. Just buy the jackets from where they suggested, make them feel good, pay your harbour fees and get on with your life.’

  ‘Do you want breakfast?’ Manolis had his hand up to get the waiter’s attention. Mitsos stood up and went home.

  The following evening there was a group of students on the boat. It was crowded earlier than usual and the music was already loud.

  ‘How’d the inspection go?’ Mitsos shouted over the noise.

  ‘Fine.’ Manolis gave him a whisky and smiled. Mitsos looked him in the eye, but a red-headed girl clinked glasses with him and he turned to wish her good health. When he turned back Manolis was talking to Theo from the village, who had come to see what all the fuss was about. It wasn't long before Theo was dancing, with his mop of frizzy hair bobbing to the music.

  ‘So where are the jackets?’ Mitsos asked.

  Manolis sighed heavily and pointed to one of the seat-boxes. He had written in marker pen in both Greek and English 'Life Jackets'. Mitsos slapped him on the back and enjoyed the rest of the evening.

  The following morning two men from the fire brigade sat with them for morning coffee.

  After they left Manolis was ranting.

  ‘First the port police threatening to fine me if I don’t comply and now the fire brigade.’

  ‘Well, fire is serious stuff, and she is all wood.’

  ‘Yes, but fire alarms! Why? If you are one end you would see the fire at the other, and who needs extinguishers when you are surrounded by water?’ He pulled at the beads he was wearing round his neck that some girl had given him. He pushed his long hair out of his eyes as he put on his sunglasses. Mitsos could not tell if he was looking at him or not behind the big dark glasses.

  ‘Do you know what they said? They said, “I am afraid you have already incurred a fine for not having the fire regulation met from the beginning.”’ Manolis tried to imitate an Athenian accent. ‘They say I have a week or they will close us down. Didn’t I say if we start to comply they will just feel their strength and push all the more?’

  The trickle of official visits threatened to become a tide. Representatives from the council came the following morning.

  ‘Licences!’ Manolis bleated. ‘Not just one like the bars have, but two, for business and tourism, because we are at sea.’

  A short man in glasses came next, from the tax office.

  ‘Taxes!’ spluttered Manolis in a rage
. ‘Well, death and taxes …’ countered Mitsos.

  Mitsos tried to pour oil on Manolis’ waters. He said that with the amount he was making he wouldn't even feel the cost of the fire hydrants, or the small amounts of money to apply for licences; it was all just business, and once it was done he could continue to reap the huge profits he was making now. ‘And everyone must pay taxes.’

  But Manolis was not to be pacified. With his tension came his temper. That night, before they cast off, he was far from polite to some customers who left fairly quickly. He told them to go to hell as they left. Mitsos felt embarrassed and told Manolis to cool it, but instead he swallowed back a whisky and maintained his frown. He was rude again later that night and even returned to harbour to let off some people who had annoyed him. When the boat docked they were not the only ones to leave; others went too because it was no longer fun with all the arguments on board. No money came to Mitsos that day or the next couple of days as Manolis’ bad mood continued and fewer people came to the boat as a result. Mitsos wondered how Marina was coping.

  He tried to ensure that Manolis complied with the firemen's requests. He took him to pick up the hydrants. Manolis grumbled that it was using all the money he had made and that takings had dropped over the last week.

  Manolis went to the bar, and Mitsos went to run some errands for his farm before returning to the bar later that morning.

  ‘You see?’ Manolis began as soon as he saw Mitsos. ‘Now they say the fire hydrants are not enough, we need a fire door at the far end of the boat. Like it is a cruise ship. Panayia! I mean, the boat is so small that by the time you get to the end you meet yourself coming back. Fire door my ... Just leave the windows open I say, they are easily big enough for a man to dive through, but “No” they say, it has to meet with fire door regulations, sealing shut, push-bar opening. “What do you think we are,” I say, “the King’s yacht?” You do everything they say and then they ask for more.’

  ‘You have to be kidding me?’ Even Mitsos could see how ridiculous this was.

  ‘Do you know what the fireman said? He said, with his nose in the air “Well, my brother who owns the Sunset Bar over there, he had to put in a new door for fire regulations.” So I said, “Oh I get it, this is all about your brother making a living, is it? Jealous, is he? Well, he should make his bar more fun if he wants more trade instead of trying to put other people put of business. Let me guess, the carpenter who makes these doors is your cousin, is he?”’ Mitsos’ mouth dropped open, fearing the worst of the exchange Manolis was describing. ‘The fireman did not answer so I added “Cousin or best man, or brother-in-law? Which is he?” Do you know what he said?’

  Mitsos shook his head sadly; he didn’t want to hear.

  ‘“He's my brother, actually,” said the second fireman, and then had the cheek to say, “But that has nothing to do with it, it is just that he knows what is required.” So I said, “To hell with you.”’ Manolis had rekindled his rage in the telling and stood up and started walking.

  They walked back to the village, Manolis not saying a word, Mitsos trying to soothe him, suggesting that they should comply but not use the carpenter the firemen had suggested, that they just needed to keep the business going and this was one of the costs. Maybe they could put the door in themselves. At the village Manolis went on to his house and closed his door behind him, leaving Mitsos standing in the street. No sooner was the door shut than he could hear Manolis shouting inside, and he said a prayer for Marina and crossed himself three times.

  The next day the bar opened as normal but Manolis was in a foul mood. The people who came left fairly quickly, and by the time they pushed off for the little island they were not even half full.

  All that week, because of Manolis’ attitude, the bar was becoming emptier and emptier, and as it did so Manolis sank further and further into his own blackness. On the Monday the firemen came again, along with the council man, and the port police, and the little man from the tax office. They were all waiting on the dock as the boat pulled in and the remaining people got off. Each of them demanded their fine money. The firemen also demanded to see the fire door and the port police wanted their harbour fees. The man from the council wanted to see the application for various licences that Manolis had been told he needed to file for. In short, until their requirements were met he could no longer open for business.

  Manolis sighed, expelling all the air from his lungs, and shook his head.

  ‘You were never going to be happy until you managed to close me, were you? None of you were. You all just wanted a piece on the way down. Well, you didn't get a piece, you nor your shop-owning cousins and brothers. To hell with you all!’

  Mitsos could feel his mouth open and close like a fish. Manolis’ thinking was beyond Mitsos’ comprehension. He was failing Marina – again.

  Manolis dismissed the speechless assembly, kicked the Love Boat sign flat, and went into the boat and closed the door behind him.

  Mitsos felt inclined to apologise for Manolis’ rudeness but on reflection he didn't care if they thought him rude. He shrugged and the group began to disperse.

  ‘We will arrest anyone on board if you open tonight,’ the taller of the port police said, loosening his collar as he walked away.

  Mitsos looked out to sea, past the island where the breeze ruffling the surface.

  Chapter 15

  Mitsos was at a loss. Manolis came out of the boat and strode across to their usual kafenio for a Greek coffee.

  ‘Why?’ Mitsos asked, as they sat in the wickerwork chairs. Manolis said nothing. ‘If you don't obey the rules the result is inevitable.’ Manolis still didn't say anything. ‘Now you have to pay the fines without even having an income. I presume you have no savings?’ Manolis pushed his sunglasses back onto his head, stretched out his legs and looked across the harbour to the bay but did not reply.

  Mitsos gave up. He too stretched out his legs and sipped his coffee. ‘Marina is due any day now.’ He hardly opened his lips to speak.

  ‘You are like a nagging old woman. Shut up or go away.’ Manolis broke his silence.

  ‘I was just thinking about your baby, your son or daughter,’ Manolis qualified.

  ‘It'll give her something to do, something to think about other than me. Now be quiet, I am thinking.’

  They sat as the town came to life, the fishing boats ‘putt-putting’ out into the bay, laden donkeys arriving with goods from nearby villages, men in white shirts walking briskly.

  ‘Got it!’ Manolis stood up. ‘Come on.’ Mitsos threw some drachmas on the table and followed in his wake back to the boat. Manolis unhooked the ropes from the bollards and started the engine. Mitsos stood on the harbour edge.

  ‘Where are you going? What’s the idea?’ But the engine drowned his voice. ‘Manolis! Hey! What’s the idea?’ Manolis cupped his hand round his ear and shook his head; the engine was too loud. He began to pull away from the dock. Mitsos shouted again, and again, and at the last second he surprised himself by jumping the gap to land beside Manolis. Manolis’ grin made Mitsos wonder if his spontaneity had been wise.

  ‘The solution’s simple. We cannot work this town any more because they won’t let us, so we will work another town,’ Manolis said, and relaxed his stance, one hand on the helm.

  ‘You can earn enough to pay all the fees and fines and be back in a couple of weeks. Could be a good idea!’ Mitsos said, thinking of Marina, and her need for Manolis once the baby arrived. Manolis looked out to sea. He was chuckling to himself.

  The next town was bigger than the one they had left. A wide palm-dotted walkway hugged the harbour edge, a child's playground with swings and see-saws and metal rocking animals fenced in at one end. There were people walking in their best clothes, children running, men in white shirts, sleeves rolled up, smoking and talking, young men with nothing to do sitting side-saddle on their stationary mopeds watching the tourists. In all, it felt like a lively, prosperous place. The first night reaped a good reward
. Mitsos offered to keep the fine and fees money safe but Manolis said he could handle it.

  But within two weeks they had officials harassing them again.

  Mitsos had had enough. ‘We have more fines now than when we left our home town,’ he observed, watching Mitsos fold the latest official letter into four and then eight before he slipped it behind the handrail by the door.

  ‘You look like a farmer,’ Manolis scoffed. Mitsos, for the life of him could not figure out what that had to do with the situation and replied that of course he looked like farmer, because he was a farmer.

  ‘How can I forget it?’ replied Manolis, but he didn't smile.

  Mitsos said he was going home, he would walk.

  ‘Let us sail today!’ Manolis replied.

  ‘You’ll go back and face the fines?’ Mitsos asked.

  ‘A big breakfast, clear up a bit, a quick sleep in the heat and we’ll be off,’ Manolis replied.

  Mitsos no longer cared or wondered why the change of plan; he just wanted to go home. He ate his breakfast, he tidied up the boat and he fell asleep early, wishing the time before they were under way would pass.

  When he woke Mitsos could hear the lapping of the waves: they had already set off. His heart felt lighter, he missed his routine, the quiet, the view from the hill. He was eager to be on deck and see the familiar coastline.