by Lena Manta
She looked around the dirty place she was sitting in and shuddered. Suddenly tears came to her eyes, but once again she used her imagination to escape. Nothing around her was real. This was a stage setting and she, as the leading actress, was playing the role of a persecuted woman. In her mind she began to set up a dialogue, to answer imaginary characters, and she only stopped when she felt the truck braking. She carefully looked out and realized that they had reached Kamena Vourla and had stopped for food.
Besides the little truck, there was another car belonging to the troupe. Old and broken down, it passed in front of Polyxeni as it carried the other members of the group to a cheap restaurant a few meters further on. Polyxeni knew she had to come out of her hiding place. She really needed to stretch her cramped legs and breathe some fresh air. When she’d made sure that everyone was seated in the restaurant, she took her bag and stepped down.
She hadn’t managed to hit the ground before she felt two hands lifting her, as if she weighed nothing more than thistledown, and standing her up. She raised her eyes and saw one of the men of the troupe. He was the oldest, and in the plays she’d seen them perform he always played the role of the father or the grandfather.
“If I’m not mistaken, we have a little stowaway here,” he said to her, smiling. “What are you doing in our truck, miss?”
“Let me explain . . .” Polyxeni began in a weak voice.
But before she could go on, the tall man pulled her into the restaurant and showed her to the others. “Look what I brought you instead of cigarettes!” he announced and everyone turned and looked at her. “She traveled in the back of our truck,” he clarified.
“Let me explain . . .” Polyxeni repeated, ready to burst into tears. Now they would leave her here and she’d be all alone in a strange place.
“We’re listening,” the man prompted her, crossing his arms on his chest. “What business do you have in our truck?”
“I wanted to come with you,” the girl answered softly.
“We understood that. It’s the why we want to find out!”
“I want to be an actress,” she said with some confidence now. But her statement only provoked loud laughter from the troupe. Polyxeni straightened her shoulders and looked at them disdainfully. “I can act better, much better, than most of you,” she said drily and the laughter broke off. “You only have to let me audition, then you’ll see.”
The tall man looked at her more carefully now. Undoubtedly she was very beautiful. Very tall, with fine features and long blond hair. She’d certainly have success with the men if she could say her lines right. For a long time he’d been missing a young girl in his troupe. But first he needed to find out a few things.
“Before we have you audition for us, what do you say we all have some food together? Sit with us and we’ll talk later!” he suggested, and they all made room for her.
At first Polyxeni sat quietly with an almost aristocratic air about her. While they ate, she observed the others without speaking. In the village, she’d only seen the players on their rudimentary stage in their theatrical costumes, whereas now she saw each one as an ordinary person. The impression they gave her was depressing. They all seemed sad, worn out, and very hungry. It scared her the way they ate, dipping into the oil and sauces and licking their fingers. Only one woman sitting opposite her behaved differently. She looked about forty, was beautiful, and from what Polyxeni remembered, she was more talented than the others. She sat in her place with dignity, ate very little, and always used her fork, something that raised Polyxeni’s opinion of her. Polyxeni hadn’t realized that the woman was observing her with half-closed eyes, not missing a single movement. She was the only one who didn’t snicker at the girl as she ate with a knife and fork, cutting her food into very small mouthfuls so as not to fill her mouth.
After the meal, most of the group lit cigarettes. It was now time to hear some details about Polyxeni. The girl had already decided that whether they took her with them or not, they must not learn who she really was.
“So,” began the man who had discovered her. “Are you going to tell us who you are?”
From the beginning, Polyxeni had understood that he was the leader of the troupe and that her fate depended on him. So she looked at him with confidence and smiled. “My name is Xenia Olympiou,” she answered. She had no difficulty thinking up a name that would follow her from that moment on. Olympiou was of course inspired by Olympus, which she had just left behind. And half of her first name was better than all of it. “As I told you, I want to be an actress, and I’m sure I have talent!”
“So why didn’t you come and find us in the village and ask us to take you with us? Maybe you ran away and they’re chasing you? Because I don’t want to get mixed up with any police.”
“I’m an adult, sir. I can decide for myself and I did. Nobody is likely to chase me. My family knows that I followed you, even though they don’t approve, of course. But that’s not at all important.”
Lambros Pagonis, the leader of the troupe, looked carefully at the girl in front of him. She was a real windfall, and since she herself was prepared to starve with them, he had no objection. She might even, if she had talent as she said, be good for the troupe. For years now he’d been traveling all over Greece. He had given performances in cafés, in the open air, even in barns. Once, when he was young, he had begun his career with lots of dreams, and he’d played beside some serious actors of the day. He’d managed to make a name for himself, but he very soon started to get into the drink. The beginning of the end had arrived, but he hadn’t understood it at the time. He began to forget his words onstage and to delay his entrances, creating gaps in the performance. Soon he stopped being in demand.
When he met Zoe, he stopped drinking, but it was too late. Nobody trusted him, nobody would offer him even a small role. But the bug for acting didn’t leave him. He formed his own troupe and from then on he traveled around the countryside. A lot of people had been with him and moved on. Some were real actors and some didn’t want to believe that they would never become actors. Very occasionally, real talent had appeared beside him, but precisely because of that talent they always left for some theater in Athens. He had suffered hundreds of humiliations. Frustrated by the troupe’s poor performances, audiences often threw whatever they found at them, forcing the show to end. And it wasn’t so unusual for them to have to flee from a village in the night so that the disgruntled locals, who felt they’d been cheated after such a bad show, didn’t beat them up.
Tickets were often used to barter for eggs, honey, corn, even vegetables—the important thing was for the troupe to eat. When they were lucky, though, they ate in a restaurant. They’d been able to do so today because the tour in Pieria had gone very well thanks to Martha, the woman who was observing Polyxeni so carefully. Lambros had to admit that her acting had saved the whole troupe. She’d been with them for two months, and things had gone quite well during that time. If the girl he found in the truck proved to have talent, as well, maybe he’d manage to buy new costumes, or even pay his actors a little more.
“Fine then,” he said to Polyxeni. “We’ll try you out right now. And if you’re as good as you say, you’ll come with us . . . as long as you realize that things aren’t always easy. The life of a traveling actor comes with hunger and hardship, Miss Xenia.”
“Xenia” smiled at him with understanding and Lambros introduced her to the other members of the group. Apart from himself and Martha there were six members. There was Paschalis, a young man with greasy hair and a slimy smile who played the handsome lead. Then there was Markos, a forty-something actor who also served as the troupe’s electrician, prop master, and whatever else they needed. Markos was married to Pelagia, a short woman with a nice figure who always muddled her lines and was given only very small parts (her real talent was cooking, so she was generally in charge of feeding the troupe). Polyxeni already knew Thomas, a short, fat man of around fifty who’d made an impression in the villag
e with his comic roles; Thomas only had to appear on stage to make people laugh. Then there was Zoe, Lambros’s wife, an occasional actress and magnificent dressmaker who had taken over the preservation of the troupe’s worn-out costumes. Finally there was Sotiris, a true savior. His role was not on the stage but under it, where he quietly called out the lines when the actors forgot them, something that happened often, because the featured play was always changing, often on the same day. When the audience was dissatisfied with a performance, the players had to switch to another play immediately so as not to lose them. On other occasions, even though the group had arranged to perform one play, the audience would demand another before the show even began, forcing a last-minute change.
As Polyxeni listened to the troupe talk of frayed costumes and angry audiences, she was disappointed, but she knew that all this was only the beginning for her. At the first opportunity, she would go to Athens to try her luck in a real theater. The group walked her down to the beach, a little way from the restaurant, where Lambros gave her a worn-out old script to read, a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Martha would play the nurse. Polyxeni had read the play in the village. Her literature teacher at school had lent it to her and she knew it well. She had been so moved by the classic love story that she’d played the role of Juliet dozens of times in front of the mirror.
When Polyxeni began to read her lines, Lambros saw her transform into Shakespeare’s heroine. Her face assumed the tenderness of a young girl in love, yet her voice was strong enough to be heard clearly on the deserted beach. He noticed that the girl hardly looked at the script, a sign that she knew the role well. Together with the rest of the troupe he lost himself in her performance. His eyes shone. Finally. He had pure gold in his hands.
For the rest of the trip to the Peloponnese, Polyxeni sat between Martha and Zoe, and as the car groaned, eating up the miles, she thought about the future. They would give their first performance in a village outside Nafplion, and Lambros had announced that she would act in the performance, with Martha playing her mother. He had, of course, given Polyxeni the script to study as they went along. It was a mawkish, sentimental piece, the origin of which she didn’t know. That didn’t matter at all, though. What mattered was that she would be acting. Finally she would set foot on the stage, and it would be in her hands whether she heard applause or not.
Xenia Olympiou’s debut took place in a small café in front of a small, poorly dressed audience, and at first the leading actress was very disappointed by the crowd. But her imagination came to her rescue again. When she started to act she didn’t see wooden chairs but velvet seats, and the spectators turned into men in smoking jackets, while the headscarves of the women transformed into diadems adorned with precious stones. With a dignified air she got up on stage and played her role in an affecting way. And although at the beginning whispers and laughter reached her ears, after a few minutes there was complete silence; the audience was enthralled and followed the scene with interest. In the end, the performance was satisfying, even for Polyxeni. The applause was loud and warm and the voices enthusiastic.
The crowd may have been small on that first day, but that wasn’t the case for the rest of their stay. Soon, Lambros was rubbing his hands together with satisfaction as he thought of the money the troupe was making thanks to Xenia Olympiou, who with each performance made everyone in the smoked-filled interior of the café cry. For the first time the players stayed for fifteen whole days in the same place. People even came from the surrounding villages to see their shows, and when the troupe got ready to leave, everyone in town protested. So the company changed the play and stayed another fifteen days.
Polyxeni looked at the money in her hands. It was the first money she’d had of her own. Lambros had given it to her, happy that after so long, he was in a position to pay his actors. He also managed to buy quite a few yards of material so his wife could sew new costumes for the play they would perform in Gytheio. The play was a French farce and the role Polyxeni had been cast in fit her like a glove. She was especially happy in the pink dress that Zoe had sewn for her. Martha played her older sister, and they had a delightful dialogue that made the audience clap enthusiastically. This time they stayed two whole months in the area. The café where they played was quite large and its owner was pleased with the crowds the troupe brought in.
Boredom struck Polyxeni before she realized what was the matter with her. She felt as if she was suffocating; the hour before the performance seemed endless, and when she got on stage she mechanically acted out her lines. She woke up every morning before everyone else, and as soon as she had drunk her coffee, she wandered around the area and admired the landscape. After the first two weeks of performances, the locals began to recognize her and smiled when they saw her, which Polyxeni liked. She also liked it when the owner of a pastry shop, who also recognized her from the play, wouldn’t take her money. But celebrity in Gytheio had a price; when some local men acted a little too friendly, because she was an actress and, in their minds, must therefore be ready to give herself to anyone, Polyxeni became annoyed. She wondered how these uneducated and uncouth villagers, with their heavy work boots and rough hands, dared to bother her.
Lately, Polyxeni had begun to think seriously about her future. Lambros’s troupe had been her ticket out of the village, but it could also be a quagmire that would swallow her, and she had no intention of growing old as she played indifferent parts in traveling theaters. Besides, she had wanted to get away from the countryside, and here she was, back in the country and living in conditions much worse than she had known at home. There, at least she had a room of her own. Here, at best she could expect to sleep in a dirty hotel, at worst, in a tent. There, she ate in a warm kitchen. Here she ate food of doubtful quality in cafés and cheap restaurants. In addition, she had no friends. She rarely chatted with the members of the troupe, and her frozen expression toward anyone she was speaking to usually put an end to any desire for further conversation. She knew that behind her back, they all gossiped about her, but she didn’t care. She’d heard them refer to her as “countess” many times, but it pleased her rather than annoyed her.
When she heard they would be leaving Gytheio, Polyxeni drew a deep breath. Finally something new was coming; finally the routine would be broken. They left for Kalamata, but Lambros soon found out there was another traveling troupe there and he didn’t want to compete with it, so they continued to Kyparissia instead.
Polyxeni was enthralled by the beauty of the landscape in Kyparissia. The beaches seemed endless, and the hues of the foliage merged with the blue of the sea and the sky. Polyxeni’s delight was further bolstered by the fact that the space they were performing in here was the best she had seen until now. It was a new, very large café, and the owner, having seen their performances in Gytheio, welcomed them very happily. He also owned a hotel, so they all slept in fine rooms. Polyxeni quietly hoped that they would stay in this town for a while. For the first time she was nervous about the performance going well, so she decided not to leave anything to chance. She would talk to Lambros about the show.
When the troupe gathered together that evening, everyone was shocked to hear Polyxeni speak. It was so rare for the “countess” to open her mouth they all stopped to hear what she had to say.
“Lambros, what play do you plan for us to open with?” she asked in a voice slightly tinged with sarcasm.
Lambros had just lit a cigarette. He looked at her carefully through the smoke that flowed lazily from his mouth. “Why do you want to know, Xenia?” he asked. “Since when have you been interested in what we play?”
“Since today,” she answered in a sharp tone. “I’m tired of doing the same thing all the time. Besides, look around you! It’s a nice place, well built, and the town has a lot of people—we’d better do our best.”
Silence fell on the room. Lambros’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “Listen, Miss Xenia. The only thing that should concern you is that you act well. The rest is my busines
s.”
“I always act well,” Polyxeni said slowly. “But it is essential that an actress also have a good script in her hand in order to create, and so far, I haven’t been satisfied with the works you choose.”
“Then go and find yourself something better, my lady!” Lambros shot at her, stubbing his cigarette out fiercely. “And if you think that because you can say a few words you’ve become an actress, then think again! You’ve got a long way to go before you start being one. You may be playing the leading lady for me here, but you try playing in a real theater company and see what sort of roles you get. Pull yourself together, why don’t you, and get your nose out of the air!”
Everyone held their breath, but Polyxeni continued to look at him unperturbed. “Whether I’m an actress or not you know for yourself, now that you’re finally seeing an audience at your performances. As for a real theater company, I may be playing bit parts but at least one day I’ll be treading on the stage of a theater. You can mark my words!”
Lambros jumped to his feet, red in the face, his eyes flashing in fury. Martha appeared at his side and put her hand firmly on his shoulder. Lambros turned around abruptly, ready to attack her as well, but her calm eyes stopped him.
“Sit down, Lambros,” she advised. “We won’t get anywhere like this.”
“But didn’t you hear her?” he shouted furiously.
“I heard you both. So sit down and let’s speak nicely like the cultivated people we are, and in particular like artists who love what we do!”
Lambros looked at her for a moment, undecided, then sat down with a scowl on his face and lit a new cigarette.
“So,” Martha began. “Xenia is right in one way. Our repertoire has been stagnant for some time now and we have to do something about it.”
