by Sara Alexi
Theo listens, encouraging her to speak. Her words flow unrehearsed, as if a stiff gate has been opened to allow a trickle of painful history, pockets of emotions, to be expelled. How lonely she must be with no mama and no family and only her baba around her. Who does she talk to?
For now, it seems it’s Theo, and with her few words, she has reached into his chest and taken such a firm grip on his heart that he cannot move.
‘He had dreams. Athens was a new beginning for us. Things would be better than in the village, but he is not cut out for city life.’
She looks back toward the counter, around at the walls, the metal-topped wooden tables. Her face is drained of life. No doubt she watched his dreams being dissolved by the energy-sapping day–to-day realities of city life, his spirit broken by opportunities missed or never offered. A man who once stood tall and proud, with his own house and work, now making coffees in another man’s shop, with no future to look forward to. The world must look an unfriendly place in her eyes.
‘Shall I make you a coffee?’ he asks and they drink in silence before he sets out after the next job. Thoughts of the Tasia’s baba and his unfulfilled dreams do not dampen Theo’s spirits. He is determined to succeed, and sets off with long strides.
Chapter 6
Age 40 Years, 5 Months, 12 Days
‘Hello! Any luck?’ Tasia asks when he returns. He shakes his head and she fills the briki. ‘It wasn’t the job for you, then.’
Tasia encourages every attempt and seems just as excited as him when the prospect looks good. She stands at the kafeneio door, waving him off on his quests. Equally, she commiserates his rejections when he returns with sloping shoulders, his head not held quite so high. She offers her own explanations why they didn’t take him on, their blindness, their obvious misconceptions, and her energy re-inflates him. She has a beautiful laugh and the coffee slowly improves, or perhaps he is just getting used to it. Theo shaves every day and tips her well.
At home, the cat sleeps on his bed. He has discovered that the spiral staircase at the end of the passage between his house and the next leads to the roof, which is flat and from which, looking down the street and over the distant buildings, he can even see a sliver of sea down at Pireaus port. He climbs the stairs each morning to wake up, his elevation convincing him that he will conquer the city.
Thankfully, there is no sign of the old lady, who, on reflection, bears little resemblance to his yiayia and is old enough to have better manners whatever her situation.
He remains confident in himself. There is no one to complain about his methods, no negative comments, no one telling him what to do. His liberation brings elation that is much more magnificent than he expected. It gives him courage, and he flirts a little with Tasia when her baba is out. They talk of their dreams, his to be his own man, make his mark and hers, she tells him, is to have an olive grove and a press to make oil.
During this time of job hunting, to his surprise and delight, he discovers that Athenians put the things they no longer want outside in the streets in the early hours of the morning, before it is even light. Tasia says it is done under the cover of darkness because it is not strictly legal, but once something is on the road, the dustbin men are obliged to remove it. Things which in the village would be considered serviceable for many years to come are thrown out like used serviettes, on a whim, it seems.
From necessity, and in keeping with his frugal nature, Theo finds a comfy chair with a biro line trailed round and round on one of its padded material arms, a wooden table with a matching chair, both very old fashioned, and a lamp which looks like it once sat on a plinth. He also lugs back to his rooms a trunk, made of brown painted metal over a wooden shell that is lined with old-fashioned wallpaper, just because he likes it. When he discovers how well it shuts, he begins to keep his food in it to stop the cat from stealing it when he is sleeping.
He is soon on first name terms with Andreas, the kiosk man, and he begins to feel he is creating a new world for himself.
‘Morning. Don’t you ever get an hour off?’ Theo smiles.
‘Ha! If only I could, but my father is too old,’ Andreas says.
‘Humm.’ Theo’s thoughts turn to his own baba, his sleeves catching the stove, his clumsiness that has come with age. He looks at his own hand, out of bandages now and crusty.
Andreas leans forward and looks furtively left and right before confiding, ‘Besides, do you know how many tourist girls come to ask for directions? I am learning English.’ He lifts a book off his knees: First lessons in English Grammar.
One half-day, Theo spends handing out flyers, as a trial, to see if he is quick enough, only to realise that when the half-day is done, so is their need for him. He applies for a sales job, selling postcards to the tourists up on the Acropolis, but the business does not feel legitimate, so he slips away unseen. Mostly, the jobs have already gone by the time he calls, to someone else who rang earlier or went in sooner because they were closer. After five days with no success, he wonders if there is a better way.
Counting out coins on his way home, he is concerned to see how little is left. All those coffees soon add up. He still has enough money to eat, at least for a few more days, if he is frugal, but the situation is becoming more pressing.
Side-stepping a tree and walking in the road for ease, he turns up his street. He lifts his shirt from his shoulders; it is still warm, even though it is evening. The gate outside his front door hangs open. Vaguely surprised, he wonders if the old lady is on the roof drying her washing. No, she would never manage the stairs. Very odd. He cannot wait to sit down, kick his shoes off, and forget about job hunting for the day. Maybe she keeps things behind the other locked door, and she is in there rummaging about, her beads rattling and being torn off as they catch on things.
The cat appears.
‘Hello, cat. Is the witch about?’ he says softly and bends to stroke it. He pushes the gate further open and looks up. The door to his rooms is open, too. The hairs on the back of his neck bristle.
‘Hello?’ He bends as usual down the steps so as not to bang his head on the door frame and then stands tall again in the room, which is empty.
‘Hello?’ he says again.
‘I knew you were trouble.’ The old woman comes from the corridor to his kitchen and bathroom. ‘Well I won’t stand for it. Out. Go on; I want you out.’
‘What?’ Fatigue forgotten, wide-eyed, Theo looks around the room for some clue as to why the old woman is so upset.
‘And a cat I see!’ She hisses, chasing the animal out of the door. ‘Go on, follow the beast, you don’t live here anymore.’
‘I’m sorry; what’s the problem?’ Theo roots himself to the spot.
‘As if you didn’t know. You are keeping a cat when I clearly stated no pets, and the bathroom ceiling has mould all over it. It is slovenly and bad for the building. I clearly said in the contract that the property was to be maintained in the order it was given you …’
‘Lady, the bathroom had mould in the corners when I took on the rooms, just five days ago.’
‘Seven,’ she barks as she takes hold of his sleeve and begins to pull. ‘Out!’
‘You cannot chuck me out. I have paid this week’s rent and you have two weeks in advance, not to mention the two week’s money for damages.’ Theo frees himself from her grasp to get a look at the bathroom ceiling. The mould has spread some distance from the corner, but it was inevitable. In a shower room in the basement, what does she expect?
‘If you don’t leave, I will call the police.’
‘We have a contract.’ Theo is confident he is right and that she will get no joy from the police.
‘You have broken the contract. You have not maintained the property and you are keeping animals.’
‘It is a stray cat, it’s not mine, and the property was mouldy in the bathroom when I took it on.’
‘That’s not what you signed.’ Her voice is growing louder and high pitched. ‘You agreed t
he property was in perfect condition.’
‘Look, if I have caused damage to the property, which I haven’t, take it out of the money I gave you for damages or let me make the ceiling right. A damp cloth will just wipe the mould away.’ He makes a move to go through to the sink in the kitchen-come-bedroom to get a wet cloth. She bars his way.
‘Out.’ Her voice is shrill.
‘No. We have a contract.’ Theo folds his arms. He can feel his heart beating, pumping against his rib cage. The woman must be mad. The cat has come back in and winds around his legs.
Her steely gaze settles on him. ‘What contract?’ The words quiet and low as she walks to the door and removes Theo’s keys, slipping the loop of cord around her neck, tucking the keys down her beaded shift dress.
‘Oh come on,’ Theo implores, his arms unfolding, palms upwards. This has all gone far enough.
‘You want to show me this contract?’ she asks, her thin lips in a sneer, the anticipation of her victory.
‘What are you saying? You spent an hour writing it out. You were making me a copy.’ Theo can hear the panic, the anger, and the fear in his own voice. The situation is unreal. Her logic defies all reason. His situation is suddenly unstable.
‘With no contract, you have no right to be here. That makes you a trespasser. I am going to call the police.’ Her back is stiff. She wears the same beaded dress as when he first saw her, shimmering black, the beads clicking together as she moves. If the man in the white dressing gown was king of cockroaches, then this is his queen.
‘But I have paid you five weeks’ money in total and I have been here five days.’
‘You have paid me nothing. You are a burglar and I am going to scream and say you manhandled me unless you leave.’ The look on her face tells him that her position is set, she knows she has him over a barrel and she is not going to relent in any direction: steely, hard, cold, unfeeling, defensive. He swallows.
There’s no way he can win. When he was handing out the leaflets, shop owners came out asking him what he was doing and the moment they heard his village accent, they treated him as if he were stupid, or trouble, sometimes both, threatening him with the police. Now here is the poor little widow, or spinster, whatever she is, ready to scream her make-believe evil, an Athenian who owns property here. He has no chance. If she accuses him of manhandling her, the police will be forced to take her side. They can’t let a violent attacker of old ladies free to strike again. He might be taken to jail to await a court date. His eyes dart around the room, looking for something solid of which his mind can take hold. He has heard that it can take up to two years for a case to be heard. His fists start to shake.
‘That’s not right.’ He feels slightly dizzy, as if the blood has run from his face, his ears buzzing.
‘That’s life,’ she replies and opens her mouth as if ready to scream.
His knuckles show white as his fists clench. He can feel his briki of anger about to overflow. The whites of his eyes grow wider. Taking shallow breaths, he tries to keep control. Stepping towards her, his hands raise. The look on her face, he wants to wipe it away, do evil to her as she is trying to do to him.
‘Poutana!’ he explodes as he turns on his heel, letting out his own growling scream as he walks from her and the building. The safe thing to do is to leave, keep walking but then again, he wants to go back and take what is his from the thieving mad lady. He stomps to the end of the block, overwhelmed with the injustice of her having all his money and his things, even his found furniture, and he marches back to the house again. By the time he gets there, he has considered and realises he can do nothing. Anything he does will only make the situation worse.
He storms off again. He goes around the block and back again with the same thoughts twice. Maybe he could go to the police so he is the one complaining about her? But that would not put the money back in his hands and what good is the furniture without a house to put it in?
On his second turn around the block, he sees the old lady shuffling around the side of the building with a young couple. His brisk pace brings him close. As they turn the corner, they are just metres away.
‘I will be charging you from when you said you would take it which was a week ago,’ the old lady says. ‘I cannot be expected to lose money because you were not ready to move.’
‘Oh no, we completely understand. Thank you for keeping it for us. It is perfect,’ the man replies. Theo puts his head around the corner, where he can see the woman has stopped to look down the grating above one of the flat’s windows. The old lady struggles with the key around her neck.
‘The rent has gone up since we wrote out the contract a week ago, as it has more furniture now. Two weeks in advance, and for damages.’ In her tight fist is what looks like a flyer covered with scribbled notes.
Theo stops breathing. Lights flash before his eyes. His stomach twists into a knot. His body gasps for breath and his pulse begins to race, thumping in his chest as if it will explode. The old lady’s lines are well rehearsed, as if she has said them a thousand times before. His eardrums might burst, the beat of his heart is so loud.
He looks around and finds a branch that has fallen from one of the sickly trees. He grabs it and would like to run at the old woman, wield the branch in front of her face. The couple spot him and edge behind the safety of the iron gate as he picks it up, mouths open, the man in front of the woman. The old lady looks him straight in the eye, her stance set, her mouth taut, her chin tucked in as if she is ready to growl.
Theo stares into the depth of her eyes, notices the sky taking on a brilliance behind her. His rage bubbles until he can no longer hold it in. The branch raises up, above his head, he looks right at her. His hands tremble, his biceps spasm. With a branch this size he could bring it down on her head and drive her feet into the pavement, like a mallet hitting a peg. Deeper and deeper she would go until only her head remains above ground. He twitches as if to move, the branch feels too destructive, but if he lets go of the branch his hands would seek her neck. Snap it like a dried twig, so thin and scrawny the way it protrudes from her dress. His grip on the wood tightens. He marches backwards a few paces. The old lady sneers at his retreat. She has no idea how destructive he feels. The sun glints off one of the windows and dazzles him, the end of the branch is level with the pane. The old woman sucks in a breath and Theo sees her fear. It wouldn’t take much, with all his weight behind it, one swipe at the upstairs windows and they would shatter. The shards flying inwards, spraying across her private domain, the wooden muntin between the panes of glass splintering.
The old lady would gasp then, blood draining from her arrogant features. Her movements jerky, hobbling towards him as quickly as she could.
‘Ha.’ Theo expels, taking joy in smashing the next window, grinning at the effect of the demolition on her features before he turns the corner to lay waste to the front downstairs window, and then the ones beside the door.
Someone comes out from the shop across the road to watch the drama, calling someone else to join them. The cat is with them, winding around their ankles. ‘Has that old bag been pulling her “room for rent” scam again? Should be locked up,’ Theo hears him say. He glares at the old lady, who stares back with gritted teeth and the watchers begin to applaud him. Shutters open and more neighbours witness his retribution and each in turn shouts ‘bravo’ and claps until the whole street is celebrating his actions, cheering and whistling.
‘And that,’ Theo pants, ‘makes us just about even. Should cost you five week’s rent to replace that lot.’
The couple who have come to rent the flat mutter to each other.
‘She is a con artist,’ Theo calls to them. ‘She took two weeks in advance, two week’s money for damages and a week’s rent, then allowed me to stay five days …’
‘Seven.’ The old lady cannot help herself.
Theo briefly looks at her and raises his eyebrows. ‘Five,’ he says firmly at the couple, ‘before kicking me out for not
having a copy of the contract she never gave me.’
The couple cross the road and scuttle off. They pass the man, still outside his shop who tells them they are best off somewhere else.
Theo refocuses back to the present, sweat running from his forehead, out of breath with adrenaline, the branch still in his hands but his feet have not moved, the windows remain intact but his need to vengeance, justice, somewhat satiated by his thoughts. The prospective tenants peek around the gate behind the old woman.
Theo’s briki of rage is off the boil but not gone. He takes a deep breath and drops the branch at her feet. His rage was powerful, but he controlled it. He feels proud of himself. The fear in the old lady’s eyes diminishes.
‘Put that by your front door.’ He points to the branch. ‘It will remind you every time you answer the bell that if you con the wrong person they may not control themselves as well as I have.’ With this, he turns to leave. The man across the street, whose nose was pressed against the inside of his shop window returns to the shadows. The cat runs across the road and in the open shop door mewing.
The old woman turns to her potential tenants but they are muttering quietly to themselves before they abruptly turn and walk away.
The old lady sniffs, holds her head erect as she walks past Theo, around the corner into her house and slams the door behind her.
She does not take the branch.
Theo’s remaining adrenaline carries him up a street, his feet tramping, his arms pumping, his chest swelling and subsiding. He would like to see Tasia, tell her what has happened, be soothed by her sympathy. But in his anger, he feels ugly. Instead of turning towards her, he stays on the road he is on. The incline becomes steeper and steeper and his pace shortens, slowing down until the road stops and there is almost vertical rough ground with steps cut into the bank. He has no idea where he is going, just away, away from the claustrophobic, built-up streets and city people. He starts to climb.
