by Sara Alexi
Miltos chuckles. ‘Ah, I can remember, even now, standing on the balcony to my room after that first week, before bed, with the feeling that I could survive anywhere. The cars below making so much noise, the red tail lights and the white beams, people driving badly, stopping to let passengers out, car horns sounding and the smell of something rich with spices being fried somewhere. The buildings in that area were made of stone, some intricately carved, others with mosaics around the doorways. Men in long white robes, women in burkhas. It was all so exciting.’
He sighs.
Something swoops over the bar.
‘Bats,’ says Loukas, and he points across the lawn to the swimming pool, which is lit up, shining blue, under the water. The bats are swooping over the surface, drinking, clicking their way, missing each other by a hair’s breadth. Loukas takes a napkin from the bar and rubs his hands, dries between his fingers. Miltos too feels sticky from the day’s heat now the air is cooling, and he takes a napkin and rubs the back of his neck again. The change in temperature is such a relief.
‘So you did well at the hotel then?’ Loukas encourages.
‘Well, here is my point. In the beginning I had energy and I was on the streets, fresh-faced, looking for business, and things were fine. But the celebratory herbal cigarette became an evening ritual, and getting out of bed to find tourists became more difficult as a result. So the evening ritual became an afternoon ritual and the tourists stopped coming after a while. If I got down to the streets at all, the only people I could tempt were lone Egyptian men in Cairo on business. This upset me, but instead of taking a shower, stopping smoking the herbs and sorting out the sheets to be washed to get rid of the lingering smell, I spent more time with the hotel owners and began to enjoy their way of life, lazing around all day. And then to mark the evenings they would open a bottle of illegal alcohol and the nights would become a blur.’
Loukas sucks his teeth and nods gravely.
‘When you are on an unknown path, the trouble is you don’t know where the end of it is. Just when I thought I could sink no lower, a girl of the night came and asked if she could take a room for the evening. You know what I mean, yes? Well, money is money and with no other customers I took her piastres and let her use the room as she liked. She was in fact a very sweet girl, and at that point I didn’t understand why she did what she did for a living. It didn’t suit her. Nevertheless she used the room often, and paid every time, and so with this regular customer the hotel owners and I could lounge around on their oversized bed, unable to say more than a few words to each other as we watched Arabic television. We spoke English as the common language, but none of us could speak it very well. But really, no one cared as long as a herbal cigarette was being passed back and forth.’
‘Argh.’ Miltos groans as if the wounds of this time are fresh. He stands and downs the last of his beer. ‘Anyway, to cut a long story short, the girl began to bring her boyfriend, and I realised her lifestyle was not a choice. This man was dark. You know, spiritually, really dark.’
Loukas nods as if he understands, but a brief frown crosses his forehead and Miltos is reminded how young he is. He lightens his tone.
‘But if life thwarts you in one way, it seems to me it also offers opportunities in another. You see, when we ran out of food it was my job to grab a few pounds from the dish where Ahmed kept the money and go out to the market and bring back food. Near the end of my time there it was the only thing that reminded me of normal life, that there was indeed a world outside the hotel walls. But when the girl began to bring her dark friend to the hotel I would return from the market to find him also smoking on the bed with the hotel owners, and the mood was different. The herbal laughter was gone, the air felt heavy, and the girl, who I didn’t even notice the first time this happened, would be curled up with her knees to her chest, and her arms around her legs, eyes wide and staring. She was in a very bad state.’
‘I didn’t understand it at first but then I saw syringes by the bed and it all became clear. Ahmed’s eyes were rolling in his head and I felt a flash of fear and clarity. I had followed these men down their path so far. Was I going to accompany them even further? … Do you know what stopped me?’
‘No.’ Loukas answers, eyes wide.
‘I once had a girl, just for the briefest of time, and I loved her. It was her memory that stopped me. I knew I would never do such a thing if we were together and I knew she would never want it for me even though we were apart. So I asked Ahmed if I could take some money, just like that, straight out. He gave me it all with a wave of his hand and I took it. I took it, my bag and myself and I left that very moment, never to go back.’
‘That sounds like a really grim adventure,’ says Loukas, collecting the bottles and the glass.
‘Ah, but nothing is grim if you learn from it,’ Miltos says. ‘You see, you said you feel a little niggle, wondering if you are doing all you can, wondering if everything you are doing is right. But all the time, I suspect, you are looking in the wrong direction to see clearly.’
Loukas stops drying the glass.
‘What told me that things were not right was not what was going on within my head. Not the niggle, as you put it – nor was it the mess, the dirty sheets, the drop in quality of guests, or the company I was keeping. No, what told me was putting my feelings for the girl I had loved into the equation. If the situation fitted with the love then everything was fine, but if it jarred with the purity of the love I had felt for her then it was not. It was that simple. And it’s an equation I have used time and time again, and it works. The only problem is there have been some occasions when I asked the question too late. But for you it is hardly too late. So, if you look at your situation and all you are doing here to run your bar, the question I would ask – or should ask – is “Does Ellie approve?”’
Miltos hitches up his jeans so they sit better and puts his hand in his pocket to check he has his room key. His fingers trace the rim of his broken shell.
Loukas replies with a smile, his hairline shifting backwards as if a weight has been removed.
‘Then you do not need to do more. If you wanted advice,’ Miltos says, ‘which I’m aware you haven’t asked for, but I will give it anyway – she is your happiness, son. She will give you all the signs you need to know if you are doing right and doing enough. Just keep your focus on her, and whatever you do don’t let her slip through your fingers.’ The last sentence has a weight to it.
‘Are you around for a couple of days?’ Loukas starts to vigorously wipe the bar.
‘Not sure, any reason?’
‘Just thought, if you are around the day after tomorrow it would be nice to see you at my wedding.’
‘Ha! If I’m here, it would be my honour.’
And with this Miltos turns towards the hotel, jangling his keys. He keeps the smile plastered to his face but his own advice has disquieted him. He might have told that tale in a few different ways in the course of his life but, now he thinks of it, he has not told it recently. It seems a long time since he thought of Cairo and even longer since he thought of the girl he met in Saros all those years ago, and her influence on him.
Chapter 6
The bed is very comfortable and Miltos has slept longer than he expected. Actually, that is not accurate: he has been awake since the first ray of sun crept into his room, but he lingered in a state of semi-sleep, drifting in and out of dreams in which he was travelling from one beautiful location to another, and in each of which he would meet a different exotic girl and think he was in love. But then his first love would appear, her face veiled, and the other girl would fade in comparison and then disappear so he was alone with his first love, and he would reach for her hand. But just as their fingers touched, she would turn to mist. It is a recurring dream that he has had for years, as long as he can remember, and although it is heartbreaking he also relishes the closeness to her, just for those minutes. It brings a sweet melancholy which will stay with him all day, a fam
iliar feeling. It is like an old friend.
‘Come on then,’ he tells himself. ‘Let’s go see if the car is fixed.’
He has missed breakfast but he is rarely hungry this early in the day. He runs his tongue over his teeth and chews a piece of the gum he bought yesterday after dropping off the car.
‘Good morning,’ says Ellie the receptionist with a smile. ‘Did you sleep well?’ She looks scrubbed, as if she has just come out of a shower.
‘Thank you. I’ll go to the garage today and see how long I will be staying. I won’t know for sure until I know more about the problem with the car.’ He offers her his room key.
‘Well, we are not so busy so you won’t have to change rooms if you decide to stay on. Do you want to settle up now so you can just go if you want to?’ She looks at the computer screen, and her hands click on the keyboard. ‘Room ten – here we are.’
A part of him wants to tell her that he met Loukas last night, but he is not awake enough to chat. He pays for last night and without another word steps into the heat of the sun.
The day is as glorious as yesterday: warm, but not too hot. He often thinks that Greece is wasted on the Greeks – not in an unkind way, just matter of fact. If they have always lived here what do they have to compare it to, so as to realise what a wonderful place it is? Having lived in so many places he knows the cold grey damp of northern Europe, the moist heat of the tropics, the parched heat of the deserts. Lush greenery comes with heavy rain, and temperate climates tend to be accompanied by a cloud covering and make him long for the changing of the seasons. No, the Greek climate is special. Not even Italy has it, although it comes close. The seasons in Greece are strong. Spring erupts with a boldness that takes his breath away, the flowers exploding into colour in the hedgerows and on forestry land. The summer has a heat that pulls all his happiness to the surface and chases all his fears away, and then, just as he begins to take it for granted, those ten or so days in August hit like an illness, so hot he cannot function. But then, just as he gives up hope of ever being able to do anything again, the air cools to a perfect temperature and a dramatic autumn sweeps over the land, with bronzes, tans, golds and burnt umbers, and the oranges hanging in huge bunches like jewels in evergreen trees. Such beauty.
But even so, he never seems to be able to stay in Greece long. It is not so much that other places call him; it is more that the intensity of the beauty in Greece needs to be shared. Experiencing it by himself makes him feel lonely, and the best cure he has ever found for loneliness is to travel, to keep himself alone. The desire is burning deep now, to get away, to stifle his emotions. As soon as the car is fixed he will return to Athens, quit this job, give up his rented room and go to Morocco, or maybe Israel again.
The walk from the hotel to the garage in the village takes him past the church, where a group of boys are playing football, laughing and calling to one another. Miltos watches the game as he approaches, and as he draws closer a wild kick sends the ball in his direction, and he finds he is on his toes, dribbling between the youngsters looking for a goal. The boys instantly move more quickly, legs extended, feet reaching for the ball. The new player adds excitement to the game and they all seem to want to prove themselves his equal. After a rough intertwining of feet the ball is taken from him and he walks on, hands back in his pockets, a bounce to his step.
A smell of oregano and caramelised onions is leaking from one of the houses. There is geranium and just a touch of jasmine too, but then, with a shift in the slight breeze, these delicate aromas are replaced with the scent of fresh washing. Miltos is level with the corner shop now, on the edge of the village square.
The garage is off to his right but he is thirsty, and the drinks cabinet outside the kiosk calls to him. A cat curled up asleep prevents him from opening the door of the fridge, and he wakes it with a stroke and a nudge. The animal yawns, rolls onto its back for a stomach rub, then slinks off across the road, and settles itself on a wooden chair in the shade of a tree that appears to be decorated with fairy lights, outside an eatery.
‘Just this, please,’ Miltos says to the woman inside the wooden hut. There is barely space enough to balance the bottle of water on the shelf that goes all the way around the kiosk as he fishes in his pocket for change. He glances at the front pages of the newspapers stacked on the floor. The headlines seem to be mostly concerned with the economic crisis, and one bemoans the number of Greeks moving abroad. Perhaps he will join them – perhaps it is a good time for him to move on too.
‘Have a sweet,’ the woman in the kiosk says, pushing a box of assorted single wrapped sweets towards him.
It is an unexpected offer and it makes him smile and look her full in the face. He hasn’t really noticed her until now, and it is a nice face. It has none of the bloom of youth that Ellie’s has, but there is a kindness, and humour in the eyes. She has perhaps overdone the lacquer in her hair, but she is a handsome woman. His first instinct, as always, is to flirt, but this is swiftly followed by a reminder that he has made an agreement with himself not to do that any more. How many relationships has he ended up in that he never intended to? They could all be thought of as just ‘fun’, but then it is never his heart that is broken. Instead, it is he who walks away and the woman’s heart that is bleeding. But what if she is the one? Can he just pass by without finding out? His early morning dream comes to him again. He knows its meaning. Every woman he has ever met, and every relationship he has ever had, has been judged against that one brief passion all those years ago. His first love set the bar, and unfortunately for him no one else can ever match up.
‘Thank you.’ He accepts the sweet, gives her the money, takes a good long look into her eyes, smiles and forces himself to leave without another word.
‘You are welcome.’ The reply is mixed with a giggle. He likes that and feels tempted to return.
Looking around him distracts his attention from the encounter. Alongside the kiosk in the square are a small fountain and a palm tree surrounded by a low wall. Chairs and tables are arranged under the palm tree, presumably for customers of the kafenio over the road. It looks like a pleasant place to sit, and perhaps he will have a coffee later, but first he needs to go to the garage and find out when the car will be ready.
Overall, the village is pretty, and he can imagine sitting in a chair on a porch here, letting the days drift by.
He drinks deeply from the bottle and then he rubs the condensation on its surface against his forehead as he weaves between the kafenio tables in the square. There is no one sitting here – the sun is too high in the sky for that now, but this evening, if he is still here, these chairs will be full. If there is space he will allow himself to sit for a coffee, or a beer, and talk nonsense to people he will never meet again as he watches the world go by.
Down the side of the kafenio is a lane with a few houses, and rows of orange trees further up. But there on the left is the garage. The front yard is full of cars, tractors and piles of tyres. In amongst the engines and bowls of oil a line has been strung on which white washing is drying.
‘Yeia sou, file.’ He addresses the man as his friend, and eyes the worn and faded sign propped up on the porch that announces Aleko’s Garage.
‘Ah, yes,’ says Aleko, rubbing his hands on an oily rag. ‘It is not a big problem, should take an hour or two to fix.’
Miltos shifts his weight slowly from one foot to the other. So the car will be fixed and he can leave! This time next week he will be on the African continent. To up and leave Greece is a sensible choice based on how he is feeling, and it is one he has made many times before. But this time it just doesn’t sit as well. It disturbs him. He digs his hand deeper into his pocket.
‘Great,’ he says to Aleko. ‘I’ll wait at the kafenio.’
Chapter 7
‘Well, you could wait in the kafenio,’ Aleko says, ‘But as I said the part I need has to come down from Athens. So a day, maybe two?’ He looks back at the engine he is working on. ‘Will
that be a problem with your boss?’
Miltos rubs his chin thoughtfully.
‘Well, it is as it is.’ Dropping off and picking up hire cars is not the worst job he has ever had, but it often involves a lot of waiting around, which he never suspected when he took the job.
‘If you don’t have the part you don’t have the part.’ He shrugs. It seems as if his plans to travel will be put on hold for a little. But that’s all right – he can find work at any time in Marrakesh, or maybe, even, at this time of year, Essaouira. Maybe Ghita is still unmarried. Beautiful, loving Ghita. Ah, now that was a summer. The image in his mind of the wind blowing her long hair straight out behind her, as she stood on the wall by the sea, is still crystal clear. Such a gentle nature. She knew how to soothe a man’s soul. Yes, he should see if she is still unmarried, and hope her baba is not around. It feels like a good decision, positive, and the melancholy he so often feels settles down in such a way that it is less acute, convincing him that Ghita is the answer.
‘Well, I should have this one and that one’ – Aleko points at one car after another –‘finished today, and then I have to get to those three tomorrow. They are booked. I will get your part put on the bus from Athens, and with some luck it could be here tomorrow. If so, I can work late.’
Aleko eyes Miltos’s water bottle. He steps towards the house, takes a grubby-looking mug from a windowsill, fills it from a tap in the wall and drinks deeply.
‘That’s a lot of cars that need fixing for a small village,’ Miltos observes. They both step into the shade of the tree, the trunk of which grows up at the boundary; the wall has been built around it, and the roots crack the impacted mud of the yard here and there. The place would look barren without it.
‘Yup. I have created a little hire car business on the back of Stella’s hotel. You staying there?’ Miltos nods that he is. ‘The business is going all right,’ Aleko states, ‘but I don’t understand them.’
