The Explosive Nature of Friendship (16 page)

He went to the police station and asked to speak to whoever was in charge. The police were very helpful. They had a full list of who was owed what. ‘You had better get some legal advice, my friend,’ suggested the policeman, almost kindly. ‘I will introduce you to my brother. He is a lawyer and will help you.’

Mitsos went, box in hand, to the lawyer. Together they went over the list and divided up the money owed to each. After Mitsos took what he needed to pay for the bus journey home there was just enough left to pay the lawyer his stated fee, which seemed to Mitsos quite a coincidence. The lawyer smiled, a gold tooth twinkling somewhere near the back of his nicotine-stained mouth.

Mitsos unbuttons his shirt and pulls it out from his trousers. His vest comes out with it. He can remember that the bus journey seemed to take forever. The bus had dropped him in the town and he had gladly walked to the village, his limbs joyous with the movement after sitting for so long. He had swung his arms with such freedom, freedom from the bus and freedom from Manolis.

The joy of the memory of that freedom does not last long. He twitches his shoulders. He hasn’t even got two arms to swing now. Mitsos puts the old newspaper clippings on the kitchen table and finishes his ouzo. He shakes his shirt off his shoulders and it falls down his back onto the chair, the sleeves picking up dust from the floor. His vest is baggy and old and accentuates his thin frame. A tiny jumping spider in a white and black suit runs in staccato bursts across the table. As it comes to a stop, motionless, Mitsos touches its rear and it jumps, a hand span, to his ouzo glass. He played for hours as a boy with these spiders; they are old friends. Mitsos picks up the glass and talks to the spider. ‘She had had the baby by the time I got back.’

Manolis followed weeks later. His lawyer had paid all the fines on his behalf. Bloody Manolis got off with nothing more than a strong caution. Damn boat
– at least it wasn't allowed to be sailed again.

He slams the glass down, and the spider retreats to the edge of the table. Mitsos is glad of the company of his eight-legged friend, and encourages him back with three tail-touching jumps. He is tipsy. He stands up, and looking at the motionless spider says,
‘I heard one rumour that Manolis had insured the boat with what money he had left in his pockets and that the boat had sunk in the harbour.’ He leans over to peer at the spider to make sure it is listening. ‘But the insurance refused to pay up as they believed someone had scuppered the vessel on purpose.’ He stands up straight, glass in hand. ‘Ha! Served the scoundrel right!’ His ouzo slops over the side of his glass.

‘
The talk in the village at the time was that we were in the whole thing together – as if! – and that I had got away and left Manolis to take the rap.’ Mitsos slumps into a chair, and says through closed teeth and unmoving lips, ‘That hurt.’ He pours another drink and traces his finger around the top. The spider makes a few hops towards the bottle. ‘Marina crossed the square when she saw me coming after that. I never got to meet the child, but she grew to be beautiful, like Marina.’ Mitsos dips his finger in his ouzo and lets it drip just in front of the spider, which backs up a fraction. ‘Even Manolis himself did not speak to me for some time, which only added weight to the village gossip.’

He swallows the aniseed liquid and pours another. He lifts the glass as if in a toast.

‘When he finally did speak he asked why the hell I had handed over the money, saying that because of that the whole summer was for nothing. Damn the man.’ He drinks his toast and pours himself another. Mitsos downs this drink in one, no toast needed. He surveys the table top, but the spider has gone.

He picks up one of the clippings and wonders who kept them all this time and why; his mother perhaps. It is a time he would rather forget. He searches his pockets for his lighter and lights the corner of one of the clippings. It burns more quickly than he expects and he leaps to his feet to put it in the fireplace before he burns his fingers. As the orange flame dies down he drops the other clippings on top. He watches the flames flicker, casting dancing shadows across the unlit room.

He knows that Marina only knew what she saw and what had been told her. In her eyes he was no better than Manolis, in fact he could see how she could easily think he had been egging him on. His pledge to help her had done nobody any good.

Now he has to make the biggest decision of his life. Will he be helping her this time or damning her and himself somehow?

With this thought in his head he lies down on the day-bed to sleep, not bothering to undress fully.

The mellow morning light shines in, muted by the kitchen curtains, although the heat is already apparent and for a moment Mitsos does not know where he is. His dreams had taken him from the pink boat to chasing his broody hen, to the army and then up the hillside with his goats. He focuses on one thing. Slowly, it becomes a table, and after a minute or two it becomes his kitchen table. At this point he recalls his reminiscences of the previous night and the excess of ouzo that accompanied them. He sits up. His head spins; he hasn't drunk so much in years. It takes a while to stand, but once he is steady he shuffles across to the sink and puts his head under the tap, both drinking and refreshing himself. He can remember doing the very same thing as a young man, before he knew any better. ‘You old fool,’ he says to himself.

The kitchen curtains have not been drawn for a decade or more and they feel paper-brittle to the touch. He carefully pushes them back and opens the window, which is stiff. Thick cobwebs tear as he pushes it open. A moth makes its escape and the morning breeze blows in past Mitsos to refresh the room. He yawns at the day and then shuffles to the back door and opens it wide. The area at the back of the house has not been swept for … Mitsos tries to recall how long, but he cannot remember.

Pots line the edges of what used to be the brushed area of ground, some devoid of both flower and soil; Manolis had stolen them for his moped shop all those years ago and Mitsos has never bothered to replace them. Those with soil sprout weeds, which grow profusely.

Mitsos picks up the broom. He has not mastered using the broom with one arm, even after all these years. In truth, he has never really tried. When he was a lad and his mother made him sweep, how little he knew that just the action was a privilege, something to be grateful for. After a few pushes he finds it is not so hard, and he can manage with one hand. The dustpan and brush are a different matter but he pins the dustpan with his foot and finishes the job. He takes the pan to the end of the almond grove and pours the dust over the wall, where he is still keeping an eye out for the broody hen. The goat bells clonk and rattle in the hills above. He steps over the wall and climbs to the hut to feed the chickens, which cluck and fuss their gratitude. He turns and considers sitting for a while, but something prompts him to saunter back down the hill into the orchard.

The sound of a car stopping and the gate at the end of the track being opened, he checks the time. Surely his nephew is not due till later? He does not quicken his pace back to the yard.

Adonis is wearing a suit despite the heat. ‘Hey? How ya running?’ Mitsos finds the expression odd. Is his little brother becoming age-conscious and trying to be cool, using this phrase of the youth?

Mitsos sniggers.
‘What? What’s up?’ Mitsos shakes his head and takes the baby-seat.

‘
Hey, little man, you're awake. Shall we go and look at the black branches against the sky?’

‘
Look, I have to go, here's the bag.’ But Mitsos isn't listening and is halfway to the far wall, carrying the car seat. He sits down with his back against the stones, his charge beside him, and waves to Adonis, who has stopped in his car to look back. The wave makes Adonis smile. His face relaxes and he drives off, leaving the gate open.

‘
So, how have you been keeping?’ The baby smiles and waves its arms at the fluttering blossom and flies and buzzy creatures that fill his vision. ‘I made a bit of a night of it last night. You see, that is the other thing with age: not only do you not have a blank sheet in front of you but you have countless memories to haunt you, things you should have done but didn't, things you did do but shouldn't have. It can all get a bit much at times.’ He pauses to watch a dragonfly. The baby squeals with delight. ‘You are right, though, we should live in the moment. But you know what I realised going over these memories?’ He pauses but there is no response. ‘No? Well I will tell you. Your Uncle Mitsos may have been naive and easily taken in, maybe even a bit slow, but his heart was in the right place, at least up until the day he lost his arm. It's funny, that. All these years people have silently thinking that I am bad 'un, a trouble maker, a bit of a villain, but you know what? I wasn't. Sure, you begin to believe the looks after a time, and it hurts because it doesn't fit who you believe you are until you think, “Well, if they keep implying it, it must be true,” and then you believe it and you behave accordingly, but it never felt like it fitted.’ Mitsos settles onto his side, on his elbow, his head resting in his hand. He watches the innocence of his nephew’s face.

‘
Because until the whole Love Boat thing I still knew I was a good 'un. It was after that I began to doubt. I had failed in my pledge to Marina. So I pulled as far away from Manolis as I could to show her, and myself, and the whole damn village that I was not the same.’ Mitsos can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He picks a grass and chews on it and is silent for a while, calming himself.

Five years after the beginning of the Love Boat episode Marina had another daughter. He does not want to even think how she was conceived. He pulls the grass from his mouth and throws it away.
‘My hatred for Manolis only grew in his absence, and it was nearly eight years before our paths crossed again.’ The baby’s waving hands and happy gurgles indicate that he is not listening. Mitsos falls silent again, and he breathes deeply to steady himself and wipes away a tear. He sniffs loudly and clears his throat. ‘But with what happened next I could never call myself good again. I deserved nothing. That’s why I live up here alone, sit at the back of the kafenio.’ He sighs through his nose. ‘That’s why I have such a problem with these envelopes that keep arriving and what to do about them. It would feel more right just to give them away.’

A butterfly lands on the baby
’s foot. He wiggles his toes and it flies in jerky movements up and away. Mitsos rolls back off his arm to lie in the grass, which is still surprisingly green for the time of year with its continuous heat. The almond trees thin out near the wall and Mitsos is dappled in sunlight, a light breeze keeping the pair of them cool.

‘
Shall I tell you? Shall I tell you how I lost my arm? You are young enough to have no prejudices. You tell me, am I guilty or am I not?’ He picks another grass before he speaks

‘
Manolis came to the house one day …’

‘What are you doing here?’ Mitsos’ back door had been wide open. He closed it a little when he saw who it was and leaned against the frame.

‘
Come on, Mitsos, it has been years since we have even seen each other. You've been farming, I've been farming, we are old men now and I thought perhaps we could just do a little fishing together.’

‘
We are not old men, we are forty-three and I have no desire to go fishing with you or anything else.’ Mitsos stepped back from the door and began to close it.

‘
Marina has asked you to eat with us tonight. Will you come?’

‘
I seriously doubt she has asked me.’ Mitsos paused.

‘
Well, don't come then. I'll tell her you didn't want to.’ Manolis smiled his cheeky grin and turned to walk away. He clearly expected Mitsos to stop him but he didn't. He closed the door instead.

Mitsos debated whether to go or not. If he had been asked by Marina then it was an olive branch, a sign of peace. If he didn't go it would be a serious rebuff. He decided to go, and if she looked surprised he would leave saying he'd been misinformed.

Knocking on their door felt more than a little strange. A pretty dark-haired girl answered the door. This must be Eleni, with whom Marina was pregnant when Manolis had the Love Boat. She was tall for eight. She walked back inside, clearly expecting Mitsos to follow her into the kitchen.

The place had not changed. There were still Marina
’s parents, gilt-framed, on the wall, still only the bare essentials, a table and chairs, an oven, a fridge.

Marina sat in a chair with a blonde child of no more than three on her knee. The child was holding her knee and crying; Marina was kissing the little grazed area.

‘Thank you for inviting me to eat with you.’ Mitsos waited for confirmation but received none.

‘
Sit down, man.’ Manolis seemed in a good humour. There were four wooden chairs around the table and a cheap rug that covered only part of the concrete floor, which had been painted white some time ago. The paint had worn off in paths to the sink and the door and to a lesser degree to the window, the dusty concrete eroding beneath.

‘
May I?’ Mitsos asked Marina, who looked at an empty chair but said nothing. Mitsos sat in the hard chair and waited.

‘
Isn't it time those kids were in bed?’ Manolis said, his words rushing out a little too quickly. He slowed his words at the end to make it sound more casual.

Marina put the little girl on her feet and the older girl took her by her hand and led her out of the room. Marina stood up to follow them.

‘Stay, if you'd like,’ Manolis said to her back. But it was not a question. She promised the girls she would be with them in a minute and came back into the room.

Mitsos crossed his legs and then uncrossed them. He folded his arms across his chest but let them slip into his lap.

‘Are you hungry?’ Marina's first words. There was no life in her voice.

Manolis pulled his chair to the table and indicated for Mitsos to do the same.

Marina took a cloth from a hook in the stone wall and used it to pull a deep dish out of the oven. The relatively modern oven looked out of context in such an old-fashioned room. She put the dish on the table and brought bread and feta and beetroot with a garlic sauce, which she placed next to the hot dish. Manolis helped himself and passed the serving spoon to Mitsos, who offered it to Marina, but she would not serve herself until his plate was full and he was eating.

Manolis offered a few pleasantries but Mitsos could not think what to reply. Marina said nothing. When they had finished eating Manolis pushed his chair back and pointed to the ouzo bottle on the mantelpiece, and Marina stood up to fetch it.

‘Here's the thing,’ Manolis said. Marina put two glasses on the table and he filled them. ‘The oranges didn't do too well this year.’ He re-corked the bottle. ‘Well, actually it is not that they didn't do so well so much as the man we sold them to has not paid us and the oranges are gone.’ Marina cast a look of grim disdain at him but said nothing.

‘
What about the olives?’ Mitsos asked.

‘
I admit I was not on top of the olives this year and they have not done as well as I would have expected.’ Marina cleared her throat. Manolis glanced at her fleetingly before continuing. ‘So I thought I would try to do a little fishing until next year, just to tide us over.’

Mitsos looked at Marina but she refused to look back.
‘What has this got to do with me?’

‘
Well, there's the thing. Since our little business venture with the boat bar I have no boat and there is no one else in the village who will lend me one.’

‘
What do you mean “our business venture”? It was yours, and yours alone.’ Mitsos tried to keep himself calm but felt this emotions being hooked in.

‘
Will you not help us, Mitsos?’ Marina’s voice was like silk across a harp to Mitsos. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were liquid, her pupils dilated.

‘
Of course I will help you, Marina.’

‘
Right, so it’s agreed then. We will meet tomorrow at dawn and go fishing.’ Manolis clinked his glass against Mitsos’, a boy again. The sunlight from the window behind the sink lit his face, bright one side against dark the other.

Mitsos takes a break from the story-telling. ‘You see, my little friend, how keen I was to help, how eager to make Marina's life better, how easily I was led? You see that kindness was my downfall?’ The baby begins to cry, and Mitsos realises time has passed and the poor little mite is probably hungry. He stands slowly, shakes his legs into action, brushes off some leaves and picks up the car seat. Adonis has left the bag by the back door. The car seat sits on the table as Mitsos warms the milk. Then he chuckles as he manoeuvres his nephew into the crook of his bent leg. He sits in the high-backed chair by the unlit fireplace facing the open kitchen window. The baby’s little fingers come up and wrap around his own big rough hand as he offers the bottle. He bends over and kisses the child’s hair with a tender lingering kiss.

The baby drinks deeply and his bright eyes look up at Mitsos.

‘As I left that night Marina walked me to the door. I said goodnight and I assured her we would do well with the fishing. She said – and here is something that has haunted me ever since, and I could not swear it even happened – she said, very quietly, that the only good outcome would be if I drowned the bastard.’ Mitsos sighs and looks out of the window, his hand holding the bottle steady. ‘I say I could not swear to it as I had had two ouzos and I had never heard Marina use bad language before, so no sooner did I think I had heard it than I doubted myself. Maybe it was what I had wanted to hear, who knows? Time has made the memory more and more fuzzy; that, and I have replayed the scene until it is no longer real.’