The Explosive Nature of Friendship (17 page)

Mitsos looks around the room and sees the appointment card for his meeting with his lawyer in town later that afternoon. He watches his nephew enjoying the milk, the baby
’s eyes reflecting rapture, not even trying to focus now.

‘
Anyway, we did go fishing, and we did ok, but Manolis wanted more, as always, so he came up with one of his ideas. Are you ready for this, my little man? He no longer wanted to trail a line, nor did he want to use a net. No, he came up with a revolutionary way of killing lots of fish in one go and all we had to do was scoop them up. I will tell you …’

‘It makes perfect sense. I don't know why the practice is not more widespread,’ Manolis said hopefully as they walked back from the day’s fishing with only two fish.

‘
It must be illegal for some reason. Anyway, it sounds dangerous to me. I will trail a line, I will use a net but I'll not do this, Manolis.’

‘
Marina will be disappointed.’

‘
That's your problem, not mine. She's your wife.’ Mitsos tried to keep his tone level.

‘
Ah, but that's not how you want it to be, is it?’ Manolis laughed.

‘
What's that meant to mean?’

‘
You think I don't know how you have been envying me my wife all these years, pretending to be my friend to get near her? I am not a fool, Mitsos, you are doing this to please her. Well, if you want to please her then …’

‘
Go to hell.’ Mitsos could feel his temper rising, his muscles shivering in response.

‘
Yes, I probably will, and you'll be right by my side and you'll be no closer to her then either, unless a little infidelity drags her down with you.’ Manolis laughed.

Mitsos lunged at him with all his strength, his fists flying, his eyes glassy with temper. Manolis landed on his back in the dust of the lane, Mitsos on top of him. Manolis brought his knee up sharply and Mitsos rolled off him doubled over, his hand to his groin. Manolis stood up chuckling.

‘I am going to kill you one of these days you son of a ….’ But it was not Mitsos’ habit to swear and the sentence was left unfinished.

‘
Come on.’ Manolis offered his hand to help Mitsos up but he refused it. ‘If you were going to kill me you would have done it long ago.’

Somehow the knee to the groin and the obvious winning of the fight constituted a silent agreement that they were going to do it Manolis' way. Mitsos was hauled to his feet and the two of them went to Manolis
’ storage barn on the corner of the square.

Mitsos had been in there many times before. The place contained barrels of wine and crates of whisky, carpets and fishing tackle, and random items Manolis had won in card games: leather jackets, watches, a pair of cowboy boots, a pair of lamps. It was an Aladdin
’s cave.

Manolis opened a bottle of ouzo and sat down on one of the rickety chairs.

‘Ha, we have had some times, Mitsos. Do you know what I heard the other day?’ Mitsos was still standing so Manolis pushed a chair back for him and moved the glass of ouzo he had poured nearer his side of the table. ‘You remember that trainee Papas we had some fun with? Well, he's done very well for himself, got a taller hat and coloured robes, I hear. But do you know how he came by his rise in the church? This is funny.’ He stopped to laugh a little. ‘He did not stop believing that the water into wine was a miracle of God and that the change back again was an equal miracle. It was this steadfast belief, when all around him were ridiculing him that made the archdeacon notice his solidity and commend him for it. Apparently the archdeacon said that if all the church could have such faith in the face of such adversity, the world would be a better place, and then he promoted him.’

Mitsos sat down; his legs felt shaky.

‘So we did the guy a favour. We are heroes,’ Manolis concluded.

‘
Not exactly heroes.’ But this happy outcome for the priest relieved a little of Mitsos’ guilt, and he smiled, and took a drink of ouzo.

‘
Also – and this one is even better – you know Katerina and Aris the tractor mender, who have just had their tenth kid, do you know how they met?’

Mitsos was still thinking about the positive effect of their teasing of the Papas. It made him feel lighter.

‘Hey, I said do you know how that loving couple met? They met when they were eight. They met when they returned each other’s donkeys the day after our all-night mischief. We played cupid without even knowing it. Heroes again!’

Mitsos
’ eyes widened and he looked Manolis square in the face.

‘
No word of a lie, I swear. You can ask them.’

‘
Manoli, they are the same age, they were at school together…’ But Mitsos did not really mind Manolis’ creativity with the truth. He expected nothing more. And maybe the day of the donkeys had made Aris and Katerina notice one another – who knows? Manolis swallowed the remains of his drink and poured more. He offered a cigarette and before long they were chatting like schoolboys, their common history bringing them together. But when Mitsos smiled it no longer quite reached his eyes, nor did it lighten his heart. When he laughed it was not from his belly, it was from a tight throat with an edge of nervousness.

Manolis showed him things in his barn and told of how they came to be his: a little card game here, in return for a job, or some information there. He had hats piled high from a tourist shop that went out of business; the loan of Manolis' truck to remove the remains of the stock had been paid for in goods. He had boxes of pans that he had taken from a gypsy in return for letting him off when he caught him stealing oranges from the neighbour
’s tree. The goods were varied and they were acquired by every possible means, but nothing, according to Manolis, was stolen, not in a straightforward way anyway.

‘
Ah, here we go.’ Manolis was behind a ceiling-high pile of boxes, scratching about in the dark, the single bulb offering little light into the far corners, and the doors and windows blocked up with boxes, tools, goods and rubbish. He had unearthed some small boxes. He lifted the first one and passed it to Mitsos. It felt cool to the touch as it had been sitting on a compacted earth floor, and it was also heavy so he put it down on the table. Manolis passed two more and then straightened up.

The cardboard boxes were not closed and Mitsos flicked one open. There was a loose paper package inside. Manolis took one out and unwrapped some red sticks, the length of his hand: dynamite.

‘Now, where would you be getting those from?’ Mitsos asked. He folded his arms across his chest and exhaled.

‘
The guys up at the marble quarry were very partial to the three cup shuffle. They ran out of money so they bet dynamite.’ Manolis laughed, nasally. ‘Come on, there is no time like the present.’ He took a wide rubber band off a hook in the wall and bundled together some of the dynamite. Mitsos was up and out of the door before him, trying to make some distance between him and the dynamite, wishing he had been more firm, said no more clearly. He did not like the idea, not one little bit.

The two of them strode out into the afternoon, the heat a slap in the face. The whitewashed village basked in the summer sun. The kafenio, usually full of old men and farmers taking a break from work and wives, was empty; the chemist and bakery that also flanked the town square, closed. The area in front of the church was devoid of shirtless boys playing barefoot ball. The school on the edge of town had finished for the day. The sun was past its highest and people were asleep during the afternoon
’s heavy heat. All was quiet. Not even a dog barked.

‘
Shall we do this when it is cooler?’ Mitsos asked.

‘
Nah, come on, we will be selling to the tavernas as soon as they open if we go now. Imagine how pleased Marina will be.’ He grinned and winked. Mitsos glared at him and strode ahead. Manolis made no attempt to catch up until he could see the sea and then he broke into a trot to draw level with Mitsos, the dynamite in his two hands clutched against his side.

‘
Hey!’ Mitsos turned at Manolis' call. ‘English rugby,’ and Manolis threw the dynamite to Mitsos. In a mind-opening flash Mitsos saw his potential death and shock waves ran through his whole body. Legs sprang, arms extended, fingers spread, his whole being tensed to catch the bundle. With a huge sigh he hugged the dynamite bundle safely against his chest. He could not bring himself to believe that Manolis had just risked their lives over such a petty thrill. Mitsos felt his anger rising over Manolis’ irresponsibility. This was the second time Manolis had nearly killed him.

‘
Come on, English rugby.’ Manolis grinned and held out his hands for a return pass. Mitsos’ muscles reverberated with his anger; his mind seethed with Manolis’ lack of responsibility, playing with peoples’ lives, hurting people through lack of thought, or worse, from considered forethought. He felt dizzy with his emotions; there was no place for the weight of them to go, he felt like he might explode.

Manolis, still grinning, beckoned Mitsos to return the throw.
‘Come on!’ There was such derision in his voice, years of scathing, and in that blind moment Mitsos threw the dynamite at Manolis as if by doing so all the emotions would follow and he would be free of them. As the bundle left his hands time rolled and elongated. Mitsos saw where he had thrown the dynamite and where Manolis’ hands were, and it was clear Manolis would not make the catch. Manolis took his eyes from the airborne bundle and for a fleeting second he looked to Mitsos, his eyes those of a ten year old boy with love for his friend. Mitsos pushed off his back foot and dived for the dynamite, but Manolis lunged forward with his whole body. The dynamite finished its arc and began its descent. Manolis had missed the catch; the dynamite was only feet from the floor and its inevitable impact. Mitsos reached down towards it with his left hand, his head only feet from Manolis', whose eyes were on him, and Manolis smiled, a kind smile, allowing his body to fall in unison with the dynamite, the two hitting the ground almost at the same moment, one on top of the other.

Mitsos was blown backwards, stunned into incomprehension. His ears rang with such intensity that it was all he could focus on. Awareness crept back on him and he looked for Manolis, but he was alone. He wondered how far Manolis must have been blown. He looked about him but could not see Manolis anywhere. Mitsos felt angry. This was not a good time for a joke. Then he noticed the dog food all down his shirt, on the ground, hanging off the bushes. Time switched gear and reality was restored. Mitsos understood all he saw, and from deep within his gut a surge of love and anger and fear and repression swelled into his throat and he could hear the noise he made as something beyond himself, the cry of a hurt animal, loud, drawn wailing and inhuman.

Mitsos reaches for a baby wipe, his face wet with tears, his emotions catching in his chest causing it to spasm. The child on his knee is asleep, bottle hanging from his lips. He rolls the baby into his own chest and pins him there with his one arm so he can stand. He gently places the still sleeping baby in the portable car seat as quickly as he can before hurrying out into the yard. The air is no more breathable there. He runs through the almond trees to the wall, the wall where Manolis had hidden. He steps over the wall and strides up the hill till he is breathless, the need for oxygen dominating his chest full of emotions. On past the chickens and up into the pine copse. He throws himself face-first down into the stillness of the pine needles and grieves. His muffled howls release the plug in his throat, and sobs and tears follow. His shoulders shake with his suffering and he lies there engulfed in his own anguish until time is kind enough to release him from the torment by bringing the safety of the baby back to the forefront of his mind.

He rolls himself over and sits up, looking down at the village: his judge and jury who said nothing and in that silence implied everything. He stands up and walks back to his home, to find the baby is still asleep.

‘
Sleep on, my friend. All too soon life becomes a nightmare.’ He rubs the stump of his arm, remembering his amazement that he didn't even notice it was missing until he woke up in the hospital. They had amputated the shreds of what was left, because really there was nothing to save, they had told him. He was so lucky to be alive. He would not be so if his friend had not fallen on the dynamite and in doing so contained the blast.

He was in the hospital for weeks, haunted by the image of Manolis falling and looking at him and smiling like a ten-year-old boy, with love in his eyes.

Mitsos goes for lunch at Stella's after Adonis comes to pick up the baby. He feels he needs to get out, see people. Stavros is fussing with the grill, trying to get it going. Stella is standing, hand on hips, a look of resignation on her face.

‘Hi, Mitsos. We've got one chicken cooked but the sausages will take longer. Stavros just spilt lemon sauce over the coals.’

‘
Stupid place to leave the bottle,’ Stavros grunts.

Mitsos says nothing but slips through to the dining area. There are two of his peers there, Theo the kafenio owner and Cosmo the postman.

‘Hey, Mitsos, we were just talking about you,’ Cosmo says.

Mitsos
’ eyes widen and he feels his pulse quicken.

‘
Well, not you exactly,’ Theo qualifies. ‘We were talking about Manolis' funeral, what a carry on!’

What's that?
’ Stella comes in with her notebook and pencil.

‘
Manolis' funeral,’ Cosmo smiles.

‘
No, please guys, not now,’ Mitsos says.

‘
His funeral, what about his funeral?’ Stella asks.

‘No, of course, you were living in Stavros’ village then,’ Cosmo says.

‘
Come on, we don't need to hear that all over again.’ Mitsos shuffles his feet.

‘
Oh, go on.’ Stella sits down. ‘We have to wait for the grill now, anyway.’

Mitsos presses his lips together and shakes his head.

‘Come on, Mitsos, it is twenty-odd years ago and it is no disrespect to your friend,’ Cosmo says.

‘
Some friend,’ Theo mutters under his breath, and Mitsos looks at him, his brow furrowing.

‘
What?’ Mitsos asks.

‘
Nothing.’ Theo offers him a cigarette, which he declines, it isn't his brand.

‘
So, the funeral?’ Stella settles into her chair ready to be entertained.

‘
The funeral.’ Cosmo titles his speech, and leans forward to set the scene. ‘Bear in mind that this was a while ago, when we were still using the old cemetery down in the gully between the two hills over there. I don't know if you have been there, Stella? It was the ideal spot to bury a man, maybe even a whole family. The sides are step and the flat area at the bottom narrows to a V at the back; it is very enclosed, quiet, peaceful. Yes, fine for a family, but a whole village!’ Cosmo takes out his cigarettes and offers one to Mitsos, who declines again, still not his own brand. Stella waves the offer away; she does not like smoke or smoking. ‘So bearing that in mind and bearing in mind that the old cemetery was packed to the gills with dead folk, I will tell you the tale of Manolis' funeral.’

He leans back in his chair and takes a big breath to begin.

‘Well, as everyone knows, the poor sod blew himself up and very nearly took our friend Mitsos with him.’ Mitsos looks up sharply from contemplating the grain of the wooden table. He has never heard anyone make a comment on what happened before, all through the interim twenty-two years, not a word. Mitsos had felt accused, but here is Cosmo saying that he was very nearly the victim. He focuses on Cosmo.

‘
Anyway, they gathered up what was left of him and put it in a coffin. So the coffin was in the church and the mourners did their duty and came to say their goodbyes. The villagers passed by the closed coffin, not sure what to do, as usually the coffin is open and everyone has a little something to say to the dead. But with the coffin all closed up people didn't say much, they just sat in the chairs, said a little prayer, and left. His family sitting either side of the coffin, Marina and her two girls, dry-eyed, his brothers looking morose. Who can blame them?’ He pauses to take a drag on his cigarette.

‘
Not too many came as far as I can recall. People who had done business with his dad, farmers who had fields alongside his family’s, neighbours, church-goers and cousins. Some gambling acquaintances of his turned up with their high-heeled girlfriends and sat at the back. You couldn’t go,’ He faces Mitsos, ‘You were in a bad way, besides you wouldn’t have wanted to go and no one would have expected you to go anyway.’

Mitsos screws up his eyes and frowns, trying to make sense of what he has heard.
‘Why would no one expect me?’

‘
Well, after what he had done to you ... Anyway, those that were there, were there, and then the bells rang and the Papas led the procession out into the road.’ Cosmo chuckles. ‘You'll never guess which Papas it was. Do you remember that trainee Papas that came here when we were boys?’ He turns to Theo, who nods vaguely. ‘You know, who said he saw the water become wine that day when we were playing football? It was him, I tell you, no word of a lie. Someone said he had requested it, said he owed Manolis something. Funny bloke. Anyway …’

Mitsos looks at Stella, who shakes her head slightly as if to say
‘What?’ Mitsos points to his mouth with his thumb and mouths ouzo. Stella nips next door and returns with a handful of glasses and a bottle. Mitsos fortifies himself and pours one for each of his companions.

‘
Manolis, in his closed coffin, was put in the hearse and they started the steady drive to the cemetery and all the mourners walked behind. So there was Marina, who held hands with each of the girls, at the front, his brothers second; I think his mother was crying. Then there were the villagers and at the back the gamblers and their blonde girlfriends, all slowly following the hearse, the girls wobbling in their heels.’ Cosmo takes a drink of ouzo.

‘
Stella, come and put the sausages on,’ Stavros’ voice shouts from by the grill. Stella stands and tells Cosmo to wait, and he draws on his cigarette and takes another sip of ouzo. Stella returns with a basket of bread and knives and forks.

‘
Not long now, boys.’ She sits back down.

‘
Ok, so the hearse arrived at the cemetery and the brothers and the funeral arranger carried the coffin along the path to lead the way. The rest of us followed. We got to the end of the central path and there were no paths off from it. The graves were back to back and end to end, so we started to step over graves, following the Papas and the funeral organiser, who was pulling the coffin this way and that as he climbed over gravel beds and around the headstones, the brothers trying to follow his lead. They nearly dropped the thing on several occasions. The women in their high heels tottered and hung on to anyone available to stop themselves falling over. People chose different routes, and we all felt that soon we would have nowhere to go as we were heading up to the apex of the V, when the Papas suddenly stopped at the signal of the funeral guy. There, squeezed in between the wall and three graves, was the newly dug hole, the base of the wall and the bordering stones of the surrounding graves determining its size. People stopped, and those behind who had been watching where they put their feet walked into those in front of them and there was nowhere for anyone to stand.

Finally, we all gathered around, the women in heels pulling down their short skirts which had risen in the hike across the tombstones, neighbours saying what a disgrace the organisation was, and so on. Then the Papas said his little bit and the brothers and funeral organiser began to lower Manolis into the grave.
’

Mitsos finishes his ouzo and pours another, and then fills everyone
’s glasses. He offers some to Stella, who shakes her head and points to the grill room where Stavros is. Mitsos nods his understanding.

Cosmo takes a breath.
‘So they lowered the coffin, and the foot end, which was lower than the head end, began to go into the hole. Down it went, but as the head end, which was wider, was lowered it got stuck. So they lifted the foot end and levelled the coffin and lowered it again but now it wouldn’t go down at all. All this while the Papas was trying to say holy things, but now everybody’s attention was on the lowering of the coffin. So the funeral man told them to lower the foot in again, which they did, and then he told the brothers to push the head end down into the hole with their feet. The eldest brother lifted his knee and stamped on the head end with such force the lid could be heard cracking. “Careful”, the organiser cried, “it’s only plastic.” Then all the men at the funeral had an opinion of how to get the coffin in the hole but everyone was talking so no one could be heard. In all this chaos the funeral organiser, who did not know the circumstances of the death, said, “It is the lid that is wider than the base. If we take the lid off we can put the coffin in and the lid on top.”’

Cosmo pauses for dramatic effect and leans forwards to whisper.
‘Everyone fell silent, horrified at the thought of the remains of Manolis being opened to the daylight, some, I swear, just a little curious, the girls in heels edging forward. At this point not a word was being said and everyone waited for someone to do something.

‘
That was when the eldest brother raised his foot again and stamped even harder on the lid. There was a crack and the coffin fell sideways into the hole, and before anyone could say or do anything the Papas said the words and the funeral man threw a handful of earth down into the hole where the coffin lay half on its side, with the lid ajar, closed to the day but open to the earth. The brothers quickly threw in handfuls of soil, and shovelled a bit over the edge with their feet before the mourners could look in to see what of Manolis remained in the coffin and what had fallen out. Each took their own handfuls of soil and leaned over for a good look.’ Cosmo sits back and takes a good long sip of ouzo.

‘
Unbelievable!’ Stella exhales.

‘
It's as true as I sit here, isn't it, Mitsos?’ Cosmo raises his glass to him.

‘
Can we eat?’ Mitsos asks Stella.

‘
Well, from what I have heard it seems a fitting end to a bit of a rogue. Who wants sausages with their chicken?’ She scribbles the answers on her pad and goes through to the take-away grill room.

‘
Still, it was a bad day for you when he died, eh, Mitsos?’

Mitsos swallows and bites his lip.

‘Yes, no one deserves what happened to you.’ Theo nods.

‘
What?’ Theo's words do not match Mitsos’ feelings. It was a bad day for him because of the decision he made, not the consequences. His head feels airy, as if he might pass out. Spots of light dance in front of his eyes, the tears try to fall and he rubs his hand down his face and picks up a paper napkin to mop his brow and hide his eyes at the same time, wiping them surreptitiously before he scrunches the napkin and puts it neatly in the ashtray. Everything he thought he knew as being the truth feels as if it is melting. He focuses on the table top.

‘
Man, you put up with that guy for years, stood by him when everyone else thought you should walk away, supported his stupid schemes, took care of his wife, and for all that you lose an arm. It's not right,’ Cosmo says.

This perception comes as such a revelation to Mitsos, he blinks new tears from his eyes. He is not sure he has heard correctly. In his confusion his mind wanders. He has visions of the chicken hut bar after Manolis had run it over, the sea breeze coming and one by one picking up some of the splintered pieces, carrying them away so the whole could no longer be the whole, it no longer existed. He wants to say,
‘You don't blame me?’ but he is still afraid he has misunderstood so instead he says, ‘We were as bad as each other.’ He meant it as a statement but it comes out as a question.

‘
No, my friend,’ Theo answers. ‘Marina told me about the envelopes of money you were putting under her door when the boat bar was doing well. Manolis wasn't giving her any. She survived that period because of you. In the end, the whole village knew.’

Mitsos opens his mouth and closes it again. He needs a moment. So many thoughts strive for precedence, clamouring for his attention, but the biggest sensation is the crumbling of a weight he didn't even know he had in his chest. Have the years of self-blame twisted his perceptions? No one spoke to him, surely that was condemnation.

‘No one spoke to me.’

‘
What could we say? You had lost an arm from helping a friend, and you had lost the friend. We watched you struggle with him since we were boys but none of us helped. We just watched. We watched him take advantage and let you take the rap.’ Theo offers a cigarette, but Mitsos does not trust his hand not to shake and tuts his refusal.

‘
Whose is the chicken, sausage, chips and lemon sauce?’ No one answers Stella; they are all focused on Mitsos.

‘
Mitsos, you didn't think that we, that you, that …’ But Theo cannot find the words.

‘
You are kidding me! Mitsos, man, you're the hero! Goodness knows where Marina and her kiddies would be without you. It is us that need to be ashamed. The whole village, we just stood by and you took the weight.’

Stella puts the plate in the middle of the table, wipes her hands on her apron and smiles at Mitsos.
‘Idiot,’ she says quietly, still smiling, and leaves the room to get the rest of the food.

Mitsos can feel with every beat of his heart his internal map of the world crumbling and in its place a non-condemning community that he can be part of, years of self-inflicted guilt melting away. All he can hear for a second is a large fly buzzing at the window.