The Explosive Nature of Friendship (21 page)

He feels in his pocket where there is still a ridiculous amount of money. He wonders now why he asked for so much cash, and considers that he must get a better grip if he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself.

He looks out over the bay. The tiny church atop the little island looks idyllic, the sea beckoning, the view hot and seductive. He feels lucky to have been born here. He walks on and his attention is drawn to a picture in a shop window of the pyramids in Egypt. It occurs to him how much of the world there is to see, and he wonders whether if he saw it all he would still think he was lucky to be born in his village in Greece.

There is a girl smoking in the doorway of the shop.

‘
Amazing, aren’t they?’ she says.

‘
Yes, indeed.’

‘
We have a group going next month if you fancy seeing them?’

Mitsos is about to pat his trouser pocket to indicate the problem is not the offer or the girl but that he has no money, a habit of sixty-five years, when he stops himself. His pockets are bulging.

He allows the girl, who introduces herself as Anna, to draw him deeper into the conversation and they
spend the rest of the morning talking. Although she is Greek, she was born in Birmingham, England, and she has a very strange Greek accent.

‘I wonder if I am very ungrateful, wanting to go off and enjoy new horizons, not to be content with what I have?’ Mitsos shifts his gaze back inside, to a poster of the Great Wall of China.

‘
Oh no!’ Anna seems almost offended. ‘No, a desire to see more of the world only goes to prove that you still have a spark of life.’ Anna neatens some papers on the counter. She looks up as Mitsos. ‘I mean if you read one book and enjoy it and then read a second book it doesn’t make you ungrateful for the first, does it? The enjoyment of the first is what makes you want more. It shows you are alive!’

In a rash moment he allows her to arrange two tickets to Rhodes, where he will board a cruise ship for Egypt. There are no direct cruises to Egypt, she tells him.

‘But on the bright side, it will allow you to see Santorini and Rhodos, both beautiful islands,’ Anna enthuses.

She arranges a week in Egypt followed by a flight to Morocco, with another week’s stay. Mitsos feels thrilled and just a little scared, having never flown before, or for that matter been any further than down the coast from his village. He hasn’t even been to Athens, so none of these plans feel very real.

‘
You’ll be home within a month, with memories that will last a lifetime,’ Anna says, and then reminds him to pass by with his passport.

‘
You do have a passport?’ she asks. Mitsos frowns. ‘Not to worry, it will take about a week, go to the police station ...’ She reaches for a pen and paper. ‘I’ll make a list of the documents you will need.’ She scribbles and hands it to him.

‘
When it arrives I will need the details and those of your travel partner so I can finalise the arrangements.' She wishes him good day.

Mitsos feels dizzy with emotion as he continues the walk towards the bus stop for the village. Excitement and fear mingle in his stomach. He cannot believe what he has done. Not having the nerve to even take Stella out for dinner, he doesn’t know why he feels sure that Stella will come, but he does. Will she have a passport? Instinctively, he knows this is going to work out. Maybe just as a friend but, he decides, that is ok. In fact more than ok; he would no longer be alone.

She has intimated that it is only through lack of choice that she has stayed with Stavros. He gently chastises himself for being so slow on the uptake; he feels wonderfully happy and free. The tickets go in his new shirt pocket next to the cheque and he indulges himself, forgoing the bus, and takes a taxi home. Besides, he is sure he has missed the last bus and he cannot face the walk with his bags of shopping and aching ribs, even though he feels so light.

The taxi driver provides his own opinions on football and politics, contradicting the barber, and wishes Mitsos well at the village square. He has the greatest urge to run straight to the take-away and tell Stella everything, but he also likes the feeling of savouring what he is going to do. He waves at her from a distance and she waves back and smiles. She looks happy to see him, he is not wrong. He taps his pocket to confirm everything is in place and makes his way up to his land.

He is surprised to see his house looks the same. In his mind, the mess of weeds and tangle of thorns has gone from the front of the house and it has been repainted a clean sparkling white. He makes do with the back door and goes to his camp stove to make coffee. He lifts the tea towel from the side to fold it.

‘Ah, that’s where you are,’ he says as he picks up his lighter. He puts two teaspoons of coffee and sugar in his ‘briki’ pan and fills it with water from a bottle. The tap water comes from his well and isn't good to drink. He watches the mix move, the granules floating around, then dancing and bubbling. He picks the pan off swiftly and lets the writhing brown liquid settle for a moment before pouring it into a tiny cup.

‘
Perfect.’ He takes it through to the spoilt front room and balances it on the arm of a rain-stained chair so he can open the front door. The door is fast but the bolt slides open more easily than he expects. It opens with cracks and groans, insects darting from the uncovering of the hinges.

The village is spread before him. He pulls some of the bind-weed from the bench but it is a big job. He takes a cushion from indoors and puts it down on the seat outside. He can see the sea sparkling both towards the town and along beyond the village, a church-crowned hill interrupting the continuum of the view. The orange groves seem to want to march inland forever, only coming to a halt where they surrender control to distant mountains. Everyday sounds drift up from the village below. A cockerel crowing, dogs barking, a tractor amongst the oranges, a car engine idling, its door wide open by the kiosk where the driver stands to be served. A child laughing, a baby crying. Life as always, just carrying on.

The sun on his face would be uncomfortably hot were it not for a gentle breeze that tempers the heat to a warmth that is pleasant. When it is this hot the sky turns a deep dark blue and the rising air softens the edges of everything in the valley, the haze of the warmth seems to make everything glow. He remains, soaking in this view of his homeland for a long time, only taking a break to make more coffee before drifting into staring once again. The sun begins to sink and the sky near the horizon contrasts yellow to the blue. The hills in the distance become two-dimensional paper cut-outs in all shades of blue, deep to light as they recede into the sky.

The noises of the village quieten, the sound of shutters being closed takes over from the sound of voices, the sun sinks a little further, the divide between ground and sky takes on an orange glow and the hills turn softly purple, warm hues and a haze as dusk becomes night. The air cools rapidly although it is still light enough to see.

Mitsos sits and sips his coffee. A gentle movement startles him, a delicate snapping and crunching under small feet. Perhaps a cat? He sits still so as not to scare it. In amongst the roses and the weeds and the bougainvillea something is edging towards him. He stays very still, until all of a sudden his broody hen struts onto the path, and then disappears into a cluster of weeds and settles.

‘
So that’s where you're laying,’ he says, but takes no action, sitting longer to finish his coffee.

Sleepy, Mitsos decides it is time for bed. The sooner he sleeps the sooner he can go and see Marina
– and Stella.

He awakes to sunshine squeezing between the louvres in the shutters. He made the effort to go to bed in the stone room last night. It feels good to be in a big bed, with crisp sheets. He loves the early morning cool, a slight sharp edge to the air, almost enough to warrant putting on a vest but, really, just too delicious on the skin. He kicks off the sheet and allows the air to cool him all over. He still feels sleepy and considers turning over and going back to sleep when his plans for the day come flowing back.

He is up and out of bed in a heartbeat and he opens the shutters that face in the direction of the village. These too have not been opened for years and the rusted fixtures resist at first. He thumps the handle with his fist; it gives a little each time until they swing open freely.

The village basks in the early morning light below him. He takes a deep breath and stretches, his nub also lifting to the ceiling. At moments like these it still feels as if he has two arms; either way, it makes no difference. He smiles and puts on a new set of clothes from yesterday’s shopping spree. He feels a little indulgent now for all he spent yesterday, nearly two hundred euros just on clothes. The last time he spent that much was on a new engine for the tractor. But, he reflects, it was just a drop in the ocean of all he can spend, if he wants to. He immediately recognises this thinking as the trap that it is. Reckless spending is a route back to poverty, and he makes a mental note to only spend after a great deal of thought.

Mitsos makes his way to the kitchen sink and washes his face and then goes out to the toilet which is in a lean-to in the yard. There is a hole in the wooden door and he looks up through the branches of the almond trees toward the chickens and the pines. He must feed the hens.

After the chickens are all pecking away he stretches again and makes his way back to his house for a coffee, but then decides he be kind to himself, just a little, and indulge his first coffee of the day in the kafenio. His father always took his first coffee at the kafenio, and Mitsos had always considered it a needless expense and an insult to his mother, but as he has no wife, he reasons, it is disrespectful to no one and he can now afford it.

He pats his shirt pocket to make sure the tickets and the cheque are safely in place and sets off with good balance and a spring in his step, but cautious of his aches and pains.

Theo shows no signs of shock with this change in his day’s routine and is unmoved by his taking the table in the window again. He bobs to the table with his mop of hair flopping in his eyes, a halo of frizz, two cups, one in either hand.

‘
Mind if I join you?’

‘
Morning, Theo.’ Mitsos has one of his feet resting on the front rung of the chair at right angles to him round the square table. He removes his foot so Theo can sit.

‘
Don't know about you, but I get a little lonely even though I am surrounded by people all day. I need someone with the same history to ground me, know what I mean?’

‘
Not really,’ Mitsos replies.

They both take a sip of coffee.

‘You don't get lonely up there, then?’

‘
No. But how can you get lonely when you are surrounded by the men of the village all day?’ Mitsos’ brows draw together as he thinks.

‘
Funny, isn't it? Because I bring them coffees they often, not all the time, but sometimes, enough to make the difference, talk at me rather than with me, know what I mean?’

Mitsos nods and takes another sip.

‘And I overhear everything. You can't help it, and I forget who has said what to whom, who knows things and who doesn't, what’s been said in confidence, what hasn't, so in the end I dare not say anything to anybody for fear of blowing something. I would have gone out of business years ago if I couldn't keep secrets.’ He laughs at his reality.

Mitsos chuckles, and wonders what Theo would make of his secret. He considers telling him, but can find no reason to apart from to brag and he has no need for that, so he just smiles.

‘Cigarette?’ Theo offers. Mitsos shakes his head. ‘What’s with the new clothes?’

‘
Had a little windfall and decided it was time. Do you know what time Marina is waking up these days?’

‘
Oh, she's on her feet and downstairs today. She keeps talking about family that she has and how she has nothing to offer them now the shop is gone. I didn't even know she had family, apart from the girls, of course. She's having a bit of a panic about her future, I think. It's all she talks about at the moment. Can't blame her. Are you going to go and see her?’

‘
Yes, there's something I need to settle with her.’

‘
Do you want a whisky in your coffee?’ Theo chuckles.

Mitsos snorts through his nose.
‘No, I’m past that now.’

They sit for a while watching the village go about its morning
’s business. There are still a couple of immigrant workers waiting, hopefully, sitting round the palm tree. A truck pulls up and takes the taller of the two and the other one sits back down, resigned. The man in the truck talks to his co-driver and they nod and the driver opens his window and motions for the second immigrant to climb aboard as well. The truck drives off with the two illegals sitting on the open back, at the opposite corner from the goat that is tied there, bleating pitifully.

The place where Marina's shop was looks very bare now. The roof tiles that survived the storm have been removed, by gypsies probably. Well, Marina has no need to worry about that.

‘So, Mitsos, my old chum, how long have we known each other now? Sixty years?’ Theo begins. ‘I probably knew you before you knew me, you and Manolis being the boys to look up to at school and you being a year older. Amazing how a year makes such a difference at that age. You wouldn't have noticed me then.’

‘
I noticed you. I noticed you because Manolis picked on you and I was glad it wasn't me. But enough, these are not happy thoughts.’

‘
All I was going to say was in all this time we have never eaten together. I am not a good cook but I wondered if you would like to go into town one night and we can try one of the restaurants on the front. I'll treat you to lobster,’ he adds with a sly grin.

Mitsos smiles in return; he appreciates the teasing.

‘Sounds like a great idea. Can we do it in about a month?’

‘
In a month? Why so long?’

Mitsos is tempted again to tell Theo everything but resists, he is not a show-off.

‘Just because …’ Mitsos smiles so warmly that Theo shrugs in acceptance.

‘
Right, I am off to see Marina.’ He drops a note onto the table. Theo protests that it is too much and Mitsos says, vaguely, that it is for next time as well, and strides out and across the road to Marina's back door. Just before he knocks he looks down the street to Stella’s take-away. It looks like it isn't open yet.

The courtyard has escaped the storm unscathed and he sits with Marina under the lemon tree. Despite the high wall, it feels exposed on the side where the protruding shop roof used to shield the early morning sun. Mitsos is glad for Marina that at least the wall is still intact and nothing has changed in her home.

Marina brings out two coffees, which Mitsos cannot face so soon after his first one at the kafenio. He wants a glass of water and goes to get it himself as Marina is using a crutch with her broken leg. When he returns she is looking at the floor, her features pulled down by gravity. She looks so sad.

‘Mitsos, what am I going to do?’ she begins.

‘
Well, I …’

‘
I have no shop, no oranges, the olives are worth only enough for a few months’ living.’

‘
I can …’

‘
You don't know this, but I have some family I haven't seen for a while and I have asked them to come here to be with me. But how can they come now when I have nothing to offer?’ She sniffs and sips her coffee. Mitsos tries to form what he wants to say in his head but the words are becoming scrambled.

‘
I said they could work the shop and live in the house and I would start to take things easy, no more five a.m. wake-ups seven days a week. I cannot begin to tell you how much I was looking forward to that.’ A tear runs down her face and hangs on the end of her chin. ‘But now?’ She sighs. ‘Panayia, why does everything always turn to …’

‘
Marina,’ Mitsos says, loud enough and strongly enough to stop her in her train of thought. ‘I have something I need to tell you.’

She looks at him with disinterest, distracted by her own woes.

‘Manolis …’

‘
Please let’s not talk about Manolis now, in fact let’s not talk about him ever.’ She puts her coffee on the table and picks at a long thread from her old skirt.

‘
Would you feel different if he had provided for you? If one of his schemes had worked?’

‘
That was never going to happen, and talking about it is just raking over old ground.’

‘
But would you feel different?’

Marina looks up; her gaze wanders to the pots at the far end of the courtyard.
‘The wisteria needs watering.’

‘
I have a good reason for asking.’

‘
OK, yes, if one had worked maybe things would have been different, he might have been different. But he would never have allowed one to be successful, he would have pushed in some direction until it went badly wrong – that is just how he was. If one scheme had left me provided for after his death, well then yes, maybe things would be different, maybe I would have romanticised him and his death by now and feel like someone once cared.’

‘
That’s what Stella said.’

‘
What’s Stella got to do with this?’

‘
Nothing, just that … No, never mind Stella. I have something to tell you.’

‘
So you said, but it’s not being told, is it?’

‘
One of Manolis' schemes did pay off. He has left you provided for.’

‘
What are you talking about, Mitsos? Did that beam land on your head?’ She has filled the watering can from an outside tap but cannot lift it for her broken leg.

Mitsos takes the cheque out of his pocket and hands it to Marina. She is smiling at her own joke and glances at the paper, her face transfixed when she deciphers it. She hands the cheque back.

‘Come on Mitsos, are you teasing me? You are not with Manolis playing a prank. You know my position now, this is hurtful rather than funny.’

Mitsos thrusts the paper back at her.
‘It's real.’ His eyebrows lift, the pitch of his voice is high. He starts to giggle. Marina sits down again.

She begins to smile but it doesn
’t quite form. ‘Mitsos, I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but this is not helping, really, believe me.’ She doesn't take the cheque.

‘
Ok, let me explain, then.’ Mitsos looks down at the cheque and back at Marina. ‘Do you remember the beach bar?’ Marina shakes her head, not to say that she doesn't remember the beach bar, but sadly, as if she is disappointed.

‘
Don't tell me you are resurrecting the bar and going to make enough to cover the cheque?’ Her tone is light and she smiles, but it does not reach her eyes.

‘
What if I sold it? What if I sold the beet field?’

Marina giggles, the giggle grows into a belly laugh and her eyes become moist. She wipes away a tear and looks at Mitsos only to hoot again.
‘Mitsos, it is a beet field, you'll get very little per
stremma
. It was ten
stremmas
max,’ she says, using the local land measurement term. ‘And who would want it anyway? The soil’s saturated with brine, it’s useless.’ She composes herself. ‘But if you have sold it then that’s great, best to be rid of it then you don't have to think about it.’

‘
Would you agree that I would not have the land if it wasn't for Manolis?’ Mitsos asks.

‘
What, are you turning American on me, are you going to sue me now?’ Marina laughs and sits down again, the wisteria remaining thirsty.

‘
No, I want to know that you agree with me, that he is responsible for me having the land, and if so, would you say, if he was still living, I would be fair in holding him to be responsible if the price was way short of the fertile land I swapped it for?’

‘
You can't really hold him responsible, as ultimately it was your choice to swap the land, but I do know how he'd twist logic and make you feel like you didn't know your own mind until you agreed with him. So in some ways I would say he was responsible in the way a conman is responsible for the tricks he pulls. But for that he'd go to jail, not pay the difference.’

‘
So we are agreed he was responsible. In one word, yes or no.’

‘
In that case I would have to say yes, sorry Mitsos, but you were had.’ There is pity in her eyes.