A Life In A Moment (9 page)

 
26

When I
woke up, I hastily looked around to see where I was. Next to me, I
saw Angelique sleeping languorously in her seat, like most of the
other passengers. Outside the window, the dusk had donned an
orange-red coat hanging from the sky, which was getting darker. The
journey continued.

I shuffled
in my seat, generating staticky sounds. It was my bones protesting
the long immobility.

I’ll
catch a plane
, I thought. I was too
tired to continue the journey by train. A kind of impatience had come
over me and I felt more anxious with each passing minute. The expanse
of land we were traversing seemed endless.

Angelique
turned in her seat and opened her eyes. She gazed at me without
speaking. A whole minute passed before she asked:

«Didn’t
you sleep at all?»

«Oh,
I did. I just woke up.»

Her eyes
settled on my bruises. «They ache?»

I told her
I’d forgotten all about them. I didn’t feel any pain at
all, nor did I care how they looked.

A little
later, she announced we were approaching Paris; an hour later, we
were standing in a long queue from the carriage onto the platform.

«What
are you doing now?» she asked after we disembarked.

«I’m
taking a taxi to the airport. You?»

«I’m
taking the metro to my grandma’s.»

«So,
I guess we have to say goodbye.»

Angelique
nodded and moved closer to hug me. I felt drops of rain falling down
inside me, through a faucet saying I would never see her again.

«I
hope you’ll turn over a new leaf and everything will be
smoother and less fraught...»

«Thank
you very much. I hope you will always have the most wonderful time!»

She let
out an innocent giggle. How lucky Francois was...

I looked
at her once more; my last words were a smile of farewell, twisted
into a grimace. I lifted my suitcase and walked towards the exit,
having a new hope, more crystallised than the one I had two days
before: to find, in London, my own Angelique...

 
27

Three and
a half hours later, I was sitting at a small window, watching the
airport fade into the distance. As the plane accelerated, I relished
the sensation of the g-forces pulling my body deep into the seat. My
deep feeling of escape now escalated with the lift-off from French
soil. What a beautiful feeling!

I was
going to begin my new life in no time. The disappointment, sorrow,
pain and confusion that betrayal had foisted upon my heart would
exist no more.

We flew
among clouds, which passed hurriedly by like transparent ghosts. In
the distance, I could make out some dim lights. My heart began to
beat faster.

It was the
very first picture I had of England, a blackboard with many white
spots; first sparse, then clustering more densely, till they fused to
into the lines of roads.

Exiting
the plane through a jet bridge, along with my fellow passengers, I
walked through to passport control, and then towards the arrivals
hall. I would collect my one and only suitcase, and make it to the
exit, where my brother would be waiting for me. I felt a pang at the
thought, which grew into a craving. I’d informed him of my
change of plans and he had promised to pick me up from Heathrow. I
hadn’t seen him for seven months since his last visit to
Greece, the previous summer.

He was
there, behind the sliding doors, among the impatient strangers, with
a smile he painted onto his face just for me. By his side was
Samantha. It was the first time I’d seen her in the flesh. The
photos Pavlos had shown me didn’t do her justice at all. She
was so much prettier.

He pulled
me into his arms.

«Hi,
Vassilis», Samantha greeted me in good Greek, hugging me.

«Hi,
Samantha. Glad to meet you at last!»

«These»,
he said, touching my still tender face with compassion, «need
some care.»

He took my
suitcase, gently holding the nape of my neck, and made it for the
exit, his girlfriend beaming. We walked a long distance through the
undercover parking to his light blue, five-door Vauxhall. Not wanting
to take Samantha’s place, I politely sat in the back.
Instantly, it struck me that the car didn’t have a steering
wheel, but sheepishly realised my naivety of habit and tried to
relax.

I was
amazed by Samantha’s command of Greek. I told her as much.

«Well,
I’ve learnt quite a lot. Seven years with Paul...», she
replied, stroking his hair, while he smiled at me in the mirror.

I smiled
back, happy for both of them. I couldn’t keep myself from
looking outside.

England
was a foreign land to me. Still, it was the country where my father
was born, where my mother was killed and where my brother grew up. So
then, how could this country be that foreign? I was the foreigner. I
had to get used to it, jump into it and swim down to its bottom. I
had to mingle with its people, exchange
Vassilis
for
Bill,
look right when crossing the road,
become accustomed to the rain and replace my coffee with tea. I would
manage it, but I needed a little time.

We reached
Hackney, and a neighbourhood full of low buildings. It was the only
thing I could make out at that moment — apart from the empty
roads. It struck me as odd. At this time of day back in Greece, not
only would everyone still be awake, but also out in the streets.
There was nobody there.

Pavlos
pulled up the car in front of a building with red bricks.

«Here
we are», he told me and entered the block of flats. Theirs was
on the second floor.

«Welcome
to your new home», said my brother, holding the door so I could
enter first.

Stepping
in, I found myself in a spacious room painted orange, consisting of
the sitting room and the kitchen, separated by a wooden counter. On
my left, a small living room was occupied by two sofas, a wooden
coffee table and a television. In front of me, on the broad wall was
a big, rectangular window, framed by long, red curtains. On my left
was the kitchen, painted in a variety of greens. Further away, to the
right, a corridor led to two bedrooms, a bathroom and a tiny
storeroom.

Samantha
was the one behind the décor. She’d done a marvellous
job. The space was a little bit over the top in terms of colours, but
they were all welcoming and well matched, exuding cosiness. On the
walls hung black-and-white posters depicting famous movie scenes and
photos of architectural landscapes. In a corner, a Spanish guitar
awaited my glance.

«Who
plays the guitar?»

«I
do», Samantha said.

I smiled.
Out of the big window, I looked across the neighbourhood and at the
street down below. Nothing had changed.

After
assuring them I wasn’t hungry, Pavlos and I sat down in the
small living room. Samantha asked us not to stay up late and,
excusing herself, went to her room.

My brother
assumed a serious, solemn look. «Do you want tell me what
happened?»

«No.»
I was too tired to explain it all. I looked at him, seeking his
understanding.

«Okay,
then. We’ll talk in the morning. You’ll meet Bob
tomorrow. He’s coming for lunch.»

I had no
strength left to voice my reply. I simply smiled as we stood up and
he led me to the guest room.

«From
now on, it’s not the guest room. It’s
your
room.»

It was
exactly what I wanted. A warm, cosy room with a comfortable bed and
nice photos on the walls. It was more than enough.

«I’ll
leave you to unpack, okay? Sleep tight.»

«Good
night, Pavlos.»

I
was about to say
Thanks for everything
,
but I didn’t. I knew my brother didn’t want to hear
thank
you
. It may even have angered him.

I was in
his childhood room and he was in our parents’. It symbolised
his taking me under his wing, until I was ready to fly on my own.
After all, he was my big brother.

Closing
the door and looking around me, I experienced a strange feeling. I
wanted to flee, out into the empty streets, running in any direction.
Overwhelmed by many different emotions, they hovered around me and
touched me at random. I felt hatred that my parents hadn’t
taken me with them, that Aunt Urania had raised me as if I were her
own child, that Pavlos hadn’t come earlier into my life. No, I
didn’t feel different emotions. It was only one.

Hatred.

I felt
like a stranger once more. It was a feeling I kept handy, like a
favourite old, faded T-shirt you wear at home. I had always believed
everything would be all right when I found my parents. Instead, I
found Pavlos and everything seemed to be all right. But it was only
for a moment. So many things remained unsolved. Emotions, questions,
dilemmas.

I was
sitting in bed, pondering. I felt insignificant, as if thought had
abducted my body and dragged it along its travels. Body and thought
had met Angelique by chance.

Remembering
her game, I tried to fly. It wasn’t difficult this time. As
though defying gravity, I began to float. I saw my bed fade away
beneath the roof of the house, and then I saw other roofs. It was
still dark and, as I was flying, I saw more and more lights, until I
stumbled upon the picture I had seen through the plane window hours
before. I was hovering above the English Channel. I had to choose:
Greece or England?

I dozed
off.

 
28

I woke up
twelve hours later — as if from hibernation — wearing the
same clothes I’d worn for three days. My feelings and thoughts,
though, were very different.

Standing
at the window, a wintry sun looked down at me, winking and trying to
placate me. Summoning up my courage, I opened my suitcase to take out
some clean clothes. I decided to throw the old ones away and, along
with them, that old T-shirt of mine — the feeling of the
stranger.

I didn’t
feel hatred for anyone anymore. I didn’t feel anything. Fatigue
loomed behind all that had crossed my mind the previous night. It was
like a disease afflicting my mind. I was a blank piece of paper and I
would simply let fate write whatever she wanted across it.

Leaving
my room, I shouted
Good morning
.
Pavlos and Samantha were impressed by my good mood and cheerfully
returned the greeting. I asked them to show me around the flat so I
could have a bath. I emerged awhile later, rejuvenated. Wondering
about breakfast, I didn’t expect to be told it was one o’
clock and that lunch was already under way. It was another thing I
needed to adjust to.

Pavlos
suggested that, though he had already notified Aunt Urania of my safe
arrival, I’d better do it myself as well.

Hearing
her voice on the other end of the line, I was moved. I reassured her
everything was fine and that she needn’t worry. Asking how long
I’d be staying in London, I answered
Three
to four weeks
, as Pavlos and I had
agreed. After the month, I would call her to say I had no intention
of returning.

I hung up
and dialled the number of my bookshop.

«Yes?»

«You
should say
Hello»
,
I advised Natalia.

«Vassilis!
Where are you?»

«In
London, my dear. Don’t worry. I’m fine.»

«Why
did you leave? How could you leave me alone with all this?» she
complained.

«You’ve
got Thanos. You can count on him. There’s no one else», I
said, without elaborating. Natalia didn’t either. She figured
out I didn’t want to talk about anything more.

«When
are you coming back?»

«In
three to four weeks.»

This time,
I felt my voice crack. I could lie to everybody, but not to Natalia.
She was the only one who would get hurt when she discovered my
decision.

We didn’t
say much. I gave her some advice on the bookshop and said goodbye.

«Everything
all right?» Pavlos frowned.

«Yes.
Everything is fine.»

Not long
afterwards, the bell rang. Pavlos opened the door and greeted Bob
with a macho sort of salute, fists clenched. «Come meet my
brother.»

He brought
him closer.

«Hi,
Bill. I’m Bob», he introduced himself, examining my
bruises. «I hope you punched him back», he added,
feinting an expert uppercut.

I smiled.
«I did.»

He winked
at me.

I took to
him immediately. He was a tall, brawny, pleasant sort of guy with a
shaved head. He looked fierce at first sight, but there was a
childlike innocence in his smile. He really was like a child;
spontaneous, naive, full of beans, which was uplifting — albeit
tiring — at times. Unlike Samantha, he hadn’t learnt any
Greek, barring a fistful of swear words, which he used only in joking
with Pavlos.

He went to
the kitchen and kissed his sister. «Oh, pasta! Cooked with the
traditional English recipe!» he said, turning to me. «Scared,
eh? Don’t worry, Bill, I’m just pulling your leg! I may
be proud to be English, but I sure know as hell our cuisine is
shitty!»

I couldn’t
help laughing. He was a comedy troupe all on his own, putting on
shows in the most unlikely places.

Samantha’s
pasta ready, we sat at the kitchen table.

«So,
brother, welcome home», said Pavlos in English as raised his
glass.