In the Shade of the Monkey Puzzle Tree (13 page)

Serving another person, Theo takes the full amount to Jimmy, aware the man in the overcoat is watching.

‘What does he want?’ Jimmy whispers.

‘
Who is he?’ Theo asks.

‘
The master of us all,’ Jimmy replies dramatically and looks around to see the whereabouts of Dimitri.

Theo looks towards Makis, wondering who is the most crooked in this place. His real home, his village, feels very far away, almost a different life, and something has shifted in the past ten days. He was certainly a different person then. The days are warmer now but this world is darker, the sunshine of his former life fading. In one sense, he is doing well, but he is not sure if he likes who he is becoming.

‘So, where are you from?’ Phaedon’s words break Theo’s train of thought.

‘
A village just outside Saros.’ Theo busies himself wiping the counter in front of the man.

‘
If you’ll have a drink, then I’ll have another, village boy,’ he says gently.

‘
No, thank you, friend. I don’t drink when I work.’

The man chuckles into his glass.
‘I wager you will either be jobless or have your own place within a year,’ he says and slides from his stool, waving a farewell with his back to Theo.

Theo serves a round of fake Black Labels.

‘We are running short of glasses. Can you wash some?’ Jimmy asks. It has occurred to Theo that with no girl there to keep washing the returns, they would soon run short, but he was not about to offer. If he washes glasses, he is accepting his place in the hierarchy behind the bar. Letting Jimmy run the till is one thing but being at his beck and call is another.

Until now, Makis has been playing nothing but hard rock. He changes the whole feel of the bar as he puts on a Greek song. The crowd cheers and a group of long-haired men in biker jackets start singing along, as if the masquerade is over. They may wear the outward uniform of international rebels, but they are Greek boys at heart.

Theo decides the best course of action is to ignore Jimmy.

A few minutes later, Jimmy shouts down the length of the bar at him.

‘Hey, glasses. Come on.’

Theo pulls another beer. Jimmy
’s raised voice has caught Makis’ attention, and Makis gestures to Dimitri, who is still there, loitering around the model girl. She seems to be attracting a lot of clients, but Theo wonders how many are buying drinks. Dimitri pushes through the throng towards the long bar.

Jimmy sees him approaching and proffers an explanation.
‘I just need some glasses washed!’ He shouts in a pitiful whine, his thumb pointing at Theo.

Theo scoops some ice into a glass and bangs it down in front of a waiting customer, causing the cubes to jump and rattle as they land. Heads turn to look. Taking a bottle of Black Label in his other hand, he throws it into the air by its neck. It somersaults once, and he catches it. Spinning off the lid, he pours from a height, as if making froth on top of a coffee. A girl behind the man being served spontaneously claps her hands.
‘Cool,’ she calls.

Theo wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with his forearm. He could have missed the catch and lost his job. Also, it was a fairly basic bottle throw. He mustn
’t forget to take some beer bottles home to practice.

Dimitri watches Theo
’s antics and the customers’ response. He turns back to Jimmy. ‘Wash your own glasses,’ he snaps. ‘And whilst you are at it, wash some for him.’

Theo cannot hide his smile, but directs it at the customer. Replacing the whiskey on the shelf, he can see Phaedon in the mirror, hands in his overcoat pockets, watching him. Theo turns to acknowledge him but by the time he has turned, Phaedon has gone, pushing his way through the crowds.

Margarita
’s mother’s dog runs to greet him as he turns onto his street.

‘
Hello, boy. What are you doing out?’ Theo ruffles the back of the dog’s neck. It jumps up and Theo pushes the dreadlocks of hair aside from its eyes. ‘Bob Marley, they should call you. But we shall use the English. It makes a rhyme, Bob the dog.’ He laughs at the foreign words and brushes at his shirtfront where its paws were.

A smell of jasmine is carried on the breeze. Theo looks up to see the stars, but the trees and the street lights obscure the view.

The gate is open. He half-wonders if Margarita will be in his house, demanding that he leave. He shakes his head at his own nonsense. Even if she is, he will lose nothing as long as he can get his money from under the sofa cushion.

The dog runs before him. Margarita
’s mother’s windows are dark, curtains drawn; it is very late. The dog is still bounding about and knocks over its water bucket, then waits patiently as Theo refills it from the garden tap. ‘Here you go, Bob.’ Theo pats the dog, which laps greedily.

Up the stairs and into the flat, the moon lights his room, its cold ambience doing little to temper the heat. Putting down the bag with the two empty beer bottles, Theo strips off his shirt and pulls tonight
’s pay from one trouser pocket and tonight’s take from the other. Flipping up the sofa cushion, he straightens the notes in his hand and lays them besides yesterday’s. He counts and calculates that he can almost pay back his baba now. If he works another day, there will be enough to pay his way home and to add a bit to what he took, alleviate some of his guilt. He replaces the cushion and flops down on the sofa. It feels very lonely coming back to an empty house, no one snoring in the next room, no plate of food laid out for him on the kitchen table, no ironed shorts over the back of a chair for the next day. Maybe he was too hasty leaving the village. Theo drags himself up and flounders his way down the steps to his bedroom, to a single empty bed.

He can hear Bob the dog outside, sniffling and whining, occasionally barking. Theo listens a bit longer, the murmuring sound is there again, a cat, it could be anything, the sound muffled, coming up from the building below his room.

Tomorrow, he will investigate, see if there are storage rooms, see if there is an animal trapped.

Age 40 Years, 5 Months, 19 Days

The murmuring continues. Theo adjusts his sleeping position again and again until sleep finally overwhelms him, only to be woken later by the same noise and then the cockerel crowing. Rolling out of bed, he staggers to his feet to go for a glass of water. Through slits of eyes, he sees daylight sneaking between the trees at the back of his building, the oranges and yellows of the dawn sky contrasting with the green-black of the trees, shafts of sunlight piercing into his kitchen.

The cockerel crows again. The water is cool, the air is cool, a respite before the sun
’s invasion. Striking a match, he lights the stove. He might as well: he is up now. Water, sugar, coffee, and patience.

The caffeine unsticks his eyelids. The air is still, the temperature on the edge of a chill. The sunset views from his balcony are amazing but in the morning, it takes a while to warm the confined air. Theo is tempted to put something on to keep off the chill but knows all too soon he will be hot, so he lets himself shiver, watching the goose bumps lift on his forearm. Pushing the sofa back onto the balcony, he considers. Maybe today will be the day to hunt for furniture on the streets. Just a chair and a table would do for a start and would save having to move the sofa backwards and forwards all the time.

The sun hits the window of the house opposite, orange and dazzling, glowing through the branches of the monkey puzzle tree. The dog barks and, leaning forward, Theo can see the animal by the gate, warning off an early morning passer-by, tail wagging.

The handyman appears, resplendent in his suit, his shirt a grey of many washes, no tie. He shouts at the dog in his strong country accent to be quiet.

‘It’s you who is waking everyone,’ Theo says quietly over the froth of his coffee.

Turning away, the handyman says something that, with his thick accent, is gibberish to Theo. It could be
‘Have you got your books?’ but why would he address a dog about books?

Then a child appears by the gate. Theo leans over to see if the old lady is there, Margarita
’s mother. Maybe this is a grandson. Perhaps the handyman has been called in early to walk him to school. Who knows? Theo leans back, the dog barks happily again, the man scolds, the boy laughs. Theo smiles. He makes the best coffee in all of Greece. He crosses his ankles, the balcony railings providing support.

The gate clanks shut and peace is restored, with no one left below on the grass. A cat slinks across the flat roof next door and sniffs at a single brick that lays there unused before tripping lightly down the spiral staircase.

The monkey puzzle tree is a magnificent green this morning, deep and dark. The blue sky behind grows richer as the sun rises. The dog returns, pushes the gate open with his nose. The handyman follows.

‘
Morning,’ he calls, looking up.

It takes Theo a moment to realise he is being addressed.
‘Oh, hello.’ He puts his coffee down.

‘
It’s going to be another hot one,’ the handyman says. Theo wants to ask why he does not take off his jacket. It must be unbearable in the middle of the day.

‘
Yes, I expect so,’ Theo answers, pulling on his shirt. He feels uncomfortable talking to anyone half-dressed. Once it is on and half-buttoned, he stands and stretches before finishing the last two bottom buttons. He will go to the bakery for fresh bread and to see if anyone has put out any unwanted furniture. He pushes his feet into his shoes and, locking the door, descends to the garden.

‘
I hope we didn’t wake you?’ the handyman says as he fills the dog’s bowl with water. The dog must make a habit of knocking it over.

‘
What, with the boy and the books?’ Theo bends to stroke the dog.

‘
No, in the night, I mean.’

Theo straightens and looks at the man. He is thin from years of malnutrition, small, as if his growth has been stunted. He has a narrow nose and wide, dark eyebrows. His chin is cleanly shaven, but some of his teeth are black.

‘In the night?’ Theo asks, rubbing his own stubble.

‘
Aikaterina, my wife, has been ill for a while, but last night she awoke and felt better. We could not help but talk; it was good to see her with colour in her cheeks.’

The dog runs down the side of the building, towards the uncared-for courtyard at the back. The sound of a brush sweeping against stone tells of someone
’s presence not visible from the garden path. The dog reappears, its nails tapping on the stones with each step.

Theo pieces together the information.
‘You live here?’

‘
Yes, yes, you didn’t know?’ The suited arm extends to invite Theo down the side of the house. He goes, out of curiosity, through an arch of greenery.

A stocky woman in shapeless, faded clothes sweeps leaves from along the wall of the yard, digging the wooden broom head into the corner to pull out the foliage that is decomposing there.

‘Aikaterina, this is …’ He stutters. ‘I am sorry. I do not know your name.’

‘
Theo.’ Theo feels caught off guard. It takes him by surprise to realise he would prefer if the man would continue to address him as Sir.

‘
Pleased to meet you.’ She hastily puts down the broom and wipes her dirty hands on her soiled apron. Theo has no inclination to take her hand. He quickly says, ‘No, please. Don’t let me disturb your work,’ and puts his hands in his pockets. The manoeuvre almost works. He adds a smile to be sure he has disarmed her.

‘
I am Marinos,’ the man in the suit informs Theo. ‘The boy is Markos.’

His accent elongates vowels and clips consonants. Theo notes to himself how, just recently, he was grieved by the people in Athens passing in and out of his life namelessly, but now, when names are being offered, he feels a change of heart. He does not wish to be on those terms with these people. Being addressed as Sir by the handyman made him feel successful, shaking hands as their friends makes him feel as if he is back in the village, and probably, judging by their accents, a community less well-off than his own. He looks at the door into their home in the side of the building which is not tall enough for a man unless he were to stoop.

‘Please, please, come in, Theo. Our home is your home,’ Marinos implores, but Theo finds his feet have stuck and his tongue is tied. He has not experienced people living on this level before. There are families in the village with little money, few possessions, eating mostly what they grow in their vegetable gardens, but never to the point of living in an
apothiki
, carving out a life in these storage rooms. Shock runs deep and twists in his stomach, he half glances behind him, at the path to his own apartment beckoning but he can find no excuse to take it. The wife enters the building, walking slightly hunched as she travels down the corridor. The walls are a cheerful, thin, pink, and cheap rugs cover the rough concrete floor.

‘It gets higher here.’ She stands tall and extends her arm, intimating an inner room.

Marinos stands by the door smiling, hopeful, with an open countenance. Theo still cannot get his feet to move, he does not wish to know that subsisting on this level exists, it makes his own groans and grumbles about working beside his Baba seem trivial and inconsequential. His move to Athens ignominious.

‘How very kind of you, but I am afraid I have work. Please excuse me.’ Theo finds the words and looks up to his bedroom window. The dog appears, sniffs at the bottom of his trousers. He bends down and ruffles the hair on its head, and it barks happily and runs into the storage house dwelling.

‘
Before you go, would you be so kind as to help me lift something? My wife, she wants to wash all the rugs. I have been telling her she is not well enough yet, but she likes to keep things clean and she hasn’t been able to do much for a while.’

Theo begins to stammer.
‘Well I, um …’

‘
It won’t take a moment just to lift the bed from the rug. She is not strong enough yet,’ Marinos persists.

Theo stoops to enter the building, smells the damp; he can feel it in his lungs. Cold rises from the concrete floor, its chill soaking the air even though outside it is now warm. He cowers lower than necessary so his hair does not brush the flaky paint of the ceiling. Aikaterina greets him as he turns the corridor into a room that is two steps down, where the ceiling is just high enough for him to stand upright.

A heavy, plain wooden bed takes up most of the room, and on top of it are wooden boards. Cups and plates are neatly lined up on one board, along with a folded teacloth. A loaf of bread and two oranges sit on another. Presumably, they put the boards on the floor when they sleep but during the day, the bed doubles as a table. A piece of twine is strung across the room, over which clothes are folded, lowering the height over the sleeping area. There is a wooden chair in the corner upon which are two sweat-stained pillows and a dirty-looking quilt which is neatly folded. A single burner stove is stored under the chair, along with a pan. The air is stale, smelling of sleep, dirty clothes, damp, and ill health. The light comes from a bare bulb hanging at head-height. Theo ducks around it. Aikaterina coughs and puts a fist to the middle of her chest, one heavy breast spilling over her arm. The cough is deep and seems painful. Theo tries to breathe out more air than he is breathing in.

‘
Right, then,’ he announces, hoping to take control of the situation, and goes to the far leg of the bed and prepares to lift. Marinos takes the leg by the door.

The air swirls as Aikaterina pulls the carpet out, creating a cloud of concrete dust and dead skin flakes. Theo drops the bed and hurries outside, lifting the rear end of th
e rug as he goes to help Marinos’ wife, in front of him, hasten her exit. The three of them emerge like rabbits from a warren.

Theo feels a little better for the deep breaths he gasps in the open air. He brushes down his shirt and trousers.

‘Thank you so much, sir,’ Aikaterina says and as she notices him brushing himself down, she adds, ‘May I help?’ and steps towards him. Theo backs away.

‘
No,’ her husband answers. ‘Get Mr Theo a glass of water.’

Theo raises defensive hands.
‘No, I’m fine. I have a coffee waiting. Thank you.’ He is pleased to hear the differential term of ‘Mr’ introduced in reference to him. Something in the way he has carried himself perhaps has re-addressed the balance.

‘
Well, thank you again,’ Marinos says awkwardly. Theo straightens his superior back and waves his generosity of help away. Turning to leave, he is pulled up by the sight of an old lady who is presumably Maragrita’s mama coming around the corner, her elbows out, her arms pumping as she moves. She does not look pleased.

‘
Oh, hello.’ She, too, is pulled up by the sight of him. ‘You must be Theo.’ She extends a clean, ring-encrusted hand and introduces herself with a colluding smile. Theo shakes, wondering in what he is meant to be colluding but wishes her a good day. Her eyes are on Marinos, which gives him the opportunity to take his leave. His head is swimming with new concepts and feelings evoked by the exposure to a new level of living and by the blatant snobbery of Margarita’s mother.

It is time to practice bottle tossing. He will begin on the bed, so if they fall, there
’s no harm done. Stepping into his bedroom, he is conscious that this room, too, smells of sleep, so he opens the window. To his embarrassment, this lets in the sound of arguing voices. Margarita’s mother’s is dominant, Marinos’ ingratiating, against the backdrop of the broom working vigorously.

She is accusing Marino
s of eating the leftover chicken that she gave to him to feed the dog, and she is unhappy that he has not yet clipped the bushes down the side of the garden. Surely it is a week ago that she asked? Marinos says he thought the chicken was for his sick wife, and besides, he had already fed the dog pasta and the dog was happy. He is sorry about the meat, but he felt his wife needed it to grow strong again. Theo goes to close the windows to block out this unhappy affair, but he does not wish to draw attention to himself and there is no way of closing the glass without being seen. He elects to leave it open. If he concentrates on what he is doing, he will not hear them.

Kneeling on the bed, he tries tossing one beer bottle.

‘Is it too much to ask that you do the jobs I want doing when I ask them to be done? You are given everything, and you respond with a bad attitude. There are others who will take your place, you know.’ Margarita’s mama has a high-pitched penetrating voice that grates on Theo’s ears. The bottle spins high.

‘
It is not as if Athens does not have lots of village people to take your place. I suggest you get your priorities right.’ The woman continues in her screeching, shrill voice.

‘
But we need money to eat,’ Marinos says quietly.

‘
That’s your problem,’ she replies. ‘It does not give you the right to take food from my dog’s mouth or go work somewhere else for a day without consulting me first. I needed you.’

‘
Then I tell you now: I need my days free to go and get a job.’