In the Shade of the Monkey Puzzle Tree (22 page)

The cupboard doors are all neatly closed. The handles he put on as a replacement for the protruding screws his baba had been using. He was nineteen when he made and attached those handles. He remembers his baba hugging him cl
ose, telling him he was proud.

He has done so much to the
kafeneio
over time. The aluminium sink is another thing he put in, replacing the cracked, chipped, and stained marble one that was too small to get more than half a dozen glasses in. In fact, everywhere he looks, he can see his own handiwork, evoking long-forgotten memories, snapshots of his life. How many times has he painted the chairs? They are mustard brown now, but the chips and worn areas show that once they were dark green, once they were light blue, once they were grey. Each time, it was his hand, his brush that transformed all forty of them, laid out in rows in the square to dry in the sun.

Now that it is his, what would he change?

He looks about him. A picture or two, perhaps. He liked staring at the ones in Tasia’s
kafeneio
when he had had enough of reading the jobs section of the paper. He stands frozen for a moment, his heart torn by her memory, hope so fragile, the distance too great.

He looks about him again to break the spell, what would he change? Not much, really. He runs his hand along the long section of the counter they rarely used. It was too long for their needs, with all the coffee making concentrated at one end, the brandy and
ouzo
bottles to hand.

He sighs a long, thoughtful noise. Bob has finished sniffing and comes for attention, nudging Theo
’s hand; it still clutches the keys. Theo lifts the keys and looks at them. They would have been a prize to hold any time in the last twenty years. Right up until six months ago, this would have been enough. It would have been everything.

The keys dangle, clinking together. The key for the upper storage rooms is newer than the big old key for the glass doors.

‘Come on, Bob.’ Slipping out of the
kafeneio
, Theo nips around the side of the building before Vasso has the time to spot him, Bob by his heels. The newer key fits a door there. He unlocks it and Bob, nails clicking, heads up the wooden steps before him. Theo likes these rooms, always has. His little bolthole.

As a boy, he would hide away here when it was time to sweep out and wash the
kafeneio
floor. There were occasions when he would duck out of church and hide here amongst the sacks and boxes. Two low windows look over the square, a great place to watch the world and remain unseen when he just needed to catch his breath, or more often than not let his temper settle when he was working with his baba.

He pokes at a sack. The precious sacks his baba has hoarded since before he can remember.

Why now? Why, when he has set up a path for his own life, does his baba decide to finally pass on the keys?

‘
It’s to get me to come back, Bob.’ Bob looks at him, head on one side. ‘You know what he used to say about all this stuff that has sat up here doing nothing all these years? “You might need these one day”.’ Theo kicks a sack. It gives easily, softly. ‘Like me, keeping me hanging around because he might need me one day. And now he does. But too late, Bob. Too bloody late.’ Theo’s breath is heavy. He crosses himself for swearing, three times, like his mama does, like the Papas does.

Theo pulls at the top of one of the hessian bags to open it.

‘Sacks!’ Theo pulls at the sacks inside the sack to see if there is anything else. ‘Just sacks! That old man always made out that all this stuff was so important, not to be touched and all it is is …’ He searches for a collective word for it but, not finding one, decides it is not worth the effort to think of one. He picks the sack of sacks up and takes it to the window at the back that overlooks a thin strip of yard between the building and the orange groves which extend as far as the eye can see.

Opening the window, he drops the sack out. It is soon followed by another that is full of twine and chains and rope. Bob likes the game of drag the sack and barks each time one falls from the window to the yard below, his paws on the sill, leaning out. Theo finds great satisfaction in watching the hoarded rubbish fall and land, the room emptying. He works fast and without care, the sweat building up on his brow until there is nothing left to throw out apart from spare chairs for the
kafeneio
, an old padded armchair, and the bags of sugar, tins of coffee, and cases of brandy and
ouzo
. The room looks bare, feels fantastic. The wooden boards are a warm pale yellow. The sun lays squares of light through the two windows that overlook the square. The walls, once a deep sandy colour, are mottled. The pigment has sunk into the plaster, softening the tone.

Bob jumps into the easy chair and curls up. He looks like a large, dried, discarded mop head.

‘You know something, Bob? Even if I move back here, I don’t think I could stand to stay in that house any more. It is too much. But here!’ He pulls the chair to the window and kicks Bob off to sit himself, to look down on the square, feeling like a king.

‘
I could stay here.’ A smile creeps across his face, and Bob tries to sit on him.

He watches a car pull up. A large man gets out and rolls to the kiosk for cigarettes. Cosmo on his moped buzzes through the square towards Saros. A tractor grumbles its way down from the church and across towards the olive groves. A woman with a basket. Stella the young Gypsy stealing to the bakery.

Theo sits a long while as the patches of sunlight lengthen their hold on the floorboards until the hollow clunking and clanking of goat bells heralds the arrival of a herd through the square. Vasso comes from inside her kiosk to wave newspapers at them, to keep them away from her stock and to shout at the shepherd. His dog herds the flock up toward the hill while he stops for cigarettes and to tease her.

‘
So, Bob. There you have it. We have to make a choice. This dead-end place full of familiar faces and the old way of doing things, or take the lease on the Diamond Rock Cafe and make a new life in the city?’

The dog sighs.

‘Exactly,’ Theo answers.

Age 41 Years, 1 Month, 26 Days

Theo’s mama cannot understand his desire to sleep in the rooms above the
kafeneio
, especially if he is only staying a few days, as he says. But Theo gathers together one or two things to take across—a bottle of water, a glass, a book he has been reading for a long time and will probably never finish. Really, he needs none of these things. All he needs is space. Space to think. His mama retreats to her bedroom, dabbing her eyes with a hanky. He hears his baba say from his sick bed, ‘Leave him, he’ll be excited. Of course he wants to sleep there,’ which, for some reason, angers Theo. With his mouth a tight line, he carries his thin mattress, the one he has dreamt on since he was a boy, and its equally small wooden frame to the newly cleared out rooms.

It is odd to see his little bed standing in limbo in the empty space. Perhaps he should bring over his bedside table, and he
’ll need some candles until he can rig up an extension lead from the
kafeneio
below.

The smell of rabbit stew taunts Theo
’s grumbling stomach as he steps back into his family home. Mama, now dry eyed, invites him to eat. From the bedroom, his baba shouts as loud as his weak voice is able that he wants to get up and eat at the table with them. Theo tells him he must remain in bed; they will come to him. His baba will not hear of them taking their food into the sick room, and so they dine with the bedroom door propped open. They begin their meal with staccato conversations spoken loudly, until it is obvious Baba can neither hear enough or speak loudly enough for anyone’s comfort. After that, they eat in silence.

Theo sits by his baba
’s bed as the food digests, saying little, legs stretched, physically content. He picks at his teeth with a toothpick but is restless and soon stands and wishes his baba goodnight. His mama, who sits darning socks, drops her work and fusses at his leaving. His baba tells her to ‘Shhh’ and smiles at Theo. The dog trots after him.

The rooms above the
kafeneio
are lit by a full moon, the village thrown into high relief. The whitewashed walls of the houses are rendered a blue-grey, the roof tiles a deep burnt brown.

The bed feels small. Theo has placed it right in the middle of the room and from where he sits leaning against the headboard, he has a view looking down, across the square. It looks unreal. A toy town.

‘Bob, I am not sure this can be enough now.’ Bob scrambles out from under the bed and leaps onto Theo’s feet, turning round three times before curling up in a shaggy heap. ‘The horizon seems set.’ He looks as far as he can. Houses and trees block the distant view of Saros and the sea. ‘The possibilities seem so limited.’

Someone, it could be Manolis, strides across the darkened square and up the lane that leads to Mitsos
’ house.

‘
There’s trouble,’ Theo breathes. ‘And an example of how small this place is. He was a rogue as a boy at school, and nothing has changed. Forty years of the same. Can you believe such a man is married? Arranged, but to the sweetest girl. Too good for the likes of him.’ Theo watches Manolis until he is gone from sight. ‘If we were to stay, Bob, we can forget having a wife. Forget finding someone like Tasia.’

Bob lies still.

‘The Diamond Rock is rough, but who is to say what a new leaseholder could do? At least there are possibilities.’ He slides down to rest his head on the pillow. ‘And women. Athens is full of women. Are you even listening, dog?’ He nudges Bob with his foot, but his companion doesn’t move. ‘I just need to know.’ He pauses to think. ‘I need to know what will bring me contentment.’

Theo closes his eyes. Sleep may bring the answer. He can feel it somewhere deep inside of him, down under his rib cage, near his stomach. The answers lie there taunting him, not coming into focus. But a good night
’s rest and he might know.

Several cockerels crow. One from up by Mitsos’ place. Another from over behind the church, one along on Thanasis’ land. The dogs are barking too, ready to go hunting. Eager to retrieve rabbits, chase down the wounded ones. The village men who supplement their diets this way will be pulling on khaki trousers, camouflage jackets, their wives boiling coffee. The village is slowly waking.

Bob lifts his head.

‘Come on, Bob.’ Theo leaps out of bed.

The bus is late and they wait impatiently for it to arrive, preferably before Vasso comes to open up the kiosk. ‘Not that there is anything wrong with Vasso,’ Theo tells Bob. ‘She’s a good woman. But she will ask questions.’

The morning sky is streaked with pink, lines of wispy cloud smearing the blue. A slight chill in the air, summer turning to autumn. Nearly as nice as spring, Theo reflects.

It feels like a long time since he has had the time to notice the natural things, to look at nature. He absorbs the enormous stretch of the sky. Above Mitsos’ house, atop the hill, the pine trees are silhouetted against the lightening blue, just their very tops touched by the sun that has not yet reached the village.

‘
Can Athens offer this?’ he asks Bob, who has curled up on the pavement, his eyes closed.

A grinding of gears announces the arrival of the bus, which hisses to a stop. Theo kicks the bottom of the door and pulls at the handles.

‘You need to get them fixed, friend,’ he tells the driver.

‘
Half fare for the dog,’ the man replies, cigarette dangling.

Theo nods at familiar faces on his way to the back seat. Here, he mulls over his decision. He woke several times in the night weighing his choices, with so much mixed up in the pot. His need to be independent, the excitement of the city, the safety of the village, the familiarity of friends, the possibilities of finding a wife in the city, the limitations of his baba
’s
kafeneio
. He corrects himself—
his
kafeneio
. The challenge of the Diamond Rock Cafe. His loneliness in the city. His suffocation in the village. Round and round, it all swam until he was glad the cockerel crowed and the dogs barked and he could, at least, leave the fight for sleep behind.

The bus trundles, dropping people off in the villages, picking up others Theo does not recognise. He is tired from his disturbed night. He leans his halo of hair against the window and watches the olive groves spin past in the rocky landscape. The bus winds and twists through the hills, and he falls asleep.

‘Syntagma Square.’ Theo jolts awake at the shout. The bus driver looks down the central aisle while Theo tries to rouse himself.

‘
Syntagma Square?’ It’s a question this time.

‘
Next stop,’ Theo replies. He knows the area, all the way up to the Diamond Rock Cafe. Beyond that, Athens is still an unknown and confusing place to him.

The height of the buildings is immediately oppressive, and it startles him. How quickly he has grown unaccustomed to them, in just one day. But then, he has only lived in the city six, or was it eight months out of forty-one years. It is not really surprising.

The bus pulls up.

‘
Acropolis that way,’ the driver says. Theo wishes him a good day.

‘
You taking your dog, then, or not?’ Theo steps onto the pavement and looks around his ankles to find Bob not there. The bus driver points back to his seat, Bob fast asleep underneath.

Theo whistles, Bob opens a sleepy eye, and then scrabbles to his feet and bounces down the aisle. Several people point to him and nudge their neighbours as his dreadlocks fly.

The bus pulls away.

‘
A little panic, then, my friend. I thought I had lost you.’ Theo’s hands run across his money belt; everything important is safe. He stands still and checks his decision, lets it sink into his head, down to his stomach, making sure all of him is agreed. There is a peace, and it feels good. He strides out.

It is not five minutes before he is standing outside. The place is familiar and alien at the same time. His future—he hopes.

He opens the door and steps inside.

‘
Morning, what’ll it be?’

‘
Your daughter’s hand in marriage,’ Theo replies. He is glad no one else is there.

The old man stares dumbly and says nothing.

‘I recognise you.’ He finally speaks.

‘
Yes, I have been here several times. But this time, I come asking you if I may court your daughter.’

The old man
’s face shows no emotion.

‘
She is of age,’ he finally says. ‘What can you offer her?’ The expression on his face does not change. His voice is flat.

Theo falters. This old man might not want his daughter
’s husband to own a bar. He might not consider it respectable enough. In the moment, he decides to offer all he can. ‘Sir I offer her a choice. A bar ten minutes’ walk from here or a
kafeneio
down in a village near Saros.’

The man
’s eyes roll toward the ceiling. ‘Saros,’ he says, as if trying to recall the place.

‘
Yes, well, no. A village just near it.’

‘
With the palm tree and the kiosk in the square, a hill with pine trees on top?’ he asks.

‘
You know it?’ Theo cannot hide his delight.

‘
I went on a church trip to a convent near there once, when her mama was still alive. Stopped at the kiosk for water.’ The old man is smiling at the memory, displaying unpractised emotion.

‘
Well, it’s the
kafeneio
in the square, facing down the main road into the village.’ Theo embellishes the picture to fill out the man’s recall, help sway his decision.

‘
And a bar in Athens, you say? You own both places?’ the man asks shrewdly.

‘
I own the
kafeneio
, lease the bar.’

‘
Hummm.’ The man looks Theo over. ‘Does she know your intention?’

‘
Actually, er, no.’ Theo looks to his feet. Bob looks up at him.

‘
Best ask her, then.’ The man turns on his heel and steps through a door at the back.

Theo finds he is sweating. Bob pokes his nose into the palm of his hand.
‘Wish me luck,’ Theo whispers.

‘
Oh hello, Theo.’ And she is there, in a different dress, looser. Same mole. The muscles on her forehead flicker in and out of frowns as she tries to surmise the situation. Theo notices her dark shiny hair, her clear eyes. To his eyes she is perfect.

Theo clenches both fists, takes a breath.

‘Tasia. Anastasia. Will you be my wife?’ There, it is done.

‘
What?’ The colour drains from her cheeks. Theo waits. He can think of nothing else he should do. Her eyes dart around the room and come to rest on Theo again. She looks back at her baba and then to Theo. She reaches for a table to support her slight weight before pulling out a chair and sitting down.

‘
This is sudden, to say the least,’ she finally manages. ‘To be honest, I had not seen this coming.’ She looks to her baba.

‘
The man shows prospects. He has a
kafeneio
himself, down near Saros, and he has the lease on a bar ten minutes’ walk from here,’ he says.

‘
Well more like twenty minutes really’ Theo is relieved that the old man seems to be taking his side in the matter.

‘
This is just so …’ Hands on the table, she interlocks her fingers, rubbing her thumbs against each other.

‘
Can I make us all coffee?’ Theo suggests and steps around the counter and takes down a
briki
.

The old man sits with Tasia, their heads leant in together, and they begin to mutter.

Theo isn’t sure what he expected the reaction to his proposal to be. He imagined saying the words and then skipped to the part where they live in domestic bliss. The bits in between, he has given no thought to at all. What can he do to sweeten the offer?

Nervous, he rushes the coffee; the bubbles on top are few. The water spills as he fills glasses. Putting them on a tray, he takes them to the table.

‘I am also thinking of buying an olive grove,’ he says. Tasia lifts her face and her pupils dilate. ‘Down in the village with the
kafeneio
,’ he adds. ‘Mr … I am sorry, I do not know your name?’ He looks at Tasia’s baba as he pulls out his chair.

‘
Lambros.’ The old man holds out his hand, they touch fingers. It is not much of a handshake.

‘
Mr Lambros, you are welcome to come, of course. We would all be family.’ He can do no more.

‘
You seem like a good man.’ Some tension seems to have left Lambros. Theo understands; no one wants to be left on their own. After all, isn’t that what this is all about?