The Explosive Nature of Friendship (2 page)

He turns to the house and tries to recall what he was doing, something important ... The child makes a noise, a calm cooing as he sleeps, his eyes fluttering, his fists clenching. Mitsos looks at him again, trying to understand this noise, like he tries to understand his chickens
’ different clucks. Each one has a meaning if you take the time to listen. The child’s soft skin beckons him to touch again, his rough fingers rasping no matter how lightly he strokes.

With the contact the boy becomes silent again and sleeps on. Mitsos envies his peace, his innocence. Truth be told, he envies his ease of living, his whole life ahead of him, unblemished.

In stages he lowers himself to a sitting position next to the child. The ground is still cool from the night, the grass slightly damp. The baby is lying down in his car seat, so Mitsos lies back, spreading himself out, picking the sharper stones from under his back. Now they can enjoy the same view – or at least they will, when the child wakes up. He can hear insects all around him, scratching and rustling. He feels at one with his land; he pats the earth, appreciating the living it has given him.

The baby
’s noises change. Mitsos turns on his side to look at his companion, who has opened his eyes.

‘
So young,’ he says with a sigh, and leans forward to kiss the little boy, the sweet smell of infancy lingering after he pulls away. ‘I was young once. It must seem impossible to one as new as you are.’ Mitsos rolls onto his back again. Lying in the weeds and the grass, they gaze up at the almond blossom. Bright white against a deep blue sky, the orchard full of warmth and the promise of summer; the smell of the earth dominant, a hint of ozone assuring all growing things that more rain will come.

‘
Yes, I was young. We all were.’ Mitsos picks a grass stem and chews on it, slowly. It is the act of a man who spends much of his time thinking, slow, ponderous.

His nephew stares at the blossoms fluttering in the slight breeze. He reaches out, wanting to touch them. Mitsos turns his head again to look at him. The infant is mesmerised by a fly. Mitsos waves his hand, driving it away, and the baby reaches for his watch, gold and shiny. Mitsos, missing the child's interest, pulls his hand back and puts it behind his head. The baby squeals as the watch is replaced by a falling leaf. Side by side, they become lost in the maze of black branches of the almond trees.

‘When I was young,’ Mitsos begins, quietly, ‘I had a friend, we were like two peas in a pod. What a pair of idiots we were …’ His voice trails off, and he exhales slowly. ‘So much life wasted.’ He looks to see if his talking is bothering the baby, but it seems to be soothing so he continues. ‘The young are so foolish, and then we grow up and get some sense, but it is too late, too late.’ A tear comes to his eye, and he wipes it away. They are silent together for a long time. The leaves rustle; creatures can be heard passing through the grass. The occasional butterfly flits overhead. The world around them is alive and happy.

When he resumes his narrative his tone is serious, quieter.

‘If I could turn back time, my little friend, so many things I would change. We were so wicked I can hardly bring myself to tell you.’

The baby makes a noise.
‘Calm yourself,’ Mitsos responds. ‘I will tell you. We have a couple of hours together, for goodness’ sake. If my brother is serious and he wants this baby-sitting lark to be a regular event I may even get around to telling you how I lost my arm.’ He laughs sadly before adding: ‘There’s precious else you and I can do but talk. You being only a baby and me, well, me being the way I am now.’ He looks softly at his kin and wishes the baby an uneventful life.

Mitsos falls silent for a moment. He has been thinking about the part he has played in his own life for so long that it feels a heavy burden. He decides to share it, why not? His talking will amuse the baby and he might finally make some sense of it all, two birds with one stone. He rouses himself slightly and adopts the role of entertainer.

‘So imagine us if you will, Manolis and Mitsos, young lads. Manolis always more of a man – he was a good head taller than me, with jet-black hair, blue eyes that mesmerised the women from when he was a very young age, first the mothers, then the daughters, and then the mothers again. Built like an ox and as wild as a wolf. There was no taming him.’ He looks at the baby to reassure himself that the talking will not upset the child but seeing its eyes so bright he continues, ‘Next to him, your good old Uncle Mitsos was just the sidekick, an afterthought for most people. Your Uncle Mitsos smiled more, I think. Your Uncle Mitsos definitely moaned less and was too shy to have a way with the women. I think your Uncle Mitsos perhaps thought things through a bit more than Manolis did, but Manolis – well, he was the ideas man. And did he come up with some ideas, let me tell you …’

Mitsos was brushing the area at the back of the house. Years of brushing and countless feet had compacted the ground to a smooth surface, with not a weed, not a blade of grass. The flowers were in pots, geraniums, basil, bougainvillea marking the boundary. His mother had painted the pots, some white, some blue. Mitsos swept the dust into a pile and looked about him for the dustpan. He had left it inside. He swept the dust over towards one of the larger pots.

‘
No you don't,’ his mother said, and handed him the dustpan. ‘If you brush it under the pots they end up leaning. Put it over the wall.’

Mitsos brushed up the dust, watching the ants struggle to regain their balance once in the dustpan. He wondered if they would find their way back to their nest, or would they be lost forever if he put them over the wall? He had also swept up a shiny black beetle, which was lying on its back in the dust, its legs scrabbling in the air grasping for something, anything, to help right itself.

Mitsos dropped the brush and snapped a twig off one of the young almond trees. He teased the beetle, touching its feet one by one with the twig, not allowing it to grab hold. The tiny beast became quite frantic at the prospect of becoming righted, if it could just get a grip.

‘
Don't mess around, Mitso. I want you to go down to the kafenio and tell your father his dinner is ready. His sister is coming to eat with us this evening – we can't wait until he is good and ready today. And put on a shirt before you go.’

Mitsos let the beetle grab the twig and then put twig and beetle into one of the geranium pots. He walked with the dustpan across the hot compacted earth and then through the almond trees, the weeds cooling his bare feet, towards the back wall. But once under the trees he let the dust seep from the pan as he walked so when he was only halfway there he turned back towards the house, dustpan empty.

‘Tsss!’

Mitsos looked back to the wall but could see nothing.

‘Tssss, here.’ Manolis' voice came from behind the boundary.

‘
Go away! My mum says we can’t play together any more.’

‘
Don't be stupid! How can she stop us, we go to the same school? Besides, you laughed too.’

‘
Yes, but my dad says we go to school to learn, and someone who starts rumours to disrupt that needs a good …’ His voice faltered, he didn't want to finish his sentence.

‘
Ah! People do what they want to. They don't have to listen to any rumour I start.’

‘
But that's the point. No one did listen except Theo. It's not his fault he believes everything you …’ Again, Mitsos left his sentence unfinished, scared of the consequences of what he was saying.

‘
It was a good pirate costume he had for carnival, though! I am glad he showed up to school in it. Anyway, never mind about that. I have a great idea. Meet me in the village square in ten minutes.’

‘
I can't,’ Mitsos said, but Manolis had gone.

‘
Mitso, who are you talking to?’

‘
No one, Mum.’

‘
Well, hurry up with getting your Baba.’

Mitsos dropped the dustpan by the back door and ran along the track to the gate. He could hear his mother shouting,
‘Don't leave it there!’ But he was gone, his bare feet burning on the mud road.

His Baba, in the kafenio, sweating in the heat, said he would come when he was good and ready, which is what Mitsos knew he would say. The knowledge of his sister
’s imminent arrival made no difference, in fact he ordered another ouzo, sweat dripping from his brow onto his round distended stomach. Mitsos wandered back across the square. If he hassled his Baba he would be shouted at; if he went back alone his Mama would shout. He turned just off the square, so his Baba couldn't see him through the large kafenio windows, and sank down onto his haunches by the whitewashed wall.

‘
There you are.’ Manolis slammed his back against the wall and sank down next to him.

‘
Go away.’

‘
I have had the most amazing idea. This one is going to make you laugh and laugh!’ Manolis waited for a reaction, but none came. Mitsos was drawing patterns in the dust with a stick. Hunched over his knees, his spine prominent through his chestnut-brown skin, his hair flopped over his face, he concentrated on the movement of his stick.

‘
Come on! This is my best idea yet. How would you like to get your own back on everyone in the village for calling us trouble makers? Get your own back on your Baba for his beatings and your Mama for her scolding?’

‘
I don't want to get into even more trouble.’

‘
You won't. This one is fool-proof. If they know that you were asleep at the time they can't blame it on you, can they? I'll call for you tonight, really late, when everyone is in bed.’ Manolis straightened up, jumped and hopped a little with excitement, pulling up his dirty oversized shorts, telling Mitsos again how funny it was going to be. And then, his bare feet slapping, he ran across the square towards his home, shouting behind him for Mitsos to bring carrots.

Mitsos poked his stick around a little more before reluctantly returning home. Carrots? Why carrots?

An owl hooted. Nothing else stirred, no dog, no cat, no insect. The moon was full and big and low. It was so bright, nothing was hidden. The orange-tiled roofs had mellowed to a burnt umber, the whitewashed walls to a warm sepia. Looking across the village not a lamp was lit, no light left on.

Manolis and Mitsos climbed, giggling, over the wall at the end of the almond grove. Mitsos had been praised by his aunt at dinner for being an angel and she had chastised her brother for being so harsh. She remembered when he too had been a boy and he had … But his Baba had given her a silencing look and she did not finish her tale. Baba had patted him on the back, though, and smiled, and all seemed to be forgiven. So now he was in good spirits, an angel again, and off to have some fun with Manolis.

‘
Come on, we'll start at the teacher's house.’

‘
Start what?’

‘
Shh, you'll see.’

The teacher's house, a single storey like all the houses, stood in the open at the edge of the village. But the boys walked past the house, and climbed the low stone wall and disappeared round the back.

‘Go and open the gate,’ Manolis hissed.

The first one took some time. They stopped and started, and at one point they thought that a single night was not going to be long enough to carry out the plan on the scale Manolis insisted upon.

After the teacher's house they went to Manolis' house, which was easy, then Mitsos' house, which was also easy, and then they took it in turns to choose where next, each choice collapsing the boys into fits of giggles and new excitement.

They worked silently, and feverishly at times. The carrots proved to be very handy. Backwards and forwards they went across the village, criss-crossing their paths, working together sometimes and sometimes individually, until the coolness of the air told them it was just before dawn. A lamp came on in one house and they knew it was time to go home, to be in bed, to be woken by their mothers.

They had covered the whole village. Not one house was left devoid of their attentions.

‘Mitso, you lazy head, come on!’ his mother called.

Mitsos could not rouse himself from the deep sleep he had fallen into.

‘Mitso, you will be late for school! The eggs will not come in by themselves. Come on, your Baba's up already.’

Dawn had just broken. Mitsos could not have been asleep for more than an hour at most. He was just about to turn over and go back to sleep when details of the night before came to him and he leapt out of bed ready to see the fun.

Without a yawn, he was dressed, downstairs, and on his way out to collect the eggs before his mother had a chance to call him a third time. He left her making her Greek coffee in the kitchen, declaring that he had never been so quick to get up and dressed before, and was there anything wrong?

Mitsos jumped over the wall at the end of the almond grove and headed higher up the hill to the chicken coop. He unlatched the hut door and the hens came out, clucking and scratching the ground, slowly at first, lazily, until the cockerel emerged, filled his chest and crowed. Then the hens all began to add energy to their steps, cooing and scratching at the ground and jostling for dominance.

Mitsos had intended to feed the chickens and collect the eggs before allowing himself to look down over the village, delaying the delicious sight of their mischief, but he couldn't resist. He took a scoop of corn and turned to survey his kingdom. All seemed as normal. He felt a little disappointed. He was not sure what he expected, but he expected something. He waited and looked harder. He could see the teacher coming out of his door. Round the back of the house he went, and there! Back round to the front, scratching his head. Mitsos held his breath.

The chickens, gathered at his feet for their breakfast, began to grow impatient so he threw the corn haphazardly over them and tossed the scoop into the bin, leaving them pecking corn off each other's backs.

He scanned the village again. The baker was pulling his donkey for all he was worth but the donkey had dug its hooves in and was not moving. Its equine teeth bared, its head up, the animal broke into a crescendo of hee-haws. Mitsos giggled. Now, close at hand through the trees, he saw his own Baba go to untie Mimi. He stopped in his tracks. He took off his cap, rubbed his hair and then walked around her as if he had never seen a donkey before.

Across the square Mitsos could see more people leaving their houses in the dawn light and standing perplexed. Mitsos was crying with laughter by this time. Manolis had been restored to a god in his eyes and he knew this was going to be a day to remember.

‘Hey!’ Manolis came running up the hill. ‘Best place to watch from is up here!’ He had an old brass telescope in his hand.

‘
Did you see the teacher rub his head?’ Mitsos asked.

‘
No, I heard my neighbours swearing and then my Baba went out to see what the trouble was and then he too started to swear so I ran up here.’ He turned around and flopped down to watch over the village.

‘
I'd better take the eggs or my Mama will wonder what is happening. I'll tell her I want to be early to school or something, for football.’

‘
You don't play football.’

‘
Yes, but she doesn't know that. See you in one minute.’

By the time he returned Manolis was rocking with laughter, the telescope still in his hand. Mitsos dropped himself down too.

‘What's happening?’ Manolis offered him the telescope.

‘Oh, you should have seen the Papas when he came out. He was crossing himself and praying like it was a miracle.’ Manolis crossed himself repeatedly to demonstrate. ‘Old Kyria Roula behind the bakery just burst into tears.’

‘
That's not nice.’ All merriment momentarily left Mitsos face, but then he put the telescope to his eye again. Grumpy old Mr Socrates, who had chased them out of his mandarin orchard by the dry river bed last year, came out of his house stretching and yawning. He finished his ritual, and to Mitsos' horror and delight he picked his nose and flicked the contents onto his doorstep. His wife, suddenly behind him, clipped him across the ear and pointed to her scrubbed entrance. What an added bonus! Mitsos could not hold the telescope still for laughing, and Manolis took over.

Grumpy old Socrates went towards his tethered donkey, his wife still in the doorway, her arms gesturing wildly. The boys could hear faint sounds coming from her, echoed off the hill, but could not make out the words. Mr Socrates walked towards his donkey and, in greeting, slapped it on its behind. Mitsos watched with his naked eyes before grabbing the telescope back from Manolis. The slap registered with the donkey and crack! It lashed out with both rear hooves, catching the grumpy old man on the thighs and sending him flying back to sprawl on his own snot-layered stone flags.

‘Did you see that?’ cried Manolis in wide-eyed excitement, before rolling backwards, hysterical. Mitsos hoped that Socrates was not badly hurt, and then the laugher took hold of him too. The two boys rolled about on the hillside, crying with merriment, knees bent to chests.

After a while they regained some control. Manolis complained that his sides ached, and they both tried to be serious.

They could see, all over the village, people on donkeys, each sitting on traditional side saddles, reins loose, offering their animals no guidance. The donkeys ambled here and there, eating a few weeds on the way, each taking its own sweet time. The villagers knew that if they let any donkey wander it will eventually head home.

‘
The only thing is,’ Manolis gasped between bouts of laughter, ‘when they get to where the donkeys are leading them …’ He dissolved into another spasm before he could continue. ‘Their own donkey won't be there either, or there won't even be a donkey because it’s out doing the same thing. Mayhem!’ Manolis held his sides, gasping for air. His last-minute idea to not directly swap the donkeys had been a real stroke of genius.