The Explosive Nature of Friendship (6 page)

Mitsos taps tentatively on the metal gate at the top end of the lane. It has taken him the best part of a week to gain the courage to make the visit. Today he feels able to walk without his crook.

The gate has a metal arch over it, covered with bougainvillea, which creates a frame for the view of the front of the house. A strip of land down the side of the house leads to a back garden. There are flowers in all the borders and the place looks very cared for.

He has been to the house before, but that was forty years ago. It belonged to a friend of his parents then, a nice old lady. She died and her grandson inherited it. His parents said he let it go to rack and ruin, renting it out to Albanians back when they were illegal immigrants.

Now they live side by side with Greeks. Now Albanians run businesses.

Well, this Juliet is making a nice job of restoring the garden.

An Asian immigrant appears from the back of the house. Mitsos takes a step back and wonders if he can just walk away. He takes out his hanky and wipes his face as he turns to retrace his steps. It is hot and the lane offers no shade. A lizard darts across his path.

‘Do you want Juliet?’ the immigrant asks in Greek, his eyes scanning Mitsos’ empty sleeve as he turns again to face the house. Mitsos raises his brow; he didn’t expect such fluent Greek, and the man’s accent is not that bad.

The immigrant misinterprets his hesitation and asks again,
‘Do you want Juliet?’ in English. Mitsos’ feels his eyes widen. He tries to cover his surprise by quickly asking, ‘Where is she?’ in Greek. He would rather speak directly to her anyway. That is how things should be done, face to face, person to person. These days it’s all middle-men, telephones and computers. How can you judge a person, build a relationship, if you never meet them? The world has become so complex, impersonal.

‘
She has just gone to the nursery for some plants for the garden. Would you like to come in and wait? I could get you some water.’

Mitsos ignores the Indian, Pakistani, whatever he is, and turns to walk away. He wants to keep this simple, get the translation from Juliet and leave. It is not a social visit. He does not want to talk to immigrants. A car approaches up the narrow lane.

‘Sir, this is her now,’ the immigrant calls. Mitsos wishes he could carry on walking away. This was a bad idea; he cannot let people he doesn't know into his personal business. In a small village that is a recipe for disaster. If people find you are doing well they get jealous and put obstacles in your way. Only if they hear you are doing worse than them do they leave you alone. Everyone in the village talks of nothing more than how badly they are doing, to appease their neighbours. But he is trapped between the car and the gate in the narrow lane; there is no escape.

The woman driving the car smiles. She has striking golden hair. Mitsos cannot help but smile back.

The immigrant opens the gates wider and Mitsos steps aside to let the car pass.

She is light on her feet as she jumps out of the car, and she puts out a hand towards Mitsos.

‘Hello, I am Juliet, welcome. How may I help you?’ Her Greek is fluent.

Mitsos closes his mouth, which he can feel has just opened a fraction at the enthusiastic welcome. He struggles to form his reply.

‘Hello, I am …’ He glances at the immigrant and does not finish his sentence.

‘
Oh, excuse me, this is Aaman.’

Aaman puts out his hand to shake but Mitsos is very slow to respond and in the delay Aaman retracts his. Juliet turns to him and talks quietly of the plants she has bought and where to put them. Aaman takes the plants round the side of the house, out of sight.

‘So, Mr …’

‘
Mitsos.’

‘
So, Mr Mitsos how can I help you?’

‘
I have some very private business I wish you to help me with.’ Mitsos looks towards the house. He is not comfortable talking about this in the open; you never know who is listening over the wall. He is keenly aware of this fact because once upon a time it had been him hiding behind walls … and Manolis too.

Juliet takes the hint. She leads the way and offers him a seat on the sofa. The room is entirely white, with a white floor, white walls, white sofa. There is a bookcase full of books, neatly arranged. It is alien to him but the place has a very calm feeling. He looks at Juliet, feeling he knows her a bit better for seeing inside her home.

‘I have a very personal, private document I wish to have translated. It must remain private.’ He chooses a hard-backed chair.

‘
I see.’ Juliet reclines on the sofa.

‘
Will you do it?’ Mitsos is not sure how such a conversation should be conducted.

‘
Is it long or short? For one copy I have a minimum fee for anything under two thousand words, and if it is longer there is an additional cost per word.’

Mitsos looks blank. It had not occurred to him that she would charge a fee. He has no money on him and precious little elsewhere.
‘Er …’ He does not know how to phrase it. ‘It is just a letter.’

‘
Oh!’ Juliet lets out a gentle peal of laughter and her spine curves softly as it relaxes. ‘You mean you just want me to read a letter to you?’

‘
Yes.’ Mitsos reaches into his breast pocket and takes out the envelope. He removes the single sheet which he carefully straightens, pressing it against his thigh. He passes the sheet to Juliet, who has to lean towards him to reach it. He is slightly reluctant to let it go.

‘
It is from …’ Juliet begins.

‘
I know who it is from. All I want to know is are they going ahead or not? Is it a yes or a no?’

Juliet scans the page, folds the sheet carefully, reaches over and takes the envelope from Mitsos
’ knee, returns the missive to its place and hands it back. He takes it in a daze, eyes wide, replaces it in his breast pocket, clenches his fist, his shoulders drawn back. He looks ready to pounce.

‘
They are going ahead,’ Juliet replies without ceremony.

Mitsos begins to smile, and then he opens his mouth wide and shouts
‘Opa!’ and tenses his fist and shakes it by his ear; his whole upper body judders. Juliet is now grinning at him. He stands up and offers her his hand, which she takes, and he pulls her to her feet, and spontaneously draws her towards him and kisses her on both cheeks. He regains control and feels his cheeks colour, and bows his head.

‘
Thank you, Mrs Juliet, thank you.’ He studies his sandals. His spontaneous reaction battles for attention with the news just imparted.

‘
All I did was read a letter,’ Juliet says.

‘
Ah, but you did it so beautifully.’ He looks up at her and grins widely before taking his leave. When he is by the gate he turns back to see Juliet leaning against the doorframe looking after him, smiling. He purses his lips and presses a tall finger against them. Juliet nods, zipping her lips with her hand. They both smile and wave farewell.

Mitsos hops and skips, as well as he can, all the way down the lane to the square. Such a weight has been lifted. He feels years younger. His balance returns, or at least it
’s better.

He briskly mounts the steps to the kafenio and takes a seat in the window. He wants to see the world. He orders an ouzo from Theo, who makes no comment on the change to his decades-long seating ritual. Theo just smiles and nods, his hair flopping, a frizzy crown. He serves an ouzo and pats Mitso on the back as he walks away, a gesture of support for whatever has happened, unconditional.

The square contains its usual assortment of children playing, women talking, immigrants waiting and dogs. The colours seem bright, the sunlight brighter. The children, wearing primary shades and dazzling whites, seem happy. The women’s housecoats, shouting tropical flowers and swirling designs, make promises of faraway places. Mitsos has always hated such bold designs but right now they seem to add to the pure joy of life. A dog runs around the immigrants; one of them pats him, no one throws a stone. Vasso, in her wooden box, is looking out, smiling. The sun saturates the colours and creates strong contrast with the patches of shade. Mitsos puts his hand to his breast pocket where the letter is safely stowed.

A stout but striking woman comes out of the pharmacy, dressed in blue, a blue like the sky. Mitsos studies her. She seems familiar, and he realises it is Marina. She is not wearing black. Mitsos cannot think what this might mean. Generally women who lose their husbands do not come out of mourning. Whatever her reason for wearing blue, she wears it well, and she looks like she has lost some weight, although she remains a lovely curvy lady. Mitsos shuffles on his seat, pulls the crotch of his trousers into a more comfortable position and straightens his shirt.

He is acutely conscious of his new-found power. He checks that the envelope is still there. Marina stops to chat to other women. She smiles, she looks happy, and Mitsos is glad to see this. She laughs, and Mitsos can see the girl he first loved. What a life he would have given her. The sons they would have had.

But now, what does he do now? He can now show Marina his love for her but in what way? He must not be clumsy or crude, or the whole thing could backfire. He must be careful, considerate, see it from her point of view. But what is her view? It is more than twenty-two years since they last spoke. She was a girl of just twenty-eight then. It occurs to Mitsos that a lot can happen in that time, that he doesn't really know her anymore. But he is not convinced people really change. And he is sure he loves her anyway.

Marina looks directly at him. He swallows hard; he can feel a pulse at his temples and a bead of sweat breaks out on his forehead. She looks away again. But Mitsos, empowered by his letter, leaves his table and trots, as best he can, down the kafenio steps and across to Marina.

‘
Hello,’ he begins. She stops walking abruptly and looks at him, searching his eyes, and then at his empty shirt sleeve. They have not been this close to each other since that day. She closes her mouth, which had opened in the surprise of the encounter, and turns to walk on. ‘How are you, Marina?’ He wants to tell her that, however she is, he can make it better.

‘
What do you want?’ Her tone is neutral.

Mitsos feels his stomach drop. There is a sudden pain in his chest.
‘Please, Marina, I want to know how you are.’

‘
I am fine.’ She looks in the direction of her corner shop, where she is heading. She looks at the ground, her eyes flitting backwards and forwards, and then she makes the slightest turn in her shoulders to face him.

‘
I am fine. How are you?’ Her voice is still neutral but her eyes make contact. His stomach flutters and his knees give a little and he swallows as his mouth has gone dry.

Mitsos does not want to have a conversation on this superficial level, but he is lost for words. He looks in her face. She is so much older now.
‘I am fine. Is the shop doing well?’

‘
Yes, thank you.’ Her shoulders make the slightest turn from him; she is going to walk away. She is holding a newspaper, which she now raises above her head to shade her face from the sun.

‘
Marina …’ He decides to take the goat by the horns. ‘Marina,’ he repeats, ‘I am so deeply sorry.’ Her gaze is level, and she looks him straight in the eyes. Mitsos wonders how many people at the kafenio are watching him. He is now part of the daily play. He also wonders if she is going to slap his face. There is a glint in her eye. Has he made the situation worse? ‘Really … deeply … sorry.’ He tries, but can only think of the same words again. The words he has wanted to say for twenty-two years. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes. The words seem empty, not the balm he thought they would be.

Marina takes a breath. Her stout chest lifts, the blue material pulls tight. Mitsos shifts his weight to ease any strain there may be on his trousers.
‘I am not,’ she says quietly, her sentence dropping at the end into a definite full stop.

‘
What?’ Mitsos’ forehead lifts.

‘
I am not sorry for what happened. Well, I mean, I am on one level, of course, but for what you are sorry, I am not.’ She doesn't smile, but she does walk away.

Mitsos can make no sense of the exchange. All these years he has presumed she was angry, sad, lonely, hating him. His envelope does not seem so powerful now; it cannot bring clarity.

He can feel the eyes of his peer group at the kafenio on his back. He cannot stand there on his own much longer. But he is so confused by Marina’s words that after two steps towards his home he changes his mind and walks as briskly as he can to Stella’s.

There is music and laughter at Stella’s take-away. The same young farmers are there, and some older ones that must be at least fifty, their trousers held up with twine, their skin like leather sheets drawn tight over their bones, shirt sleeves rolled up, missing teeth framed by happy smiles. Stella has turned the radio on and they are singing along to popular Greek songs. Mitsos thinks that on this particular recording the singer has a voice like rusty nails in a metal bucket. But the passion is strong. He sings of what he would like to eat, but with such an intensity that he could be singing about love. Mostly he wants fish, particularly red mullet,
barbounia
.