In the Shade of the Monkey Puzzle Tree Page 4

  Theo runs down the steps two at a time, sure that behind him, the man has grown dark and from under his bedroom door comes the scuttling sound of cockroaches the size of mice, their shells clicking against each other as they divide around the man’s legs and carry him towards the stairs where he becomes one with them.

  Hitting the light switches as he passes, Theo’s feet hardly touch the cracked marble steps with fear of what is behind him. The roaches flowing like a carpet, their shiny backs one sheet, just their antennae flicking to show their individuality in the dark. They fuse into a slime which bubbles like black tar covering the floor and creeping up the walls, oozing and growing, engulfing the handrail, filling the void.

  Not slowing if he misses a switch, the adrenaline speeds his descent in the black until he is out into the fresh air and halfway down the street. It takes Theo five minutes for his heart to slow down and when it does, he stops at a kafeneio on a corner. He is more in need of the familiar environment than the caffeine. He feels unclean after the encounter and rather shocked. He has a desperate fear that in Athens, he is out of his depth.

  The kafeneio is not quite as bare as his own back in the village. There are two pictures on the light brown walls, one of an island, one of a racing car, facing each other across the room. It is small—there are only four tables and no space outside. He orders and waits for his coffee, but when it arrives, he finds the sugar has not been allowed to dissolve enough. There is no sheen, and the coffee grounds are gritty. But he is glad of the atmosphere and within half an hour, he is mulling over the episode as his first lesson in Athenian life.

  Chapter 4

  Age 40 Years, 5 Months, 7 Days

  A woman serving in a kafeneio? Running his hand through his mop of hair and across his chin, Theo scratches at his stubble. His razor sat unused by the sink at home as he hurried to catch the bus this morning. He will not look his best. There is more grey in his stubble than on his head. It makes him look old and feel self-conscious. Making a mental note to either buy a razor or drop into a barber’s shop, he raises a finger.

  She is quick to stand by his table, waiting to take his order. It’s her job, but he feels flattered anyway. She could have loitered, taken her time, finished whatever she was doing. She’s dressed neatly, in a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt, her long brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, her eyes are wide set, and she has deep curves to her eyebrows. Her countenance has the openness that only graces youth. She is the age Theo feels himself to be but knows he no longer looks. He rubs his chin again.

  She stands poised with a pad and a pencil.

  ‘Greek coffee, but could you let the sugar dissolve before you put the coffee in, and could you let the grounds boil slowly?’ He asks as gently as he can; he does not wish to say anything to change the expression on her face. She has a small mole on the edge of her jaw. Theo imagines she will not like it, but it adds a certain charm. There is an innocence about her. He widens the space his elbows are taking up on the table, pushes forward his chest.

  Her smile remains as she replaces her pad and pencil in her apron pocket.

  The table is square and wooden, with a thin metal sheet on top which has been hammered around the edges and nailed securely. Theo smooths out the paper and can feel the cold metal underneath.

  He watches the girl idly, her head bent over the stove. ‘Right,’ Theo whispers and forces himself to focus. There will not be enough daylight to find a job and somewhere to live now. The man in his white dressing gown lingers like an unpleasant taste. He traces down the to let column, which is listed by areas of Athens. He notes the prices with a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘You okay? Sounded like you hurt yourself?’ The young woman puts the coffee on top of his paper. It cannot be good; she has not taken long enough. Her fingers remain on the saucer as if she is reluctant to let it go.

  ‘The rents! It is unbelievable. The sale prices ridiculous!’ He tries to laugh as he says the words, but the prices make it clear how soon he will need a job, even in this cheap area. His stomach clenches. Perhaps he should have taken all the money in the leather pouch, or taken some each day over time? His cheeks grow warm with the memory, the crisp sound of the notes in the night, the flash of a handful being stuffed in his pocket, the floppy feel of the half-empty pouch. He hopes his baba will just think it was a slow day, never really find out.

  ‘You’re not from here, are you?’ the waitress asks. Theo’s fingers reach out for the cup and she withdraws her own, a fleeting touch.

  ‘No, I am from a village near Saros,’ Theo answers and looks at her more fully. She is older than she at first appeared, late twenties, early thirties even. He wonders why she is not at home cooking and cleaning for her husband. There is no ring on her finger. As she moves, transferring her weight to her other hip, he catches an aroma of sun-dried clothes. She doesn’t look as he imagines a city girl to look. ‘Are you an Athenian?’

  ‘I was born in Kefalonia, not that it was ever my home, really. I was only small.’ The muscle in her cheeks flex, as if something is bothering her.

  ‘Where’s home for you then, here?’ Theo asks.

  ‘Good question.’ She pauses. ‘I can see it in my head, a little stone house surrounded by olive trees, but I have never lived there.’

  Theo raises his eyebrows. She could be describing any of a dozen houses back in his village.

  ‘Sounds familiar. You don’t have a family house back in Kefalonia?’

  ‘No.’ Her lips seal. A topic not for discussion, she turns her attention back to the paper before looking out of the window and pointing.

  ‘If it helps, I saw a sign in a window in a big old house down this road here.’ Her voice is like melted butter. ‘You’ll be better off finding buildings with signs on the door, they tend to be cheaper than what’s in the paper, my baba always says.’ She ends her sentence with a little sigh and looks back quickly toward the counter. ‘We’ve moved a lot.’

  Over at the counter, a balding man who served Theo his first coffee is drying glasses.

  ‘Your baba?’ Theo asks. The girl nods and gives a half smile.

  ‘I have one, too,’ Theo says, and the girl raises her eyebrows. ‘Well, of course, everyone has, but I mean, we have a kafeneio too, in the village. Near Saros.’

  ‘I’d better get back to looking busy,’ she says. ‘You want anything else?’

  Theo curses his awkwardness as she goes. He would like to talk more with her, compare their situations. On the surface, there appear to be similarities, both displaced from their true homes, both know what it is like to work under their babas, both single a little late in life perhaps, certainly for her. It is odd to think of someone who is living a life parallel to his own. She must know some of his feelings, have experienced some of his conflicts with her own baba, know what it is like to swallow her feelings day after day, year after year.

  The coffee is better, but she really needs a lesson. She wanders back to the counter, her hips swaying to an unheard rhythm. Theo tries not to look, forcing his attention back to the paper. The rents are far more than he can afford. He takes another sip of coffee and decides to leave the bitter, gritty mess. Chucking some coins on the table, he makes sure there is enough to include a tip. She did her job better than her baba, after all. Just before striding out the door, he takes a last glimpse at the girl, twenty-five, thirty, how do you tell? She points to remind him which road she indicated earlier. He points too and smiles, forgets their age difference, forgets his stubbly chin, and steps into the sunshine.

  Why could the village not be filled with girls like her? His village. It does not seem so far away. It is only hours since he left it, yet it has taken till he is forty to come to Athens. Why? If he had come as a teenager, in his twenties, even in his thirties, it’s possible he could have dated girls like that. Maybe even married one of them. Instead, he has looked at his baba’s grim face day in, day out. Just stupid. He will be lucky to find a woman his age who has not p
reviously been married. If she has been married, there will be children, resentments, expectations.

  He ponders this thought and his brow rises. A ready-made family could be nice. In fact, it could be perfect. He has never really taken to babies, doesn’t understand what the fuss is about. But a child who already has a personality, that could be fun. A boy, walking him to school, carrying his books, playing football…

  He is brought up short as water splashes in front of him. Looking up, he sees a lady with a bucket, looking down.

  ‘I didn’t hit you, did I?’ she asks, which makes Theo chuckle. Another good-looking woman. He is filling with kefi, happiness, jubilation, a thirst for life. He waves his reply and continues his journey in his absolute belief that he is going to succeed in his quest to make his mark and find his woman. Maybe he already has.

  His exchange with the man in the dressing gown only adds to his strength. He dealt with that and survived. He is wiser, smarter for it—he can deal with anything. Someone like that could not pull the wool over his eyes again. What would draw a person to such behaviour is beyond him. Sure, there is poor old Aspasia in the village up past the kafeneio. But she does not know even what day it is, let alone how to judge what is appropriate behaviour. She has been like that from birth, and the villagers all know how she is and keep her safe. All Aspasia knows is when it is hot, she can disrobe and be cooler. There is no ulterior motive. The man in the apartment has no excuse.

  Theo shivers in the sun.

  The street he is on is lined with apartment blocks, some six storeys tall but most three or four. It is a wider road and the trees are planted at the edge of the pavement instead of in the middle, parked cars caterpillaring down each side. Theo’s stomach grumbles—it has been a long time since breakfast—but then, he rarely eats between dawn and late afternoon in the village.

  He wonders if his baba is managing the kafeneio on his own. Did he remember to hang the scissors back on the hook so his baba could find them? He didn’t bring down more cases of beer from the storage room above; they’ll be heavy for the old man. Perhaps he should have given him some warning, asked Stathis to keep an eye on him, help out a bit, told Cosmo to offer to bring down the heavy stuff. But then he has tried and his baba was unreasonable, selfish, ignoring his son’s needs.

  Forget the old man, this is his time, his chance. He rubs his hands together. They have a black sheen, the print from the newspaper.

  The house at the end of the street on the corner is old and grand. If he lives here, he can see the woman in the kafeneio every day. Above the tall double doors, which are firmly shut, is a balcony with carved stone supports. The shutters upstairs are also closed but downstairs they are pushed back from one of the ground-floor windows, the glass a reflective black. A cat sits on the outer sill, partially obscuring a sign propped up on the inside that reads Room for rent. A short, spindly tree on the pavement rubs its leaves on the glass, scratching its presence.

  Theo looks again at the grand building, which reminds him of the mayor’s office in Saros, but with doors that are more ornate and a fine brass letter box.

  There is a harsh tapping at the window. Theo jerks his head around to witness the white knuckles of a thin hand against the glass by the Room for rent sign. He wonders if the tapper has seen him and wants to attract his attention, but as the hand knocks again, the cat’s eyes grow wide, the hand slams open-palmed against the fragile glass which rattles alarmingly, and the cat jumps to safety. The hand is gone.

  Theo looks down at the gentle animal that is now rubbing around his ankles.

  ‘Clearly, he or she does not like cats, my friend,’ he says to the purring creature and takes a moment to ruffle its fur. It has a collar on, but it seems too tight. He squats and loosens it, rubbing the bald area underneath, sending the cat into ecstasy.

  ‘Wish me luck. No, better than that: wish me a cheap rent,’ he tells the cat and climbs the three steps to knock on the grand door. After a minute or two, he knocks again and waits. And waits.

  ‘Who is it?’ a voice demands without opening the door.

  ‘I have come about the room,’ Theo answers.

  The door opens a crack, revealing an eye and some bright red lipstick on a withered, downturned mouth. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Theo tries not to fidget as he senses the person’s eyes upon him. The door suddenly opens and the owner of the eye and the lipstick steps behind it, out of sight.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ the woman’s voice demands. Theo hesitates, mindful of his earlier experience. ‘Oh, do come on. Do you want the room or not?’

  Stepping into the dark, he can make out, as his eyes adjust, an elegant hall and the grand, graceful sweep of a staircase with metal bannisters and a shiny wooden handrail. There’s a stillness to the air, as if visitors are infrequent and windows rarely opened.

  ‘Go up.’

  Theo turns to meet a thin old lady who rattles and sparkles in a beaded shift dress, the light too subdued to make out much more. He extends his hand but she ignores it and makes no introduction.

  ‘Go, go up.’ An angular finger waves the way.

  Theo is more amused than anything by her rudeness, Athenian ways perhaps, and climbs the dimly lit stairs to the landing, off which are four tall doors, one of which is open.

  ‘In there,’ the old lady says, and Theo steps into a small room which is dimly illuminated by a standard lamp in the corner and furnished with a dressing table, a large bedside table, a bed, and an assortment of boxes. The shutters are tightly closed. There is a two-bar fire glowing, and all the evidence points to the lady living in this one room. Everything grand has evaporated.

  Theo’s kefi keeps him buoyant.

  The woman sits on the bed’s edge and indicates a small wooden chair. Theo sits accordingly, legs together, hands on his kneecaps. The lighting is enough for him to make out that the lady is old, perhaps very old, but the dress she is wearing could be from a play, or for carnival, or a past era. Complementing the tasselled, beaded dress is a black ostrich feather spiked through a loose, white bun on the back of the woman’s head. He tries to take a look around him, understand her in the context of her surroundings, but her sharp eyes are on him and he sits still.

  ‘So you want the room?’ She purses her lips, and the skin around her mouth crinkles into well-worn grooves.

  ‘I need a room, but I am afraid it will depend on the rent,’ Theo says. It is important to be straight from the outset. The old ladies back in the village are either soft and kind or known for being sour, but they are all known quantities. Having grown up with everyone in the village from birth, there is nothing they can hide. But this lady has a new aspect. There is a hard, closed edge to her that is alien to Theo. He leans back, trying to appear at ease, but he doesn’t feel it, his finger tapping on the seat.

  Looking him up and down, her eyes rest on the bottom of his trousers, his flares.

  ‘You hippies always want something for nothing,’ she grumbles and watches him, presumably for a reaction.

  Theo looks down at his trousers and, frowning slightly, lifts his leg to show off the extent of his flares as if to mock them. Putting his leg back down, he says, ‘I am from a village near Saros. I am no hippie, just wearing a bit of fashion.’

  ‘Village boy,’ she states.

  Theo nods, still smiling, although she made it sound like an accusation, a disadvantage.

  ‘Right, the room.’ She gets on to the real topic. ‘Rent will be every Monday. I don’t expect to ask for it, I expect you to come and give it to me. I require two weeks rent in advance, and for damages. There is a good solid bed but if you want anything else, you must get it yourself.’

  ‘May I see the room?’

  ‘You will.’ She pulls out a piece of paper from a drawer under the table without moving from her seat on the bed. The bed has a blue blanket as a cover, and where the standard lamp casts enough light, he can see the woollen material has worn thin and is darned in several places. S
he flattens the piece of paper in front of her. It appears to be a flyer from some shop that is opening. She takes a pen from a jar on the table and leans in.

  ‘Name?’ she croaks.

  ‘Theodoros Kokoromitis,’ he answers automatically.

  She begins to write in the empty space in the top corner of the flyer. Her writing is shaky and she takes her time. The pen leaks down her fingers. She stops and wipes her hand on her bed, adding to a patch of black on the blue blanket that suggests this is not the first time. After his name, she writes the word tenant and then her hand writing grows illegible.

  Theo is about to object—he has not agreed to take the room yet; he hasn’t even seen it. But then again, he has not signed anything, so why not let her write, she seems to enjoy the concentrated movement, the act of producing something official, maybe it gives her a sense of importance, a place in the world, her own mark. She writes more words underneath and keeps going until she hits the printed words. To Theo’s amusement she continues, curling around each letter like a snake. He sits and waits for her to finish. The two bar heater is making the room stiflingly hot and after a while, he shuffles and opens the cuffs of his shirt, rolling his sleeves up.

  She looks up, her eyes cold, her lips pressed into a jagged rosebud. Theo stops shuffling. The space left for her to write on the flyer grows smaller and when she gets to the bottom corner, Theo heaves a sigh of relief, but the woman turns the sheet over. She tuts when she finds a shopping list on the back. Pulling another flyer out of the drawer, advertising a taverna ‘To Kotouki,’ she begins again. There is a taverna with the same name in Saros. She curls her letter around the word Kotouki.

  ‘What is it that you are writing, if I may ask?’

  ‘A tenancy agreement. What? You think I would let you into my home without an agreement?’ She seems to expel air from her nose as she talks, as if the world is a bad smell.

  ‘But you have neither told me the price or shown me the room,’ Theo points out.