Escape to Ikaria Read online

  Half an hour later she returned with a hacksaw, and I cut off the goat’s horn.

  Datsun Jim was pacing up and down. Now he knew what it was like having to wait for someone. He appeared particularly agitated, sitting on a pile of bricks, chewing his fingernails, no doubt wondering where I was.

  ‘You look worried, Jim. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I have given up smoking . . . I don’t know what to do with my fingers.’

  ‘God, Jim, you’re giving up everything.’

  ‘It’s because I love her . . . I do anything for her.’

  ‘What is she giving up for you?’ I asked.

  ‘Two loaves of bread a day.’

  That I couldn’t believe. Jim was prone to exaggeration, but I wasn’t going to find out any more just then because Petros appeared, walking around the site with his entourage. Jim said I should ask for eighty drachma an hour, which was the rate the labourers were being paid. If I could choose my hours, I’d be happy with that. It would fit in well with my work at the monastery, and if Stelios ever went fishing again I’d be able to join him. It had been some time since I’d seen him; he hadn’t telephoned the taverna for over a week. When I was next in Aghios Kirikos, I’d find out what he was doing.

  Petros said he remembered my face when we shook hands. He had a double chin, which would have been a lot more prominent if he’d had his collar done up and been wearing a tie. He was about fifty, going grey, with a receding hairline, accentuated by a high forehead with four lines that came and went depending on his expression. When he was serious he was deeply grooved. He didn’t want to talk to me about an hourly rate, telling me to go and discuss it with the site manager. He could have been more courteous. Pushing me into the site office, Jim told me he was like that with everyone, but his money was good and we should work together.

  The manager, Zenas, a small man with a lot of hair that seemed to be growing upwards, was pleased to tell me he was no Ikarian but from the Peloponnese, where people were honest and hospitable. He had nothing else to say except that I could have an hourly rate of eighty drachma. He showed me where to clock in and out, and that was it.

  Datsun Jim was so pleased that he grabbed me and I had to endure one of his hugs. Expecting the usual stink of old goat, I tried to resist, but no, this time what reached my nostrils was the pleasant aroma of a light perfume that Thekla must have dabbed round his neck. I still didn’t enjoy it, but at least it was bearable. Then I walked off site, and Jim said, ‘Hey, we work today?’

  ‘Avrio,’ I said. ‘I have things to do in Aghios Kirikos.’ As I said it I suddenly realised how naturally Ikarian I was becoming. It used to be me sitting waiting for Jim and getting fed up, but now it was me walking off, telling him avrio. I hadn’t contrived it; it had just happened.

  13

  The Birthday Party

  I hadn’t told Stelios and decided I wasn’t going to. It was well past midnight; I always lost track of time out on the Aegean. Only when a dim light slowly brightened on the horizon did I know morning was on its way. It was my thirtieth birthday, and as we headed back to Aghios Kirikos under the fading stars I dwelt on my age and my life so far, while Stelios smoked a quiet cigarette.

  My reflecctions upon the significance of turning thirty lasted about a minute. Two dolphins appeared just a few yards from us, the arc of their dive glistening as the rising sun came into view, molten orange, quivering red in a shimmering haze. What a birthday present; even Stelios was on his feet. ‘They are beautiful, yes?’

  It stirred me to watch them disappearing then reappearing, hardly disturbing the smoothness of the sea, moving as if synchronised, the light spreading over a surface of blue glass. Then, when we thought they were gone, they resurfaced in a watery curve just ahead of the boat, as if they wanted us to follow them.

  ‘I could watch dolphins all day,’ I told him.

  It had been a good night’s fishing. A warm gentle breeze had blown through the nocturnal hours, just as Stelios had said it would; we’d been in our T-shirts all night.

  While the nets were down, Stelios tried to teach me to play tavli, but I didn’t take to it. I preferred to talk, or just absorb the atmosphere of the Aegean rather than roll dice. He said he’d noticed it in me before, that I was lost in the dream of Ikaria.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He didn’t answer, not until he’d leant over and opened a bottle of retsina. Then he said, ‘I see it in many. You are not the only one.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The look . . . staring into the distance . . . But do not take me seriously, my friend.’

  It was a trait of his, to finish a sentence with a laugh, just as he did this time, after he’d observed something in me and made his point.

  But what he’d said interested me. I wanted to know more, because now he had mentioned it I realised there was something that pulled me to the sea. To stare at it and reflect upon things as if there was some old consciousness staring back at me. Once, at the taverna, I’d heard a Greek-American who had returned to Ikaria for the first time in twenty years tell an old friend that the place had never moved on. ‘Tempus stat,’ he said. ‘Time stands still.’

  It hadn’t for me, suddenly remembering I was now thirty.

  As I walked along the quayside, dawn’s light had reached the hills above Aghios Kirikos, brightening the colours of the distant houses. I was carrying a bag full of barbunia and sardines. For some reason, Stelios had put a large crab in amongst them, the inedible sort we usually threw overboard. It had a red, grainy shell and black claws and peered at me with protruding eyes. It must have been Stelios’s idea of a joke.

  When I got back to Lefkada, I put the fish in Maria’s fridge, which she was still happy for me to do, especially if it was barbunia. She’d add it to the menu as the ‘Fresh Speciality of the Day’.

  I walked back to the house and left the crab on the front doorstep, wanting to see how the children reacted to it. Ros had started teaching and so I hid behind the eucalyptus tree and listened in.

  Sam was standing up reading from a book, speaking with good pronunciation about the fishing ports on the east coast of England. Somehow Ros was managing to keep Seth occupied painting watercolours that he seemed to finish every two minutes, showing them to Ros for her approval before starting another one. It is a gift, I thought, or a necessary skill a teacher has to possess, to keep children occupied. Ros certainly had it, and even when she saw me peeping around the tree she didn’t allow herself to be distracted. I just blew her a kiss and became completely absorbed, watching the children being taught by their mother.

  By the time they had finished their lesson, I had forgotten about the crab on the doorstep, until I heard Lysta scream.

  ‘How on earth did that get here? It must have walked up from the beach,’ I said, pretending to be completely mystified.

  ‘Happy birthday, darling,’ whispered Ros in my ear.

  ‘It’s not moving,’ observed Sam.

  ‘It’s one of Dad’s jokes,’ said Ros.

  ‘Well it’s not funny, not funny at all,’ said Lysta.

  ‘I think it’s dead,’ stated Seth.

  ‘Something else for your collection,’ suggested Ros.

  ‘Now,’ I said, ‘have you forgotten it is a big day in your father’s life?’

  ‘Happy birthday, Dad,’ all three of them said together, and then they sang it to me.

  ‘Mum’s organised a party in the taverna and everyone’s coming.’

  ‘Yes, and Gregory’s got a special present for you from Canada.’

  ‘And Granny’s going to telephone you at eight o’clock.’

  ‘That’s not all, Dad. We’ve got a present for you as well, even though you don’t give us any pocket money.’ From behind her back, Lysta brought out a parcel wrapped in newspaper and tied with some old string, obviously not wrapped up by Ros.

  ‘A pair of sandals. Just what I’ve always wanted.’

  Ros
at last gave me some decent swimming trunks, and inside them a bottle of five-star Metaxa brandy.

  Then I fell on the bed, the night catching up with me. Seth came over and tried to put my new sandals on my feet, while Lysta gave me a kiss. ‘You smell of fish, Dad.’

  ‘Thank you. Now come here and let me give you a big hug,’ and they all jumped on top of me and in amongst them I managed to give Ros a kiss.

  ‘And now I must sleep. I’ve been fishing all night.’

  ‘Did you catch any barbunia?’ It was the same thing Sam always asked me. I thought he liked saying the word more than he looked forward to eating it. It was a rather bony fish and Ros had to remove them all before he could take a mouthful.

  I’d had four hours’ sleep when I was woken by Paulo and Francesca calling from the veranda. I recognised what they were singing; ‘Happy Birthday’ has the same tune in any language. Whoever wrote it must have made a fortune in royalties.

  I’d slept in my new swimming trunks, wanting to break them in.

  ‘We have a little gift for you,’ said Paulo, handing me a cassette tape and some rolled up toilet paper.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. Toilet paper.

  ‘Please open it.’

  So I unrolled the sheets until I came to a joint.

  ‘Some grass for you to smoke,’ said Paulo.

  ‘For you to get stoned,’ added Francesca.

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  I was in for quite an evening, what with the bottle of brandy as well.

  ‘Did you get this from the same place, near the Toula Hotel?’

  ‘Yes. There are three or four plants. We go and pick some whenever we want it.’

  ‘It must be one of the workers.’

  ‘Who knows, but there’s plenty of it.’

  ‘Whoever it is, they’re watering it every day. The earth is always wet,’ Paulo added.

  ‘Why do you ask all these things?’ said Francesca.

  ‘I’ve heard the penalties are very stiff in Greece if you’re caught with marijuana.’

  The risks must have been minimal on Ikaria, though, with a police force of two who spent most of their time in cafés playing tavli.

  ‘This is crazy,’ said Paulo. ‘In Italy if the police catch you with grass you get a fine, not sent to prison.’

  As I walked to the monastery, I could see a Greek navy torpedo boat out on the Aegean, no doubt on its way to Samos. Another show of strength, but this time escorted by a helicopter that flew on ahead and then circled above. I never really knew the extent of the tension that existed between the two countries, only that the Ikarians believed they lived under the threat of a possible invasion. Vassili had told me it was nothing more than a flexing of military muscles and he thought there would not be another war. I hoped he was right.

  Sister Ulita opened the gates and immediately led me round to the old outhouse. There were three donkeys, tethered together by a single rope to the bough of a cypress tree, each of them with a load of firewood on its back. On the way, Sister Ulita had been trying to explain something to me, but I couldn’t understand anything other than gaidaros, which I knew was donkey.

  Then an old man appeared pulling up his flies, wearing a straw hat that had seen better days. Sister Ulita ushered me towards him. He had no English but was friendly enough, and when he smiled I could count the teeth in his mouth. There were two, at the front.

  We started to unload the logs and carry them into the outhouse, but what I thought was a job I was helping him with very quickly turned out to be mine alone. He walked off, or rather shuffled off, his shoes without laces, his heels worn down. It was difficult to fathom what went on between the islanders, for half an hour later, when I’d finished unloading the logs, I found him sitting with Sister Ulita at the courtyard table playing cards – and, it seemed, for money. What game they were engrossed in I did not know, but surely they were not gambling in the monastery? As I passed them, such was Sister Ulita’s concentration she could only manage a half wave, and when I left all she said was, ‘Avrio.’ Not like her at all.

  Just as we were making our way to the taverna for my birthday evening, I could hear Maria shouting at the top of her voice, ‘Neeko . . . Neeko, ela, ela, telephone. Where are you?’

  It was Manos, Stelios’s cousin.

  ‘The potato boat is coming, yes? Five hundred drachma I pay you. Be here at midnight. Goodbye.’

  He didn’t give me a chance to tell him it was my birthday. I’d have to go, and I’d have to be sober, which was the hard part. Having to be disciplined while everyone around me raved on into the night.

  When I told Gregory he said, ‘That’s cruel, man, so, so cruel. I’ll come with you, if you want.’

  I wasn’t sure about that; I’d have to see what sort of condition he was in.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is for you. Happy birthday.’ He handed me a small parcel, which I undid, revealing a tin of maple syrup. Sirop d’érable absolument pur was written on the side.

  ‘Absolutely pure maple syrup, man. My mother sent it over.’

  ‘Thanks, Gregory. I’ve never had maple syrup before.’

  ‘It’s great stuff. A little bit of Canada for you.’

  Maria gave me three kisses, one on each cheek, and a more sustained one on my forehead, saying ‘Chronia polla, chronia polla’ which I took to be happy birthday.

  Yannis shook my hand and informed me, ‘You are still a boy,’ which I was grateful to hear. He and Lottie had moved all the tables into an outer ring, to make a clear area where we could dance. Later in the evening a bouzouki player and two violinists were coming from the village of Christos.

  At eight o’clock my mother rang and crackled happy birthday down the line. She said she could hear the noise coming from the taverna in Westbourne. Then Maria dropped a few plates, which smashed, and she thought some wild, debauched party was going on. She didn’t get onto her favourite subject of when we were coming home, but said whenever that would be a present was waiting, which was a pullover she had knitted for me.

  When I mentioned that I was not drinking and had to unload the potato boat from Samos at midnight, she reminded me I had a weak back and shouldn’t be doing such work. A bit late to tell me that now. I told her all the news and that no, we had no plans to return to England. It was getting monotonous always having to reassure her the children were doing well with their school work.

  Then the phone went dead and I sat down to eat the banquet that Maria and Lottie had prepared. Course after course of hummus, olives, Greek salads, souvlaki, cheeses and my favourite, barbunia. I’d finished my half-carafe of Ikarian wine and felt as if I hadn’t had a drink at all. My stomach was pretty full, which helped; and Ikarian wine was only about eight per cent. So I ordered another half-carafe from Yannis. After all, it was my thirtieth birthday, a day that would never happen again.

  While I was talking to him, Sarah came over and sat next to me with a neatly wrapped little parcel. On it was written Happy birthday Nick, from Sarah with three kisses. It was a book by John Cowper Powys called Wolf Solent.

  ‘Sorry it’s a bit battered, but I think you’ll love it. It’s set in Dorset and beautifully written,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I wanted to say more, because it was such a thoughtful gift. I could tell after reading just the first page how vividly it brought to life the countryside of my childhood.

  Julia joined us. ‘The only thing I can give you is this,’ she said and throwing her arms around me kissed me full on the lips and held me there.

  ‘That’s how a Kiwi kisses . . . do you want another one?’

  ‘Wow! Can I save it for tomorrow when I’ve recovered?’

  ‘It’s now or never.’

  ‘Okay, now.’

  ‘Hold your breath . . . here it comes.’

  Ros told me I had another surprise coming. Lottie walked out into the centre of the taverna and announced she was going to sing a special birthday song for me. It
was Cat Stevens’s ‘Wild World’ and she sang it beautifully, unaccompanied. We all fell silent, mesmerised by her voice. Paulo and Francesca entwined themselves in some kind of erotic dance behind her, Francesca’s hands moving up and down his body. Lottie didn’t even know they were there; if she had, I am sure it would have finished her performance.

  ‘Did you know she could sing like that?’ I asked Gregory.

  ‘Man, sometimes on the beach she sings a tune that’s going around in her head, but that was something else.’

  I wanted to talk to her, but didn’t have a chance as Agathi and Vassili turned up carrying a birthday cake, quite a work of art. Amongst the white icing-sugar waves was a chocolate fishing boat that Agathi had made herself. Vassili gave me a traditional black fisherman’s hat. Their children were relaxed enough in my company now to come and embrace me. Christos and Xenia had become close friends with Sam and Lysta, and whenever talk came up about when we would be going home it was those four who with one voice wanted us to stay for ever and go to the same school in Aghios Kirikos. Lysta never mentioned Eleri any more. For Leftari and Seth there was no such closeness, both living in their separate worlds.

  ‘I think you should make a speech,’ whispered Ros, ‘especially as you’ll be the first person to be leaving your own party.’

  ‘That’s not because I want to, and you’re right.’

  ‘Dad, let me smash some plates,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, it’s the custom, isn’t it? Go on, then.’

  Unfortunately the plate he dropped bounced and didn’t break.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll get everyone’s attention,’ I said, and stood on a table and shouted, ‘Hello, can you hear me? Kali spera. First of all, a huge thank you to all of you! And the biggest of them to Maria and Lottie for laying on such a banquet. I’m sure there’s no meaning to it and it’s just a coincidence that our individual journeys have brought us all to Ikaria to spend a summer together, but I feel I have made some great friends. So let’s not forget each other, and thanks again for tonight, all of you.’

  ‘That was lovely,’ said Ros. ‘Where did it come from?’