‘Here it is,’ Georgia says. ‘Do you think they’ll be enough?’
‘There’s a lot of it.’
Adam crouches and opens an old toolbox, rummaging inside.
‘Here we are,’ he says triumphantly, holding aloft a hammer. ‘It’s a start.’ He examines the shelves and the assortment of jars and containers. He coughs as disturbed particles of dust thicken the air.
‘I remember riding that bike. We went for rides when I was young. Mum would pack sandwiches and drinks in a backpack and we’d spend the day exploring the countryside and shoreline. We use to pick herbs that grew wild, God I took all of that for granted; it seems magical now. It’s funny how objects can generate certain emotions. Days full of happiness and adventure, that’s what these bikes remind me of.’
‘They still look salvageable, some oil on the chains and air in the tyres and they’ll be good as new… almost.’ Adam smiles.
‘I should make a list of the jobs you could do.’ Georgia laughs.
‘Found them. How lucky is that.’ Adam picks up an assortment of hinges and chooses two that match in size.
‘These should do,’ he says, examining them.
Georgia walks around, taking in the interior of the outhouse and its attachment to her past.
‘This was never Dad’s domain; he was never any good with his hands. Mum said he only used half of his brain, the artistic and creative side. It was Yannis, Theresa’s husband, who accumulated all of this. He was our original handyman.’ She smiles.
‘Well, I think there’s enough here for what we need. What was the wood going to be used for?’
‘I don’t know. It’s been stored in here for years. I wonder if Mum intended to do something about the access to the land after all.’
Chapter 15
The Husband’s Scorn
Moonlight snakes across the ceiling. Adam is lying still, but not asleep, his thoughts keep him from falling into its arms. Georgia’s face, big eyes, hair falling around her shoulders, is smiling at him. This Georgia is not the self-protective, standoffish persona that sat in the airy room of an Edinburgh townhouse, driven by an intent purpose. Is this the real Georgia? Relaxed, open and confident, who has stepped from behind her veil? Has moving to Corfu, to this house, been the source of these adjustments, becalming her, as she moves through these rooms, with the light and shadows they throw, filled with endearing memories of childhood, adolescence, of being a daughter, wife and mother, surrounded by the familiarity of sounds, tastes and scents.
Lying in the room, he still feels that day’s exhilaration of walking with the warmth of the sun around him and his wonderment at the landscape, igniting in colour before him. It’s like being in an alternative universe.
For months now, there has been a weight pressing on him. Today, he has felt it ease slightly from his shoulders. There is a shift inside him, a physical presence, something is growing, it has pronounced itself, a pleasurable state that has removed his blindfold and embraced him. He came to teach, but this is far from his mind.
He inhales deeply, contemplating these threads of thought and their contradiction in wonderment.
Adam awakes early to an opaque sky. He sits outside his room and watches as a thin screen of skeletal cloud hangs, like a prehistoric vertebrate in a museum, luminous and tinged orange and salmon. It is a miraculous sight, his first morning. Gradually, the cloud disperses in the heat of the sun, until there is nothing left but empty blue and the trailing contrail of a plane that stitches the sky.
Adam narrows his eyes and glances upon a gecko, motionless on a small wall. Each morning, it becomes a permanent fixture and Adam takes to calling it George.He decides he will walk to the village and maybe the beach.
That morning, before anyone is awake, he leaves the house. Lush vegetation fringes the single track that descends towards the village. In other places, patches of grass and dried earth encroach here and there. As far as he can see, an arresting shade of green, forested hills and sloping valleys scatter for miles. At one point, he notices a crude wooden sign, ‘To the beach’ carved into the grain, pointing to a narrow track that ventures amongst the tree trunks.
Stephen is arriving today and all morning Adam has thought of their meeting with trepidation; he can’t shake it off. There is a feeling of falling, inside him. He knows Stephen played no part in recruiting him and Adam has the impression Stephen thought the whole venture expendable. A pervasive melancholy follows him until, through the foliage, he catches sight of the impassive sea, a curved bay and a white sandy beach. He is enthralled.
***
He can see the figure of a man facing Georgia, his back to Adam. Once Adam steps onto the terrace, his presence causes their raised voices to subside into an air of quiet belligerence. Adam can feel a fluttering in his stomach, like trapped birds.
‘There you are. Stephen this is Adam.’ There is a slight edge to Georgia’s voice.
Stephen turns and gazes intently, looking Adam up and down, as if doing so would give an impression of Adam’s personality.
‘Hi Adam, Stephen, I’m Dylan’s father.’ He beams a smile that shows even teeth. He pauses before offering Adam his hand. ‘Georgia tells me you’re a dab hand with wood.’ There is a menacing edge to his voice. ‘I hope you’re as good a teacher as well.’ He smirks. ‘Just a joke. What do you think of the place, Adam? Not bad is it?’
‘What is there not to like? It’s beautiful. I’ve just been down to the village, amazing views of the sea and that beach…’
‘Remember, you're here to teach.’ Stephen interrupts him. ‘Not to appreciate the scenery,’ he says, formally. Adam feels uncomfortable. Perhaps it is his smug countenance, but Adam takes Stephen’s lack of social convention as emphasising an established hierarchy between them.
‘We’ve just been talking about getting that printer you need,’ Georgia says, embarrassed by Stephen’s remark. ‘I’m thinking of getting a laser one and colour of course. We’re going into Corfu Town later today.’
‘Thanks that would help with the lessons.’
Stephen forces a smile. ‘See, you’re learning already. Georgia tells me you’re from Glasgow.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’ve never liked the place. Not a patch on Edinburgh. Do you like rugby, Adam?’
‘Not really, I played it at university but not with any real enthusiasm. The ball’s the wrong shape.’ Adam grins.
‘Ah, you’re a football man, never liked that either. Too working class, if you know what I mean.’
‘You’re building houses?’
‘That’s right, in Majorca. Could I tempt you with one?’
‘Slightly out of my reach I think.’
Stephen smiled. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right, you won’t get much change out of a million and that’s the small ones.’
‘Come on Stephen, we’d better get going.’ Georgia takes his arm.
‘I’ll see if Dylan’s ready, shall I? See you around Adam.’
Georgia looks like a parent apologising for her child. ‘I’m sorry about that Adam. Stephen’s has never been known for his tactful approach. He’s still getting used to the idea of Dylan being tutored.’
Adam shrugs. ‘It must be hard, especially the logistics. Flying to and from Majorca is not going to be easy.’
Georgia smiles at him and he feels drawn towards her simple gesture.
‘He will come every second weekend if he can,’ she says, combing her fingers through her hair.
Adam feels a sense of relief. The thought of Stephen not being around is pleasing to him. It is clear that Stephen resents him being at the house. Adam senses a rift between his employers. He has caused a ripple on the waters of their relationship, but he thinks what lies underneath is far more turbulent.
Chapter 16
The Priest and the Scholar’s Mate
All along, from the beginning, the husband’s absence has bothered Adam but that morning, Stephen’s contemptuous manner
had caught him by surprise. Afterwards, there had been a hint of reticence in Georgia. He scratches the nape of his neck and tries to rationalise his thoughts. Has he been naïve? It is an unsettling feeling, one that is in stark contrast to his morning walk. Then, he felt emboldened, awestruck by the glass luminance of the Ionian, where he saw a yacht appear to hover in mid-air, against the turquoise bay and sapphire horizon.
He has wandered through the village, where there is little movement in the narrow streets or behind open windows and their dark interiors. The paving stones are smooth, shining in the sun, straddled by furrowed gutters, that catch rain but on a day like this, he can’t imagine it ever rains.
Even though the day is hot, he is eager to know how a Greek coffee tastes. He climbs several steps of a Kafenion in the village square. Around him, several local men and a priest congregate at tables, sitting on blue wooden chairs in the shade, reading newspapers and discussing that day’s news.
The heat has lodged itself inside the Kafenion, as he orders metriou (coffee), where the bar, shelves and rafters are painted a Mediterranean blue. It is the colour he associates with picturesque Greek villages in magazines and social media sites. He is served by a middle-aged woman who speaks little English but smiles cordially at him. Behind her, an array of spirits, liquors, pasta, bread and tins, crowd the shelves; underneath, religious icons are spread along the entire length of the wall. Copper pots and woven baskets hang above the bar, suspended from iron hooks that resemble miniature anchors. From outside, conversations wash into the Kafenion.
He takes his coffee and sits outside, unnoticed by the priest and men, as the day’s news continues to circulate amongst them in a language that Adam finds hypnotising, even though he cannot decipher a single word.
He sips his coffee. It is strong and bitter, just as he likes. There is nothing worse than a weak tasting coffee. Adam smiles and feels this will become his local coffee haunt.
His mind shifts and a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement enter him as he contemplates the days ahead.
‘You like the coffee?’ the priest says, in English, his accent thick.
‘It’s perfect, hits the spot, which I like in my coffee.’
‘I know of something a little stronger that does the same, but it’s a little too early in the day for that. I’ve not seen you around, are you staying local?’
‘I’m staying at Villa Katrina.’
‘Ah, I didn’t know it was being used for that. Theresa hasn’t mentioned it.’
‘No, the family are also there. I’m teaching Dylan, Georgia’s son.’
‘Teaching?’
‘Yes, as in school lessons, over the summer.’
‘I see. Is this your first time in Corfu or have you been before?’
‘My first time. In fact, it’s my first time in Greece.’
‘I hope you enjoy your stay. I’m Nikolaos Chiotakis, the local priest, as if you didn’t know already.’ He gestures towards his ankle hugging robe, grinning through his wiry beard, flecked with silver. Nikolaos has a long face and pronounced cheek bones that emit a youthfulness his years have failed to erase.
‘You’re not eating. Here, take one of these, it’s called Loukoumi, it’s a Turkish delight.’ He passes Adam a plate.
‘What’s that sprinkled on top?’
‘Powdered sugar, I hope you have a sweet tooth.’
Adam takes a generous bite. ‘Mm… nice.’
Nikolaos seems casually content.
Adam licks his lips and wipes the sweet powder from the side of his mouth. ‘I’m Adam by the way.’
‘Do you play chess, Adam? There are only five of us today and I’m in need of an opponent.’
Adam looks towards the others, who are setting up three Greek mythology chess sets with metal pieces and bronze boards.
‘Not very well, but I could give it a go,’ he adds.
‘Excellent, pull your chair over.’
‘Like a lamb to the slaughter.’ Giannis sighs in Greek, twirling Komboloi beads around his fingers. He is bald with a shadow of a beard over his double chin.
‘Let us speak in English, so our guest is not left out,’ Nikolaos says. ‘Giannis thinks you are beaten already, Adam.’
‘He has not lost for two years.’ Giannis frowns, speaking English this time. ‘He has God on his side.’
‘How often do you play?’ Adam asks.
‘Most days, it depends on who can play. Mostly, we play in the afternoon, unlike today. Today there is only Stamatis who is not here.’
‘I thought most Greeks played backgammon.’
‘Just like every Scotsman wears a kilt. I love the Scots accent by the way.’ Nikolaos grins.
‘I get your point.’
Once the pieces are in place, Nikolaos claps his hands.
‘Let’s begin, you may go first Adam.’
Adam rests his hand on his chin and taps a finger; he moves a pawn forward two places.
Nikolaos studies the board, like a general considering his next strategy on the battlefield. He picks up a pawn and taps it gently on the board before sliding it forward onto the next square. Adam moves another pawn, mirroring his first move. A small smile creeps over Nikolaos’ face; he moves his Queen diagonally along four opened up squares.
‘You are trapped in the corner Adam, you cannot run, block or capture… check mate. You are moving too quickly, you have no strategy.’
‘That was only two moves.’ Adam shakes his head in disbelief.
‘Huh the hand of God is at it again,’ Thanos says, without lifting his head from the board. ‘He’s one of a kind; when they made him that was it.’
‘Yes, that makes me special then, a limited edition.’ Nikolaos smiles. ‘Take your time Adam. Study your opponent, predict my next move. You need to consider a different perspective Adam.’
Adam looks up from the board. ‘That sounds as if it’ll take time and effort.’
‘We have all day.’ Nikolaos shrugs. ‘Now concentrate. We will start again and I will go first.’
Adam studies the board, his gaze flits from one possible move to the other. Eventually, Nikolaos moves a pawn forward two places. Adam moves a pawn two places mirroring Nikolaos’ move so that both pawns are facing each other. Nikolaos slides his Queen diagonally four places and, folding his arms, he sits back in his chair.
‘Someone is pleased with themselves,’ murmurs Giannis.
‘Ok,’ Adam muses, his hand hovers over a knight and places it in front of a pawn.
Nikolaos activates his bishop and slides it diagonally four places. Adam moves another knight and Nikolaos’ Queen takes a pawn.
‘Checkmate, that move is called “the scholar’s mate.”
‘Not again. That was four moves.’
‘You are improving Adam. Next time let’s try to make it six moves.’
They play several more games. Adam loses each one in succession. He learns that Nikolaos grew up in Thessaloniki, the second-largest city in Greece, where he once taught History and English in a secondary school. To his surprise, Adam finds out that Nikolaos is married, which the Greek Orthodox Church allows if a man is married before he joins the priesthood, something Adam has never considered. There is a carelessness about Nikolaos; Adam decides its part of his charm as Nikolaos describes a recent wedding where the guests congregated in the square eating and dancing until late into the night.
Around him, he can see contentment in the faces of the men. The ritual of endless black coffees has been observed. The sky pours diffusing light from the sun’s enervating glow, the fading grandeur of several buildings is offset by freshly painted blue shutters and whitewashed walls, the roofs are transect by sunlight, pots and vases cavort in colour, spilling pink and white, blood red and orange, flowers indistinguishable to his eye.
A feeling presses against him.
A woman hunches over a stall, set up by the side of the road. She arranges fruit and vegetables with an ethereal delicacy.
&nbs
p; The feeling presses harder.
He is afraid that if he blinks it will disappear. He tries to absorb it.
White steps climb towards sapphire doors. A bell tower and tiled Venetian roof of a church seem perched on the rooves of houses, like brooding doves. The air is honey sweet. The feeling persists, as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and gradually he is able to translate it, he is witness to a moment forged by a sense of place.
Chapter 17
The Boy Who Hugs Trees (2)
Dylan prefers being around adults, especially if he only needs to converse with one adult; when more are involved, he cannot make connections or links, these are Dylan’s words for reciprocating conversation. He can concentrate on one link, but two or three at the same time are too much for him, he finds it difficult to process that information and then act upon it in an interesting way. He has told Adam this is why he prefers to be on his own. When he is listening to Mozart he does not need to be thinking of how to make these connections in the world of interaction, a world he finds confusing, where the codes of social conduct are observed by knowing what the thoughts, feelings and intentions of others are, just by looking at a person. To Dylan, these concepts are invisible, as opposed to the physical world around him, like trees. Their trunks are their body; the ridges of their bark remind Dylan of reptile skin, branches form arms and hands, clothed in leaves that sway and rustle in the wind as if speaking to one another. They have their own smell. Trees look different but are the same, they give him pleasure.
The Boy Who Hugs Trees Page 9