The Boy Who Hugs Trees

by Dougie McHale

  Georgia rubs her eyes. ‘I don’t, in fact, I feel humbled.’ And then she remembers. ‘Mum took photographs of Stelios; she mentioned it in the diary.’

  ‘I’ve never seen them.’

  ‘I wonder if she kept them. I didn’t see photographs in the trunk. I’d like to have a reminder of him, something tangible. In the diary, mum described what he looked like, and his nature comes over in her writing, but it’s not the same as having something physical. There’s one more thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Stelios had a daughter. Theresa, I have a sister.’

  Chapter 50

  The Need to Feel Connected

  At the first glimmerings of dawn Adam wakes. Recently, sleep has not come easy and when it has, it has been a troublesome affair. In the kitchen, he makes himself a coffee and drinks it on the terrace, watching the pearlescent light of the morning arch over the sky. For some reason, one that is not entirely clear to him, he remembers a holiday in Menorca, his wife, still sleeping in their apartment, Adam on the balcony, watching the sunrise, when from the apartment next door, a small man appeared, receding hair and overweight. During the succeeding conversation, Adam discovered he was of Ecuadorian nationality, his wife, Finnish, and they lived in France, had two children, three grandchildren, all born in France; they spoke French as their first language. He was a microbiologist and spoke Spanish, French and, as it transpired, very good English. It occurs to Adam, all these years later, he never found out his name.

  Adam leaves the house and walks towards the small dirt track that Elena often uses with her goats. He moves through the lemon grove, past the vegetable patch, that is now rich in carrots, aubergine, cucumber, sage and oregano bushes. It has become his custom to inspect the fence he built, and he smiles with a deep satisfaction as it remains sturdy and robust. Approaching the dirt track, he jogs up a small incline. The track is shaded by pine trees. However; the sun’s light has penetrated the canopy of branches and is already warming the air. Adam looks skywards and his heart quickens with pleasure at the inexhaustible blue.

  He notices the clearing where Dylan goes and thinks of the boy hugging his tree. Adam has known Dylan has spent more time here. Adam knows why; the last few weeks have been trying for them all, especially Dylan. Georgia has been cautious with the truth, only telling Dylan what he needs to know, without revealing the detail.

  ‘Is my dad a bad man?’

  Adam is startled; he hasn’t noticed Dylan standing in the small clearing.

  ‘Ah, Dylan… he has done things most people wouldn’t do.’ Adam pauses and says reflecting, ‘If he had the choice, I’m sure he’d want to be here with you.’

  ‘Is he going to jail?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘A Scottish jail?’

  ‘No, it will be in Greece. Most probably Athens.’

  ‘I’m not going to see him for a long time, am I?’

  ‘You could visit him sometimes. He would like that.’

  ‘Mum is sad. I know because she cried. Sometimes, when people cry, it means they are sad, other times, it can mean they are happy. For someone like me that’s confusing. But I know mum is sad because she told me.’

  ‘How are you, Dylan? How do you feel inside?’ Adam points to Dylan’s heart.

  ‘I haven’t cried, so I don’t know if I’m sad. I think I am. It’s easier just to say I’m sad. Words make it easier I suppose, it’s more relatable, it’s a common language, whereas, it’s hard to describe how I’m feeling. If you’re sad, you’re just sad.’

  ‘I’m going for a walk, do you want to come?’

  ‘I’d rather hug the tree.’

  Adam smiles to himself. ‘After you’ve done that, you can walk with me.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Adam watches Dylan, and he is amazed how the boy physically relaxes. It looks like it is the most natural thing in the world to wrap your arms around a tree.

  When he is done, Dylan asks, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll just walk and see where it takes us.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘Thirty minutes.’

  Dylan looks at his watch. ‘So that will be eight thirty-two exactly.’

  ‘Eight thirty-two exactly it is then. I’ll text your mum, just so she doesn’t worry.’

  Sometimes the trees thin and the sky comes into view as they meander along the dirt track. The air is heavy with the scent of flowers and wild herbs and, with each step they crunch pine needles underfoot. They come across an old house; the exterior is in such a bad state of repair that Adam is not sure if anyone would live there. Several small wooden shutters, the colour of red wine, hang loosely from their hinges against a wall, peeling with blue and mustard paint, at intervals; thin branches creep along the cracked exterior. Dylan is fascinated by the walls. ‘It looks like a map; the blue is like the sea and the yellow colour could be land.’ Dylan smiles to himself.

  ‘Do you like living in Corfu?’ Adam asks as they walk further.

  ‘Yes,’

  ‘What do you like about it?’

  ‘Mm, I don’t know.’ He thinks and then says. ‘I like the house, and swimming pool, and going to the beach. As long as I can listen to Mozart I’m fine, although it can get too hot at times, but that’s ok, it’s better than rain and snow. It doesn’t rain much in the summer, but you know that you’ve been here a long time now, so I like it. I don’t like puddles and, in Edinburgh, it rained a lot and when I went out, I walked around a lot of puddles. I can’t walk through them, not big ones. I don’t like the way they reflect the sky, buildings and people. I’m ok with the pool and the sea, though, they’re really big compared to puddles.’

  Adam is surprised that Dylan has expanded his answer.

  ‘This is my first time in Corfu.’ Adam says, with a curious intention. There is a silence, a long pause, one in which Adam expects, an answer. Dylan has to acknowledge an interest in finding out more information. Social chit chat is difficult for Dylan, but sometimes he will reciprocate and maintain a conversation out with his interest in Mozart. This is not one of those. Today Dylan just wants to talk, not with Adam, but at him.

  ‘Things happen for a reason not by chance. It wasn’t by chance that Mozart was a composer of exceptional expressive talent, his music creates a dialogue that is nonverbal. Some people think the universe was created by chance, the right set of galactic conditions, just at that precise time. How can something as big and as mysterious as the universe not have a reason to exist? That’s not logical.

  ‘I was born with autism, but if you meet one person with autism, it doesn’t mean that the next one you meet will be the same as that other person, we’re all different. I’m not like those boys and girls at the social skills group I went to, just like they are not like me, but that’s a good thing and I believe there is a reason for that. It’s like when Mum sent me to that school, if I hadn’t gone to that school Mum wouldn’t have thought it was a good idea to come to Corfu and you wouldn’t have gone for the interview to teach me, but because all of those things happened, when the bad things happened to mum you were there to take care of her, so you see, everything happens for a reason.’

  Adam smiles. ‘That’s quite a compelling argument

  Dylan.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘If you could think differently, if someone said I’ve got the cure for autism, would you want it?’ Adam is curious.

  ‘Why would I want to cure me? The way I think, the way I speak is normal to me. I don’t know what your normal is, but I’m happy with my normal.’ Dylan thinks for a moment.

  ‘There is one thing I’d like to be better at.’

  ‘What would that be?’

  ‘I’d like to have friends. I’d like to know how to make friends. Friends are people who care about you, for who you are. I don’t know how that feels. I can feel sad about that. Mum and dad are the only people who care about me.’

&nbs
p; ‘Are you happy, Dylan?’

  ‘I am only truly happy when I listen to Mozart or hug my tree.’

  They return to the house and Dylan looks at his watch. ‘It is nearly eight thirty-two.’ He pauses. ‘There on time and now it’s time for breakfast.’ He runs up the steps just as Georgia steps onto the terrace carrying a tray.’

  ‘Oh, careful Dylan, stop running. Your breakfast nearly ended up on the floor.’

  Dylan finds this funny and laughs. ‘We saw a wall that looked like a map.’ And with this, he runs into the house.

  ‘That’s nice. Wash your hands now,’ Georgia says after him.

  She places the tray on the table and distributes plates of toast, cheese, and poached eggs.

  ‘Could you get the coffee and juice, Adam, it’s all made up in the kitchen?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be two ticks.’

  When Adam returns, he asks Georgia if she wants a coffee or a soft drink. He pours the orange into a glass and hands it to her.

  ‘Freshly picked from the orchard?’ Adam asks. ‘You wouldn’t get orange this fresh for breakfast in Edinburgh.’

  ‘No, that’s true,’ Georgia says dolefully.

  ‘Is everything ok?’

  She sits back in her chair. ‘I’m not sure I want to return to another bleak winter in Edinburgh. I love it here; it’s my home as much as Edinburgh is. Look around you Adam, why would I want to leave? I can wake up each morning to the sight of tree covered hills, the beautiful sea that’s only a minute away. I have friends here that I have known all my life, they are my family when I’m here and then there is this house, it is my home. I can feel my mother in every room, not like a ghost, or anything like that. What I mean is, every inch of this house holds a memory of her, it was a place she loved, it was precious to her and I didn’t realise the real reason until a few days ago.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know I’m reading Mum’s diary. Well, everything has changed. I haven’t quite come to terms with it myself. Back in the early 70’s, Mum had an affair with a businessman. His name was Stelios… she got pregnant by him, it was an accident. Anyway, I was that baby and Stelios was my father… my real father, but he died in a car accident before knowing that Mum was pregnant. I’ve spoken with Theresa; she’s the only person I could talk to about it.

  ‘Theresa told me Stelios was buried in the village he grew up in… it was our village. When my dad, Paul died, it took mum six years to return to the house. When she did, she visited Stelios’ grave almost daily, making sure that there were always fresh flowers on his gravestone. Theresa said it took her that long to return, it was too painful for her, too raw, even after all those years. She wanted to tell me, Theresa was insistent about that, but she thought it died with her. I suppose if you think about something long enough, eventually you start to believe it’s the right thing to do, and I believe she thought that.

  ‘Stelios had a daughter, she is four years older than me. Mum knew about her. Her name is Pavlina, I don’t know if mum ever met her.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I can’t let it go,’ she says, quietly. ‘I need to feel connected to her in some way and, whether that’s possible or not, I won’t know until I find her.’ There is a decisiveness about her.

  ‘And how are you going to do that? Do you have any information about her?’

  She smiles wanly. ‘It’ll be difficult I know, but the last few pages in mum’s diary were torn out. By whom? Probably Mum, but why, I don’t know. I’m hoping if I find them they’ll lead me to Pavlina. Mum took photographs of Stelios. They might be in the house, somewhere, possibly the attic.’

  Adam takes a mouthful of toast, it crunches in his mouth.

  ‘Life is never dull at the villa Katrina.’

  ‘There’s one thing I have to do.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Find my father’s grave.’

  Chapter 51

  Missing Photographs

  ‘Here we are,’ Nikolaos says as he places a large book, that looks like a ledger, on the table. On the cover is inscribed, ‘Deaths, births and marriages.’

  ‘I’ve already found the page,’ he says, opening the heavy book where a bookmarker with the portrait of the Virgin Mary identifies the page.

  With a finger, he traces the names until he comes to the one they are interested in.

  ‘Here we are; Stelios Karagounis, born 1942, died at 3 p.m. on Tuesday the 1st September 1972, aged thirty years old. Death occurred in Paleokastritsa; the cause of death, road traffic accident; residence- Corfu Town; occupation- business man; religion- Greek Orthodox; citizenship- Greek;father’s name- Eleftherios Karagounis and mother’s name- Ekaterini Karagounis.’

  There is a sharp take of breath and then a moan; she is not prepared for this reaction. Tears sting her eyes, she grabs hold of Adam’s arm to steady herself.

  ‘Are you ok?’ Adam calls, startled.

  ‘I feel faint.’ Her face has gone white.

  ‘Here, sit down.’ Nikolaos guides her to a chair. ‘Do you want some water?’

  ‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’

  She looks at Adam and tries to smile encouragingly. ‘It was the shock I think, hearing their names, the details. Suddenly it was real, and they were real, the family I never knew I had.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to see the grave?’ Adam asks.

  She nods. ‘Yes, I’ll be fine now.’

  Behind the church, they find the small graveyard; a mass of white crosses and headstones littering the ground.

  Nikolaos walks in front. ‘It’s just over here.’

  They walk a few yards. ‘Here we are. I’ll be in the church if you need me,’ Nikolaos says.

  They stand for a moment and take in the cross that stands on a rectangular marble block. A cracked ceramic vase holds flowers that have withered and decayed.

  ‘Someone has been here,’ Georgia says in disbelief. She reaches out and takes the dried flowers out of the vase, replacing them with the roses she has brought from her garden.

  They stand in silence. After a while Georgia says, ‘I feel a comfort of some sort.’ But there is a note of sadness to her voice. ‘What might have been if he hadn’t died? How different would my life have been?’ Georgia finds the thought painful; she is discovering she is not as strong as she thinks. She feels a trembling begin, a sudden ache. Her resolve begins to waver. Georgia inhales the air. Adam tries to reassure her, telling her there is no point in thinking like that. She tries to compose herself and agrees with him; she tells herself he is right. Georgia wipes the tears from her eyes. She finds it incomprehensible that, for the most part of her life, when she stayed at the house she was less than a mile from this place. The world is shimmering in the sun, and nothing has changed.

  From the kitchen, the French doors are open to the garden where the air is hot and still. A motionless cat is sprawled out on the terrace, sleeping in the shade. Adam can see the green roll of the hills. They are more vivid in this light, he thinks.

  He scans Georgia’s face. He anticipates a sign, an indication of how she feels, but it is unreadable. He does not know what to say, he senses her agitation. She is holding the diary. It has changed everything, unlocked a secret, questioned the familiar and left a wide hollow space inside her.

  Again he examines her face where a quick flash of disappointment is visible. Outside in the garden, he can hear the call of a bird.

  She takes a sip of water and sighs. ‘I can’t find them; I’ve looked everywhere, thery’re not here.’

  ‘They could have been at your mum’s house in Edinburgh.’

  ‘No, I’m sure they weren’t. When mum died, it took a week to empty the house. I found boxes full of photographs, all in chronological order; she was like that, I’m sure she had OCD. I spent an entire night looking at them, so I know they weren’t there. They must be here in this house, somewhere, she would have kept them, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘When was th
e last time she stayed here?’

  Georgia sits thinking. ‘She was here the year she died. In fact, I remember now, I was pregnant with Dylan; we came out to stay with her for a week. We knew about the cancer then, it was during Easter, I remember the celebrations. I thought she was saying her last goodbyes to the house, the village and her friends, which she was, but now I think she felt she needed to be here, to be near him, in a spiritual way. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Adam looks genuinely relieved. ‘I think you’re right Georgia, she was saying her goodbyes and, if that is so, wouldn’t she bring the photographs and the diary to the place where it started. This is where they belong. They have got to be in this house.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering who put the flowers on the grave; it was quite recent. They were only a few weeks old.’

  ‘Does Stelios’ family still live in Corfu?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sure Theresa would have mentioned it.’ It seems inconceivable to think Theresa would not have brought it to Georgia’s attention.

  Georgia looks down at her lap where the diary rests. Adam can see her desperation.

  ‘Why are pages missing? What was mum trying to hide? I’m not sure of anything anymore. I can’t go on like this.’

  ‘We’ll find the photographs and then, when you’re ready, we’ll look for your sister.’

  She raises her eyes to his. He kisses her but it is more than a kiss, it is a pouring of himself into her.

  Later that day, Adam finds Nikolaos alone at the Kafenion,

  ‘Adam, how is Georgia? She seemed quite upset.’

  ‘She’s better thanks; it’s a lot to take in but she’s a resilient woman.’

  Nikolaos raises his hand. ‘Rina, another metriou, for Adam.’ He turns to Adam. ‘Or would you like something stronger?’

  ‘No, a coffee is fine. I need to ask you something. Before Georgia was born, Stelios had another daughter, and I wondered if the birth is registered in the church records.’

  ‘If the mother and father lived here then, it should be. We can find out if you want?’