Where the Bougainvillea Grows

by Gary Cleaver

  “According to the inventory we lost twelve altogether, and there are five more badly damaged, but that’s not the worst of it I’m afraid, follow me.” Costas led Dimitris forward to the port bow and pointed, he didn’t need to.

  Dimitris placed a hand on his head and stared. “Ah, that is going to be a problem” he said simply.

  A ten metre long container, dark blue and badly crushed in the centre was hanging precariously over the bow, it was stuck fast but looked as if it might topple over the side at any moment. He reached a decision quickly, the safety of the ship had to come first.

  “Get a crew together Costas, as many as you need, let me know when you are ready and I will stop the ship, we will have to put it over the side, we can’t leave it and we can’t get any lifting gear near it”.

  The operation took most of the day, “ELENA” stopped just before sunset and the container was levered, quite easily in the end, over the side. Because of the damage it sank quickly, it’s loss meant there would be a few less high spirited water fights in the gardens of Europe the next summer, it also meant that the disappearance of Chang Lee, the fork lift truck driver, would remain a mystery for ever. Dimitris gave the order to get the ship back under way, then turned to make his way back to the bridge, something on the deck caught his eye, trapped between a bollard and a piece of broken railing was a small yellow figure. He bent and picked up the bear, apart from being completely sodden it was undamaged.

  “You are very lucky my little friend” he said. “I know a young lady who will be delighted to meet you.” He squeezed it to remove as much water as possible, and then tucked it inside his suit; Costas joined him.

  “Well, apart from the containers, we lost some guardrail and quite a bit of paint from the starboard side, it could have been much worse captain.”

  “Yes Costas it could, as it is I shall be swimming in paperwork for a month.”

  Costas was, as ever, faithful to the last. “Let me know if you need a hand, oh and while I remember, one my guys here, Pak doo, needs a haircut when you have the time.”

  Dimitris smiled and raised his eyes heavenward.

  “Oh come on,” said Costas. “You’re a good barber, in fact it’s your nickname down below, whenever Bryan wants to know your opinion of something he will ask me, what does the hairdresser think?”

  Dimitris laughed aloud, he walked away heading aft, then stopped and looked out over the darkening ocean. The idea that had come to him was ridiculous, it was completely insane; he made his way to his cabin and started writing his reports. But the idea would not leave his head; finally he sat back in his chair in front of his small desk and looked over at the teddy bear, which now sat drying on his bunk.

  “Well my fine friend we are going home, and this time for good.” He leaned back to the desk, pushed aside the reports, and began drafting a letter of resignation.

  The idea of going back to his home village in Greece and opening a barbers shop filled him with pleasure and dread, Gabriella he was sure would instantly divorce him, his elderly mother would certainly die of shame and his children, when they were old enough to comprehend the loss of family earnings, would hate him forever. He drafted the letter twice before he was happy, then he went over to the window and stared out for a long time, eventually he nodded and went back to the desk, he signed the letter and dated it, the sixteenth of September 1998.

  Any man, like Dimitris Lambakis, who has seen his fortieth birthday come and go will tell you that while ten years is a long time, it can pass with alarming speed. On the evening of the tenth of January, 2008, Dimitris stood in his shop, just around the corner from harbour in Katsimila; he had not stood on the deck of a ship for nearly a decade, but in the village no one called him Dimitri the barber, he was always referred to as Dimitri the sea captain. He stared out of the clear glass front door, a cup of coffee in one hand, a broom in the other, as the rain streaked the quiet street. It was a good time for reflection, he had much to be thankful for, he didn’t need to worry about the family’s reaction to his extraordinary life change, they had simply been overjoyed to have him home to stay. It had been a struggle at first, he had been forced to make what he could during the day before attending college in the evenings to learn his new trade and become qualified, but gradually things got better. When the children were more able to take care of themselves, Gabriella returned to her job, teaching Greek history at the high school in nearby Ligourio, just as her father had done. He decided that, if happiness and the respect of others were worth more than money, he was a wealthy man indeed. He remembered the day they had opened the shop for the first time, he and Gabriella had stood together in the street and watched as Nikos Kelesidou, the young artist, placed the sign he had made above the door. It read “Jimmy’s”, the only person in Dimitris’ life who had called him Jimmy was his late grandmother, it was Gabriella’s idea to use it.

  “Tell me,” he had said to her. “For the last time, am I completely out of my mind?”

  “I will tell you, Dimitri, for the last time, it is entirely possible. But I can also tell you this, whether you are my husband the ship’s captain or my husband the barber, you are still my husband and I know you, if anyone can make a success of this you can.” She kissed him.

  “Money is going to be a problem,“ he said.

  “I know” she replied. “But we will think of something, we always think of something.”

  Dimitris turned, put down the coffee cup and resumed sweeping the floor, with his back to the door he failed to notice the black Mercedes which pulled up in the road outside and the short, stocky figure in a long black overcoat who climbed out and approached the shop. When the door opened Dimitris spoke without turning, he raised his eyes; there was always one latecomer.

  “I am sorry my friend, but I am closed now, I am open again at nine thirty tomorrow morning.”

  The man in the doorway replied quietly, “But I have come a long way, and I have brought you a present.”

  Recognising the voice, Dimitris wheeled around, “Costas Doukas, my God, Costas you old rogue!”

  They embraced as old friends should, and he looked down at the gold rings on Doukas’ overcoat sleeves.

  “And now I see it is captain Doukas!”

  “Yes, our masters decided I had kissed their arses enough, so they gave me a ship and told me to go drown myself.”

  Dimitris laughed long and loud, finally he said “Come, I will close up and we will go to my house. Gabriella will make us a wonderful dinner and you can be polite about my lousy wine, we have much catching up to do.”

  As they made to leave Costas stopped, “Wait, I must not forget your present.” He reached inside his coat and produced a clear plastic sleeve in which was a magazine.

  Dimitris laughed again, “This should really stay here, it wouldn’t do for my wife to see it.” He tossed the copy of “Playboy” on to the table and they walked out into the night.

  Late on, when dinner was finished, Dimitris excused himself and went upstairs, he looked in on Thassos first; the boy was awake and reading.

  “You are good?”

  “Yes Papa”

  “Good, don’t’ read for too long, knowledge and sleep in equal quantities huh?”

  “Yes Papa, goodnight.” He moved along to the next door, as he expected Yota was asleep, beside her bed on the floor was a small yellow figure, he went in and picked it up, it was a little dirty and one ear was missing.

  “Ah my friend, I think perhaps you have received too much love,” he whispered, “if such a thing is possible.” He placed the bear back in the crook of Yota’s arm and went back downstairs.

  Outside rain washed the streets of the village, for the Lambakis family and all the other residents of Katsimila, 2008 was to be a year that none of them, old and young, rich and poor, strong and weak, would ever forget.

  The Visitor

  Thassos Lambakis and Alex Karamis, both fifteen, were lying on their backs, smoking cigarettes and starin
g up at the blanket of stars in the night sky. They were three kilometres south of Katsimila on one of the more remote beaches, a strip of sand no more than eighty metres long and six deep, fringed by rough scrub and several stout pines, Thassos, though he didn’t know it, had been conceived beneath one of them. Lying at their feet was an empty plastic bottle, which, until recently, had contained a cheap and wholly unremarkable white wine, it had been obtained from a classmate of the boys whose family ran a local supermarket. Alex had bought the bottle for two Euros and the transaction had been completed in utmost secrecy behind the store earlier in the day. Thassos had been much bolder, he had marched down to the small kiosk at the end of the harbour and casually, he hoped, asked for the pack of cigarettes as if he did so on a daily basis, however the old man who sat behind the tiny window knew his parents, so a cover story, involving an uncle visiting from Corinth was ready in his head, it had not been needed, the old man handed over the merchandise without comment; thus equipped the two of them had the makings of a sophisticated evening.

  Thassos blew a long stream of smoke skywards and sighed. “We should be doing this with girls, it would be better with girls.”

  Give two teenage boys a little time and privacy and the conversation will inevitably turn to the opposite sex; football, school, music, these would do as a pre-amble, a warm up so to speak, but the main subject will soon take centre stage, add then a suitable stimulant, such as cheap wine and the subject can really take wing.

  “With girls it would be … romantic.”

  There was a silence, which Alex finally broke. “Romantic and naked.”

  This got them both chuckling in what they hoped was a knowing and lascivious fashion, the wine helped make this more convincing, but not much. After another silence, Alex decided that it was time for serious discussion; he propped himself up on one elbow to give his question more gravity, he looked Thassos in the eye.

  “Have you done it yet?”

  Thassos was a smart boy, the top of his class, he had been waiting for this and he knew better than to leave any kind of pause before answering.

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  He should then have shot the question straight back at his friend, but as well as being smart he was blessed, sometimes cursed, with a vivid and fertile imagination, he couldn’t resist a little embellishment.

  “Do you remember the English family who stayed at the hotel Pallas at Easter, there were two daughters.” Alex sat bolt upright.

  “Not the blonde? You’re kidding! The one with…” he lifted hands to his own non-existent breasts and tried to make impressive shapes.

  Thassos nodded and breathed dreamily a single word. “Carly.”

  Alex was truly and deeply impressed. “Wow…she was really something, I mean … classy.”

  In the pause that followed, Thassos laced his hands behind his head, relaxed and in total control, he reached out to crush his cigarette in the sand; he was completely unprepared for what came next.

  “How many times?” Alex asked.

  This was not good and to leave too long a pause was, once again, a bad idea; he reached into his head, pulled out a number and tossed it into the air.

  “Six.”

  Alex gaped “SIX? My god, you animal!”

  Thassos realised he had gone too far, fortunately Alex found his own pronouncement hysterical and it took him a whole two minutes to recover. His laughter fit was followed by a similar amount of coughing, for the simple fact that he was a smoker of just a few weeks experience. Thassos was able to use this time to get his story straight and by the time Alex was able to speak again he was confident he could field any question that came his way. Apart from the one he got.

  “What did she feel like?”

  For a moment Thassos was totally dumbstruck.

  “What?”

  “Oh you know,” Alex pinched the thumb and forefinger of his left hand together and pushed the forefinger of his right hand through the resulting hole. “Feeel like” he leered.

  “You’re disgusting.” Thassos grunted, but he knew this would not be enough, he put his imagination back to work, eventually he came up with what was required. “Like warm honey” he replied, he was very pleased with this, it sounded at once worldly, sensual and even a little poetic, he was therefore dismayed to find that his friend was no longer paying attention, or even looking at him.

  “What’s that?” Thassos followed the pointing finger to an oval mound about ten metres away in the water; it was approximately two metres from the beach.

  “It’s a rock, you idiot.”

  “Well if that’s what it is, it has only just arrived under it’s own power, quite a neat trick,” said Alex. As he spoke the mound raised itself and moved closer, the boys moved slowly and cautiously forward, when they had got to within five metres Thassos realised that Alex was holding his hand, he stopped.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Are you six?” he pulled his hand away.

  “Sorry” said Alex ashamed.

  Thassos judged they were now close enough, he squatted down gesturing to Alex that he follow, they watched in silence as the creature emerged from the sea, a large pear-shaped head and two powerful flippers tipped with stumpy claws fronted a dark shell.

  “She must be lost,” whispered Thassos. “We never get turtles here.”

  “Maybe she’s hurt,” ventured Alex. “Anyway, how do you know it’s a she?”

  “Well of course it’s a she, the males don’t come ashore, the females come to lay eggs.”

  “She’s going to lay eggs, wow!”

  “Shh!” said Thassos “Watch.”

  They looked on as the turtle went about her business, a simple ceremony, product of more than two hundred million years of evolution. She made her way slowly, almost painfully it seemed, a short way up the beach, then stopped and began to dig, pushing the sand aside with great sweeps of her front flippers. When she had made a hole large enough for her purpose she turned herself one hundred and eighty degrees and gently eased her rear end into the centre, she laid some sixty or so round, white eggs roughly the size of ping-pong balls, then she reversed the process and filled the hole in. When the area was re-filled and the sand flat once more she started back down to the sea without pause. As she reached the waters edge she stopped momentarily and raised her head, as if scanning the horizon. Then she was gone.

  The silence which followed was huge. When Thassos finally spoke his voice was very quiet, almost a prayer.

  “I think my father would say, that is something to tell your grandchildren about,” Alex looked up at the sky.

  “I don’t care what your father would say, my mother is going to kill me!” Thassos followed his gaze, the sky above the eastern horizon had turned a delicate pale blue, he glanced at his wristwatch. “Oh shit, it’s nearly four thirty, we’ve been standing here nearly three hours!”

  Without further discussion they started back towards the village, on the way Thassos, naturally, did most of the talking.

  “We must tell no-one of this, there will always be some moron who will dig up the eggs just to show them off, we must come back as often as we can and make sure the nest remains undisturbed, it’s lucky the place is fairly remote, when they hatch we should be there to help them get away.”

  “How long will it be before they hatch?”

  Thassos stopped dead, “I have no idea.” He thought for moment. “My father has books and I am sure there will be a website to tell us.”

  They walked on, the first strands of sunlight streaked the sky as they reached the edge of Katsimila, they made plans to meet that night after work, Thassos was spending the summer waiting tables at his uncle’s Taverna, Alex was doing the same at his grandfather’s hotel, then they went their separate ways.

  Thassos found the house as quiet as he had hoped, he had left his bedroom window open and it was an easy climb from the terrace outside the living room. The light in the early morning sky served to remind him how tire
d he was, but he thought he would not be able to sleep, he was too excited by what he had seen and what was to come. Thinking this he lay down on his bed, his head hit the pillow and he was asleep at once. Alex had a more difficult time, he too had left the bedroom window open, unfortunately it was a room he shared with his eleven year old brother. When George realised that Alex was overdue he did the brotherly thing, he closed the window, then, after thinking about it, he latched the window as well. Poor Alex was reduced to entering the house through the creaking front door and then tip-toeing up the creaking wooden staircase to the first floor. He carefully opened the bedroom door, gently pushed aside the skateboard which George had left as a final booby trap, undressed quickly and slipped into bed.

  “You’re late.” whispered George.

  “And you’re a little shit.” Alex whispered back.

  At midnight that same night they met, as planned, half a kilometre south of the village, they had agreed there would be no wine this time but Alex had brought the remaining cigarettes. Thassos had a rucksack, it contained a heavy duty flashlight, borrowed from his father’s workshop, a small red plastic olive rake and a big bottle of mineral water. They made their way to the beach mostly in silence, arriving shortly before one. Thassos took out the rake and the flashlight and they set to work, within forty five minutes they had removed all evidence of the turtle’s visit, her tracks from the water to the nest site and back were filled in, raked over and patted flat by hand, then the nest site itself was given the same treatment. When they were done Thassos swept the flashlight over the whole area.

  “Perfect” he said. Alex too was impressed. “The turtle herself would never know she’d been here.”

  They sat and smoked a cigarette, a light breeze blew in and ruffled the pines behind them.

  “Did you find out how long it will be before the eggs hatch?”

  Thassos clapped his hands. “Yes, I found a really good website, ten to twelve weeks.”