by Sara Alexi
‘Here.’ Jimmy gives him an empty beer bottle. ‘Do that bottle flicking again.’ Theo steps from behind the bar and tries the trick again, catching the bottle with a sure hand. Trying a double spin, he only just catches it, and when he tries again, the bottle smashes on the floor. Dimitri looks up from his close conversation outside with the new girl.
‘Only a beer bottle,’ Jimmy calls, and Dimitri looks away again. Theo makes a mental note to take a couple of beer bottles home so he can practice over the sofa, or on his bed. Jimmy does not even try, his hands shake just pouring from the bottles.
The regulars, some of whom Theo recognises from the day before, trickle into the bar for first orders. A man on his way home from work who passes in to fortify himself against the onslaught of his six daughters and nagging wife is the first. Tonight, Theo feels bad charging him for Black Label when it is not. The man poured out his heart yesterday, explaining how he works all hours but the money he makes is not enough for his family’s needs. Theo almost hasn’t the heart to charge him at all.
The boy who helped with the screwdriver comes in for his beers. He has a pleasant face, but Theo cannot help but wonder what he will look like ten years from now if he continues drinking.
A man who drank ouzo solidly last night and said little goes to be served by Jimmy. Theo does not see Jimmy open the till, and he wonders if the drinks are for free or if Jimmy is pocketing all the money. Tricky at this time of day, if Dimitri suddenly decides to take out some cash, as he did last night.
The smell from under the floorboards seems to be getting worse, or maybe that is because he knows what it is now.
If he pours water around the keg, it might dilute the smell. Tomorrow, he will bring some disinfectant, or bleach or something, pour it under the boards, see what that does.
The bar fills. Dimitri sits near the front bar, watching the girl, encouraging her to smile at passers-by. It works and they order drinks from her, but she takes her orders to the main bar, and it brings Theo less work. As the place gets busier, Dimitri closes Theo’s bar and sends him over to the long bar where Jimmy is alone, struggling to keep up with the orders. The floor behind the long bar is uneven and sticky. Theo wonders what may lurk under the floorboards on this side.
Makis the bouncer turns up and heads straight for Dimitri. Dimitri tries to walk over to the long bar, but Makis stops him. They are just close enough for Theo to hear the conversation.
‘So you have seen how I keep trouble out of here,’ Makis grunts.
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Dimitri replies.
‘Yes, but you want to see how much trouble you would get if I wasn’t here?’ Makis is shorter than Dimitri, but he is broad and his blank, sinister eyes don’t seem to quite focus. He looks Dimitri in the face and moves his head closer. Theo would not like to be Dimitri at this moment. ‘But you know what? Just because I am here and people know I am here, you will have no bother. So, to make me want to stay you can offer me the job of the DJ instead of having this endless music loop going round.’
Dimitri steps backwards. ‘I don’t think I really need a DJ,’ he says, trying to stand tall and sound sure.
‘I don’t think you want to walk home by yourself one dark night and end up with broken legs,’ Makis smirks.
Theo looks up from wiping the counter and stares at the pair.
‘Are you serving? One beer please.’
‘Sorry.’ He snaps out of his trance and pulls a beer, watching as Dimitri hands over some notes to the smiling Makis who pockets the cash and takes his place in the DJ booth.
‘Unbelievable,’ Theo mutters.
Each time a client pays, Theo takes the money to Jimmy. Jimmy rings the amount up on the till and puts in the cash. When he is busy, he takes the money, holds it in his hand, finishes serving, and then put his client’s and Theo’s client’s money in the till at the same time, and passes Theo his change. Theo watches carefully the next time, calculating in his head the cost of the drinks he and Jimmy are serving, and comparing this with the amount Jimmy rings. Jimmy seems to be pocketing a clean half. Theo no longer feels surprised by anything. This is just par for the course, a normality of life in this bar, how things seem to be in all the corners of Athens he has so far touched. He understands.
The next time he takes an order, Theo sidles up to Jimmy as he hands him the money and whispers in his ear, ‘Cool it,’ and nods up to Makis, who is grinning away in the DJ’s box and who, at that moment, from his height advantage, is looking over at them. Jimmy’s face grows pale. He rings up an amount that is almost correct. But this time, Theo has only given him enough for one of the drinks he has served. The price of the other is in his pocket. This way, the till’s take won’t vary too much from the norm but today it will line both their pockets, with the advantage being Theo’s. Jimmy suspects that Theo knows he is on the take, but he has no idea Theo is on the take as well. By tomorrow, Theo will have enough to pay back his baba.
A small, neat old man with glasses takes one of the high seats by the bar when it comes free. His overcoat, although thin, seems excessive for the time of year.
‘You are not the normal type Dimitri employs in here,’ he states.
Theo takes a look at the owner of the voice. He is balding, with a half-halo of hair around the back of his head from ear to ear. It is trimmed and combed neatly. The bar gets all sort of people but at this late time of night, denim jackets are a bit of a theme, the occasional leather. This man looks just a little out of place.
‘Just started. Third day,’ Theo says.
‘Hm, will you stay?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Theo replies.
‘Ah! Theo, don’t charge this man, will you?’ Theo did not see Dimitri coming up to the bar. ‘Phaedon, don’t let him charge you.’ Dimitri smiles and moves away.
‘But business is business, Dimitri. I don’t ask for favours from you and you don’t from me,’ Phaedon calls after him.
Theo puts a dish of peanuts in front of the man, who has already paid for his beer.
‘Diplomatic. I like it.’ Phaedon picks out a nut.
Serving another person, Theo takes the full amount to Jimmy, aware the man in the overcoat is watching.
‘What does he want?’ Jimmy whispers.
‘Who is he?’ Theo asks.
‘The master of us all,’ Jimmy replies dramatically and looks around to see the whereabouts of Dimitri.
Theo looks towards Makis, wondering who is the most crooked in this place. His real home, his village, feels very far away, almost a different life, and something has shifted in the past ten days. He was certainly a different person then. The days are warmer now but this world is darker, the sunshine of his former life fading. In one sense, he is doing well, but he is not sure if he likes who he is becoming.
‘So, where are you from?’ Phaedon’s words break Theo’s train of thought.
‘A village just outside Saros.’ Theo busies himself wiping the counter in front of the man.
‘If you’ll have a drink, then I’ll have another, village boy,’ he says gently.
‘No, thank you, friend. I don’t drink when I work.’
The man chuckles into his glass. ‘I wager you will either be jobless or have your own place within a year,’ he says and slides from his stool, waving a farewell with his back to Theo.
Theo serves a round of fake Black Labels.
‘We are running short of glasses. Can you wash some?’ Jimmy asks. It has occurred to Theo that with no girl there to keep washing the returns, they would soon run short, but he was not about to offer. If he washes glasses, he is accepting his place in the hierarchy behind the bar. Letting Jimmy run the till is one thing but being at his beck and call is another.
Until now, Makis has been playing nothing but hard rock. He changes the whole feel of the bar as he puts on a Greek song. The crowd cheers and a group of long-haired men in biker jackets start singing along, as if the masquerade is over. They may wear the outward uni
form of international rebels, but they are Greek boys at heart.
Theo decides the best course of action is to ignore Jimmy.
A few minutes later, Jimmy shouts down the length of the bar at him.
‘Hey, glasses. Come on.’
Theo pulls another beer. Jimmy’s raised voice has caught Makis’ attention, and Makis gestures to Dimitri, who is still there, loitering around the model girl. She seems to be attracting a lot of clients, but Theo wonders how many are buying drinks. Dimitri pushes through the throng towards the long bar.
Jimmy sees him approaching and proffers an explanation. ‘I just need some glasses washed!’ He shouts in a pitiful whine, his thumb pointing at Theo.
Theo scoops some ice into a glass and bangs it down in front of a waiting customer, causing the cubes to jump and rattle as they land. Heads turn to look. Taking a bottle of Black Label in his other hand, he throws it into the air by its neck. It somersaults once, and he catches it. Spinning off the lid, he pours from a height, as if making froth on top of a coffee. A girl behind the man being served spontaneously claps her hands. ‘Cool,’ she calls.
Theo wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with his forearm. He could have missed the catch and lost his job. Also, it was a fairly basic bottle throw. He mustn’t forget to take some beer bottles home to practice.
Dimitri watches Theo’s antics and the customers’ response. He turns back to Jimmy. ‘Wash your own glasses,’ he snaps. ‘And whilst you are at it, wash some for him.’
Theo cannot hide his smile, but directs it at the customer. Replacing the whiskey on the shelf, he can see Phaedon in the mirror, hands in his overcoat pockets, watching him. Theo turns to acknowledge him but by the time he has turned, Phaedon has gone, pushing his way through the crowds.
Margarita’s mother’s dog runs to greet him as he turns onto his street.
‘Hello, boy. What are you doing out?’ Theo ruffles the back of the dog’s neck. It jumps up and Theo pushes the dreadlocks of hair aside from its eyes. ‘Bob Marley, they should call you. But we shall use the English. It makes a rhyme, Bob the dog.’ He laughs at the foreign words and brushes at his shirtfront where its paws were.
A smell of jasmine is carried on the breeze. Theo looks up to see the stars, but the trees and the street lights obscure the view.
The gate is open. He half-wonders if Margarita will be in his house, demanding that he leave. He shakes his head at his own nonsense. Even if she is, he will lose nothing as long as he can get his money from under the sofa cushion.
The dog runs before him. Margarita’s mother’s windows are dark, curtains drawn; it is very late. The dog is still bounding about and knocks over its water bucket, then waits patiently as Theo refills it from the garden tap. ‘Here you go, Bob.’ Theo pats the dog, which laps greedily.
Up the stairs and into the flat, the moon lights his room, its cold ambience doing little to temper the heat. Putting down the bag with the two empty beer bottles, Theo strips off his shirt and pulls tonight’s pay from one trouser pocket and tonight’s take from the other. Flipping up the sofa cushion, he straightens the notes in his hand and lays them besides yesterday’s. He counts and calculates that he can almost pay back his baba now. If he works another day, there will be enough to pay his way home and to add a bit to what he took, alleviate some of his guilt. He replaces the cushion and flops down on the sofa. It feels very lonely coming back to an empty house, no one snoring in the next room, no plate of food laid out for him on the kitchen table, no ironed shorts over the back of a chair for the next day. Maybe he was too hasty leaving the village. Theo drags himself up and flounders his way down the steps to his bedroom, to a single empty bed.
He can hear Bob the dog outside, sniffling and whining, occasionally barking. Theo listens a bit longer, the murmuring sound is there again, a cat, it could be anything, the sound muffled, coming up from the building below his room.
Tomorrow, he will investigate, see if there are storage rooms, see if there is an animal trapped.
Chapter 12
Age 40 Years, 5 Months, 19 Days
The murmuring continues. Theo adjusts his sleeping position again and again until sleep finally overwhelms him, only to be woken later by the same noise and then the cockerel crowing. Rolling out of bed, he staggers to his feet to go for a glass of water. Through slits of eyes, he sees daylight sneaking between the trees at the back of his building, the oranges and yellows of the dawn sky contrasting with the green-black of the trees, shafts of sunlight piercing into his kitchen.
The cockerel crows again. The water is cool, the air is cool, a respite before the sun’s invasion. Striking a match, he lights the stove. He might as well: he is up now. Water, sugar, coffee, and patience.
The caffeine unsticks his eyelids. The air is still, the temperature on the edge of a chill. The sunset views from his balcony are amazing but in the morning, it takes a while to warm the confined air. Theo is tempted to put something on to keep off the chill but knows all too soon he will be hot, so he lets himself shiver, watching the goose bumps lift on his forearm. Pushing the sofa back onto the balcony, he considers. Maybe today will be the day to hunt for furniture on the streets. Just a chair and a table would do for a start and would save having to move the sofa backwards and forwards all the time.
The sun hits the window of the house opposite, orange and dazzling, glowing through the branches of the monkey puzzle tree. The dog barks and, leaning forward, Theo can see the animal by the gate, warning off an early morning passer-by, tail wagging.
The handyman appears, resplendent in his suit, his shirt a grey of many washes, no tie. He shouts at the dog in his strong country accent to be quiet.
‘It’s you who is waking everyone,’ Theo says quietly over the froth of his coffee.
Turning away, the handyman says something that, with his thick accent, is gibberish to Theo. It could be ‘Have you got your books?’ but why would he address a dog about books?
Then a child appears by the gate. Theo leans over to see if the old lady is there, Margarita’s mother. Maybe this is a grandson. Perhaps the handyman has been called in early to walk him to school. Who knows? Theo leans back, the dog barks happily again, the man scolds, the boy laughs. Theo smiles. He makes the best coffee in all of Greece. He crosses his ankles, the balcony railings providing support.
The gate clanks shut and peace is restored, with no one left below on the grass. A cat slinks across the flat roof next door and sniffs at a single brick that lays there unused before tripping lightly down the spiral staircase.
The monkey puzzle tree is a magnificent green this morning, deep and dark. The blue sky behind grows richer as the sun rises. The dog returns, pushes the gate open with his nose. The handyman follows.
‘Morning,’ he calls, looking up.
It takes Theo a moment to realise he is being addressed. ‘Oh, hello.’ He puts his coffee down.
‘It’s going to be another hot one,’ the handyman says. Theo wants to ask why he does not take off his jacket. It must be unbearable in the middle of the day.
‘Yes, I expect so,’ Theo answers, pulling on his shirt. He feels uncomfortable talking to anyone half-dressed. Once it is on and half-buttoned, he stands and stretches before finishing the last two bottom buttons. He will go to the bakery for fresh bread and to see if anyone has put out any unwanted furniture. He pushes his feet into his shoes and, locking the door, descends to the garden.
‘I hope we didn’t wake you?’ the handyman says as he fills the dog’s bowl with water. The dog must make a habit of knocking it over.
‘What, with the boy and the books?’ Theo bends to stroke the dog.
‘No, in the night, I mean.’
Theo straightens and looks at the man. He is thin from years of malnutrition, small, as if his growth has been stunted. He has a narrow nose and wide, dark eyebrows. His chin is cleanly shaven, but some of his teeth are black.
‘In the night?’ Theo asks, rubbing his own stubble.
‘Aikaterina, my wife, has been ill for a while, but last night she awoke and felt better. We could not help but talk; it was good to see her with colour in her cheeks.’
The dog runs down the side of the building, towards the uncared-for courtyard at the back. The sound of a brush sweeping against stone tells of someone’s presence not visible from the garden path. The dog reappears, its nails tapping on the stones with each step.
Theo pieces together the information. ‘You live here?’
‘Yes, yes, you didn’t know?’ The suited arm extends to invite Theo down the side of the house. He goes, out of curiosity, through an arch of greenery.
A stocky woman in shapeless, faded clothes sweeps leaves from along the wall of the yard, digging the wooden broom head into the corner to pull out the foliage that is decomposing there.
‘Aikaterina, this is …’ He stutters. ‘I am sorry. I do not know your name.’
‘Theo.’ Theo feels caught off guard. It takes him by surprise to realise he would prefer if the man would continue to address him as Sir.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ She hastily puts down the broom and wipes her dirty hands on her soiled apron. Theo has no inclination to take her hand. He quickly says, ‘No, please. Don’t let me disturb your work,’ and puts his hands in his pockets. The manoeuvre almost works. He adds a smile to be sure he has disarmed her.
‘I am Marinos,’ the man in the suit informs Theo. ‘The boy is Markos.’
His accent elongates vowels and clips consonants. Theo notes to himself how, just recently, he was grieved by the people in Athens passing in and out of his life namelessly, but now, when names are being offered, he feels a change of heart. He does not wish to be on those terms with these people. Being addressed as Sir by the handyman made him feel successful, shaking hands as their friends makes him feel as if he is back in the village, and probably, judging by their accents, a community less well-off than his own. He looks at the door into their home in the side of the building which is not tall enough for a man unless he were to stoop.