by Sara Alexi
As the evening winds on, Theo sees a girl who, for a heart-stopping moment, he thinks is Tasia. But this girl has no mole on her jawline and when she turns to face him, he can see she is nothing like Tasia. He pictures the way Tasia’s fingers would linger on the saucer, her image so familiar, so real, so safe somehow, compared to the people he has met since. Though the baker and his wife are nice enough. He repeats to himself that he will visit Tasia this weekend, make his feelings clear. After all, he has the flat and the job now. Maybe it is time to seek out a wife. He shifts his weight to his other foot, shaking out his trousers.
Jimmy is staring at him hard from across the room, and there’s a worried look in his eyes. Of course—takings on the long bar will shoot up, and Dimitri will ask questions. Theo holds Jimmy’s job in his hands. He sees that he must skim something off for Jimmy’s sake. Athens is a dog-eat-dog world, he has learnt the hard way. But he will not skim half. Jimmy is too greedy.
Serving two vodkas and a beer, he rings up all but a third of the price. He keeps this up for a while, and his pockets begin to bulge to the point where he worries it is noticeable. He slips behind the curtain in the back room to find somewhere to stash his wad of money. Rearranging the empty bottles to find a good hiding place, he lifts one bottle that feels heavier than the others. He shakes it to gauge the contents, and a coil of notes streams from the bottom, which turns out to be carefully severed. Theo checks behind him, to make sure the curtain is drawn, and looks in amazement as the notes spill onto the floor. They can only be Jimmy’s. He coils them quickly, curls his own on top, and stuffs them back into the doctored bottle. Just in case, he swaps its position with one in a crate of empties and, wiping sweat from his brow, he walks back into the bar, trying to appear cool.
The last customers begin to drift away, the music is switched off, and Theo’s ears ring in the silence. It is a late one, even for a Friday. Theo has been nibbling peanuts for the last hour—he is tired, hungry, and thirsty.
‘So what did we make?’ Dimitri leans over the bar and rings open the till. He pulls the notes out and deftly counts them, getting quicker as he goes. The last one sticks to the bar top, swimming in a pool of beer. He counts again, his face turning red. Theo busies himself drying glasses. What if Jimmy doesn’t take half all night? What if he only takes half in the first hour? The till will be down. He swallows hard.
‘Jimmy, get over here,’ Dimitri grunts. ‘Theo, pour me a whiskey.’
‘Ice?’ Theo’s voice comes out high pitched; he is not sure Dimitri heard.
Jimmy is white. ‘I’ll have one too. No ice for me, either.’
‘Explain,’ Dimitri says taking his whiskey, looking hard at Theo and then at Jimmy, and it’s unclear if he is addressing one or both of them. Theo judges it best not to say anything unless he has to. Dimitri sips. Jimmy’s mouth opens and closes several times. He swills his whiskey around the glass before draining it in one, putting it back on the counter and pushing it toward Theo for a refill.
Theo reaches out to take it, noiselessly.
Dimitri slams his hand on the counter behind the glass, nearly crushing Theo’s fingers. With a huge arc, he sweeps the glass off the bar. It spins in a prism of light across the room before smashing just in front of the bar opposite, the floor glittering with pieces.
Jimmy has frozen, his eyes wide. Theo stealthily retracts his hand, trying not to draw attention to himself.
Slowly, Dimitri pulls from his pocket the block of notes he has just counted. He hands them to Jimmy, whose eyes grow even wider. Theo licks his lips. He needs a drink too, now.
‘Pour yourself one, Theo.’ Dimitri catches his action from the corner of his eye. Theo takes a clean glass and pours a good measure. The burn at the back of his throat eases the knots from his shoulders. They drop, and he exhales.
Dimitri is still holding out the block of cash to Jimmy.
‘Go on, take it.’ Dimitri’s voice is quiet and low, a growl.
Jimmy doesn’t move.
Dimitri takes the smallest step towards him, leans his face close to Jimmy’s ear, and annunciates very slowly. ‘Take it and count it.’
Jimmy’s hand shakes, but he takes the cash. Resting it on the bar, his fingers and thumbs peel through, his lips moving as he goes. He gets to the last one and stops abruptly.
‘Did you miscount? Would you like to count again?’ Dimitri’s voice is soft, feigning concern. Jimmy shakes his head and offers the money back. ‘Explain.’ The word hisses out, flying spittle highlighted by the dim bulb behind Dimitri’s head. His saliva remains thick on his bottom lip, his eyes bulging, his face red.
Jimmy looks at Theo. Theo looks at the bottom of his glass and pours another. He could have saved Jimmy from this if he had taken half. He chose not to, pretending that made him a better person than Jimmy. But now? Now, whatever happens to Jimmy will be his fault. He is not better than Jimmy; perhaps he is worse. Tipping the second whiskey down his throat makes him cough.
Jimmy stammers out, ‘I, er, umm. It isn’t, well …’ He is shaking all over.
‘Do I have to call some friends to get what is mine back?’ Dimitri asks, the same hissing sound. Jimmy looks left and right and, with a sudden twist, runs as fast as he can from the bar. Dimitri watches him go.
‘Fuck him. Pour me another drink and tell me how you like being my new manager.’ Dimitri’s mood switches and he turns with a smile.
Theo gulps another whiskey and looks over the rim of the glass. Part of him, somewhere deep inside, is horrified at what he has knowingly brought about, but on the face of it, he chinks glasses and drinks to his new position.
‘They say luck comes in threes,’ he tells the Bob the dog the next morning as he carries up a small table and wooden chair he has found on the street. The dog follows him upstairs and is brave enough to go in, sniffing at the floor.
‘There. What do you think?’ He puts the furniture on the balcony. Bob sniffs around the bottom of the sofa and jumps up onto it. ‘No you don’t. Off.’ But the dog resists and as he pulls him off by the collar, the cushion slides and money spills onto the floor.
Dimitri gave Theo the keys the night before and told him to lock up. He retrieved the money from the bottomless bottle and spread it as evenly as he could with the rest of his savings, but it is clear now that he needs a better hiding place or a bank account even, like his Baba.
Staring at the floor he rocks ever so slightly backwards and forwards as he thinks. Banks are for serious adults running proper businesses, not make-do bar tenders creaming off the top. Besides this is not money he really wants anyone to know about. He sits on the floor amongst the scattered bank notes.
‘You know what, Bob? I have a dug myself a pit that I can’t get out of. Unless I walk away from my job. If I had taken half, Jimmy would still be there. If I had taken none, I could be honest, but I did neither and now I am destined to take a third every day so as not to be caught.’ The dog ignores him and settles its head on its paws. Theo ruffles its coat. ‘No, I do not want to think about it, either. Look, come see what I can do.’ The dog follows him into the bedroom, where he practises spinning and catching bottles. He pours himself a whiskey, and another.
Over the last few days, a routine has developed—sleeping till late afternoon. With his odd hours, Theo sees little of the man downstairs who seems to do all his chores in the morning. He still feels awkward when he sees Aikaterina sweeping the paths or hanging out her rugs and stiffly tries to make polite conversation. Sometimes he avoids her, which is easier than trying to find the words to right his earlier misconduct. He is uncomfortable about quite a few areas of his life at the moment, but the whiskey is helping. The weekend comes and goes unnoticed as one day is like the next, and sleep and whiskey take precedent.
A week later, he is lazing on his sofa when he thinks of Tasia and realises he has still not been to see her. But to go now would involve shaving and changing. He pours a whiskey instead. He will go next weekend without fail
.
The Gypsy is regularly on the roof, judging by the washing that comes and goes. When he sees her, Theo tries to talk to her, but she answers with few words and he has no idea what to say. She seems to have a great number of children and once, Theo asks her if there are any twins, which would account for her having so many children so young. She laughs.
His birthday comes and goes, but it is never something he has celebrated, not like his name day. Even so, he thinks of his mama on the day and hopes she is well and that Baba has not turned to bullying her.
The summer heat is deadening, the air stifling. Athens begins to empty at the start of August, with families travelling back to their villages for their summer break. The tarmac pavements and concrete buildings throw back heat everywhere Theo goes. He walks to try and escape it but there is no relief. His legs keep going until he is up on the hill where he slept that one night, the hot climb now not even rewarded with a slight breeze, just brown, lifeless scrubland and a soberness he has not felt for some time.
On his return, he does not plan to pass by Tasia’s street, but he finds himself on it. Slowing his pace as he approaches the kafeneio, he tears his fingers through his knotted hair, drags his palms down the front of his shirt. It’s no good, he cannot face her, he would not be able to look her in the eye when she asks the questions she is bound to ask about his job, whether he is making his mark. He must go back to the beach bar, get a job there as a manager, but could he take a smaller wage? He has grown used to seeing his pile grow. One day, it could be enough for his own bar, perhaps.
So he turns up a side street, glimpses her from a distance, stands under a wilting tree and watches her at work, he recalls her laugh, the way she looked at him. At one point, she looks up, beauty more radiant than he remembered, and Theo hides behind the slender tree, as if she could spot him at this distance. But her face is blank. Theo’s palms sweat. At home, he has a quick drink before work starts.
He almost doesn’t recognise the man as he settles himself by the till and orders his drink.
‘You the manager here now, then?’ Phaedon asks, smoothing, with both hands, his semi-circle of hair from ear to ear, his bald crown shining. It is too hot for his light coat, but he is still wearing a shirt and tie.
‘Yes. You haven’t been in for a while; how are you?’ Theo serves his drink.
‘Have one yourself,’ the man says, holding out a note.
‘Thanks, don’t mind if I do.’ Theo pours himself a generous bandy but does not take the man’s money.
‘Take it, please,’ he says. ‘And give me my change.’
Theo hesitates, looks around for Dimitri, but he is not there. Taking the money, Theo says, ‘You put me in a difficult spot.’
‘I am sure you can handle it.’ Phaedon takes his change and sips his drink. Theo knocks back a brandy. The man’s eyes are on him as his throat burns pleasantly with the liquid. Blinking rapidly, Theo tries to compose himself, but there is something about the way the man is looking at him that is uncomfortable. He puts his empty glass out of sight, swallows the drink in his mouth. Someone calls from the other end of the bar and Theo thankfully goes to serve him.
When he returns to the till, the man is still there.
‘Poor Jimmy, eh?’ he says.
‘Sorry?’ Theo asks, wondering if he has misheard, the music making conversation difficult. Makis is really overdoing the volume these days.
‘Unfortunate, Jimmy,’ the man repeats, louder.
‘What about Jimmy?’ Theo asks, a sudden weight in his chest.
‘You didn’t hear? Anyway, he is out now.’
‘Out?’ Theo eyes dart down the bar, checking for customers, his pulse in his temples.
‘Hospital. Bad news. They took everything of value from his flat. Apparently he has, or I should say had, a pretty set-up: latest colour TV, music system, leather sofa, an expensive set-up. And cash. Which he could really use now, I guess. But at least they say he will be able to walk again at some point.’
‘What!’ Theo shrieks so loud over the music that several people nearby turn to see what the fuss is. Colour rises in his cheeks, the brandy burning in his stomach, his legs weak. He grips the bar edge.
‘Oh yes. Very unlucky, poor man.’ There’s no emotion.
Theo can find no words to respond. This has something to do with Dimitri, he feels it in his gut. And who is this man? Is he here to issue a warning? He rubs his hand down his legs, over his pockets to feel how much his take of money is bulging. It feels flat enough, but he needs to hide it better, get a money belt or something. He has thought about reducing the amount he takes each day until he no longer takes anything at all, but then his savings would not grow, his own bar forever out of sight. So although the idea is sensible, each time he has money in his hand, he makes the wrong choice. He can always start tomorrow.
‘When?’ Theo asks. He would like to mop his brow, but he does not wish to draw attention to his sudden sweating.
‘The day after he left, I understand.’ The man sips the last of his drink.
Theo swallows.
‘Tell me. What do you make of Dimitri? Does he treat you well?’ Phaedon changes the subject with a light tone.
It must be a set-up. Theo pours himself another brandy. The man watches his every movement. The other girl working behind the bar comes to him with the payment she has just taken for a round. Theo automatically rings it up, gives her the change.
‘Do you hire the girls?’ Phaedon asks, watching her walk away. ‘Not as pretty as they used to be, but she looks like a hard worker.’
Theo tries to focus on what the man is saying, but he cannot shake the image of Jimmy in a wheelchair.
‘Er, yes. I don’t choose them for looks,’ Theo replies, not really thinking.
‘Oh, what do you judge them on, then?’ the man asks, putting his empty glass down. Theo reaches to refill it, but the man shakes his head.
‘Their nails,’ Theo says. The man gives him a sharp glance. ‘No, seriously,’ Theo defends. ‘If they have long nails, I don’t hire them. If they have broken, dirty nails, I don’t hire them. But if their nails are short and neat, I know they can work but also have some pride, and I hire them.’
The man smiles and flips a coin on the counter.
‘See you soon, Theo,’ he says, sliding off his bar stool. Theo wonders if this is a threat—how does he know his name?
‘Oh yeah, cheers. See you soon,’ Theo shouts over the music and as soon as the man is halfway through the crowd, he pours himself a brandy.
Chapter 14
October. 41 Years, 1 Month, 21 Days
A couple of days later, Theo returns from the shop with a tin of Greek coffee. Aikaterina is sweeping the steps up to his rooms. It has not occurred to him before that someone sweeps them, but it stands to reason, as they are always clean.
‘Hello, Mr Theo. Sorry I am early today. Normally, I do it when you are out so I don’t disturb you,’ she says in her thick accent.
‘That’s okay.’ Theo has an urge retreat to his rooms on the few occasions he sees her. Just her presence reminds him of his previous behaviour, makes him feel uncomfortable. But the shame is stronger, and he forces himself to find a word or two of conversation when they pass each other, to prove he is not rude, to relieve his guilt. They usually talk about the dog or some other neutral subject.
‘Are you well these days?’ he begins.
She does not meet his gaze but offers a safe response. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Are your family well? Where did you say you were from?’ Theo asks.
She looks up at this question, searching his face. ‘North,’ she replies, indicating a great distance with one hand, her hair straggling either side of her face.
‘No, I mean which part of the north?’ Theo is flattered by her shyness, as if it is an implication that he matters.
‘A place called Spillio, up near the borders of Turkey and Bulgaria.’ Her voice loses some tension, her face
softening with her thoughts of home.
‘Ah, a long way,’ Theo replies casually. ‘Do you miss it?’
At this, her face seems to lose structure, the corners of her mouth dropping, and tears well in her eyes.
‘Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to …’ Theo reaches out and touches her shoulder.
‘I am just very homesick. We thought life would be better here, but…’ She looks down at the broom head, taps her foot against it, her voice almost inaudible toward the end of her sentence.
‘Why don’t you go home, then?’ Theo asks.
The sound she makes is intended to be a laugh, but a sadder sound, Theo has never heard. He didn’t want to get involved, but her anguish touches him.
‘Tell me.’ Theo lets his own accent come through, encouraging her to talk.
‘We were prepared to work really hard,’ she qualifies.
‘Of course you were …’
‘We thought this place …’ She stops and looks down the steps, her eyes darting. Theo is intrigued. He has taken to neither Margarita or her mama. It could be reassuring to know there may be a basis for his mistrust.
Aikaterina takes courage. ‘We thought it was something great. We were given that room for free.’
‘For free?’ Theo realises there must be a catch, someone else coming to Athens and learning the hard way, poor girl.
‘Yes. All we had to do was a few small errands, you know, if the old lady needed anything. But over time, things have changed and now she wants us here all day, every day, at her command.’
‘Can you not find somewhere else to live?’ Theo asks.
‘She won’t let us go so we can get steady jobs. I get cleaning jobs when I can fit them around her, but that is only enough to feed us. It costs to move, even more to go home. She knows it.’ She begins to cry.