Thank Goodness, my English was good. I had my childhood friends to be grateful to: Wilde, Dickens and Austen. It was thanks to them that I had learnt English so I could read their works in their original language. At long last, it was time to redeem all those quips and quiddities I’d accumulated as an unusual child.
The voice announced the train would arrive in eleven minutes. At nine minutes, the engine appeared, at ten it slowed down before me, at eleven it ground to a stop. Finding my carriage, I hopped on board. Putting my suitcase in its place, I nestled myself in my window-seat, alone with my desire to feel the train accelerate, leaving Ancona behind.
It didn’t take long to see the station move away and hear its humdrum sounds fade into nothingness. Once again, I felt such elation… I lived dreamlike moments. I was unstoppable in my ache to live each day.
I hid myself away in a deep sleep to pass the time.
24
I was nearly comatose for six hours. I woke only when the lights of Milano Centrale dazzled me. Nobody had bothered to wake me up; that’s why I was one of the last passengers to disembark. I pulled down my suitcase, hopped off and started looking around for the ticket office.
I was lucky. The train to Paris left in an hour. It was morning and the station was teeming with people. I wandered around. The station looked like a small town. I had never seen such a thing. I saw a telephone booth and it suddenly dawned on me that I had overlooked something critical.
I had forgotten to notify my brother. He must surely have learnt what happened and would be frantically worried by now. I groped for some coins in my pocket.
«Hello», I suddenly heard on the other side of the line.
«Pavlos?»
«At last, Vassilis! Where the hell have you been? You’ve driven me up the wall!» He didn’t sound as happy as I had expected.
«You’re right. I should have called you earlier.»
«Where are you?»
«At the railway station, in Milan.»
«Milan? What the hell are you doing there? It’s going to take you at least two days to get here by train. Better catch a plane! We’re worried about you. Aunt and Uncle are beside themselves.»
The father I never had was now talking to me on the other side of the line. I tried to put his mind at ease.
«Pavlos, listen to me. I need some more time on my own. That’s why I’m coming by train. I don’t know if you’ve learnt what happened.»
His voice calmed down. «I have... How are you?»
«I’m feeling stronger with each hour. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be there soon and we’ll talk about it all. Just call our aunt and tell her we’ve spoken.»
After I promised to call him back as soon as I arrived in Paris, I hung up. Inadvertently, I had spoken the truth. Every hour was coloured by something new. My mind had no time to go back to the past; not when it had to stay put for the present.
25
Less than an hour later, seated on the waiting train, I was looking out the window. I observed, one by one, all the people who were waiting for the train bound for their destination. They all had the same expression on their faces. I might have the same expression myself. It might be the expression all travellers have. The expression of fatigue mixed with desire. If that was the case, then I had it, too, though mine was coloured in black and blue.
It was ten past eleven and the train departed in three minutes’ time. While wandering around the platform before boarding, my eyes were shaken by a sudden tornado flying in the direction of the train. I thought it would overturn us all, but, as it came closer, I saw a pretty, well-dressed girl, simply running to catch the train.
She boarded the carriage, puffing and panting, looking for an empty seat. The one next to me was her only choice. She turned to look at me with a pair of glittering eyes.
«Sta bene, signore?» she asked me, seeing my bruises.
I understood that she had spoken in Italian, though her accent was strange, perhaps French.
«I don’t speak Italian», I said in English.
She understood and repeated her question in the same language.
«I’m Greek, and I’m going to England», I explained a little later, having already reassured her that the injuries weren’t as inconvenient as they seemed.
«Oh! And you chose the train for such a long trip!»
«Yes. It’s a long story.»
«Not with a good ending, I suppose», she said, speaking English with a pleasant French accent.
I saw what was going to happen. That girl would effortlessly elicit my story, beginning with my lost parents and ending at my girlfriend’s unfaithfulness and a friend’s betrayal. I wouldn’t be able to refuse. After all, I needed a stranger to confide in and get it all off my chest; someone I would travel with for several hours and later would say goodbye to, never see each other again.
She sat next to me, her body leaning towards mine, so that she could listen more attentively. She wore a colourful cap and a matching woollen scarf. She had a charming voice, deep, but not raspy, from which I could gather she was around my age — or perhaps slightly older.
Only when she took off her cap did I see her more clearly. An oval face framed her expressive black eyes and an elegant nose, rendered with the classic, French chisel. Her thin lips exuded civility and seriousness, which gave her face an air of insouciance and naivety. A halo of golden yellow hair fell softly to her shoulders.
«My name’s Angelique; I’m French — if you haven’t already figured that out», she said and smiled, starting our conversation in a somewhat official way. «I was in Milan for a day to see a friend of mine, and now I’m back off to Paris.»
We shook hands as I introduced myself. «I’m Vassilis and... I told you already, I’m Greek and I’m off to London.»
«...by train due to a long story with not a good ending», she added, smilingly summing up what we had said before.
«Bon voyage.»
«Bon voyage», I repeated with a bad French accent, and decided to continue our conversation. «So, do you live in Paris?»
«No. I’ll be staying at my grandma’s for only a few days and then I’ll be catching the train for Strasbourg. That’s where I live.»
I learnt that she had grown up in Strasbourg and was studying International Relations, even though her dream was to become a photographer.
Having left Milan behind, we were travelling with the sun following us — its warm light suffusing our carriage.
«Are you studying?» I heard her ask me, while I looked abstractly at the passing outskirts of Milan.
«Me? No.»
«No? What are you doing? Working?»
«Sort of. I used to have a bookshop in Greece, which I’ve... left behind now that I’m moving to London.»
Angelique knitted her eyebrows. «Hmm... I don’t quite understand, but I guess that’s part of the long story.»
«Exactly.»
She smiled shyly, before she put her thought in words:
«Since it sounds to be a really long story, why don’t we fill our long journey with it? I like listening to stories. Unless, of course, you don’t want to share it with a stranger...»
I had foreseen my inability to refuse this predictable invitation. I looked at her, without replying. I held my smile up to hers and began telling her my story:
«Well... I’m going to England to live with my brother, whom I met only two years ago — I’d hold back surprise until later on! This is only the beginning…»
Almost too quickly, I managed to recount all that had happened in my life of nineteen years, laying more emphasis on the past four. My narration was often punctuated by Angelique’s exclamation marks of surprise, her spontaneous interjections and her witty remarks. I talked to her about Aunt Urania, Uncle Haralambos, Pavlos, Thanos, Michalis, Ellie, the house by the sea, the beautiful veranda, the pub in London, the bookshop and all that was a blot on the paper of my life. Then, I explained what had happened two days before.
> «So, you decided to leave everything behind and start from scratch?»
«Exactly.»
«You know, I have a saying... Never look back. The only thing you’ll find is what you left behind or what let you go.»
I couldn’t but wholeheartedly agree with her. However, much as I agreed, I couldn’t keep my mind from strolling around back in Greece.
«I must admit I’m impressed. You’re my age and you’ve been through so much. How much more are you going to live with all that force of yours?»
Angelique’s question struck fear into my soul. That was something I had never wondered about. If all this was just the beginning, what did the future hold for me? What would the end be like?
«And you’ll be working at your brother’s pub?»
«Yes. At least in the beginning...»
«I see... Have you ever realised how full your story is of paradoxes?»
«Paradoxes? No. What are they?»
«You’ve been lucky, despite your trials and tribulations. You may have grown up without parents, but you were raised by a good family. Your girlfriend betrayed you, but you lived each moment of a wonderful love affair together. You fled your country, but there was a place for you to go. Imagine all those who want to give it all up and escape, but hesitate because they have nowhere to go.»
She was right, but I didn’t put it in words.
«So that was my story. Change the subject now?»
«To what?»
«How about your story? For example, what do you want to do once you graduate?»
«Hmm, what I want... I want to work for the European Union, in one of its offices in Paris.»
«In Paris? Why not Strasbourg?»
«I grew up in Strasbourg. I don’t want to spend my entire life there. It’s a charming city, but life is too long to live out in just one place. After all, Francois and I have plans to live in Paris.»
«Francois?»
«Yes, my boyfriend. We’ve been together for two years now.»
It was silly, but this news somehow made me sad. It was as if I had already fallen in love with her and Francois was my only obstacle.
She was head over heels in love with him apparently. He was in the last year of his Architecture degree, at the same university where she was studying. Listening to her talk about him with such fond joy, an unexpected desire came over me to steal some of that happiness and sprinkle it like icing over my wounds.
How badly I wanted to swap places with Francois. It would be him travelling to Paris and me waiting for Angelique in Strasbourg.
The view of the carriage filled with passengers who were talking, reading or sleeping, brought me crashing back to reality. My thoughts filled Angelique’s pauses.
«May I ask you something?»
«Sure.»
«Aren’t you curious to know what Michalis and Ellie did that night when they learnt you left Greece?»
Was I? Probably not.
«I think that, for the time being, I just want to forget about them. As you said, to not look back. To be honest, when I was on the ship, I wondered endlessly whether they’d apologise or not. But now, even if they do, I’ll never be able to go back to Greece and be with them. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.»
«What do you think will become of their relationship?»
«I don’t think it will last. They’ll split up. On the one hand, they will fight over who is more to blame, and on the other, they’ll have to face the music of Thanos and Natalia... How long could they keep it up?»
We talked for hours on end about all sorts of things, important or trivial. It was so intriguing talking to her. She had an informed opinion on everything: art, literature, love, friendship, loneliness…
During our pauses, I carried on observing our fellow passengers. They were splayed out in their seats, weary from their long journey. That traveller’s expression I had observed hours before, at Milano Centrale, now seemed to have crumpled.
Angelique had also allowed her eyes wander up and down the aisle. «Can you imagine how many stories these people could tell? Some might be even more outlandish than yours», she said, then paused for a while before continuing. «You know what I do when I’m amongst many people? I levitate off the ground with my mind. It’s like flying. After I’ve reached a certain height, I feel I can understand more things about them. It’s as if I can see the threads that connect them. You may think it strange, but I believe everybody on Earth is connected in some uncanny way. For example, one of these passengers may have had a beer at your brother’s pub — who knows?»
I tried to absorb her every word, and although I attempted a flight myself, I didn’t manage to fly high enough.
«Is this also a way to feel closer to people?»
«Yes, in a way. For instance, when I was a little girl, I had a sense of the life my grandmother lived in Paris, even though I’d never been there. Isn’t it bizarre?»
I didn’t answer; it was more of a rhetorical question, anyway. We were both tired, not of our conversation, but from the lazy light of an overcast afternoon that made our eyes heavy. We spoke no more, as if we had unspokenly agreed to suspend our talk. I dozed off quickly.
26
When I woke up, I hastily looked around to see where I was. Next to me, I saw Angelique sleeping languorously in her seat, like most of the other passengers. Outside the window, the dusk had donned an orange-red coat hanging from the sky, which was getting darker. The journey continued.
I shuffled in my seat, generating staticky sounds. It was my bones protesting the long immobility.
I’ll catch a plane, I thought. I was too tired to continue the journey by train. A kind of impatience had come over me and I felt more anxious with each passing minute. The expanse of land we were traversing seemed endless.
Angelique turned in her seat and opened her eyes. She gazed at me without speaking. A whole minute passed before she asked:
«Didn’t you sleep at all?»
«Oh, I did. I just woke up.»
Her eyes settled on my bruises. «They ache?»
I told her I’d forgotten all about them. I didn’t feel any pain at all, nor did I care how they looked.
A little later, she announced we were approaching Paris; an hour later, we were standing in a long queue from the carriage onto the platform.
«What are you doing now?» she asked after we disembarked.
«I’m taking a taxi to the airport. You?»
«I’m taking the metro to my grandma’s.»
«So, I guess we have to say goodbye.»
Angelique nodded and moved closer to hug me. I felt drops of rain falling down inside me, through a faucet saying I would never see her again.
«I hope you’ll turn over a new leaf and everything will be smoother and less fraught...»
«Thank you very much. I hope you will always have the most wonderful time!»
She let out an innocent giggle. How lucky Francois was...
I looked at her once more; my last words were a smile of farewell, twisted into a grimace. I lifted my suitcase and walked towards the exit, having a new hope, more crystallised than the one I had two days before: to find, in London, my own Angelique...
27
Three and a half hours later, I was sitting at a small window, watching the airport fade into the distance. As the plane accelerated, I relished the sensation of the g-forces pulling my body deep into the seat. My deep feeling of escape now escalated with the lift-off from French soil. What a beautiful feeling!
I was going to begin my new life in no time. The disappointment, sorrow, pain and confusion that betrayal had foisted upon my heart would exist no more.
We flew among clouds, which passed hurriedly by like transparent ghosts. In the distance, I could make out some dim lights. My heart began to beat faster.
It was the very first picture I had of England, a blackboard with many white spots; first sparse, then clustering more densely, till they fused to into the lines of roads.<
br />
Exiting the plane through a jet bridge, along with my fellow passengers, I walked through to passport control, and then towards the arrivals hall. I would collect my one and only suitcase, and make it to the exit, where my brother would be waiting for me. I felt a pang at the thought, which grew into a craving. I’d informed him of my change of plans and he had promised to pick me up from Heathrow. I hadn’t seen him for seven months since his last visit to Greece, the previous summer.
He was there, behind the sliding doors, among the impatient strangers, with a smile he painted onto his face just for me. By his side was Samantha. It was the first time I’d seen her in the flesh. The photos Pavlos had shown me didn’t do her justice at all. She was so much prettier.
He pulled me into his arms.
«Hi, Vassilis», Samantha greeted me in good Greek, hugging me.
«Hi, Samantha. Glad to meet you at last!»
«These», he said, touching my still tender face with compassion, «need some care.»
He took my suitcase, gently holding the nape of my neck, and made it for the exit, his girlfriend beaming. We walked a long distance through the undercover parking to his light blue, five-door Vauxhall. Not wanting to take Samantha’s place, I politely sat in the back. Instantly, it struck me that the car didn’t have a steering wheel, but sheepishly realised my naivety of habit and tried to relax.
I was amazed by Samantha’s command of Greek. I told her as much.
«Well, I’ve learnt quite a lot. Seven years with Paul...», she replied, stroking his hair, while he smiled at me in the mirror.
I smiled back, happy for both of them. I couldn’t keep myself from looking outside.
England was a foreign land to me. Still, it was the country where my father was born, where my mother was killed and where my brother grew up. So then, how could this country be that foreign? I was the foreigner. I had to get used to it, jump into it and swim down to its bottom. I had to mingle with its people, exchange Vassilis for Bill, look right when crossing the road, become accustomed to the rain and replace my coffee with tea. I would manage it, but I needed a little time.
A Life In A Moment Page 6