by Sara Alexi
‘Vasso, this is Yanni, my second cousin from Orinio island. Yanni ...’ Babis searches for his lighter but Yanni has his own, which he reaches out to offer, holding it lit whilst Babis says, ‘Vasso is the heart of the village.’ Yanni notices some of her lipstick is on her teeth. He nods to acknowledge their introduction. Babis has hold of his hand, which is swaying, to light his cigarette from his lighter, which Yanni has forgotten he was holding.
‘I have had a comment a bit like that before, but I still think I am more like the lungs, with the amount the men in this village smoke. You want your usual, Babis?’ She giggles to herself as she turns to the stack of packets next to her inside her wooden hutch. She puts the pack on top of the boxes of chewing gum displayed in front of her little window. The chewing gums compete with boxes of biros, packets of tissues, plastic cups wrapped in more plastic, the gaily coloured writing on the outside telling of the coffee and sugar and dried milk within - just add water and shake for a frappe - packets of biscuits and opened packs of batteries so it is possible to buy just one. Yanni looks away. There is too much to take in.
‘Thanks.’ Babis picks up the pack and searches his pockets. ‘So there you go, Yanni. Tomorrow’s your best bet. On their open day, they make food for anyone who goes up there. Most of the village will go. The sisters will all be so busy, you will find no one.’ Babis pays for his cigarettes. ‘But I suppose it depends on how long you are here for.’
‘Then tomorrow it must be,’ Yanni says, more to himself than Babis.
‘You here long? Yanni, was it?’ Vasso asks. Babis nods to the second question.
‘No.’ Yanni wants to leave his answer at that. To say how long will commit him, even if it turns out to be longer than is necessary. To say, ‘As short as possible’ might offend, but they are both looking at him. He has to say something. One day to deliver the package to the nuns and see Sophia, one day to buy a donkey and go home? ‘Two days.’
‘Two days! Is that it after all this time! We will have to make the most of it. See you, Vasso.’ Babis swings an arm across Yanni’s shoulder and leads him towards Theo’s kafeneio. ‘So listen, this time. I will tell you the plan. Yeia sou Theo.’ They trip up the three steps into the high-ceilinged room. Along the back wall runs a counter. Cups and plates are stacked as if used and awaiting washing, clustered here and there along its length. Behind the counter, on the back wall, shelves reach from end to end and as high as a man can reach. Clean cups and glasses cause the shelves to bow slightly in the middle. In the room itself, there is little by way of adornment, no pictures, nothing unnecessary. White walls brown with age and tobacco smoke, metal tables painted pale grey, chipped in places and rusty at the joints, wooden chairs painted the same grey. Stark, basic, serviceable, practical, and a little tired-looking.
A man with a mop of greying frizzy hair nods at them as they enter. His crown of hair bobs with the movement. He is serving coffees to two men who can only be farmers, their baggy dark trousers stained with earth at the hem, their shirts rolled to the elbow for ease of movement.
‘Well hello again, Yanni,’ Theo says once he has set down the cups he is holding. Yanni wonders if a reply is expected and if so, what would be appropriate. Babis is shaking hands with two men at a different table and then raises a hand to wave to four men in the front corner of the room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows that look down across the square meet the floor-to-ceiling windows that look across at the corner shop.
‘Yeia.’ Yanni settles for a short greeting that is only just audible. Theo smiles and, picking up a dirty ashtray on the way, goes behind the high wooden counter and busies himself. Yanni can now hear a tap running.
‘You know, if tomorrow is my only chance, I should get some sleep.’ Yanni sidles nearer Babis. His feet have stopped floating, his legs are now made of lead. They only move with a great deal of effort.
‘Two days, Yanni, for God’s sake, two days. You think I am going to spend them asleep, my cousin!’ Babis pulls out a chair at a free table. Its wooden legs scrape across the concrete floor, the paint worn off the foot rail and stretcher to show the layers of different colours it has been over the years. The pointed toe of Babis’ Cuban boot hits the metal leg of the tripod table as he sits down, ringing out. ‘Two ouzos, Theo, please. Glasses, not shots. Now sit down, Yanni, and listen.’
Is there a choice? He must keep his focus. He is here for a reason. But he must not be rude. It is kind of Babis to give him a bed; he knows he could not have afforded to stay in paid accommodation. Also Babis has taken him out for food and welcomed him with an introduction to everyone they have met. He could not be a better host. Buying a donkey, this is work, and so everything that buying the animal entails must also be regarded as work. He has never shirked from work. Besides, another ouzo might bring back that floating feeling and, also, from this table he will have a view across the square, Stella and Mitsos’ taverna on the left and the sandwich shop on the right. There she is!
Yanni sits down, his legs not quite doing his bidding.
‘Right, listen.’ Babis moves his chair in front of Yanni, blocking his view. ‘Orino Island has become a playground for the rich, yes?’
‘What?’ Yanni leans to look over Babis’ shoulder.
‘The yachts at the weekend, the holiday homes for the Americans.’ Babis’ arms are crossed in front of him on the table and he is leaning towards Yanni.
‘So?’ Yanni is also leaning over slightly to concentrate on the view behind Babis’ head. She has gone inside again. He looks at Babis’ face, his youth very apparent at close range. He has rings of dense eyelashes round his eyes which give the impression that he is wearing eyeliner. His cheeks are plump and a little bit saggy, as if his body cannot decide whether to be fat or thin. Dark circles run under both eyes and he has a line between his brows as if he frowns a lot. It is not an unpleasant face, but it is always too close when he talks. Yanni pushes his chair back a little.
‘How many estate agents are on the island?’ Babis asks
‘No idea.’
‘No, go on. How many have you heard of? You must have heard who is doing that sort of thing,’ Babis insists.
‘I haven’t heard of anybody, but then, it is not something I would remember.’ Yanni stubs out his cigarette. The commercial filtered ones are all right for a change but they are strong and taste of chemicals.
‘Do you remember hearing the last time a house changed hands?’
‘No. Yes. Kyria Vetta sold her yiayia’s house when she died, to some American.’ Yanni sits back even further as Theo delivers their ouzos. Ice comes in a dish with a spoon so they can add it themselves and there is also a glass of water each and a small plate of cheese on bread cut into squares and slices of sausage on toothpicks.
‘And how did the American find out about Kyria Vetta’s house?’
‘I have no idea. No, wait. The American saw a sign up in her shop window.’ He is still watching, but she has not come out again.
‘And there you have it: no estate agent.’ Babis sits back and slaps the table with the flats of his hands, making the glasses jump. For a moment, the kafeneio is quiet, heads turn. Yanni sinks a little in his seat, tries not to make eye contact with those who are looking. ‘The price of houses on your island has gone up and up and up until the locals can no longer afford to buy, isn’t that right? Your island, Yanni my friend, is enticing the mega rich with its donkeys and no cars, all those loaded tourists seeking a bit of the old life. You are sitting on a gold mine.’
‘I don’t own a house in the town.’ Yanni watches the lights go off in the sandwich shop and a shadow comes out, locks the door, and walks away into the dark. Until that moment, it has not occurred to him that she might have someone who would walk her home, a husband, a boyfriend. He wishes her no loneliness but he is relieved that there is no one waiting for her. His mouth is dry. He sips some water but his stomach is churning, so he takes a sip of ouzo, hoping the aniseed will have a calming effect. The bu
rn in his throat takes his mind from his stomach. The second sip brings him some relief and he gets the floating feeling again, which makes him smile.
‘No, but an introduction fee is two percent. If you find the buyer and the seller, that’s four percent. Name your price, let’s say it is a house worth half a million, four percent is twenty thousand euros, and for what? Knowing a house is for sale and finding a buyer!’ Babis takes a big drink of his ouzo and grabs a piece of sausage on its cocktail stick, which he waves around as he talks. ‘Well I can find the buyers, I have a friend who has a friend who can write websites. So we make a website, people email us when they’re interested, and we help the sale go through and take the four percent.’
It must be getting smoky; everything is blurred. Yanni rubs his eyes. ‘What has this to do with me?’
‘You, you are the linchpin, the secret weapon, the eyes and the ears. You put feelers out and find out who is selling what. I’ll get you a camera, you can take pictures of the houses that are for sale, we put them up on the website and, bam! We become rich men. What do you say?’
Chapter 10
‘To us.’ Babis raises his glass. ‘Yeia mas.’ Yanni lifts his own glass; it is the polite thing to do. They drink. Babis is grinning from ear to ear.
‘I do see a slight problem with your plan.’ Yanni has a passing interest in the way his words are coming out, slurred one into another with esses and zeds thrown in, making him sound Russian or Ukrainian. He leans forward, and with his elbow on the table, he raises his first finger, which begins to wave of its own accord in front of Babis’ face. What was he thinking about? Oh yes, going into other peoples’ houses, making small talk whilst photographing their private rooms! Could there be anything more distasteful? ‘I,’ he begins and slowly shakes his head to match his waving finger. ‘I ...’ he tries again, but the words will not come. He gives up and, looking at Babis, shrugs his shoulders, still shaking his head.
‘But why would you not!’ Babis exclaims. Yanni shrugs again, smoothing out his moustache.
The men on the next table have begun a game of tavli. The sound of wood clacking on wood takes his attention. His baba taught him tavli, and the memory twists his mouth into a smile. He loses focus on the room. It was on his return from taking the goats out by himself for the first time. His mama and baba looked up from their work, Mama washing clothes by the well, Baba fixing a handle back onto a pan.
‘Here he is, our boy, the man,’ Mama said proudly. His oversized trousers flapping around his ankles as he walked. He pulled them up as they sagged over his hips. They were his baba’s old work trousers, cut off at the knee and sewn up by his mama so they would fit, to protect him from the spiky bushes on the far grazing ground.
His baba said nothing. Quietly, he put down the pan and slipped into the house, coming out with a flat box. He kicked two buckets over for seats, opened the box, and laid it flat on the ground. It was a tavli board. Baba said nothing, just arranged the pieces and waited for Yanni to sit. They played a lot of tavli for months after that. A game each time he returned with the goats. The routine was only broken when he began his spasmodic attendance at school.
‘Oh!’ The exclamation is one of real pain. Yanni turns his attention back to Babis, scanning his hands, his fingers, his face. There is no sign of outer damage. ‘Oh no.’ Babis lowers his face into his hands, groaning. Aware that the men from other tables are looking at them, Yanni bows his head and sips at his ouzo.
‘Babis, what is it?’ he asks in a low tone, his head in his own hands, but only so they form shields on either side of his eyes, to make the space between him and his cousin more private, to keep this display of emotion contained.
‘Oh God!’ Babis pushes back from the table with both hands and throws his head back. He has the attention of the entire room now. Yanni signals to Theo to refill Babis’ glass, which he does, trotting over with the bottle, his hair bouncing. He automatically fills Yanni’s too. But Yanni is unaware. All he can sense is all eyes on them and his cousin’s harrowing display.
‘Here, take a drink,’ Yanni offers quietly. Babis stops looking at the ceiling, his head lowering until he meets Yanni’s stare, whereupon he shakes his head.
‘Damn, damn, damn.’
‘What, what?’ Yanni whispers. The people are still looking.
‘Just a minute. Let me think this through.’
‘What, what is it? Just tell me?’ Yanni’s voice impatient, wanting all the tension to go away.
‘Will you let me think? Oh God.’
Yanni puts the ouzo in Babis’ hand again and he drinks. Yanni waits. Babis’ breathing slows.
‘Tell me.’
‘I have just realized that I have done something really, really stupid. I have blown my career before it is started. I have shot myself before my first pay. I am finished.’ With this, he knocks the remains of his drink back. The other men in the kafeneio begin a low murmur of talk amongst themselves and slowly, the attention on Yanni and Babis eases. Yanni takes a quick gulp from his own glass. Not wanting to pry, he says no more but Babis sits and groans quietly to himself until Yanni feels forced to say something.
‘This thing you have done, can it not be undone?’
‘I wrote on the contract the wrong calculation. The amount that should come to my client on the sale of his house should be more, but I wrote the objective value where I should have written the real value and I have lost him thousands. The difference is not a small sum. He will sue me for sure. No one will ever use me again for such work.’ He groans again. Theo trots over again and tops up both glasses.
‘Can it not be changed?’ Yanni wishes his thoughts would not jumble so before he speaks.
‘The contract sits in the Gerasmio’s office ready to be typed up and given its official stamp. Once that happens, nothing can change it. It is done. The change of ownership will be registered in the land registry office and that will be that …’ He groans again and drinks. Yanni is almost unaware that he drinks, too. The height of emotion being displayed by Babis is making his mouth dry; he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. If he thought he could stand, maybe he would run. Run like the goats run from the teeth of dogs.
‘Stop the dog from biting,’ Yanni slurs.
‘What?’
‘Talk to the seller’s lawyer, and you can both go to the notary. Go in the morning and change it before it is typed.’ He opens both palms facing upward to emphasize the simplicity of the solution.
‘Yeah, right!’ Babis snaps. ‘Gerasimos is my rival. For years, he has had the privilege of little to no competition. He will have been aware of what I have done when I did it. He did not speak up. This is his opportunity for him to make sure I do not become a rival and at the same time he will save his client a great deal of money. It is all good for him. There is no motivation to change it; his motivation will be to keep the mistake.’
‘But if you explain to him?’ Yanni cannot understand such a man as the one Babis describes. ‘He too was once setting out. Surely he will have some …’ The word he is seeking will not come. He looks to the ceiling until he finds it. ‘Compassion,’ he finally erupts, his head dropping back to Babis’ gaze.
‘He will laugh. He is one of the big boys, friends with the mayor. He is the one doing the conveyancing for all the houses in the village that will have to be sold. He has no compassion.’
‘You know. I heard today that the surveyors have been up to Mitsos and Stella’s place and even they might have to sell? It must be the oldest house in the village up there on the hill, and if that isn’t safe, none of us are.’ The man on the next table leans over to inform them as if he is part of the conversation.
‘I even heard a rumour that they have been to Marina’s. The village will be a different place without her corner shop,’ his companion rejoins.
‘But surely not. It isn’t long since she rebuilt it?’ the first man says. The second shrugs. Yanni closes one eye to stop the two men becoming four. ‘Has Ba
bis told you all this?’ one of the men asks. Yanni is not sure if he is being addressed so he tuts his ‘no’ anyway, just in case.
‘They have found a fault in the ground under the village. They are saying some of the houses in the village that lay on the fault are unsafe. Likely to collapse. The local government is saying it is a catastrophe and they will be forcing people to do expensive repairs to avoid their homes being declared unsafe. If they do not do it, their homes will, in the name of safety, be boarded up.’
His companion interrupts. ‘The other option is to sell to someone who can afford to do the repairs. There is always someone who will buy, if the price is low enough.’
‘Damianos has decided to sell. So has old Maria.’
‘No! But where will they go?’ The second man speaks as if this is news to him.
The other shrugs. ‘What choice have they? Either their houses are boarded up and they have no bed or they sell and they have no bed, but at least they will have a bit of money in their pockets.’
Yanni reaches for his tobacco pouch but one of the men offers a ready-rolled cigarette from the pack on his table. Because it is there, Yanni accepts, offering a light in return, not having noticed the man has not taken one himself. Once his own is lit, he picks up his glass and almost forgets to take the cigarette from his mouth as he goes to drink.
‘Drink up!’ Babis’ head comes out of his hands. His eyes are wide, he is smiling. Yanni wonders what he has missed, where the sudden change in mood has come from. ‘Come on, drink up.’ Babis stands, energy in his limbs. He finishes his own drink, slaps Yanni on the back, and steps over to Theo, who is behind the counter. Seeing money being exchanged, Yanni stumbles to his feet and fishes into his back pocket to find only a single coin.
‘Hey friend, you have dropped your money,’ the man at the next table says. Yanni looks at the floor to see his roll of notes unfurling. So much money. More money than he has ever had at one time. All the money in the world. Enough to buy a donkey and get home. Scooping it up, he wonders if his back pocket is the best place to keep it. Perhaps his breast pocket is best. Or his front pocket. He decides on his front pocket.