'Do Maria and Manolis know?'
'Godfrey, the whole village knows. They've always known. And those that wonder just have to look at you.' She paused and took a deep breath. 'Godfrey, I have to ask you for an enormous favour.'
'Auntie, I'll do anything, you know that.'
'Well, I know you're only here for two weeks but I was wondering … would you help me with all the paperwork, the regulations and things? And I'll probably need you to help me put the house on the market. I want to return to my other home, in Cornwall.'
'What? I definitely wasn't expecting that. Why on earth would you leave this place for damp old windy Cornwall?'
'Oh, my age, nostalgia, maybe the pasties,' she laughed. 'I have to go forward now, and it would be too painful here by myself, too many memories. No, this silly old girl's finally coming home.'
'Whatever you say, but are you sure you're doing the right thing? It'll be quite a wrench.'
'Positive,' she stood up and took my hand. 'Come on. Let me show you something else.' She led me through rows of tomatoes and zucchinis past an old bucket full of mint, and a tool shed in the yard to a spot where we could look back at the pitched roof and golden proportions of the villa.
'Pity about the shower head hanging off the wall. Not quite historic Greece', I said.
'Oh, I don't know. Pantelis had it put in for Alexis,' she pointed across the yard to a stone outhouse in one corner. 'That's the other thing. We have a sitting tenant. That's where he sleeps. It's something else we need to think about.'
'Alexis? Who is this man?'
'Alexis Vasilerakis. He and Pantelis were very close. Think of Jeeves.'
'Which one of them was the Jeeves?'
'I've often wondered. Alexis was not just the odd-job man for Pantelis but his apprentice and also the village shepherd. The village shepherd is an honourable position and carries great responsibilities not to mention great gossip, as you can imagine. He's on his way back with the goats from little Faria island now. I'm sure you'll meet him very soon.'
Just then I heard a sharp squeak coming from somewhere close by. Then it came again. It couldn't be mistaken. It was the mewing of a kitten.
Auntie saw it first, 'Oh my goodness, look up there. It's Mikri.' On the roof of the house, way up in the sky was a tiny triangle of cat. A kitten's face looked down from the roof, its ears as big as its head, its astonished eyes taking up most of its features. It was scruffy, off-white from head to kinked tail. 'I think that belongs to Alexis. He hasn't had it long and now it looks like it's trapped in its new domain. See if you can get it down.'
With a little twitching of a twig and flicking bits of stone I managed to coax him close enough to grab him round the middle and bring him down. Once in the yard, he trotted over to the eucalyptus in the corner, clawed his way up until he could gallop along the top of the wall and from there he jumped onto the balcony, up one of the shutters and back onto the roof. My aunt came up behind me and snuggled into my back, 'I'm a little worried, Godfrey. Will you be alright?' I put my arms around her and kissed her forehead, 'Why don't you go and have a siesta, you've had quite a day already. It'll do you good.' I nodded.
On my way across the yard I watched Mikri trotting around, tail in the air, eyes shining with joy, mewing, happy and safe. Back inside, I dragged myself up the stairs to my room and collapsed on the bed barely able to stay awake. Having my own space in this foreign country was liberating in one way but disquieting in another, leaving me feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny of the few outsiders swaggering round the town. But it wasn't long before I was drifting away in visions of myself and Mikri patrolling the yard, guardians of our own domain.
A gentle drone disturbed my sleep growing louder by the second and I hadn't a clue what it was until I stretched and felt something moving on the bed. Mikri! And then it all came back. I could hear him purring as he stepped forward to sit on my chest and stare at my face. Through my eyelashes I watched him lift a paw and dab my chin then when I groaned he made a tactical retreat across my body to the safety of the folded sheet. I glanced at the clock just as its alarm bell sounded. Crikey O'Riley! Five already! Two hours to go. I silenced the alarm and turned on the shower, realising at once all the sadness and strangeness that lay waiting in the service.
Coming down the stairs, to my surprise I saw the front door was wide open and in its silent shadows sat a man, as brown as a nut, reading a book with an incongruous dark blue corduroy baseball cap on his head with the word EXPERT emblazoned on the front. He looked up, nodding to me and as though I'd just entered the surgery then after some moments of bemused consideration, he jumped to his feet, bowed, and with a very straight back he saluted me, 'Kalispera. You must be Mr. Godfrey. Apologies. I set the alarm clock for you. I am Alexis Vasilerakis at your service. How do you do? You came with the post van for the funeral of your father, my friend Pantelis Lambrakis.'
He was a man about my own age, not tall, perhaps five six, but thickset, strong and sharp. With a solemn inclination of his head, he indicated his chair. 'Please.' So I sat down and waited like a patient while he busied himself in the kitchen. After a couple of minutes he returned carrying a cup of instant coffee and some slices of melon on a tray, 'If you would like, it might be more pleasant in the yard now the sun is at the front.'
We moved outside and he placed the tray on an old weather-worn table. At its feet lay a coil of dirty white kitten that I recognised. 'For you. Eat the melon first, then sip the coffee. And you have met Mikri; he thinks he lives here - in every room.' With the toe of his boot he tickled the scrap of white fur making it purr and stretch and twist onto its back. He was like a shaman caring for the possessed. We sat wondering what to do or say next. I smiled my friendliest smile and gave far too much attention to the scratches on my hand.
I had expected the house to be empty but now here I was, having to explain to this simple, unsophisticated stranger that his whole life was about to change because we were going to sell the place he called his home. From somewhere on the other side of the wall came the slow chewing and crunching of the sea and I wondered how to begin to tell him of what was to come.
'Alexi, I will be staying at the villa just until we decide what to do with it.' I sounded intrusive and he looked confused so we fell in silence once again.
'I have lived in the villa with Mr. Pantelis for many years. Sir, I am many things - cleaner, engineer, cook, whatever you want. I am very strong. I am pleased to work for you now.' His voice was a troubled voice and almost too faint to hear.
'Where did you learn so many skills?'
'In the navy. I was even a boxer.'
'A boxer? Any good?'
'Good? Good? I was so good they called me the Canvas Kid because I always ended up on the canvas. I lost every one of my fights.' We laughed.
'Every one?'
'Every one in the ring, I lose. But outside the ring? I win.'
'Well, we'll see. But don't worry, everything will be all right. We'll take care of you somehow.' This was not the sort of man to treat lightly. I looked down at my guilty boots and avoided his eyes, trying to think of some way to tell him. All was silent now except for the screaming of the swifts and our mutual embarrassment. What right did I have to wield this big stick? Why me? Why should somewhere so beautiful and so remote be threatened by such contortions? My elation had evaporated. These things were not me. I was out of my usual scope. Do they have sitting tenants in Greece? How could we insist a prospective buyer must let him stay? There was much to find out. I was lost, didn't know what to say. I looked down at my hands and across to his and saw all his fingernails were broken, all except for those on the little fingers. These were long and cultivated and made me wonder whether he played music as well as doing every thing else.
'Alexi, what about the music. I've heard that Sophian melodies come from the sea.'
'It's true. You hear them at night when you can't sleep. Some were taught to me by my father. He, too, made his own. If you like, I will play my Lyra for the memory of Mr. Pantelis. Please, one moment.' He picked up the canvas sack lying under his chair and with infinite care withdrew from it a small, pear-shaped violin and bow trimmed with bells along its length. He sat opposite, standing it on his left knee. 'This is my Lyra. I made it myself.' With great concentration, he plucked a string and listened. He did it again until he was satisfied, then plucked the others and tuned them to the same questions. After what seemed like half an hour of slow, persistent tuning, “It is the weather.”, allowing me time to take in my surroundings and have a tickle of the kitten, he began weaving and scratching his jingle-belled wand across the strings of this innocent looking triolin.
And then, from somewhere down the days, came a powerful rhythmic lament that filled the crisping air with echoes from a bleak and distant past. Across from the crest of the hill opposite the house, a lady appeared from a windmill, shielding her eyes with white dusty hands while she listened. When he was done, he put down the Lyra and nodded, enjoying the echoes fading down the valley.
'Music exists to say things words cannot say.' He sighed a sad smile, indicating his remarkable performance was complete, and I watched the lady disappear inside the windmill. 'Boss, please, come with me. I show you my cabin. We have time.' Alexis pointed to the outhouse and held open the door and ushered me inside but just as I crossed the threshold, the most diabolical screech had me petrified with shock and sent Charon himself running screaming back to Hades. I was back across the yard in less than a second.
'Holy mackerel. What the hell was that?'
'Not mackerel. Parrot!' Alexis gave a mighty howl of wild laughter and almost fell to his knees, 'He's my parrot. He don't like the strangers. He's one crazy bird, that one.' The parrot was in frenzy. Running up and down his perch and flapping his wings causing feathers to cloud the air of the shed, 'Hey Kaos! Quiet. This is the new boss. Be nice or he will eat you.'
He placed his lips against the cage making kissing sounds until the bird went over and touched them with his beak. Alexis couldn't keep his face straight and kept apologising. The bird took its time, chattering and fluffing up its crest and giving me a no-nonsense inspection, cocking its head from side to side until it fell into consultation with the mirror - not forgetting some whistles and curses for good measure. I didn't follow Alexis back inside but I could see through the doorway he kept the outhouse like a ship's cabin - everything in its place. He pointed with great display to a sun-bleached photograph of a super-tanker, 'My ship.' On a sturdy wooden table stood a Singer sewing machine, 'And this, of my wife. It too is English.' He stroked the wooden handle. Over the bed someone had painted a few phrases on the wall.
'What do those say?' I asked.
'That is a very, very famous old prayer. Mr. Pantelis, he wrote that on the wall for me. It say, “Great Zeus, give unto us whatever is good whether we ask for it or not. Whatever is evil, keep from us whether we ask for it or not,” we laughed again. 'Hey boss - I can call you boss, can't I? - let's have a cold drink.'
Back in the house, he showed me the staircase with a proud sweep of his arm. 'These, I made myself. Before, it was a ladder. Already, I put your clothes in your cupboard.' He shot me a glance and shook his head. 'She is a beautiful room, and along the corridor, the bathroom, close.' He went out and held the toilet door ajar, 'Look, I put the tiles here myself. It is a great place to cool down.'
My gaze wandered up through the one small square of window to a square of duck-egg sky above my head. I climbed up to see what I could see and just had enough time to glimpse the yard below when the seat exploded under my weight and clattered onto the tiles.
'Everything OK in there? You are not hurt?'
The man's voice shattered my furtive activities, startling me like a Peeping Tom exposed. 'Yes, thanks,' I answered too soon and sounding guilty. I must have looked flushed because he looked concerned, if not suspicious.
'You know the afternoon can be very hot and make you dizzy until you get used to it. I will make that cold drink for you.' He cocked a sorcerer's eyebrow, and with the fleeting smile of one who knows, stood back for me to pass. 'You like the Nerantzaki? The one without the raki in?' In the kitchen, he stood making up the potion, watching me looking at his photographs. His mind must have been full of questions that he was far too polite to ask. He took down a large bag of oranges and lemons hanging from a nail and began slicing and juicing some into a big jug already filled with ice and limes. 'Kirios Pantelis,' he smiled and nodded towards the jug, 'he teach me how to make.' And then he began whistling the anonymous soulful tune he'd played earlier - but in keys not yet appreciated by the untrained ear. The drink was the best I had tasted and far too soon we had drained the last drop. Then all at once, Alexis stood up, saluted again and said, 'Please excuse me, sir, now I have to prepare for the funeral services. We will go together, OK?'
'Of course, and don't worry, Alexi. We'll work something out.'
'Or it will work us out. Ha.'
And that was Alexis Vasilerakis, the man who was to become my life's dearest friend.