Diary of a Human Target (Book Two) - the Path Towards the Inside by Isidora Vey - HTML preview

• Fateful Summer

Thursday, 5th June 1997

When you are poor, you had better lie low. Any investment you make will prove to be wrong because right investments are costly. Besides, when you are poor -that is away from powerful networks- you lack knowledge for a truly profitable enterprise. “Luck helps the bold,” they say. That's a lie. Luck helps the rich. Those who are poor and bold inevitably make bad investments and eventually lose their money. For example, cheap plots of land are seldom included in the town planning zone. If you build something there, it will probably be small, miserable and illegal. Moreover, it will prove to be a money pit.

To be more precise: That 360 m2 plot I bought five years ago in Kypseli, on the island of Aegina, seemed to be a good opportunity then: It cost only 800,000 drachmas and it was inside the town planning zone. A few months ago, however, just one day before I had a building permit issued, my plot was suddenly declared to be outside the town planning zone – only this and the two adjacent ones from the whole territory, because they are part of an archaeological site, as we were told!

Nevertheless, my father has set his mind on building a cabin there, even without a permit! For this reason, he goes to Aegina every weekend and works from dawn till dusk, while he is always asking me to give him various sums of money (10,000 to 50,000 drachmas) for the expenses of the cottage under construction. This time he wants to buy water pipes and he has asked me for 100,000 drachmas – that is all the extra money I happened to earn last month from free-lance typing!

...And something I have ascertained many times in the past: I have the impression there is an invisible force which prohibits me from earning even one cent more than the “allowed” to me basic salary of 160,000 drachmas per month! I'd say there is a mysterious factor which defines the exact amount of money that corresponds to each human being, in mathematical accuracy. No matter what you do, it is impossible to accumulate more money than the “allowed” sum: If the preordained amount is, let's say, 160,000 drachmas per month, and you somehow manage to earn 200,000 drachmas once, it is certain you will not enjoy that extra 40,000 by buying something you desire; you are much more likely to waste it on doctors, plumbers, electricians, or even thieves! It goes without saying that the preordained sum of money differs from person to person. For some people it is no higher that 160,000 drachmas, for others it is 500,000, for others it is 2,000,000 per month! Or, as the proverb says: “Work as much as you like and God will give you as much as he likes.”

Friday, 13th June 1997

This evening I went to a cafeteria in Glyfada, together with Helen Tanagra. I was bored to death, like every time I go out with Helen. Taking into account tomorrow afternoon we two, as well as Xanthippe, are leaving for a three-day trip to Peloponnese, I hoped certain things would be settled during this outing. I explained to Helen that this morning I went to the travel agency and paid off for all three of us. She didn't give me any money but I imagine she will give it to me tomorrow, like Xanthippe will. Anyway, I wonder how her conservative parents finally allowed Helen to be absent from home for three whole days. They usually forbid her to stay out later than midnight...

Saturday, 14th June 1997

The time is 1:30 pm and I am getting ready to leave for a three-day trip to South Peloponnese, together with my friends Helen and Xanthippe. The coach departs at 3:00 pm from Athens. All of a sudden, the phone rings. It is Helen who announces in earnest that she won't be able to come with us, because she has just been hired as an assistant in a microbiological lab (!) and the boss wants to see her at 2:30, she says.

I can hardly believe my ears! I remind her that unless she comes, I will have to shoulder the 24,000 drachmas of her share! “No way! They will give you the money back!” she exclaims, although we both know that no money is reimbursed for cancellations of the last moment. I explain to her the situation once again, yet Helen makes clear she has no intention of paying for a trip she isn't going on – which means I will have to pay double for my share! Moreover, my good friend coerces me into assuring her I will take the money back no matter what.

“I hope so, because all this makes me sad,” she says in a plaintive voice. “But tell me, Yvonne, do such things happen to you all the time, I mean your friends cancelling an arranged trip at the last moment?”

“This is what always happens!” I reply bitterly.

“Where do you find each one of them?” my mother wonders, as soon as I tell her the particulars of the story...

Sunday, 15th June 1997

Our morning visit to the Diros Caves proved to be very interesting: It consisted of a 30-minute boat ride and a 15-minute walk to the exit. It was a unique experience, that underground river which splits up into numerous passageways and underground cavities full of impressive stalagmites and stalactites that glitter in shading-off tints. As our rower led us through the stunningly enchanting halls of the cave, such as the Crossroads of Nymphs, the Lake of Exotic Ocean Creatures, the Sea of Shipwrecks complete with a sunken wreck, the Pink Chamber, the White Chamber and the wonderful Red Chamber, the rare beauty of the place took our breath away. Everything would be perfect if...

Xanthippe and I were lucky enough to occupy the first two seats of the boat and we enjoyed a panoramic view. However, right behind me there was an old crock who kept on shooting everything with a camera in hand (although it is forbidden), while drivelling incessantly with his piercing, exasperating voice. It was one of those  psychotic, arrogant people who always want to be noticed no matter what. At a moment Xanthippe asked him politely not to talk so loudly because there was danger of landslide, the signs say so too. The rower agreed and the old crock shut up for a few seconds. Then he resumed the garrulity, even worse than before.

There were about ten boats floating around us, each containing 8-10 persons. Not a sound was heard from any of them. All visitors were speechless before the amazing beauty of the cave – all but the senile old man behind me, who kept on trying to be clever with a rather ridiculous demonstration of knowledge. I had to apply enormous self-control so as to ignore the imbecile behind me, suppress my exasperation and enjoy the fascinating landscape. I was determined not to let a subhuman spoil that unique experience of mine -and I made it.

In the afternoon we went to Monemvasia: It is a picturesque, medieval town built on a small island on the southeast coast of Peloponnese and it is linked to the mainland with a 200-metre long road. Old stone houses, narrow alleys, a ruined castle, emotive atmosphere. Yet, I didn't have much fun because Xanthippe wasn't in a mood of walking or exploring the place. So, we spent all our time in an outdoor cafeteria which didn't even have a nice view...

Monday, 16th June 1997

In the morning we visited Mystras, the medieval city which is situated on Mount Taygetos and it used to be the capital of the Byzantine Despotate of Morea.  Xanthippe didn't follow the group; she stayed in the coach because “this is going to be extremely tiring” she said. The path proved to be too rough and I had a lot of difficulty in going up the slope, so I imagined going down would be impossible for me. When we finally reached the top, I asked a young woman from the group to help me  come down but she got away at once, together with the others. Since I was left all alone, I had no alternative but look for another path; soon I found out one which was wide, smooth and well-built, and led me to all the interesting old churches and edifices - sights the others didn't have the chance to see.

Later we visited the town of Tolo, a nice tourist resort full of seaside tavernas. I went swimming alone because Xanthippe refused to get into the water. “It is full of bubbles! I am not swimming in here!” she declared with a frown.

Early in the afternoon we arrived in the seaport city of Nafplio, where we went for a walk. The city is nice, full of neoclassical buildings. Xanthippe dragged herself along, always sprinkling her head with a bottle of water, constantly complaining she were going to have a sunstroke. She got on my nerves! I advised her to go back to the coach, since she is so delicate, but she wouldn't get off my back, constantly grumbling about everything.

Then we stopped at the ancient theatre of Epidaurus, then at the Isthmus of Corinth. Everybody in the group was exhausted and complaining. They were not all wrong; the itinerary was too long, with too many stops, yet I didn't consider it bad. We arrived in Athens at 8:30 in the evening.

Wednesday, 18th June 1997

Night Adventure: I am in a big church, full of fine icons. To my astonishment and horror, the depicted saints gradually change into demons. “Where are you, Christ? Christ?” I cry in despair but I get no answer. I wake up with a start and I wonder...?

What's going on? The sonic war against me is getting more and more unbearable day by day and I just can't stand it any more! For some strange reason, I am surrounded by all kinds of noise pollution: Every morning, at 7:30 am, my father gets out to the yard and keeps himself busy with meaningless tinkering and hammering at pieces of wood or metal for hours! When I return from work at 4:00 in the afternoon and lie in bed so as to have a brief nap, dad goes upstairs, to Alice's half-built penthouse, and starts hammering at stuff again till 5:30 that I leave for the gym! He doesn't really repair anything, he just enjoys the noise! The yard and the penthouse are full of rusty tools, old dilapidated furniture and all kinds of junk dad finds on the road and carries home! I often complain about the noise and the piggery but he never listens; on the contrary, he swears like a trooper!

In addition, the guy who lives right next to me, Mr Takis Zarifis, listens to loud music from 5:00 pm to midnight every day -as if he were paid for that! He sometimes plays that horrible electric guitar too! Luckily, I am away from home for most of the day, otherwise I would have gone crazy!

It goes without saying that all the other kinds of abnormal noise are still here: The black dog in the yard across the street barks hysterically, incessantly, all day and all night long; the family on the second floor of the block of flats next to us still throws parties two or three days a week and they keep me awake till 3:00 am; uncountable cars come and go in their outdoor garage, right under my window, their drivers revving up the engines for hours, especially during the night; all afternoon, every afternoon, five or six motorbikes go round in circles outside the new block of flats at the opposite side of the street and their drivers never stop screaming and giggling like lunatics.

And the greatest mystery: Going on long bike rides almost every evening, I see lots of neighbourhoods from Helioupolis to Voula. Nowhere else have I noticed the abnormal hustle and bustle which takes place around my house every day! I am sure there is no other street so noisy as mine, in the entire city of Athens! Therefore, I have come to believe I don't progress in metaphysics anymore for the same reason I don't progress in any other field of life: I live in an extremely negative environment.

I've been thinking seriously about leaving my home and renting another house away from here! I can't go on like this; if this situation continues, I will go mad! In fact, I have just bought a newspaper and looked at the classified ads, hoping to find some cheap apartment. As soon as my mother got wind of it, she nearly had a stroke...

Monday, 23rd June 1997

On occasion of my birthday which was two days ago, this morning I treated my colleagues at work to cupcakes and received various gifts from them: a science fiction book, a neckerchief, an amber breloque. What has impressed me most is a pair of earrings given to me by Mrs Stavrakis; they are made of silver and carved with a variety of odd symbols and ideograms: three dots forming an equilateral triangle; upside-down question marks; five dots inside a circle, which is intersected by a triangle; three triangles whose tops point at the centre of a disc, at the lowest part of the jewel. I like these earrings. They are so original. I'll start wearing them right from tomorrow.

As for the rest: The latest issue of the magazine “Greek Fantasy” came out today and it contains my horror story “Contact with the Netherworld”. It seldom happens to me but some days are full of satisfactions...

Sunday, 13th July 1997

Night Adventure: An extraterrestrial spacecraft has arrived on Earth and it burns immense forests to ashes; at the same time a gigantic, plant-like monster walks around and destroy whatever it finds in its way. I run to escape, while the spacecraft follows me hidden inside a cloud. I try to dodge the dangerous light it emits until, suddenly, the alien aircraft glows and I am scared stiff. There opens a small door, an extraterrestrial old woman walks out and says: “We are not really interested in Earth, we only seek spiritual ascension. We are just annihilating this planet...”

Tuesday, 29th July 1997

Night Adventure: Some of my old classmates in Janus have discovered a strange document in an abandoned house. A magic ritual is described on it, which includes walking on a black tape stuck on the floor and leads to another dimension. One by one, my old friends perform the ritual, yet they don't transcend to any other dimension; they only get deformed and they look like zombies now. Two or three of them who aren't deformed, have to fight with the contaminated. They and I haven't walked on that tape and we manage to escape by flying away, towards the sea. We know that water kills the zombies.

One of the uncontaminated guys returns to the house with a view to  exterminating the living dead, but soon he is surrounded by his ex good friends -Nestor, Nick, Apostolis and others- who look very ominous now. The young man seeks to escape running along Nereid street, but he is someone else now: I am the man! A plump lady with blond plaits, who resembles my grandma Alice at a young age, appears as a spirit on the sky and declares that “the world of matter is appealing to everybody”. So, from now on I will be Yvonne and I have taken refuge in the world of the living, hoping to avoid a dreadful danger which awaits me in the astral plains.

Strange coincidence: My ex friend, Aphrodite, saw a similar dream a few years ago: All the disciples in Janus stood in line and walked on a black tape, one by one. She knew that was dangerous and shouted to them “Don't follow this line!”. Yet, next moment she stepped on the black tape too...

* * * *

Saturday, 2nd August 1997

This morning we departed for the island of Zakynthos, on a trip organized by a travel agency. It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at our hotel at Kryoneri: I sighed in disappointment as soon as I found out how small, noisy, isolated and miserable it is - nothing to do with the hotel we had seen on the leaflet. It is supposed to be a second class hotel -we paid that much too- but it is hardly fifth class. I already feel exasperated, as I am also in bad company: Helen Tandoulou and her retarded brother. Needless to say, I am staying in my own single room. As soon as I accommodate myself, I sit down and wonder: What am I doing here with these two nitwits?

Monday, 4th August 1997

Days pass by, without much fun: We have already visited the church of Saint Mavra and enjoyed swimming in Alykes. We have admired the panoramic view of the city of Zakynthos from the hill of Bochali, and swum in the wild waves of Tsilivi. As for the rest, we spend our afternoons strolling around the city, which proves to be not so exciting. Besides, my friend Helen is not so talkative as she used to be; in fact, I can barely screw a word out of her. She usually opens her mouth only to belittle me with offensive remarks such as “I have all the ideas, I am clever, whereas you can't think of anything, you are brainless!”

Just like last year, every time we go on a tour Helen always demands to sit by the window, otherwise she gets dizzy, she says. However, this year her window pane happens to be entirely opaque, therefore she can see nothing outside -it serves her right! I have also noticed certain misfortunes dogging me: I have been to the cobbler's twice and my new watch has stopped. “You have been jinxed!” says Helen and she could be right...

Tuesday, 5th August 1997

This morning we went on an boat ride around the island: Picturesque caverns with blue, crystal waters; white arched rocks looming over emerald waves; swimming in the open sea near the Cave of Keri. And, the high spot of the tour, our stop at Navagio (the Shipwreck): Without the slightest compunction, I left behind the two undecided grumblers who happen to be my companions in this trip and dived into the clear blue water from the deck of the boat. The sea was as cold as ice but I enjoyed every moment to the fullest as I swam out, to the isolated strand. I walked on the white sand, I admired the high blond cliffs surrounding the beach, I passed by the old shipwreck which has been rusting under the sun for decades now. As about my “friends”, after half an hour or so I found them observing the blackened tub – Helen with a surly face, as usual, Vlassis lost in space, as always. I greeted them coldly and I went on exploring the place.

In the evening the three of us went to the outdoor restaurant “Meltem” at the coast of Kryoneri: Pleasant ambiance with ancient-like decoration, lofty trees with thick leafage, idyllic serenity, sea waves crashing on the low cliffs nearby.

Once again I intend to relish the beauty of every moment, entirely ignoring my friend's sarcastic remarks: “Certain people think they are aristocrats, just because they live in Glyfada, whereas they are nothing but gypsies!” How can she be so malicious, just like that, without any reason whatsoever?  I only wonder. Then we start talking about our jobs and I dare mention that when I worked as a secretary for Zafirakis, I also translated texts from/to English or Italian for him. Helen frowns at once and says:

“Listen, Yvonne, don't say such things, because people make fun of you! How could you translate anything, since you don't have a respective university degree?”

“I used to translate texts about wining machines. This kind of terminology isn't taught in any school, you learn it while working,” I explain as calm as possible.

“Oh, let me be, I see how good your translations were!”

“Don't you think you've gone too far?” I start to lose my temper. “I'm sick and tired of your slighting and insulting me all the time!”

“Who, me? When did I insult you, Yvonne? What are you talking about, are you crazy?” Helen protests and looks at me aghast, as if she couldn't understand what I was saying.

“Don't you always tell me I am stupid, whereas you are the smart one who has all the ideas? Don't you always trumpet forth I should be jobless because I don't have a university degree? What diplomas do you have, anyway?” I retort.

“I never said I have diplomas! But maybe I do have some and you know nothing about it!” she answers with an air of importance.

“Maybe I have lots of university degrees too! You don't know anything about me!”

“I've never expected such behaviour from you, Yvonne! As far as I can see, there can be a lot of envy and spite between friends!”

“That's for sure! I've known that right from the beginning!” I talk back.

The golden full moon is mirrored in the smooth sea beside us. The summer night is serene, the surrounding environment is enchanting. I would like to experience the magic of the moment in a different way, yet Helen seems to be enjoying more the fight than the landscape. “I like it so much, when I hear you two fighting like a dog and a cat!” says then Vlassis, who has been silent so far. Next moment, he stands up and goes away, leaving the two of us alone. Time for the second round:

“Really now, Yvonne,” Helen goes on pompously. “Where is your supposed social life? You always tell me about your numerous friends, but it's me you go out with every Thursday and Saturday, it's me you go on vacations with in August. Why isn't anyone else coming with you, can you tell me?”

“This isn't true!” I hurry to rebut the new accusations. “I do have many friends and and I often go out with them. But why not stop it now? This conversation leads nowhere! Maybe... maybe it was just a misunderstanding,” I begin to recede, rather foolishly, hoping to save the rest of the trip, while Helen's face glows in triumph:

“Oh, no, Yvonne, I can' take that; I don't like it when someone abuses me and then, when they see they can't prevail, they ask for an apology!”

Preferring not to add fuel to the fire, I stay taciturn (always foolishly), while Helen continues undaunted: “By the way, do you know what kind of impression you make, Yvonne? I can't imagine what has happened in your life so far, but you give the impression of being very disappointed and fed up with everything! That's why you neither take photographs nor phone your family when you are on holidays! You don't hope for anything, that's why you always seek to experience the moment, as you say!”

She isn't wrong about that, I must admit. Before answering anything, I am about to pour some beer in my glass.

“And don't drink anymore! You are probably drunk, that's why you don't know what you are talking about!” she hisses and at that moment I abhor her. What she means is  I am an alcoholic just because I usually drink a beer with my dinner! Aren't they horrible, these churchy hens!

At that point I think the fight is almost over, but the big bomb hasn't fallen yet: “Regarding that guy we met then, at my friend's party, why should I have helped you, Yvonne? Who has ever helped me?”

I can't believe my ears! Helen has just admitted, quite proudly I'd say, she has actually sabotaged my starting an affair with George!

“So, this is how things are,” I reply bitterly yet calmly. “You are right, after all! I am a fool and I am to blame for everything! But this is gonna change, you know! All mistakes will be corrected very soon in the best possible way, you will see!” I conclude and it is Helen's turn to shut up.

Wednesday, 6th August 1997

Early in the morning we visited the Museum of Solomos, then the cathedral of Saint Dionysios. Finally, we went swimming to Porto Roma. I can no longer enjoy the trip because I always have that nincompoop of Helen in tow. Yet, I have also noticed something about her brother: Any time he manages to escape Helen's reproachful look, he automatically becomes more lively, more cheerful, more intelligent! I've come to suspect the guy is not really retarded, he is just weak-willed because Helen has turned him into a scrub with her hysteria and her successive psychic attacks. He probably acts the fool so that the vixen leaves him alone.

In the evening the three of us went to a romantic, seaside bar in Kryoneri. Helen kept trying to patch up things by repeating her insults: “As I was saying, Yvonne, you shouldn't tell the others those things you often say, that you used to translate texts for example, because nobody believes you! Neither do I tell anyone such things!” Why do I always get involved with wicked and abnormal persons? Why?

Thursday, 7th August 1997

We are on a day trip to Cefallonia, together with the rest of the tourist group. Vlassis didn't wish to join us this time and I can fully understand him. “All things considered, your brother is very clever! He knows very well what he is doing!” I say to Helen, now that I have begun to look down on her and drop hints such as: “So, you are the smart one and you have all the ideas! Just wait and see what ideas I have! You will know soon!” or, even: “Let's do some mathematics: On the entire island of Zakynthos there must be about 2,000 coaches now; each one of them has twenty windows; 2,000 coaches x 20 windows each, makes a total of 40,000 windows! Out of these 40,000 windows only one is completely opaque and you are sitting by it!”

On the ferry boat to Cefallonia we get to know Peter, an attractive 26-year-old guy from our group. He has come with his parents, he looks a little peculiar and squeamish, he never swims, but he seems to be a nice and reasonable person. He has a sweet face with light brown hair and big green eyes. He has a trained body and he is quite good-looking, though a little short. I clearly show him I like him, but he seems to be more interested in Helen. The same as usual...

“You must be a lot older than me!” Helen tells me at a moment, with an ironic smile.

“Really? Would you like both of us to stand in front of a mirror, so that you can see who is older?” I retort confidently and she shuts up.

The tour of Cefallonia proves to be very interesting: First we walk through the Cave of Drogarati, which is full of impressive limestone formations. Then, we take a boat ride in the Cave of Melissani: the B-shaped underground lake consists of two water halls with blackish waters and a small rocky island in the middle. There is a big oval opening on the roof of the first hall, which allows the sunlight to come in. The boats seem to hover on an eerie blue light, it is a magical experience. Later, we go swimming at a pebbly beach in Saint Efimia; finally we arrive in Argostoli and, last but not least, we visit the famous church of Saint Gerasimos. I enjoy the trip to the fullest, without paying any attention to Helen's continuing digs at me...

Saturday, 9th August 1997

This is our last morning in Zakynthos and I relish a lonely walk along the promenade, without having the nitwits in tow. Everything around me looks fantastic: The bright sun, the blue sea waves, the cliffs, the soft breeze, the seaside empty bars.

Helen's last words as soon as we arrive in Athens, late in the evening:

“How do you feel now that you won't see me again?”

“I'm deeply moved!” I reply ironically.

“Give me a call!” she says, before we split -for ever.

“Count on it!”

The end.

* * * *

Thursday, 21st August 1997

The time is 6:00 in the afternoon and I am leaving home, aiming to meet Persephone at the corner of the streets Gennimata and Athanatou. After lots of negotiations (although she is quite wealthy, my friend complained a lot about the price of the trip), we have arranged to go on an organized tour to Parga. The group leaves the day after tomorrow, therefore Persa and I must go to the travel agency in Athens today, so as to pay off the trip.

Having just walked past the corner of Meteoron street, I go down Gennimata avenue full of excitement. I can already discern my friend waiting for me in the distance. All of a sudden, a motorbike passes right beside me, as fast as lightning, and its skinny driver grabs the bag off my shoulder! The youngster -he looks quite familiar- turns his head back, he smiles to me ironically and disappears speeding along the avenue! He even defies a police car which happens to be parked a little further. It takes me a few seconds to realize what has just happened; at first, it thought it was just a joke!

As soon as I realize the situation, I return home in a frantic condition: I have lost not only my beautiful English bag, but 65,000 drachmas as well! Once again, outside the block of flats opposite my house, five or six bums are ululating continuously, going around in circles on their motorbikes. “Has anyone just left here on a motorbike?” I ask loudly, pointing at the trumps with my finger. Nobody knows, nobody noticed. Not even my parents who are sitting in the veranda, or aunts Hermione and Penelope who have come to visit them. Yet, the more I think about it, the more certain I am the thief is one of the bums on the motorcycles. I don't hesitate to shout loudly “My bag has been stolen and the thief is one of them!”; nobody answers me but the motorbikes go away one by one, until none is left. They are never going to be seen in the neighbourhood again. Never ever...

Right after, I go and meet Persa, who is still waiting at the junction of the streets Gennimata and Athanatou. I explain to her what has happened, she is dumbfounded but she claims not to have seen any youngster on a motorcycle passing by her with a woman's bag in hand. For a moment I wonder because I'm sure the guy drove past her, but I can't say anything; she probably wasn't observant enough.

Finally, the two of us go to the police and inform them about the robbery. I am faced with the absolute indifference and incapability of the policemen who, while on duty, wear slippers and casual clothes. The sergeant is dressed in a fine suit, he has black glasses on and he is all airs and graces. There is nowhere a computer but