It was late afternoon. Makis walked to the door.
“Good bye all,” he shouted. “Anna, I'll be late.”
He slammed the door, annoyed. To let off steam and to let them know it.
Pressed the elevator button and waited tapping his silver knobbed walking stick on his
shoe. At sixty-eight, he did not need it for walking but for his old-fashioned elegance.
It fitted in with his expensive shoes, his cashmere overcoat, exquisitely tasteful tie and
jaunty, matching cashmere hat. It fitted with his tall, aristocratic bearing. His
supercilious glance, which would have been consummate with a monocle. An
elegance of the past, not in clothing style but of the times. Not many people dressed as
scrupulously any longer.
When he entered the elevator he exploded.
Bloody son-of-a-bitch. Clams up, never says good-bye. The son-of-a-bitch.
He crossed the entrance of the luxury apartment building still muttering to
himself.
God forgive me, his mother was all right but he's a good-for-nothing wastrel.
Not above siphoning off Anna's money. Son-of-a-bitch comes in with a timid,
ingratiating smile, with his false deference and will not deign to say good-bye. I'll
throw him out one of these days, I swear. Don't see what she finds in him. OK he's her
nephew, so what. The creep! I cannot stomach him.
He walked to the shopping center of the fashionable suburb where they lived,
with his lordly gait looking at the windows of men's shops. Stopping now and then to
consider a suit or a tie, looking at the price, thinking, well, for an Hermès, not bad.
Shopping and window shopping always calmed him down. Put him in a good mood.
He really regretted that people were becoming grubby and casual. All you saw at the
coffee shops these days, even the better ones, were three-day-Gainsbourg unshaven
mugs in baggy trousers, creased, shapeless jumpers hanging half-way to the knees
and, goodness, shoes without socks. Oh well, they could wear what they pleased, only
it made him feel awkward to be well-dressed in the midst of such drabness. Took the
fun out of it. No one to look at, no one to look at you. Ah, that's a lovely suit, there. I
should have known it, it's Hugo Boss. Let's see how much it goes. Of course. Quite
expensive. But it's worth it. It will be my Christmas present to myself.
It was late afternoon and the weather was cool and getting cooler but Makis
was enjoying himself. Only, now and then, Michael popped in his thoughts spoiling
things and was instantly expelled with well-chosen expletives. But he was a persistent
son-of-a-bitch and kept coming back. Shit, the creep won't let me alone, he thought as
he entered his favourite coffee shop and momentarily was distracted by his friends. It
was his "steki", his habitual hangout. A better sort of place with better sort of people
in it. His kind of people. He used to go there practically every afternoon if the weather
was passable and it was not raining. It is our gentleman's club, he used to say fondly.
A place to get away from the wives. Most of the chaps were of his age group,
backgammon addicts, and this afternoon were busy at play, so he sat at a table by
himself and ordered the usual, a Nescafé with milk. The new girl was nice. Lovely
tits, he thought. She smiled when she served the Nes. But Michael kept coming back.
Fuck him. The creep. Shabby as hell, he is. Disgusting. Probably smells, too. I
never go near him. Wouldn't risk catching a flea. Anna buys him all his clothes and he
pretends he is upset whenever she has something new for him. Pretends he doesn't
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want her spending her money. Bloody hypocrite. I bet he isn't even trying to find a
job. Pretty cozy arrangement, this, to let Anna support him. Sometimes, I wish Anna
had no income of her own. I would have starved the son-of-a-bitch to death. I hate the
way they get on together. Always talking away like a pair of lovers. Calling him
Mickey. And with me he just clams up. Not a word. Not a smile. What have I ever
done to him? Comes and goes in my house as he pleases. Stays overnight. Who else
would put up with it? I hate the bastard.
“Hello Andoni. How are things? Is the poker game on, tonight?”
Andonis sat a while with Makis and relieved him of his thoughts. A retired
journalist, he usually updated Makis on the latest political gossip, corruption and
scandals. Oh Greece, just another third world country. A little better perhaps. Going
downhill fast, catching up. Not with Europe. With Africa.
When Andonis left, Michael returned.
Is it possible there's anything going on between them? Oh come on. What a
crazy idea. Was? Was there, ever, anything between them? My god cut it out. You're
going to go mad. But they do go on like lovers. Not like nephew and aunt. And they
are nearly the same age. Well Anna is five years older but she hardly looks it. If
anything, looks younger than him. And he does look a little unbalanced. Doesn't she
notice? Once by chance I happened to spy him in town. He looked totally mad, totally
demented. I remember when I told her about it, she started crying. It set me thinking.
Is it possible? I mean, do these things happen? And of course, I'm not young any
more. I hardly ever sleep with Anna. I hardly ever can. Age takes its toll. I wonder if
it"s the familiarity that kills desire. I wonder if it would be the same with another
broad. For a long time I have wanted to test this out.
Alexandros came in and Makis called him. He was a snazzy dresser. Close to
Makis's heart.
“Are you for a game?”
“Sure.”
They asked for a backgammon set and started rolling the dice, making minor,
standard intellectual adjustments to the play of chance with noisy banging down of
the backgammon chips, animated exhortations to the dice to face up the desired dots
and boisterous bragging of forthcoming annihilations. It was half the fun of the game.
They were working off the day's tensions. Tensions? Well, the tensions of boredom,
the product of leisurely retirement and comfortable financial situations. Everyone,
after all, has his troubles. Makis had Michael and his senility, Alexandros, his son-in-
law and the stock market. Is no one at peace, in this world?
They played steadily for two hours and Makis seemed on the road to recovery.
He won most of the games and was sorry they were not playing for money. When
money was involved, he most often seemed to flounder. And the saying, unlucky in
gambling, lucky in love no longer applied to him. Alexandros left soon after finishing
the game, unable to conceal his pique at losing so resoundingly. Apparently, he
subscribed to a maxim of our less than gentlemanly, modern, smart-assed attitudes :
show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser. Leaving Makis wondering how to kill
the next few hours. On an impulse, he got up, put on his coat and jaunty hat, picked
up his cane, waved to the boys and outside on the street flagged down a taxi. He did
not drive a car any more. He kept his life uncomplicated. He could afford his cabs and
used them liberally for his slightest moves. Even to the toilet if he felt like it, was his
usual joke. So on to the city. Athens was a half-hour's drive in smooth traffic and
totally unpredictable in bad.
29
He had to try it out. It was gnawing at him for some time. Was it over?
Finished? Finito? Or would he find his old self with another woman? They drove to
the address of a brothel he frequented in his past. One of the better ones. Rang the bell
and went inside. He looked around. The décor had changed. No longer a style heavy
with curtains, sombreness and age, the sense of the forbidden and guilt. It was
modern, light and bright. The madame came smiling at him. Makis had heard about it
but was shocked all the same. For in the old days, there was always a madame to
coddle you, crack a dirty joke and recommend a girl with a cunt of velvet. This time it
was a monsieur. Well, actually, neither the one nor the other, rather an amalgam of
the two. A monsieur-madame, a fairy, dressed in a red and white polka-dot shirt, tight,
white trousers accentuating the crotch and his saucy behind, a short red scarf around
his neck with the knot on the side, red shoes, his mop a garish red-blond, a face made
up to perfection, lipstick, eyeliner, shadows - the works, and body movements that
would make a woman feel like a butch. Identifying him, technically, as a male, was
the single earring on one ear. He would be fascinating if he were not so repulsive.
With many limp-wristed gestures and hearty giggles he exhibited the three
girls that were free at that moment and Makis chose the tall plump girl with abundant
body surface for caresses and squeezes, for grabbing and slapping. And when later, in
their room, she took off her robe de chambre and was as naked as Eve in Paradise in
the epic renaissance paintings of the great Masters, ample bosomed, ample bottomed,
minus the fig leaf, Makis just stared at her. She might just as well have been the
slaughtered lamb they sent him every Easter from the farm. As appetizing and as
sexy.
“Well?” Eve asked. “Are you just going to look at me?”
“I'm a little tired.”
“Then why did you come?”
“I thought I might see Olga the old madame. She was a friend. Always made
me laugh.”
“Oh, that's years ago. Now we have this queer. Hard as nails despite his
giggles. Listen, take off your trousers. I'll try to get you going. You're not going to
leave me without a present, are you?”
The room was warm. Makis took off his coat, folded it and carefully laid it on
the table. He took off his jacket and fitted it on the backrest of a chair. Took off his
shoes and then his trousers and boxer shorts. In his shirt, socks and limp genitalia he
moved to the bed and stood in front of the sitting, exposed, fig-leafless Eve who was
eyeing him with amusement. She went to work on him. She tried all the tricks of the
trade. Even a few that embarrassed him but his penis showed no life, not the slightest
interest. He was trying hard to concentrate on sensation. On the crassness and
vulgarity of Eve's oversize flesh, on her manipulations and lingual pulsations but
strangely, his mind drifted elsewhere. He was thinking of Anna with tenderness. He
really did love her. And missed her all of a sudden. Oh, so much!
“Shit, I give up,” said Eve. “Get dressed. This is not your day.”
“Let's stay here a while,” said Makis, “or else the bloody queen downstairs
will understand and smirk and I shall feel like slapping his face. Don't worry about
your tip. So, what shall we do?”
Eve walked to a drawer and pulled out a pack of cards. She smiled at his
surprise.
“Every room has a pack,” she said. “This is a high class joint. You'd be
astonished how useful they are. And how often they are used. So don't feel too bad.
What shall we play?”
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“Do you play poker?”
“You bet. Are we playing for money?”
“No. You're no match for me. I'll tell you what. The money you win, I'll pay.
What you lose, I deduct from your tip. You won't lose more than that.”
“No. I want my tip.”
“Well, OK. What you lose, you don't pay.”
She fetched a box of matches and they used them for money. They sat on the
bed. Makis, cross-legged, bottomless with shirt and tie and cufflinks. Eve, stitchless,
heavy breasted, large nippled, ample bellied, thick legs and thighs apart. Makis
shuffled the cards expertly.
“Cut.”
They played for half an hour and Makis won a fortune from Eve and did not
even taste a smack of what he had paid for. He gave her a fat tip and she gave him a
kiss. Sometimes, such tenderness is found even in bordellos. Between buyers and
sellers of bodies. On occasion, people like Makis can be nice. But not always.
He left and took a cab to Zonar's, the famous "steki" of the Athenian
boulevardiers. Of old, it should be added. The place was past its time of glory. It was
still clean, luxurious and chic but the bon viveurs were a dying species. Life was a
hassle and a hustle and even those who could afford a whisky at noon did not have the
time for it. The stock exchange was denying them the peace of mind, the leisure. It
gave them another kind of thrill but with a lot of worry. With its ally, the mobile
phone, it was the opium of our times. Makis looked around. The place was nearly
empty. The few faces present were not familiar and he removed hat and coat and sat,
alone, near a window to look at the passers-by. In the old days he used to sit just like
that, with his cronies, to pick out and ogle the pretty women. They were few and far
between. Was he less discriminating, nowadays? Was it because of his age? How
ironical that in his time of infirmity they should all seem to him so gorgeous. What a
handsome race the Greeks are, he often thought. What lovely women they have. He
ordered a whisky and a snack to while away the hour left before going to Yanni for
the poker game.
Life is such a puzzle, he thought. Never gives you a clear answer. Today for
instance, what conclusions can I draw? That I am, finally, impotent? Oh, certainly, I
am not young or virile but am I totally senile? When the girl was fiddling me, my
mind was not in it. I was thinking of Anna. Perhaps, this distraction was keeping me
from arousal. Perhaps it's all over. And, after all, so what? Is it not liberation from an
obsession? The obsession of the male? I will have to readjust my psyche. Well, it
probably has readjusted already on its own. It's just that I have to accept it
consciously. And where does that leave Anna? Oh, as if Anna was anywhere else and
not smack in the middle of it. For Heaven's sake we haven't made love for over a year
and proper lovemaking for ages before that. She has been so good for me this girl. My
precious Anna. She has really given me a new lease on life. She has been the lucky
star of my life. That's why it burns me up when I see that creep taking advantage of
her. And he's the cause of the cooling down of our intimacy and tenderness. Our
alienation. Ever since his mother died and Anna started supporting him, he has been a
thorn in the side of our marriage. We never quarreled before and now, once a week,
it's on the menu and the cause of it is his Excellency the Bum. Big deal, he's her
nephew. Big deal, they grew up together. He's sucking her dry. She tells me, I owe it
to him. Owe him, what? Why? Because he put her up for a few months in Cairo fifty
years ago? I get sick when I see them chattering together. Like lovers. I get out of my
mind. I imagine all sorts of improbable things. But is it possible? Is it? It's too
31
grotesque to envisage. And I know he hates me. I feel it. But young man, the feelings
are mutual. I hate your lazy, good-for-nothing guts.
Makis was choking. He had palpitations, he was perspiring, and his face was
beetroot-red. He had lost his appetite. Was annoyed that the little no-good creep was
causing him such upheavals. He finished his drink and thought it best to go to Yanni
forthwith, even if a little early. Otherwise he'd be risking a heart attack. He paid,
hailed a taxi and on to the main event of the evening.
It was Yanni's turn to host the game. There were six or seven of them and took
turns offering hospitality and snacks in their homes for the game. It was a once-a-
week affair and Makis grew to enjoy the group and look forward to the game. When
they played, time simply flew. They rarely quit before two or three in the morning.
The game was poker, the stakes moderate and, well, you lost some and won some.
The main thing was that they were friends and there was trust between them. Makis
was a good, shrewd player and, like most people, was a good winner but not a
particularly good loser. He did not like to lose and, especially, did not like to lose
money. However he tried not to show it just as he tried not to show his aversion to the
cigarette smoking that took place during the game and fumigated his hair and clothing
and surely his lungs, as well.
Dora, Yanni's wife greeted him graciously. Told him how nice it was that he
was a little early. Gave them an opportunity for a chat. Dora, never a particularly
attractive woman was at the age when chubby persons, especially of the female sex,
expand in breadth and contract in height. But she was a femme du monde quite equal
to Maki's social graces. They chatted animatedly and both forgot their chagrin for a
while. Michael was kept at bay and Dora's sore feet stopped reminding her that she
was the victim of this gathering. For not only did she not play poker but had to serve
and pamper and stay up half the night taking care of these dotards, having to clear up
the debris, at the end of the day, or rather, in the early hours of the next. She was
getting to be a closet feminist being too old and genteel and old-fashioned to be an
overt one. When Yanni came out, she got up to serve them drinks and soon the rest of
the crowd started arriving. Within half an hour it was a noisy gathering with drinks
and snacks and talk and laughs and then they settled down to serious business. It was
all very professional, a green felt-covered round table, chips for money and brand new
cards for every game. A turn at the toilet before sitting down. Things were pretty
serious.
Like most gamblers, Makis was superstitious. He had feelings, which hardly
ever were reliable and looked for signs, which were mostly meaningless and made
suppositions, which were touch and go. Today he wondered if the misfortune of
having to swallow Michael's presence would carry to the gaming table or was he to be
compensated for it? He got his answer early on. But not the whole of it. Right from
the start, Lady Luck was sitting on his lap and his cards were so faultless, it was
uncanny. He did not need to use his skill. Steadily, he was collecting all the money on
the table. He could hardly contain himself and keep his poker face. It is getting to be
unlucky in lovemaking, lucky in gambling, he thought and smiled inwardly. By the
time they stopped for a break and another drink, Makis had the bulk of the money in a
little mound in front of him. And when they were drinking, a sort of banter started up,
half in jest, half in malice and mainly out of pique, to explain, to exorcize the
inexplicable. Spyros said that something was not normal. So much luck, so
persistently, is weird. Makis is either using a magic spell, has made a deal with the
devil or is cuckolded by his wife. And, he added, the first two being unlikely, only
one possibility was left. Some people laughed but one or two were sensitive enough to
32
change the subject. Makis blushed and could barely keep his lips from trembling. He
was hit where it hurt. He did not think it funny and when they returned to the table he
played so recklessly, so self-destructively that he started literally giving the money
back. The game had become gloomy and burdensome for everyone and they packed it
up early. Makis had returned all his winnings and even some of his own money.
In the taxi on his way home, he cursed Michael for poisoning his life. For
introducing the element of mistrust and suspicion in it. For putting a wedge between
Anna and himself. He did not have to put up with it any longer. All along the journey
he fed his anger and indignation. As soon as he entered the flat he went directly to the
small spare room where Anna would accommodate Michael on his overnight stays
and switched on the light. Sure enough, Michael was asleep on the narrow couch.
Makis felt blood rush into his face, he felt his eyes bulge and his face puff up. His
tongue grew twice its size and filled his mouth. He could not form the words he
wanted to articulate, to bellow. He used his leg and walking stick to prod Michael
awake. And when the startled Michael sat up, Makis managed to yell hoarsely,
“Out.”
“What?” asked Michael. “What's wrong?”
“Out. Get out.”
“Why? What happened?”
“No whys about it. Get dressed and get out.”
In a daze, stiff jointed, Michael started retrieving his clothing and getting
dressed under the surveillance of a trembling Makis, on the verge of apoplexy, his
red, swollen face ready to explode. Anna came in her pajamas. She had been
awakened by the commotion.
“What's wrong, Makis?”
“I want him out. I want the bastard out of my house.”
“What happened Makis, please tell me.”
“The straw just broke the camel's back. I don't want to see him, ever, in this
house again.”
“But what did he do, today, this evening?”
“He has poisoned my life one more time. Just as he has been constantly doing
ever since your sister's death when you took him under your wing. And now, enough's
enough.”
“Makis, he'll leave very early in the morning.”
“I want him out now. Right this minute.”
Anna started crying.
“It's freezing outside, Makis. There's no public transport and even if he could
afford a cab, where would he find one?”
“I don"t give a damn. Come on you piece of shit, get moving.”
Michael dressed silently, not uttering a word. When he put on his tattered
overcoat, he kissed Anna, opened the door and left. Anna sat on a chair in the hall and
sobbed silently on her own. When she calmed down a little, Makis took her gently by
the arm and led her to their room. Anna got in bed and Makis started undressing and
hanging his clothes meticulously in the cupboard. He entered the bathroom and sat on
the toilet seat. Anna was still sniffling. At three o'clock in the morning, Makis started
whistling a merry tune.
17 / 9 / 2000.
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