11
Freewheeling through England, France, Italy and Greece with his closest friend in his very own Villa Zorbus without schedule, plan or time-table, gave Ben an absorbing sense of connectedness and self-determination. Any alternative seemed like madness.
There was also a new empathy, a compassion toward the whole of nature, all of it. Through this experience Ben had discovered a new acceptance of all things in existence being interrelated within one single energy. And the people they had met and admired most had been mainly country folk. Even the occasional odd-but-happy recluse like Rolande, Peggy, Eivald, The Man, Pierre, and others who might be referred to as basic, all were far less violent and less unscrupulous than the accepted majority considered as society. They lived more peaceable lives, and even though the tools they used were not as developed or as complex as we were used to, these were dignified, civilized people.
Many of them regarding the more advanced with grave concern. They didn't regard us as civilized at all. Instead they view us as a rather serious menace to the planet, because we are out of touch with the ecology of nature and tend on the whole to be extraordinarily miserable.
So why go back to that world? Ben wanted to stay out of Britain and live in Greece. There was much to do and see. He had discovered, or re-discovered, a gentle sense of being, of living without ambition, a clarity that seemed to fit.
Previously whenever Ben had thought of Agia Galini he had thought of blue, yellow and green. This time, as Kevin and Ben entered Galini immediately they sensed a familiarity. There was the bus station in front of the kafeneion where brotherly Bee and Ben had waited for the bus to take them off to Iraklion, and over there the Post Office doorway where Kris the Postmaster invariably stood yawning at the street and there he was still – and yawning. Up there the hostelry where they had stayed on their last visit and even the window to their room.
With the Zorbus on the quay parked facing the village, they checked out the village rising before them. The tavernas and restaurants shouted the names of Maria's, Parthenon, Paradiso, The Odyssey, The Sirocco, Bo-Bo's, and of course, the ubiquitous Zorba's. There were many more since Ben's first visit ten million years ago but he was convinced this incredibly attractive little coastal idyll would always feel innocent no matter how flashy its clothes and no matter how it was packaged into an inevitable tourist hot spot.
They locked up the Villa with a definite sense of fulfilment at having arrived. They stretched and took an easy stroll up through the town, nodding at anyone and everyone, as far as Myro's kafeneion run by old sour-face himself and his equally charming wife, Savina. On a previous visit to Galini, Myro's Bar had become their preferred day-time taverna because it offered not only relief from the heat, but also a fine location from which to watch the comings and goings while sitting at ease, sipping the bright red devil in the shiny glass.
They dropped into a couple of chairs in the shade of the old familiar pepper tree and ordered two glasses of crassis just as before. Their drinks arrived on a tray alongside a wine glass full of peanuts and a slight flicker of recognition from Myro. They could see Myro was busy though calmly and easily dealing with the demands from his eager clientele. That is, until a rather brightly-dressed, theatrical type came striding through the throng, bluntly shattering the patience of those waiting and calling out to Myro across the bar, 'I say! Got any toilets in here, old chap?'
At which Myro, obviously unruffled, looked him over, sighed and coolly said, 'Of course, Sir, both types – which do you prefer, male or female?'
Within view was Cleo's. The first restaurant standing at the top of an inviting pedestrianised passageway which slopes down to the harbour. The narrow walkway is always busy and scattered with tables and chairs spilling out from the restaurants and bars bordering the pathway and almost definitely only for human traffic in neutral. It is known as Taverna Street and is where the population make the evening volta. In the hot summers, social life in Greece tends to be outdoors. In small towns and villages the tradition of the volta continues, when at sunset much of the population strolls up and down the main street or, on the islands, along the shore. The volta is supposedly offering the opportunity for the locals to parade in their best clothes with their kiddies and greet their friends and neighbours but really it is a poseurs paradise, ideal for flaunting and flirting with your fancy.
At the entrance to her restaurant, they could just see old Cleo standing, shading her eyes and moustache from the lowering sun as she squinted up and down like a military officer inspecting her troops. Cleo seemed to know every rumour and nugget of gossip doing the rounds and when there was nothing doing, sometimes she would start the rumblings herself. A wise Iraqi persona non grata working in an hotel close by once whispered to me, 'My friend, you know you must never trust anyone in Galini. And, of course, if you let a morsel slip from your lips it will come back to you well chewed long before you put down your spoon.'
Without warning, a voice at Ben's shoulder spoke strong and loud, 'Mother of Zeus! How on earth did you get here? Good to see you!' It was his dear old friend Theophilus. He stretched out a hand, welcoming them warmly and ordering two ritual rakis.
The ophilus Koukas with his wife Tsaly owned the Neon Restaurant Bar. Three years earlier, on the eve of Ben's return to Britain, he was forced to sell Theo all thirty of his treasured cassettes because he needed the money to get home. After that, each Christmas he and Theo would exchange greetings cards to keep in touch. Now there he was, wandering by Myro's with a look of real surprise screwing up his god-like features. By then Cleo was alert and staring in their direction with definite interest.
Ben turned to Theo, 'She hasn't changed at all - and I'm talking about her dress.' Theo hid a smile and by the time they'd finished their drinks and brought him up to date with their lives, he had done the same and was well aware Kevin and Ben were looking for work. He took them up to his restaurant to see Tsaly.
'Hey, good to see you boys,' and she welcomed them with such a pretty smile and such warm hugs that they knew they were among genuine friends. 'Life's good and Kristine's as mad as ever. She was sulking the other day because I told her off. So Theo told her to come and apologise to me for being so naughty. She came up to me and actually said, 'Mummy, I know I drive you mad sometimes, and sometimes you feel like running away, but you have to realise, I'm only just starting out on a new life.' We think she's been here before.'
'That would explain a great deal about Kristine,' said Kevin.
'Guess what boys? We took your advice and made an extension to the restaurant. Now, it has a balcony overlooking the town and the sea and because of that it is very, very popular, and with all ages. We even have the live acoustic music.' After another couple of drinks, they collected Theo's precocious, now six year-old daughter Kristine, kissed lovely good-humoured and smiling Tsaly again and rambled their way down Taverna Street.
Passing Cleo's, Ben felt obliged to go over and give her a hug and a kiss to pretend nothing had ever happened in her mad house. Nothing like how she'd threatened suicide over her son's Swedish love affair, it being out of custom and an unforgivable insult to any other Galini families who might still be observing the old traditions even though most other families couldn't care less.
'All of Galini id beautiful now,' she muttered through broken teeth while avoiding his peck. 'Everybody id millionaire! He, he.'
About three years earlier, Kevin and Ben had been resting in Galini and had become friendly with Yiannis, Cleo's son. On his birthday, Cleo had handed over the running of the restaurant to him in a very obvious attempt to get him to turn his focus away from his wild impulse to visit every visiting lady. During conversation one afternoon, a frustrated Yiannis explained, I am desperately searching for a chef to help my first summer season be a success. I have to show my mother.'
Without a blink, Kevin jumped to the rescue, 'Yiannis, no problem. Ben will be glad to do it.'
Ben almost dropped his drink. There was a brief conference where Yiannis agreed that although Ben should adopt the Greek way of cooking, he thought he should express his own flare in the presentation of dishes. They had shook hands and Ben accepted the job. Unfortunately for Yiannis, his mother was under the impression she remained the boss since she was the elder and could therefore expect, or even demand, the highest regard as is the custom in Crete.
The morning after Ben started, Cleo made it very clear she didn't see the point in any of his presentation suggestions. Garnishes on the plate, par-fried chips in advance of rush orders, a side plate for bread, and flowers on the tables; these were definitely unacceptable in the traditional Taverna Cleo. She was positively miffed. In fact one evening she exploded and flung the chip pan, still containing chips and oil, right at Ben's head screaming, 'Aaaagh! You can't even cook ships! From now you just clean the dishes!' At closing that night, Ben stepped outside with Yiannis and told him it might be best if he should quit, 'It's clear your way and my way are very different. I cannot see how it will work.'
'Ben, you have a different system, is all.'
Ben zipped his lips together and let that go. But they shook hands and if nothing else, parted as friends. Yiannis even overpaid him for one evening's work. Next day word crossed Taverna Street and Kristos suggested Ben work for him in the ultra cool, Kristos Pizzeria and from that moment everything worked out fine.
But that was then and now Ben was really glad to be back. So on with the rounds, and next they dropped in at the Pizzeria in question. Ben could tell Kristos was pleased to see him again and Ben told him he looked good and well, 'And you, Benediktos, and you. My wife Jenny is back in Australia but I visit her from time to time. She should be back soon.' In truth, Ben had the feeling they'd split but said nothing. During dinner, little Kristine, Theo's daughter, sang to herself and whispered to Ben even though he couldn't understand anything she said. She was enchanting and diverted their thoughts from the dry and disappointing microwaved Moussaka.
To keep her entertained, Ben told little Kristine the story he had made up for Pierre, the one about The Perfect Frog, and throughout she gave him full, open-mouthed, attention. When he reached the part where the frog looks up at the moon and stars, she squealed and clapped her little hands. And when he reached the perfect end she looked at him in silence for a moment then whispered, 'Please? How far does the sky go?' in perfect English.
'Leon is in town,' said Theo.
'Leon? You're sure?'
'Yes. For at least another week.'
Ben couldn't remember who Leon was until it hit him that they had once shared a room for a whole month at the guest house of a Madame Maria. A little taller than Ben, slim and bespectacled. Leon spoke fluent English and was really good fun. Then, exactly at that moment, Leon strolled past scanning the horizon for pretty girls as usual and instantly, Ben remembered his surname sounded something like, 'Coach and Rider', so he called it out loud making Leon spin round in a flash.
'Wow Ben! Get it right, my friend, it is Kurchenruiter, you mad dog!' and instantly they shook hands laughing and hugging. Leon made it his business to know everyone in Galini. He'd been on the dole in Amsterdam for eight years but always managed a Greek holiday every couple of years even if it only meant a return flight to Athens. When they had parted last time, he had borrowed a little money from Ben and promised to send it as soon as he returned to Holland but when it failed to turn up, Ben had actually phoned him in Amsterdam to ask what had happened to his money and still Leon had sworn he had definitely returned it and even promised to send more which in fact did arrive, but the principle was bruised and had left Ben in mistrust of him. And although they were making arrangements for after lunch, there was a distance between them and sadly, he could tell Leon sensed this too. With lunch over and the country wine chilling in Theo's fridge, Ben and Kevin bade their cheerios to Gemma the waitress and to the mother of Kristos and returned to the raki bar.
Galini displayed an incredible elegance of natural beauty with its extraordinary abundance of wild flowers, its fruit bearing trees, crystal blue sky, pretty people and flowing drinks but it was having a very slow start to the season and none of the tavernas were in a hurry to take on extra help. No problem. Kevin suggested a couple of weeks beaching before seriously searching for work.
Leo, Kevin and Ben sat drinking in the square `till well after dark and even Captain Antonio, the local lady-killer, usually so self-absorbed, when asked if he remembered them, replied, 'Yes. Of course, I know them.'
It's good to feel accepted but Ben was feeling pretty wobbly and after a delicious dinner at another Pizzeria the conversation turned to politics with each of his dining chums showing how intense they could be. Politics is such a temporary and economically biased affair that it bores the hell out of Ben. He announced he was going for a walk and slipped away.
There is a sea wall at Galini where Bee used to play his guitar and sing the blues and tunes he'd composed to paint a picture of his love for Andrea. Ben sat on the very spot and thought of her sorrow and the silent invasion of a life without her musical man, the distress and devastation she must feel, and tried to think of a way to help.
By the time he had wandered back to The Villa and clambered into his bag, closed his eyes and lay waiting for sleep, the music from a penetrating sound system was building and drenching the air with sugary pop, but thankfully he was fading fast, right there, centre stage of imagination.
When Ben hadn't returned after an hour, Kevin told Leo he'd most likely gone to bed. But Leo had shaken his head, 'Listen Kevin, I shared a room with that guy for a month and I know he'll be back.'
Kevin said he couldn't resist saying, 'Listen Leo, I've known him for twenty-five years and I bet you one drink he's gone to bed.'
'OK. He's gone to bed,' and they stayed for one more drink before climbing the steps up to Theo's for a nightcap.
'You pay,' said Kevin.
'OK,' said Leon.
Kevin and Ben realised they would not be allowed to stay on the harbour front forever, therefore next day they moved to a little back street near the old Telephone Exchange, a street of terraced homes like you still see all over rural Europe; just lanes and tracks within an everyday village routine. You'd see its womenfolk sitting outside on chairs turned to face the house, their feet resting on the first step and quietly crocheting white cotton in complicated family designs and patterns whilst talking the everyday liturgy of villagers, and often just sitting in groups in the cool of the day.
About four doors away lived Joyce, Tsaly`s kitchen help and cleaner, wife of English Polish chef, Stephan.
'You're living in there?' she asked in utter dismay when she saw them preparing dinner. There was a tiny inkling of how it felt to be an unwelcome immigrant or traveller. Later, when her husband came home he said, half joking, 'You're living here? I'll get you evicted.' And they didn't laugh.
Later that evening they met Marian van Esch, a graphic artist from Amsterdam and like most Dutch travellers, fluent in English. They liked her instantly. She and Ben had Yoga in common and both liked to meditate. Unlike Ben, she was careful with what she ate and drank. She was modest and kind and liked to laugh.
She had come away, 'not to holiday, but away to shake off the city, to immerse myself in the outdoor life. I want to get plenty of exercise and to sketch. Oh, Galini is OK for two days but I need less tourist, maybe further along the coast, there I can be real. I'll probably move on soon.'
As they talked she'd doodle cartoons from whatever caught her eye, numbers into faces, handwriting into landscapes, wildlife and plants, she would amaze them with her skills. But dear Marian just could not resist the softness of balmy Galini. Before she finally left, she must have made several half-hearted attempts to get away but instead she spent her time there exercising her dance moves, drawing conclusions and generally living her life in the discos.
Then there was Monica, a bit loopy with a smoker's cough and also from Holland. She was enjoying her first holiday in several years and they hardly ever saw her. Leon was desperate to trap her but no matter how much he tried to encourage Kevin and Ben to join him in the fray, neither could really be bothered. There is a College of Arts in Falmouth with lots of interesting young students, many of them on an adventure of their own, eager to open the doors of experience. Kevin and Ben were on their own particular odyssey. It just seemed more worthy to stay in neutral, to make new friends, have the occasional beer or raki and to sit in the kafeneia till closing time.
One day Kevin took Ben to one side, 'Look, don't you think there's a chance Leon is an innocent in all your suspicions? Maybe he was not as malicious as you imagined? Maybe just broke and knew you could afford the ten pounds you'd lent him without him having to worry too much about repaying it. As far as he was concerned it was as simple as that. No more, no less. Anyway, you said he had returned it after explaining about Dutch postmen being well known for opening letters, although I don't think I'd fall for that either. If you borrow money you repay it without imposing your own particular reasoning on the when or if, but hey, why not give him a break?'
Kevin was right of course, and once Ben let things be, he felt happier in himself.
During one evening's lounging around on Theo's terrace bar enjoying a revitalising lager, they began talking to Sally and Fiona, two Londoners on holiday. Sally was rather attractive and more than a little bitter about being made redundant from the Stock Exchange. Fiona, her friend, was still working there and overly sympathetic, 'You have to dig deep with Sally; she's really a lovely person.' Pandora's mother probably said the same about Pandora and anyway, they were expecting their bosses at the end of the week when they'd be doing a little brokering of their own. After being ushered inside to keep the music noise down, most of which Ben recognised, Sally astonished him when she whispered some quite lusty desires involving him and her on the following evening. First night of a fortnight's holiday can make anyone act strangely, particularly half a pint of rum and coke, and under a full moon. Nevertheless, he agreed to meet her at eight the following evening before they parted.
The evening floated along and tiredness was catching up. After a nightcap, Kevin and Ben dragged their weary selves back to the Villa where crickets and the fragrance of honeysuckle cast them adrift into calmer waters despite the crassis from The Dafnes Winery.
For the first two nights with their evening meal they drank about half a pint each of this so-called country wine and never quite got used to its milky orange juice colour nor ever quite realised its strength. Each evening, after several other drinks, usually rakis, crassis and beers, at just around ten o'clock there would be the very definite sensation of being tapped once on the back of the skull with a lump hammer and the head falling forward onto the chest. At that stage it was impossible to raise it upright again. This inevitably signalled the end of the evening for Ben and on each occasion he was usually mid-conversation with a lady from Wales called Pauline. Pauline was trying to find premises in which to start up her own holiday play school and was quite interested in him having a part in it. By the third night, even though the rest of the lethal brew had been discarded, Pauline had lost interest in any further business conversations with Ben. Well, they were hardly conversations, she being a rabbitty lady from the Welsh valleys who never stopped talking and once his chin began lowering chestward, she'd simply aim her voice at the next available ear - and there were always plenty of those in Agia Galini, particularly when it came to money-making schemes.
Once upon a time in Galini there was a visiting florist who, having noticed there were no florist shops as such in the bustling centre, applied to the local tourist police for a licence to start trading. After three months of waiting for permission, he noticed the local grocer had started selling flower bunches from his shop. The florist returned to the UK dispirited.
There was the day Ben and Kevin cadged a lift from a fisherman around to an isolated beach where the snorkelling was reputed to be the best. 'I am Yianni. I am the captain of this boat,' his face was creased like the White Mountains looming up behind him.
He dropped them off in a small cove and promised to return in two hours. As he disappeared, put-putted out of sight around the headland Ben waved him off from the rocks at the water's edge while Kevin was far less cheerful, 'Benobo, if he doesn't come back do you realise we have no other way of getting to Galini and no one knows we are here?'
But to their relief he did return, and on the way back he asked each of them in turn, 'Please, you - you are German?'
'No. English.'
'And you - you German?'
'No, Scouser,' said Kevin.
'Ah, Good. Good. Because when German, sometimes I don't go back for them.'