16
Warily, Ben made his way to the camping to see what things were like on planet Kevin. And it was good to see him after the day apart and soon he was back to his old quietly amused self, particularly when he heard what a frustrating time they had had.
Starting in the square quite early and as usual quite slowly, things began their old familiar spin but by after much study watching the locals, Kevin and Ben had gradually learned how to appreciate the drinking of the fiery raki with a more relaxed and professional attitude. In doing so, thereby preserving one's honour from mockery every time one staggered to the bar for a refill. The thing to do was to buy in bulk. The landlord was always happy to fill a little soda bottle, which would be just over three and three quarter shots for the price of just three. A totally acceptable arrangement to all concerned. And so they sat in cheerful silence sipping away until Ben noticed yet another tourist collecting his impressions for posterity with a video camera.
Visiting any strange and fascinating land, any foreign culture, is a perfect opportunity to broaden our outlook, to learn, and not just about the culture but about our own by comparison. But to spend the opportunity, those precious moments, looking at it all through the lens of a camera instead of using the senses is a complete waste of the present in exchange for a possible future. It disturbed his own sense of spontaneity in absorbing the ancientness which always, he found in Greece.
With the last drop of lemon soda came a sudden inspiration. Ben saw the future. Camcorder tourists everywhere just like snap-happy tourists in the past. Very slowly he put down the empty bottle and watched a star burst in his imagination.
'Why not have kiosks in every single tourist destination, as commonplace as news stands? For around ten pounds a day you could rent a camcorder and make your own personal holiday movie? You wouldn't have to lug it round all the time, you just rented one when you wanted one. You could even drop them off at the airport on your way home.'
Kevin stopped drinking. He frowned, he grinned, then he nodded, bobbing his head up and down. It was clear they were on to something brilliant and filled them with stardust.
'I think we'd have to return to Britain if we were serious, to take advice and gather as much information as possible. Ben, it's such a simple, mind-blowing, money-making opportunity it would be worth it. And if we don't do it, undoubtedly, within the next couple of years someone else, somewhere else, will have the same simple dream and make it happen,' Kevin now at bursting point.
'Just like hire cars, hire-bikes, hire-boats - whatever. It is happening with us now.'
'We might need a sponsor because we have no money but it is completely feasible and we have to jump or miss the boat.'
'I'd call them Kordacams after Alexander Korda, the early movie maker.'
Ben went for a walk and phoned his father just to say hello. His Dad told him he'd been to pay his last respects to Tom, a close friend who had died and was about to be cremated.
He kept chuckling, 'I was in the Chapel of Rest where the body lies in state, kneeling in a corner praying for his soul when I overheard two women talking. One said, 'God, he looks well doesn't he?' And the other one said, 'Norrarf. I think the weekend in Rhyl did him the world of good.' And it didn't end there, boy. The next day at the crematorium it seems they had arranged to play a recording by Louis Armstrong, Tom's favourite jazz singer, but instead of When the Saints Go Marching In they made a mistake and out came Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. We all saw the funny side and no one took offence, in fact, we all starting smiling and laughing but all with due respect of course.'
Ben could never tell whether those stories his Dad told were true or not but he liked to think so. There was always a tale in his repertoire to make Ben laugh, no matter how he felt, 'Glad you're having fun, Dad. See you when we get back.'
By evening, they were full of optimism. The Dream was locked in a secret place and encased behind a wall of silence. They raised a glass to their future success and as usual Ben overdid the booze and grew remorseful and apologised to Kevin for all his thoughtlessness and insensitivity. Kevin was OK about it and gave him a friendly hug and would have tucked him in and told him a story to send him off to dreamland if Ban had asked.
As Ben dressed next morning he looked over and Kevin was wake, 'Are you coming to say goodbye to Marian?'
'No, thanks. I'd feel like a spare thingy at a wedding,' truly, Kevin had way with words.
Marian was the only passenger waiting at the bus station taverna. Her bus was due any minute and she was excited and anxious in case it was late. She and Ben looked and smiled and made jokes as they hugged, and their farewells were tender and meaningful and stammered with sobs. Out of nowhere came the bus with the driver casually calling over his shoulder, 'Iraklion!' He was late and wanted to make up time.
One last hug, a gabble of words, a mouthful of hair as Ben tried to kiss Marian's cheek as, half-crazed, she ran up and down alongside the bus between closed doors front and back telling him to stay in touch while doing her best to attract the attention of the grumpy driver so she could climb on board and finally leave Galini. The driver was staring straight ahead until, maliciously, the doors hissed apart, swallowed her whole, and hissed closed. All too soon Ben's tearful friend was waving through the window as her bus slipped away and out of sight. Marian was gone and not too deep down Ben knew he would miss her.
Back at the camping he brightened when he found Kevin had prepared breakfast presenting him with a cup of tea and fragrant scrambled eggs and toast and even calling Ben chum, most unusual for him but just how every breakfast should begin. Their business dream governed all thoughts. Ideas and questions were tossed between them every moment. There was no doubt they were on the brink of financial salvation. On the other hand, Ben couldn't quite work out through all the euphoric haze if it was really what he wanted or if he was glad just to be euphoric for a change.
At one point they were sitting in the harbour area, easy, gazing, watching the kids playing when Kevin nudged Ben and gave a quick nod in the direction of two young guys on the next table. One was doing all the talking and had the unmistakable Liverpool nasality. The other occasionally referred to him as Dave. Liverpool Dave was telling his companion how he'd just lost his work in the town for not being fluent in Greek. His gloom became infectious with all the talk of no prospects, of running out of money, and of how others he had known had really ended up in bad situations, legal and illegal.
'The trouble is you don't want to admit it but you have to face facts. There comes a time when you have no choice but to cut your losses and go home to the usual boring unemployment problems. You think working abroad is the realisation of your dreams but it's not. There's a big difference between being on holiday and working in a resort. When you're on holiday you don't have a care in the world. You have plenty of money to spend, you're waited on hand and foot and as long as you are spending, everyone's your friend. You have no pressure and no job to worry about. The weather's great, everyone smiles at you and with luck you might even share some casual romances; more or less, you do as you like. But you're living an illusion of prosperity.
But when you come abroad to work, you hit the ground - and hard! The locals have a different attitude towards you, not to mention the employers. When it's work, work, work, you start to miss all those things you had in your comfort zone, and there's no such thing as the weekend.'
It was depressing. Ben walked down to the shop for a bottle of beer. On the way there were signs everywhere advertising, Bouzouki Night - Every Wednesday Night - Greek Food and Drink at The Camping. It would be in their very garden and right on the doorstep and just the kind of distraction they needed, but could they afford it?
Kevin was very shrewd as usual. 'Well, since we're already there it seems like the right place at the right time. To Hades with the expense - let's splash the cash!'
Later, hosed down and polished, they were ready for a well-deserved night of music and fun. Ben loved live music and especially in the open air.
On the way through the site Kevin chewed over the idea that, 'We primates were making music in one form or another when we lived in trees, it being an essential, natural ingredient of expression. I read some graffiti somewhere, 'Music is what feelings so und like', and putting two and two together, you can see the logic and especially with regard to Greek music.'
'Of course, of course. That goes without saying,' gushed Ben, although he had never entertained that thought himself.
But Greek music had broadened his mind until there was no room for anything but his senses, and that night all was possible and his body wanted to dance and be like a child again.
Daphna, the owner of The Camping was an absolute delight and once she had introduced the artists that would be appearing she came to say hello and eventually stayed for quite a while. She sat and talked about her life and education in Russia. She'd studied there for eight long years as part of a student exchange system. She looked like a younger version of Nana Mouskouri and just as attractive. She was expecting her first baby in three months and he would be called Mikis. 'There is absolutely no chance the baby will be a girl and in any event I am not having any more no matter what Yiorgos wants. I'm going back to school to teach.'
Her husband, Yiorgos, the delighted father to be, like most Cretan men was friendly and proud and just a little bit possessive. He organised all the music when they held their Bouzouki Nights and paid for everything out of his own pocket. A motor mechanic by trade, Yiorgos once owned a garage. They had recently bought a piece of land at the Karali beach and were in the process of clearing it before building the family home, 'out of wood - very expensive!' And again, a rising pride but totally without flash. He liked Ben and Kevin and in particular he liked the name over the side entrance to the bus.
As soon as the musicians had tuned up and the first strains from the lyre, the guitar and bouzouki filled the warm summer's night, all pretensions were thrown to the wind and Ben's unworthy fibres encouraged and trembled and twanged and sat him on his Mount Olympos with the gods.
Then the music took flight and all he could do was hang on to its tail. He could not let go. From the wings Yiorgos introduced a man called Yiannis from the ancient city of Sitia, 'The finest dancer of Kreta.' Eagerly the audience cheered until a tall, saturnine young man took over in front of the crowd, dancing alone to the music with dignity and passion, as fluid and dark as a shadow, the music wove the tapestry while his dancing brought it alive. Ben overheard a lady sitting behind telling her companion that whenever they held their Sultana Festival in the town of Sitia it was that man who danced the traditional Cretan dances not only in the streets but also on the long, bright, palm-lined beach. When his dance was over, the crowd went berserk.
Then silence until, quite slowly and unannounced, there came the unmistakable opening notes of Zorba's Dance from the powerful film, Zorba the Greek, and with them, Ben's tears and laughter. Everyone knows the classical and famous Zorba's Dance written by the passionate Mikis Theodorakis. This highly emotional piece is introduced on the bouzouki with simple notes and chords slowly and carefully shaping the sharp metallic melody then the phrase is repeated an octave higher before whole tune is lifted with a change of theme a little faster and the cue progresses, slowly but definitely until all caution is abandoned and the music soars and grips the musicians, the dancers and the audience within its passion. The steps increase and so do the cries of joy and fervour from the dancers and shouts of favour from the congregation.
The film draws a close with the very physical, worldly Zorba and the gentlemanly, white-suited Englishman facing huge personal and financial downfall. They begin to dance the moving Syrtaki, arms outstretched, embracing the reassuring and energising power of loyal support and enthusiasm for whatever the future holds. As a result this scene creates the most unforgettable of all film endings.
A wise old Greek once said, 'This music is all about the beauty and passion of life. It starts slow, grows and grows, gets a little crazy, slows again until finally, it rests, completely spent. My friend, it is beyond the moment.'
Ben joined in the dancing with a line of stumbling tourists, each with their own version of which steps to make. They threaded their way through the tables into the kitchen, out of the kitchen, round the tables again, and around and around the dance floor. He loved it to his bones. The drinks flowed, the food was scrumptious and above and behind came a mad raging sunset pouring in sea-foams of cloud with the sun streaming in through the dense sea of leaves. The birds sang as butterflies hopped and jumped through the air, warm, sweet and what an evening it was already.
Next, Yiorgos and two other men set the fiery night ablaze dancing an ancient Cretan dance, the Pentozali; a dizzy, very fast dance where the dancers taking breathtaking leaps, causing the audience to gasp and cry out with every spring and bound.
Camaraderie and trust filled the air with a raw, spontaneous expression of existence; the very essence in the nature of the Greek.
All too soon the musicians softened and the tunes mellowed, and so did we. When you witness the Cretans' passion for dance you understand a little more their passion for life. The energy celebrates their folk traditions and their natural awareness. Their dance is the dance of life.
Once again, anticipation thrilled although Ben knew not why. However, he did know he hadn't felt such contentment in years.
Daphna produced photos of her student days in Moscow and she was quite a beauty, in fact, outstanding amongst her fellows. Her openness and frankness and her confidence particularly was touching, the likes of which Ben had never seen in Greek women before. She was obviously pleased to practise her English and she glowed with awareness and knowledge. She insisted, that before they left Greece, they must promise to visit the National Archaeological Museum in Athens.
'It is breathtaking to see at close range how my ancestors lived and fought and loved. I remember within minutes I was dumbstruck, out of my depth, in rooms rich in thought and theory. You wander mesmerised, open-mouthed, surrounded by countless glowing treasures and they give you a genuine sense of a singular richness of life in another age.
And for me the most overwhelming, careful intelligence lies within a statue called the Artemision Bronze, and no one is quite sure whether it is Zeus or Poseidon, but either way it is magnificent. In this one piece there is poise, rhythm, strength, defiance, restraint....oh, it lives! And yet it confused me. There's the reverence you sense when you are in the presence of the everlasting and perfect, like the craftsmanship in the statue, and then there are the waves you sense, quite deep, a personal passion.
You must go to this museum. It will change your way of thinking. With all their mind- blowing creations and ideas it dawns on you these were a very sensitive people, and their thoughts and ideas are in a more tangible form. You know? I think we humans took the wrong path. We turned outward to technology instead of inward to humanity.
But it takes a lot of courage to look within, and our leaders aren't at all adventurous when it comes to that kind of daring which is why we haven't really come very far in all this time. But one day, maybe we will find a different way. Maybe we will want peace instead of war.'
She fell silent, lowered her gaze and rested a hand on her belly. Perhaps the tears were coming through, but she laughed and topped up our glasses before gathering up her photographs. 'Forgive me. I talk too much. Must get going. Lots to do. See you later.' And off they swayed - earth mother with child.
With Marian's exercises Ben's back was improving and particularly after swimming every day. He continued being kind to his body with only a minor hangover to add to the effort. In the late afternoon, taking a late stroll back to the camping, they passed an open doorway. Inside they could see a frail old man lying in a bed, almost at the end of his life's time. He was surrounded by children, family and friends and others. In contrast to their deathly silence, he was groaning and rolling his head on the pillow in distress. It was his final scene for all to see. The open door, the public display of approaching death, neither struck Ben as odd or morbid but with respect it showed the impermanence in nature; that nothing lasts forever.
And as regards the camcorder project, Ben was no longer sure whether it was an opportunity worth leaving the sun for or whether it was a just face-saving device to take them away from each other, call the adventure closed and make for home in safety. Either way, it seemed their odyssey was over.
Ben offered Daphna a couple of cassettes of the Greek music for children he'd sold to Theo but could see she wasn't really interested, 'Yes, very catchy but it's not really restaurant musak.' He showed her a favorite tape containing a track by blues artist Buddy Guy singing the super cool, Change in the Weather, and Daphna loved it. She'd heard of this blues man and had been into US blues since her college days. Most Greeks know and appreciate American country blues, perhaps through their own Rembetika which sometimes they call their city blues, however Ben was of the opinion that Rembetika is not just to entertain the listener but is more a cry of release from strong, repressed emotions.
Returning to the camping, they bumped into Theo and Tsaly who were rather surprised, if not disappointed, at the scanty reasoning behind their sudden decision to leave and Theo definitely clouded over. Nevertheless they wished them well, with hugs and handshakes and promises to keep in touch.
After dinner, Kevin and Ben had one of their heart to hearts and mutually agreed that to return to working in the tourist trade would shatter the whole meaning behind their expedition. Ben quite fancied a book shop or even a pottery, then Kevin knocked him for six by saying he'd like a poly-tunnel in which to grow vegetables and supply the local restaurants. And of course, they both loved the idea of their own vineyard, but catering directly for the public was definitely out of the question and since there was not much else in Galini, they knew it was time to accept the unacceptable, that it was time to head back to Britain. That evening, Ben received word Kristos wanted him to work in the Pizzeria for him again. He decided to accept, then changed his mind. No, they were going home.
Strolling down Taverna Street threading through the tables, Ben intended dropping in to explain all this to Kristos but his mother had arrived and they were having dinner. Kristos nodded to Ben and signalled to meet the next day. The man in the loud purple shirt was making his goodbyes and looking gloomy and since The Dream was their big secret they just hugged him, kissed his girlfriend and departed.
Definitely, they sensed a strange mix of emotions once they'd made the decision to leave but in the main they were sad. Sad, because their comfortable, carefree rut was done and they were about to re-enter another, more serious rut and sad because they were blaming the Galini Greed Machine for the indecision over whether or not they should embark on the Capitalist Trail themselves. In the square they passed Markos but he either chose not to see them or he was drunk, or both.
Evenings on the island have a genuine social feel about them. The streets are filled with children playing, squealing and running about and the senior people are everywhere talking and laughing or arguing, but not hidden away as they are back home. There are coloured lights and music and much waving, hello-ing and nodding to passers- by, smiling at strangers and never any sign of vandals or graffiti. Ben had a vague memory of wandering about, looking into doorways and windows of homes, but really, next day he had no real recollection of anything significant. His evening Galini was shrouded in mist.
Friday was another golden day and the day they met Linda from Vancouver and a couple called Louis and Louise talking to Liverpool Dave. Louis and Louise were from South Africa and open, friendly and kind. At once Ben began to wonder why he was going back to Blighty just to make money when he was beginning to see life so much more fulfilling in the company of these mellow fellows. The couple lived on the campsite sharing a grass hut and it seemed an ideal and simple existence. They made coloured woven jewellery which they tried to sell to the tourists and when the afternoons came and the sun was too hot, they dipped into the sea to cool down. They were living a life of their own. Unfortunately, just then there weren't enough tourists to cover their expenses and like the rest of the traders they were finding it hard going which was another reason for nomads to leave. But they were a gentle and open-minded couple who loved the camping society just like Ben and Kevin. Louise stunned Ben when she said, 'It's what campers do – they blow away the fluff.' The nomads you meet in campsites have a completely different attitude to the sightseers you meet in the guesthouse or hotel. There's much more interaction, consideration and kindness.
Ben popped into the Pizzeria to see if Kristos was around but he'd just nipped out for bread. He arranged to call back a little later on. Kevin suggested he recommend Liverpool Dave for the post since they were going home. He saw Kristos and told him it was necessary to return because his father was ill. Ben hated lying but it seemed like the easiest way of avoiding enquiries about The Dream. Kristos was interested in hiring Dave and Dave was quite pleased at finding the work which was a plus all round. Before wandering round to Lucy and Bruno's, they went with Liverpool Dave in celebration of his new job and to cheer him on in his daily adrenaline rush - leaping from a fairly high rock spur into the heartbreakingly crystal ancient waters of the Libyan Sea. No wonder they call it tombstoning.
Kevin and Ben had arranged with Lucy and Bruno, and Bruno's migraine, to drop in for a brief visit at their room in the Hotel Acropol. It had a veranda overlooking the central harbour area and since the day had turned cloudy and heavier than any of the others, and since Bruno was not really enthusiastic about too much activity, they spent a very pleasant couple of hours in sipping Camomile tea from wine glasses, eating mushroom flavoured cheese with tomatoes and bikkies and talking about the distant mountains, the Olympians, Greek myths, the Greek gods, and their unearthly powers.
From the veranda they had a wide view across the bay, the harbour with its fishing boats, those mountains, the horizon, and below them, at a table outside a cafe having lunch, Amanda and Michael. Could they attract their attention down there? If they were gods they could and since they had never tried, maybe it was time to find out. They exchanged glances, held hands then focussed hard. Slowly but surely, eventually Amanda and Michael looked up, raising their wine glasses as those on the balcony raised their glasses of tea.
Kevin, now completely galvanized and having had enough of the clouds, stood and raised his arms to the sky, solemnly calling upon the mighty god Aeolus, begging him to send forth winds to blow away the clouds that they might enjoy his ever constant and forever changing Cretan sea and mountains. And Aeolus was true and good and sent a gentle wind to gradually clear the sky of all migraine making pressure and with his fellow god Helios, sent down shafts of golden sunlight to colour those mountains as honeycomb, and Bruno was indebted as they all were and so made their way down to the shore for a blessed swim to show their gratitude.
The beach was flowered with topless ladies yet Kevin and Ben were strong and paid no heed and instead ran down to the waves shouting things like, 'It's too late now to turn back – even if the water IS like ice!' and, 'You're sure there are no sharks?' because with so many watching they were more or less committed and have to keep going and hope not to look too ludicrous. And all was good. From the water Ben saw Mick from Manchester, a lonesome traveller only recently arrived, and signalled him to join them and in scrambling out across the stones, Ben waved to Lucy and Bruno who had just appeared, their hands shielding their eyes. They came across and settled down and soon there was a jolly group but strangely, Michael and Amanda rested further down the beach and a little out of sight. But the gods had more to show and more to amuse because from where they all lay, worshipping on the warm sand, they could clearly see right across the Bay of Messara to the range of Kofinas Mountains, a distance of almost twenty miles, and there a storm was brewing in a darkening the sky with heavy black clouds rolling and creaking and thundering. Almost at once, to their great surprise and wonder, the sky was streaked with crackling forked lightning! Completely surreal! Jumping to their feet they began clapping and cheering and dancing like a long lost Tribal Sect.
Playing pool at the Jazz-in-Jazz bar they were always under scrutiny from the owner. It wasn't that they were strangers but that they had been there in other years and were known to play well, much to the annoyance of the local cool guys. Kevin suggested a preparatory raki at Myro's, 'To sit in reverence, observing the strollers and rollers posing and strutting for each other's pleasure. It goes on all over Europe, if not the world, and has done since Aristotle was but a lad. Amen.'
For dinner they had souvlakia and drank....er....Amstel!! If ever Ben was sick to death of a drink, it had to be Amstel beer and if ever he was seduced by the persona of a drink it would have to be Raki and both lived in Agia Galini.
He decided to phone Andrea in Hungary from the little post card shop next to the butchers, bring her up to date with their plans and afterwards join the jazz-in-jazzers.
Anthea answered her phone with her usual musical, 'Hi Ben! And how are you, my dear friend?' but before he could really answer she launched forth into all the usual opening greetings until, out of the blue, 'Ben, are you sitting down? I have a big, big surprise for you.'
He had no idea what was coming, 'Go on.'
She sang the following phrase, 'Ben, I know dear Bee often said Crete was his favourite destination and he met you there, and I know you won't believe this but, if it's OK with you.... I'm coming to Greece to meet you! Yes! Ha! Ha! I will be joining you in Crete in two weeks time! I want to sit where he sat and see the things he saw with you – the sea wall, the cafes, the bus stop. What do you think? Ben? Hello, are you there?'
She was laughing and sounded truly happy. Ben was speechless, being totally unprepared. He slumped into a void. Normally, whenever he heard those smooth Hungarian tones singing out her news a smile would come and bring laughter, and always they'd share a memory of Bee. But not then. He was dumbstruck. How could he tell her about The Dream? Tell her not to come? She had been looking forward to visiting the place and now he was about to shatter her dreams. But there was no choice.
'I am really very sorry, Andrea, bad news. You see Kevin and I shall be returning to England fairly soon and I....'
Just one word from her interrupted his feeble reasoning, 'Why?'
All he could say was, 'We've got a plan to make lots of money.' It sounded materialistic and base and hypocritical; all the things she was not. 'Money for everyone. To set us all free!' Cliché after cliché and pathetic - a conniving excuse.
There was nothing but silence from the other end and at his end, his groaning into the mouthpiece. 'Andrea? Andrea! Oh, Andrea....'
Silence.
Ben replaced the receiver.
For the rest of the evening, each time their conversation came to mind he would utter a feeble groan and his spirit would sink. He passed the time with Kevin playing pool in the gloom of the poolroom amongst the silhouettes bashing their balls around and beating their chests. He just didn't need the over-dramatic reaction of the owner when he asked if he'd play Portia, by Miles Davies, a favourite of Bee's.
'New stuff - all disco crap!' and the owner sneered and was cheered by his sycophants with their mocking laughter and patronising expressions. He began turning down the volume whenever anything by Davis came over the speakers and he'd raise his eyes to the ceiling and shake his head in despair.
Ben and Kevin had had enough. Kevin asked for their bill from the owner and threw the money on the bar in disgust. Then he looked him in the eyes, slammed down his drink and sang, 'Wop bop a loo bop a bam up yours!'
They stormed into the street, almost knocking Amanda and Michael off their feet as they left the restaurant next door, eager to get to Cleo's for a nightcap and some fun before Bedfordshire, as Amanda used to say. On the way in she said, 'Do you know, I'd really love a little Stilton and Port', and for a second Ben had the impression she may not have been joking. When they sat down, Lucy and Bruno stood up, tired. Mick was a little jolly sandman, and Ben wasn't in the mood for drinking. He signalled this to Kevin who was gabbing to a group of total strangers. Kevin nodded. They left, wandering through the darker stages of their night to the van. They were actually dragging their feet on the way back to The Villa. Ben drooped in sadness and wondering if his hope of actually meeting Andrea and finding out about Bee was just a hopeless dream or whether there was another way, and Kevin, cheesed off with all things in general.
In his sleeping bag, Ben groaned one last 'Aaaagh!', and closed his eyes, thumping his forehead, thinking of the disappointment he had thrown at Andrea through his bumbling indiscretion.