old bar, learn a little flair, learn to spin a bottle, and come back. I like your honesty and I think the chicks are going to dig your hair.’ The man picks up his newspaper.
‘ If I get a job somewhere else, why would I come back?’ Theo can feel his briki of rage go on simmer at the man’s dismissal of himself and his village.
‘ Because I will pay you double what you will be paid anywhere else.’ The man does not lower his newspaper. ‘Try the Diamond Rock Cafe over the main road, up the side street there. They go through bartenders as quickly as glasses; they always want workers.’ He turns back to his newspaper, shakes it flat and becomes engrossed without another word.
Theo ’s first school teacher, glasses on nose, hair in a tight, greying bun, marches up to the man, snatches the paper from his hands and takes a firm grip on his ear. ‘Manners cost nothing. Now be polite,’ she says firmly.
‘ Thanks,’ Theo mutters, more to the apparition than to the man. The gas under his briki turns down and he wades through sand to the gate, where he takes off his shoes and pours out the contents before continuing across the main road. He never even found out the man’s name. Back in the village, whose name does he not know? He knows every man woman and child, and their relation to each other. Okay, he does call Cosmo’s baba, well, ‘Cosmo’s Baba,’ but he knows his name, which he uses when he talks to him directly, but other than him? And here he is, in Athens a whole week, and he has met so many people and found out so few names. The passing and crossing of lives seems impersonal, with people coming and going as fast as the cars. Nothing seems to have any permanence. It feels unkind and inhuman, as if no one matters to anyone. Theo wraps his arms across his chest and runs them up to his shoulders and briefly pushes his cheek to the back of his hand.
The Diamond Rock Cafe, even in the bright sunshine, looks dead. The windows have crude wooden shutters lowered over them, hinged at the top. Wooden cable drums lined on the pavement pose as tables. There are no chairs. On either side are other bars which don ’t look any more inviting.
A man walks past.
‘Don’t open till the night-time,’ he says without breaking his stride.
‘ Thank you.’ Theo’s arms drop as he watches him go. The man leaves behind the smells of fresh bread and cooked tomatoes. It evokes memories of the kitchen, his mama chopping vegetables. Theo, too small to see what she is doing, tipping a chair and dragging it across the flags, the legs bumping over the uneven stones, the vinyl floor not laid for another twenty years. How tall the chair seemed then as he climbed to stand on the seat, and how big he felt standing there, the same height as his mama. She would smile and incline her head until their hair touched before she resumed her work. The smells of herbs and onions that she stuffed into the tomatoes with rice ready for the oven would permeate the house.
The aroma the passer-by left behind begins to dissipate. Theo walks in the direction the man was going until he catches the smell again and follows it until he is outside a bakery. His stomach grumbles. He can live without coffee, but he must eat.
The bell above the door tinkles as he enters.
‘ Hello. Decided not to wait for it to open?’ the man who Theo just passed in the street asks from behind the counter, rolling up his sleeves.
Theo chuckles. ‘It would be a bit of a wait.’
‘ Just buy a mini bottle of ouzo . Cheaper as well,’ the man replies.
‘ No, I am hoping to get a job there.’ Theo smiles. The man does not have an Athenian accent. He is from the country, but Theo cannot tell where. One of the islands, maybe.
‘ Oh, a man like you?’ He looks Theo up and down. ‘You will get a job there in a heartbeat. Count on it.’
‘ Really?’ Theo fidgets with enthusiasm.
A woman with her hair in a net comes through from the back.
‘Eleni, don’t
‘ If I get a job somewhere else, why would I come back?’ Theo can feel his briki of rage go on simmer at the man’s dismissal of himself and his village.
‘ Because I will pay you double what you will be paid anywhere else.’ The man does not lower his newspaper. ‘Try the Diamond Rock Cafe over the main road, up the side street there. They go through bartenders as quickly as glasses; they always want workers.’ He turns back to his newspaper, shakes it flat and becomes engrossed without another word.
Theo ’s first school teacher, glasses on nose, hair in a tight, greying bun, marches up to the man, snatches the paper from his hands and takes a firm grip on his ear. ‘Manners cost nothing. Now be polite,’ she says firmly.
‘ Thanks,’ Theo mutters, more to the apparition than to the man. The gas under his briki turns down and he wades through sand to the gate, where he takes off his shoes and pours out the contents before continuing across the main road. He never even found out the man’s name. Back in the village, whose name does he not know? He knows every man woman and child, and their relation to each other. Okay, he does call Cosmo’s baba, well, ‘Cosmo’s Baba,’ but he knows his name, which he uses when he talks to him directly, but other than him? And here he is, in Athens a whole week, and he has met so many people and found out so few names. The passing and crossing of lives seems impersonal, with people coming and going as fast as the cars. Nothing seems to have any permanence. It feels unkind and inhuman, as if no one matters to anyone. Theo wraps his arms across his chest and runs them up to his shoulders and briefly pushes his cheek to the back of his hand.
The Diamond Rock Cafe, even in the bright sunshine, looks dead. The windows have crude wooden shutters lowered over them, hinged at the top. Wooden cable drums lined on the pavement pose as tables. There are no chairs. On either side are other bars which don ’t look any more inviting.
A man walks past.
‘Don’t open till the night-time,’ he says without breaking his stride.
‘ Thank you.’ Theo’s arms drop as he watches him go. The man leaves behind the smells of fresh bread and cooked tomatoes. It evokes memories of the kitchen, his mama chopping vegetables. Theo, too small to see what she is doing, tipping a chair and dragging it across the flags, the legs bumping over the uneven stones, the vinyl floor not laid for another twenty years. How tall the chair seemed then as he climbed to stand on the seat, and how big he felt standing there, the same height as his mama. She would smile and incline her head until their hair touched before she resumed her work. The smells of herbs and onions that she stuffed into the tomatoes with rice ready for the oven would permeate the house.
The aroma the passer-by left behind begins to dissipate. Theo walks in the direction the man was going until he catches the smell again and follows it until he is outside a bakery. His stomach grumbles. He can live without coffee, but he must eat.
The bell above the door tinkles as he enters.
‘ Hello. Decided not to wait for it to open?’ the man who Theo just passed in the street asks from behind the counter, rolling up his sleeves.
Theo chuckles. ‘It would be a bit of a wait.’
‘ Just buy a mini bottle of ouzo . Cheaper as well,’ the man replies.
‘ No, I am hoping to get a job there.’ Theo smiles. The man does not have an Athenian accent. He is from the country, but Theo cannot tell where. One of the islands, maybe.
‘ Oh, a man like you?’ He looks Theo up and down. ‘You will get a job there in a heartbeat. Count on it.’
‘ Really?’ Theo fidgets with enthusiasm.
A woman with her hair in a net comes through from the back.
‘Eleni, don’t
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