I arrived at the island port in the small hours of the night, my hair all sticky with the sea spray from the boat and wearing an old, stretched out blue sweater to protect me from the sea breeze. Passengers rushed out holding suitcases and bundles, an exuberant mood of welcoming and embracing all around the tiny port that gave me a hot, stuffy and lonely feeling; I was searching around with my eyes to spot the lady Eleni, who would be my guide, translator and helper in this place. I stopped in the middle of the port amongst all the people to take off the sweater, as the stillness and heaviness of the air on land was making me breathe rapidly and sweat. The cars were coming out of the boat now and started beeping at me, so that I had to pick up my equipment and suitcase, and move out of their way. I saw the lady Eleni further back, chatting loudly with two other ladies while in her left hand she waved a cardboard panel with my name printed on it. My name was dancing up and down, twisting and fanning with feeling, and as my eyes followed it, my head followed the movement in turn, so that as I walked towards her I must have looked like a foreign lunatic.
She was so friendly, extrovert and excitable, that although I was initially taken aback by this overwhelming familiarity, I have to admit that I felt relieved to know that someone would be looking out for me in this remote corner of the world. She insisted on carrying both my equipment and my suitcase and no matter how much I protested, it was impossible to get them back from her. She was a round, strong woman, with a shiny, rosy complexion, always smiling, or rather laughing, with a pair of dark laughing eyes to go with it. Her English was excellent, but with a mixed accent; a strong sound of American was definitely detectable, mixed with some kind of reminiscent local dialect. She walked fast and talked fast, and said that she would get me straight to my room, which had a bathroom, t.v, cooker and small fridge and balcony and a terrace with a great view. She would come back again in the morning to check on me, but not too early after such a long journey that I had, and show me around the island. With all this energy and enthusiasm that Eleni was showing I had not payed much attention to the surroundings; the sky was pitch black, we had walked along the marina, climbed some wide stairs and before I knew it we were climbing some more stairs up to the second floor of a small island house.
On the top of the stairs I saw a small boy, not more than five years old, who surely should have been in bed by that time. He was holding a stick and digging around the top step, before stopping and looking shyly and indirectly towards us. The owners of the room were suddenly behind me, a lovely elderly couple who did not speak much English, but who were as friendly and welcoming as Eleni had been. They unlocked the door to the room and let me step in first. I was immediately hit by a horrific smell; it was impossible to tell what the smell was, but as the three of them were talking amongst them, catching up and laughing, opening windows and balcony doors, I assumed the smell was a foreign version of stuffiness, a closed-up-all-winter-space smell, that the open windows and exuberant mood would wipe away. They said they had a bottle of water for me, the tap water was not drinkable, and some grapes of their own in the fridge. They were rushing to leave me alone to rest, key left on the outside of the door, and before I knew it they were all gone. The small boy was not there anymore either.
But when they were gone all that was left was a heavy still atmosphere, humid and hot, the air was stagnant and smelled of that horrible thing that I could not put my finger on. I slept in a sweaty muddle of unconsciousness, having nightmares about the boat sinking and then I woke up from a strong ray of light hitting me on the face and immediately I felt my nostrils burning with the heat and acidity of that smell. I got up and got out of the room into the terrace. My eyes shut from the intense sun. I had never seen light like that, it was so bright and clean. The view was breathtaking. I could see all the way down to the port, the marina and along the seafront where fishing boats were tied. The shops further back, were tavernas and ouzeris and a bakery and a small grocers. The place was tiny! I tried to look back in the other direction, but the view was blocked. I felt much better and decided to go back in the room and sort out the smell. The room was recently cleaned and painted bright white. Everything looked as it should. No visible problems in the bathroom drainage or underneath the kitchen sink. But the smell was everywhere. I was at a complete loss. I opened both windows and the door and secured them with chairs so that the draft would clean the stale air up.
Outside the elderly woman had climbed up the stairs and brought coffee and some ripe figs on a plate. She kind of bowed and smiled and shook her hand. She was asking if everything was alright from what I understood and I said yes and smiled back. The small boy of yesterday climbed up the stairs holding a small plastic ball, without looking at me and went to the terrace. He sat around holding the ball and I caught him a couple of times throwing quiet, sideways glances at me. I was thinking what to do while sipping my sweet hot coffee; I was not going to spend much time in the room, it was more or less just a place to sleep in. Also I would be on this island just for six nights, one of which had already passed. So I decided to put up with the smell and get on with my work. Just as I was thinking this, Eleni appeared on the top of the stairs and asked me how I had slept and how I liked the view from my place. I said all was great, but it had been a hot night. She laughed and said, it was one of the good ones. Then if I was ready we could drive around and see the whole island and the bits of the land I was to measure and survey. And off we went.
The island was very different from any other place I was sent to before; it had low hills, which blended one into another, rather like small waves. Although the landscape was dry, its colours were soft and earthy and the thorny bushes seemed velvety from afar. From the very top of the island you could see all the way around. I liked it straight away. But working under the hot sun was no fun, and I soon realised I needed at least a hat, bottled water and a mat to place under a tree for my breaks. Eleni left me at my destination and picked me up at an arranged time. I felt very strange, as if I was measuring not just land, but the private, very intimate part of somebody's body. Like a surgeon or more like a seamstress, about to measure and cut a very precious piece of some rare, luxurious fabric. I had the uncanny impression that I was being watched while I was doing something unethical, something intruding. What was I really doing, a sent foreign agent, measuring land for sale abroad, on this intimate, remote little place? I thought the sun was making me far too queasy and I started making measuring mistakes, when I heard Eleni's horn.
Back at the room, I unlocked the door and at once the smell hit me hard and made my eyes water, if possible it was even stronger than before, despite the hours of airing the room earlier. I took a long cool shower and felt much better for about five minutes, before I became sticky and sweaty again. I tried to sleep till late afternoon, as the locals did, but I found that the smell came in whirls from everywhere; from under the bed, from the furniture wood, from the curtains even. Some minutes passed when I lay still and could not detect it and then woof, like a huge wave it would hit me again. I felt still queasy from the sun and hungry at the same time and decided to go out and grab a bite to eat. As I walked by the seafront I heard dragging, light footsteps and turned to see the little boy following me from a safe distance, looking down at the road, his arms dangling awkwardly by his side. The sun was so hot, I could feel my forearms blistering. I ate a salad and bought a straw hat and a six pack of bottled water. I carried it back to the room and as I opened the door the smell hit me again, just as I had forgotten about it. I sat on the bed and the tiredness, heat and nausea made me want to wail and scream and curse, but all I did instead was to sit there still and trembling and furious, with exactly what I did not know, as the smell enveloped me and took me into a dreamless sleep.
I stayed out that night for as late as I could, dragged the table and chairs to the terrace and Eleni joined me for a glass of local red wine. The old lady that owned the room came up again and brought some small fried fish. She smiled and talked to Eleni, I guessed checking that I was happy with my stay. The small boy was hovering around, no one seemed to acknowledge his presence, he was one minute on the stairs, the next on the terrace, playing with some pebbles he had on a leather bundle. I was half contemplating bringing up the smell issue with Eleni, but then wanted to stick to my decision and put up with it. The night was hot and humid and heavy and I decided to sleep with the door and windows open. Every time the faintest of breezes entered the room, it seemed to bring with it a wave of the smell, as if it was now coming from outside too. As dreamless as my short afternoon nap had been, this night sleep was full of nightmares, huge heavy scissors cutting wrongly and derailing on a beautiful velvet fabric, the screeching noise like nails dragging on blackboard, woke me up shivering. Then I was trapped in a wet grave, in the belly of the boat, choking on the smell of rotting death rather than water. I woke up gasping, waving my arms and shaking my head, and then I knew I had to talk to Eleni about it, or I would go mad and leave my sanity on this island.
Before Eleni came to find me the next morning, the old man who owned the room climbed up the stairs slowly. He waved good morning and was holding a plate with big, juicy looking peaches. He came and put them upon my table in the room and as he passed next to me I detected the same smell of the room on his clothes. That made me take a step back and I felt a great sense of sadness; this was the smell of their house and clothes and ultimately of themselves. The man took out three photographs from his shirt's pocket and showed me what looked like his children. There were three of them with their mother in one photograph, her looking unrecognisable and young. The other two photographs were of two of the children, now grown up, taken in New York, if I judged correctly from the background. I nodded and smiled and he seemed very pleased he had showed them to me and a bit teary. I felt suffocated and guilty and could not wait for Eleni to come. The boy was sat again on the top of the stairs, his ball under his knees, looking shyly at my shoes and my legs, but his gaze did not venture any higher. Eleni came and I blurted it all out, how the smell was impossible to live with, even for another night, how I had really tried, really I had, but could not put up with it, it was making me sick. She nodded slowly, taking it all in, the first time I had seen the laughing retreating from her eyes, she understood, I should have told her earlier, she was going to take care of it, find another room for me, today if possible. She told me to pack and leave my things ready in the room and that I could go to the taverna and wait for her there.
I left like a thief, my hat pulled down to my nose, a grown man behaving like a boy who had been put to shame, unable to even say goodbye to my hosts, to thank them at least for their hospitality. I almost stumbled on the boy who was now sat on the bottom step. For the first time he looked up, and I saw two huge black eyes, with long thick eyelashes, like those of a baby cow I once saw at my grandfather's farm in the moors, and his gaze was startled, incomprehensible and urgent, so that I did a spasmodic movement with my hand, lifting and re-positioning my hat as a gesture of acknowledgement. I sat in the table at the taverna, half turning my back to the direction of the old couple's house, waiting for Eleni, my saviour, to come and fetch me and lead me to my new room. I was aware that I had lost one morning's work, only my second day at work there, but it felt like I had been there for so long, the time was hot and long and stretched and never ending.
True to her word, Eleni was back within two hours. She took me to my new room; a room in a large house that had a family home downstairs and four rooms that tourists rent in the summer, upstairs. Here, in contrast to my first room, everything was more professional and organised. A board on the inside of the door stated the prices according to the holiday season, there was a rack for the washing after coming back from the beach on the balcony and the key ring had an attachment with a magnet, which you had to put in a special socket for the electricity to come on. I could not believe myself, how this change of scenery and of course the lack of the horrible smell, made me instantly forget all my earlier feelings of guilt. I was so relieved to be outside that room, that when Eleni showed me into the new room, my stuff already brought up, I hugged her tightly and lifted her up, before I realised how inappropriate this could seem and started apologising. She smiled and laughed and told me not to worry, she was glad I was happy with my new room. We agreed to meet extra early next morning so that I could make up for the lost time. But I could detect some of her sparkle was gone, at least around me and she never came again to sit with me socially, to drink wine or chat, but only picked me up and brought me back, as was her job to do.
That afternoon was bliss. I had forgotten all about the smell and the old room. Had made my peace with my guilty feelings, as those of a middle aged sentimental fool hit by too much sun. For reasons of hygiene alone I had to get out of that room; why I had not been able to do that with dignity and talk as an adult to my hosts about the issue of the smell, did not occur to me. That I had escaped a situation like that without solving it personally, but had let the problem fall on the shoulders of somebody else, did not seem to bother me. Had the language barrier been the problem? of course, I convinced myself. The familiarity of such actions in my past failed to surface to my consciousness. Instead, I sat underneath the shade of a wonderfully fragrant pine tree, on a wooden bench underneath my new place, sipping fashionable shaken iced coffee, the other tourists coming in and out with their children and beach bags, everything looking very familiar and comforting. For a moment I thought I was on holiday myself. And then that night, as I was coming back from the taverna, slightly tipsy on lethal ouzo, the smell of aniseed and salty octopus on my breath, I saw the small boy sat on the bench underneath the giant pine. I rubbed my eyes in a gesture stolen from films, the boy still sat there staring straight at me. I thought I saw the faintest of smiles on his lips, but then did not wait to see more, but rushed and climbed fast up the steps, three by three, knocking a terracotta pot of basil down, not stopping to put it straight and collapsing on my bed, my face deep in a soft pillow, smelling like fresh, sea-breezed laundry.
The next day I was determined to stick to the schedule and work the whole day. I got picked up really early as planned and by half past ten I had covered the missed work from the previous day. During my break under the shade of a sycamore tree, I tried to think of nothing but my work, closed my eyes and imagined what the British tourists would do with the land I was marking out. What kind of a house would they built and would their house eventually acquire the smell of my first room. The cicadas were so loud above my head, they covered all thoughts, so that I was forced to go back to my measuring. I worked flat out till three o'clock and although I had bouts of breathlessness and dizziness, I did not stop. My half full bottle of water was long emptied and I could feel my thirst taking over, my mouth dehydrated, my tongue inside feeling like sandpaper. I got picked up and was in my room by four o'clock. I did not have the strength to shower, but instead went to the kitchen and drank water directly from the tap. The refreshing feeling was instant, but when I lay down in bed, I felt nauseous, yellow and white lights flashing in front of me, even when I closed my eyes, dark spots flying around, a killer headache emerging from nowhere, everything around me moving. I started to sweat again, although it was cool in the room and I felt my skin and forehead burning. Laying in the bed I could feel my heart beating fast, could see my chest palpitating like a wild animal's, sweat beads on my skin. Suddenly I felt sick and rushed for the bathroom, vomiting in the toilet.
I spent all afternoon and evening in a great state of agitation. I had a high fever alternating with cold sweats and shivering and I was drifting in and out of sleep. I could not keep down anything and was in and out the toilet vomiting. In that state of half consciousness, I saw in front of me the little boy, he had walked in the room quietly, holding his ball in outstretched arms towards me, but when I sat up in bed to take it off his hands, I caught a sniff of him smelling just like my old room. I jerked my hands and threw his ball away, wiping my infected hands on my sheets. The boy looked down and said, I just came to tell you not to drink the tap water, it is not safe for people, only plants. But I was not listening, only covering my ears and screaming, telling him to get out, I could not stand his smell. The boy started banging his head on the wall, or was it the ball he was throwing at the wall that was banging, I could not tell. The banging got louder and the smell took over the room and then I was back in the old room, Eleni standing at the terrace, out of ear shot looking at the port, her back to me, the old man and woman that owned the room closing in on me, the boy banging his head on the wall and everything coming closer, the faintest of smiles on their faces and then I screamed and screamed, but Eleni could not hear me and I sat up on the drenched bed, someone was knocking loudly on the door and Eleni was shouting, are you alright, please open the door, I am opening the door now! And that is the last I can remember.
As it turns out I was suffering from heatstroke and poisoning from the tap water. I was somehow taken to the local clinic and was put in an ice bath. I remember coming around shivering and feeling like I was being embalmed, stark naked in a metal tub. They made me drink a water mixture with salt and sugar which I vomited several times. By that night I was back in my room, I was given the remote control to the air conditioning and they told me to keep the room dark. I was to stay out of the heat for at least the next day. Eleni was visibly concerned and asked whether she should contact the agency back home. I said that I would be okay and would catch up with work in the following days, it would be alright. The truth was that I was still confused and agitated and in that state I asked her where the little boy that was hanging around was. She said she had not noticed any little boy hanging around. I had no strength to argue or explain and went back in my room thanking everyone for their help. In the darkness I lay there looking at the ceiling thinking that the old couple must have sent the boy around to my new place to make me feel guilty about leaving their room. Surely they lost out on a week's rent from the agency. That made me feel so angry, that they would use the little boy to get back at me. And why was it that since I had moved rooms everyone was looking at me differently? They were whispering, their eyes darting in my direction. What had the old couple told everyone about me? That I cheated them? Robbed them of their promised money? Possibly for no reason at all? In such a small place I was now pointed out, picked out not only as a foreigner, a land measuring and cutting foreigner, but also as a dishonest and cunning crook.
As my anger rose in waves, just as the smell had done only a few days before, I noticed that the room was not really that dark. High up above the door two round yellow lights were on, as part of a security light. If the electricity was cut out, I assumed the light would be turned on bright. But now, within the rectangular glass case, only two low, yellow, round light bulbs were on, like pale ghost eyes staring at me. I tried not to look at them, but they were staring straight at me, getting brighter by the minute it seemed, so that eventually I had to get up on a stool and throw a sheet on them. That did not really work, so I tried some underpants, a shirt and a towel and then I felt so dizzy from getting on and off the stool, I lay down on the bed again, out of breath, my heart beating fast. The eyes now had a body, more like a ghost than before, so that I could not stop looking at them. The slight draft from the air conditioning gently moved the towel, and the ghost was brought to life, kindly looking at me from above. That night I dreamt that I walked to the bakery, the weather was cool and breezy, and I bought some nice round local marzipan sweets, covered in sugar. They were in a lovely pink box with lavender coloured flowers, just like a box my nana had for her threads, and I was also holding some wild anemones, a large bunch, and I was walking up the old couple's stairs, three by three, but in slow motion, as if I was on the moon. When I reached the top the old lady was there, she was smiling and I apologised immediately and I said I was sorry, there was a smell in the room I could not get used to, here were some sweets and flowers for her to say sorry for leaving without saying thank you. She smiled and called her husband who brought figs and an album of more photographs to show me. I asked them about the boy, placing my palm flat by the side of my hip to indicate his height, but they both laughed and smiled at me without understanding.
The next day I spent it under the pine tree, sipping cold drinks all morning. Eleni came to see me, brought me some home made iced lemonade, but did not stay. I thought of actually buying some sweets and visiting the old lady, but I genuinely had no strength. In the evening I went for a little stroll by the seafront, the moon was large and bright, the smells of cooking food were making me a bit sick, so I sat on a bench and just looked out towards the colourful boats. It just occurred to me that I had only really worked two days and the other two I had not, for one reason or the other, and that made feel like a failure. I was aging fast, my body not as strong as it once was, not responding to demands as it used to. On top of it now I was high maintenance. A little smell bothered me so. Had it really been that bad? Why had Eleni not noticed it? While I was thinking this, I felt someone sitting on the other end of the bench, the weight shifting, the metal bars shrieking. The little boy had sat there, kicking his legs and looking out towards the boats. His plastic ball was next to him. I stared at him, tried to understand him, to observe him better. He was a boy like all the others I had seen on the island. Scuffed up bonny knees and old battered shoes, shiny black hair and tanned skin. He turned and looked at me with questioning eyes, pleading for something I did not understand. As I was about to speak to him, he got up and kicked his ball and did a trick, but missed and went running away to catch his ball again.
I slept well in my air conditioned, yellow-eyed, ghost infected room, and went to work early the next day, and paced myself, drinking lots of cold water and energy drinks and pissing every twenty minutes. It worked well, and I caught up with the work again, so that I was back under a cold shower by two o'clock. I went back to work in the afternoon, from six till eight to finish off all the remaining measuring and to double check some numbers. I had one more night on the island, and then I was off back to Piraeus and then London. I spent that night sorting out all my papers under the light of the taverna table. I was told to stay off alcohol after my heatstroke, but I could not resist some red wine. I looked at all the children playing out in groups till late at night by the seafront, an old-fashioned freedom long lost in London, really young kids looked after by older ones, a gang of twenty of them, from three years old up to fifteen, all playing together, with bikes, balls, skipping ropes and hoops. I looked out for my little boy, but could not make him out anywhere.
I never said sorry, or thank you or goodbye to the old couple. I still avoided passing near their place. I looked out wearily always for their figures, ready to turn around and leave the moment I caught glimpse of either one of them. Eleni sorted out all my bills as instructed by the agency, so that I had nothing to do on the last day, but fax my papers, pack up my things and wait around for my mid afternoon boat to come. I was wandering around the marina, looking at the golden shimmers on the blue sea, when I heard a deep call: Eii! I turned around and saw a small man sat on a shady table at a little ouzeri tucked up at the back, reserved only for the local men. The mustached man waved his hand beckoning me to approach. I looked around to make sure he was referring to me and approached apprehensively. When I got near, to my immense surprise I saw the little boy sitting on his lap, one hand behind the man's back. The man had a plate of boiled potatoes in front of him, drizzled with green olive oil and sprinkled with chunks of sea salt. Next to it was an oval dish of fresh sardines with chopped parsley. The man was drinking retsina and before I had a chance to speak he poured me a glass and with his free hand pulled a chair out for me to sit. He was feeding the boy a large mouthful of potato with a piece of sardine on it from the edge of a large fork. The boy opened his mouth wide like a chick in its nest and ate the whole contents of the fork up in one go. You are The English Man, the man said. My san talks about you a lot. I was at a loss of what to think. The boy had a father who cared and fed him, and I was almost thinking the boy was not even real. Yes, I am, I told the man and smiled despite myself. The boy carried on eating and looking at me. He is not abandoned! He is not alone! I thought. He is so happy you are an English Man...it is his best football...he sees it in the television in the winter...he wants to play for you...F o o t B a l l !, the man annunciated. At that I burst out laughing, at the absurdness of it all; I have never liked football and was a terrible player, even as a kid. He stretched his arm and offered me a large mouthful of potato and sardine from the same fork, and I was so high that I stretched my neck and ate it. We sat there eating the sardines and potatoes, drinking the retsina, waiting for my boat, while the little boy was doing tricks with his ball amongst the deserted ouzeri tables.
The boat left on time, the lovely horn echoing as it turned around, the voice of a living creature almost, hands waving away, boys jumping into the port, diving and swimming to follow the boat as it went, and me leaving, just like the Englishman I was when I came, only taking something away with me from the island, something more than just the measuring of its lovely land.
She was so friendly, extrovert and excitable, that although I was initially taken aback by this overwhelming familiarity, I have to admit that I felt relieved to know that someone would be looking out for me in this remote corner of the world. She insisted on carrying both my equipment and my suitcase and no matter how much I protested, it was impossible to get them back from her. She was a round, strong woman, with a shiny, rosy complexion, always smiling, or rather laughing, with a pair of dark laughing eyes to go with it. Her English was excellent, but with a mixed accent; a strong sound of American was definitely detectable, mixed with some kind of reminiscent local dialect. She walked fast and talked fast, and said that she would get me straight to my room, which had a bathroom, t.v, cooker and small fridge and balcony and a terrace with a great view. She would come back again in the morning to check on me, but not too early after such a long journey that I had, and show me around the island. With all this energy and enthusiasm that Eleni was showing I had not payed much attention to the surroundings; the sky was pitch black, we had walked along the marina, climbed some wide stairs and before I knew it we were climbing some more stairs up to the second floor of a small island house.
On the top of the stairs I saw a small boy, not more than five years old, who surely should have been in bed by that time. He was holding a stick and digging around the top step, before stopping and looking shyly and indirectly towards us. The owners of the room were suddenly behind me, a lovely elderly couple who did not speak much English, but who were as friendly and welcoming as Eleni had been. They unlocked the door to the room and let me step in first. I was immediately hit by a horrific smell; it was impossible to tell what the smell was, but as the three of them were talking amongst them, catching up and laughing, opening windows and balcony doors, I assumed the smell was a foreign version of stuffiness, a closed-up-all-winter-space smell, that the open windows and exuberant mood would wipe away. They said they had a bottle of water for me, the tap water was not drinkable, and some grapes of their own in the fridge. They were rushing to leave me alone to rest, key left on the outside of the door, and before I knew it they were all gone. The small boy was not there anymore either.
But when they were gone all that was left was a heavy still atmosphere, humid and hot, the air was stagnant and smelled of that horrible thing that I could not put my finger on. I slept in a sweaty muddle of unconsciousness, having nightmares about the boat sinking and then I woke up from a strong ray of light hitting me on the face and immediately I felt my nostrils burning with the heat and acidity of that smell. I got up and got out of the room into the terrace. My eyes shut from the intense sun. I had never seen light like that, it was so bright and clean. The view was breathtaking. I could see all the way down to the port, the marina and along the seafront where fishing boats were tied. The shops further back, were tavernas and ouzeris and a bakery and a small grocers. The place was tiny! I tried to look back in the other direction, but the view was blocked. I felt much better and decided to go back in the room and sort out the smell. The room was recently cleaned and painted bright white. Everything looked as it should. No visible problems in the bathroom drainage or underneath the kitchen sink. But the smell was everywhere. I was at a complete loss. I opened both windows and the door and secured them with chairs so that the draft would clean the stale air up.
Outside the elderly woman had climbed up the stairs and brought coffee and some ripe figs on a plate. She kind of bowed and smiled and shook her hand. She was asking if everything was alright from what I understood and I said yes and smiled back. The small boy of yesterday climbed up the stairs holding a small plastic ball, without looking at me and went to the terrace. He sat around holding the ball and I caught him a couple of times throwing quiet, sideways glances at me. I was thinking what to do while sipping my sweet hot coffee; I was not going to spend much time in the room, it was more or less just a place to sleep in. Also I would be on this island just for six nights, one of which had already passed. So I decided to put up with the smell and get on with my work. Just as I was thinking this, Eleni appeared on the top of the stairs and asked me how I had slept and how I liked the view from my place. I said all was great, but it had been a hot night. She laughed and said, it was one of the good ones. Then if I was ready we could drive around and see the whole island and the bits of the land I was to measure and survey. And off we went.
The island was very different from any other place I was sent to before; it had low hills, which blended one into another, rather like small waves. Although the landscape was dry, its colours were soft and earthy and the thorny bushes seemed velvety from afar. From the very top of the island you could see all the way around. I liked it straight away. But working under the hot sun was no fun, and I soon realised I needed at least a hat, bottled water and a mat to place under a tree for my breaks. Eleni left me at my destination and picked me up at an arranged time. I felt very strange, as if I was measuring not just land, but the private, very intimate part of somebody's body. Like a surgeon or more like a seamstress, about to measure and cut a very precious piece of some rare, luxurious fabric. I had the uncanny impression that I was being watched while I was doing something unethical, something intruding. What was I really doing, a sent foreign agent, measuring land for sale abroad, on this intimate, remote little place? I thought the sun was making me far too queasy and I started making measuring mistakes, when I heard Eleni's horn.
Back at the room, I unlocked the door and at once the smell hit me hard and made my eyes water, if possible it was even stronger than before, despite the hours of airing the room earlier. I took a long cool shower and felt much better for about five minutes, before I became sticky and sweaty again. I tried to sleep till late afternoon, as the locals did, but I found that the smell came in whirls from everywhere; from under the bed, from the furniture wood, from the curtains even. Some minutes passed when I lay still and could not detect it and then woof, like a huge wave it would hit me again. I felt still queasy from the sun and hungry at the same time and decided to go out and grab a bite to eat. As I walked by the seafront I heard dragging, light footsteps and turned to see the little boy following me from a safe distance, looking down at the road, his arms dangling awkwardly by his side. The sun was so hot, I could feel my forearms blistering. I ate a salad and bought a straw hat and a six pack of bottled water. I carried it back to the room and as I opened the door the smell hit me again, just as I had forgotten about it. I sat on the bed and the tiredness, heat and nausea made me want to wail and scream and curse, but all I did instead was to sit there still and trembling and furious, with exactly what I did not know, as the smell enveloped me and took me into a dreamless sleep.
I stayed out that night for as late as I could, dragged the table and chairs to the terrace and Eleni joined me for a glass of local red wine. The old lady that owned the room came up again and brought some small fried fish. She smiled and talked to Eleni, I guessed checking that I was happy with my stay. The small boy was hovering around, no one seemed to acknowledge his presence, he was one minute on the stairs, the next on the terrace, playing with some pebbles he had on a leather bundle. I was half contemplating bringing up the smell issue with Eleni, but then wanted to stick to my decision and put up with it. The night was hot and humid and heavy and I decided to sleep with the door and windows open. Every time the faintest of breezes entered the room, it seemed to bring with it a wave of the smell, as if it was now coming from outside too. As dreamless as my short afternoon nap had been, this night sleep was full of nightmares, huge heavy scissors cutting wrongly and derailing on a beautiful velvet fabric, the screeching noise like nails dragging on blackboard, woke me up shivering. Then I was trapped in a wet grave, in the belly of the boat, choking on the smell of rotting death rather than water. I woke up gasping, waving my arms and shaking my head, and then I knew I had to talk to Eleni about it, or I would go mad and leave my sanity on this island.
Before Eleni came to find me the next morning, the old man who owned the room climbed up the stairs slowly. He waved good morning and was holding a plate with big, juicy looking peaches. He came and put them upon my table in the room and as he passed next to me I detected the same smell of the room on his clothes. That made me take a step back and I felt a great sense of sadness; this was the smell of their house and clothes and ultimately of themselves. The man took out three photographs from his shirt's pocket and showed me what looked like his children. There were three of them with their mother in one photograph, her looking unrecognisable and young. The other two photographs were of two of the children, now grown up, taken in New York, if I judged correctly from the background. I nodded and smiled and he seemed very pleased he had showed them to me and a bit teary. I felt suffocated and guilty and could not wait for Eleni to come. The boy was sat again on the top of the stairs, his ball under his knees, looking shyly at my shoes and my legs, but his gaze did not venture any higher. Eleni came and I blurted it all out, how the smell was impossible to live with, even for another night, how I had really tried, really I had, but could not put up with it, it was making me sick. She nodded slowly, taking it all in, the first time I had seen the laughing retreating from her eyes, she understood, I should have told her earlier, she was going to take care of it, find another room for me, today if possible. She told me to pack and leave my things ready in the room and that I could go to the taverna and wait for her there.
I left like a thief, my hat pulled down to my nose, a grown man behaving like a boy who had been put to shame, unable to even say goodbye to my hosts, to thank them at least for their hospitality. I almost stumbled on the boy who was now sat on the bottom step. For the first time he looked up, and I saw two huge black eyes, with long thick eyelashes, like those of a baby cow I once saw at my grandfather's farm in the moors, and his gaze was startled, incomprehensible and urgent, so that I did a spasmodic movement with my hand, lifting and re-positioning my hat as a gesture of acknowledgement. I sat in the table at the taverna, half turning my back to the direction of the old couple's house, waiting for Eleni, my saviour, to come and fetch me and lead me to my new room. I was aware that I had lost one morning's work, only my second day at work there, but it felt like I had been there for so long, the time was hot and long and stretched and never ending.
True to her word, Eleni was back within two hours. She took me to my new room; a room in a large house that had a family home downstairs and four rooms that tourists rent in the summer, upstairs. Here, in contrast to my first room, everything was more professional and organised. A board on the inside of the door stated the prices according to the holiday season, there was a rack for the washing after coming back from the beach on the balcony and the key ring had an attachment with a magnet, which you had to put in a special socket for the electricity to come on. I could not believe myself, how this change of scenery and of course the lack of the horrible smell, made me instantly forget all my earlier feelings of guilt. I was so relieved to be outside that room, that when Eleni showed me into the new room, my stuff already brought up, I hugged her tightly and lifted her up, before I realised how inappropriate this could seem and started apologising. She smiled and laughed and told me not to worry, she was glad I was happy with my new room. We agreed to meet extra early next morning so that I could make up for the lost time. But I could detect some of her sparkle was gone, at least around me and she never came again to sit with me socially, to drink wine or chat, but only picked me up and brought me back, as was her job to do.
That afternoon was bliss. I had forgotten all about the smell and the old room. Had made my peace with my guilty feelings, as those of a middle aged sentimental fool hit by too much sun. For reasons of hygiene alone I had to get out of that room; why I had not been able to do that with dignity and talk as an adult to my hosts about the issue of the smell, did not occur to me. That I had escaped a situation like that without solving it personally, but had let the problem fall on the shoulders of somebody else, did not seem to bother me. Had the language barrier been the problem? of course, I convinced myself. The familiarity of such actions in my past failed to surface to my consciousness. Instead, I sat underneath the shade of a wonderfully fragrant pine tree, on a wooden bench underneath my new place, sipping fashionable shaken iced coffee, the other tourists coming in and out with their children and beach bags, everything looking very familiar and comforting. For a moment I thought I was on holiday myself. And then that night, as I was coming back from the taverna, slightly tipsy on lethal ouzo, the smell of aniseed and salty octopus on my breath, I saw the small boy sat on the bench underneath the giant pine. I rubbed my eyes in a gesture stolen from films, the boy still sat there staring straight at me. I thought I saw the faintest of smiles on his lips, but then did not wait to see more, but rushed and climbed fast up the steps, three by three, knocking a terracotta pot of basil down, not stopping to put it straight and collapsing on my bed, my face deep in a soft pillow, smelling like fresh, sea-breezed laundry.
The next day I was determined to stick to the schedule and work the whole day. I got picked up really early as planned and by half past ten I had covered the missed work from the previous day. During my break under the shade of a sycamore tree, I tried to think of nothing but my work, closed my eyes and imagined what the British tourists would do with the land I was marking out. What kind of a house would they built and would their house eventually acquire the smell of my first room. The cicadas were so loud above my head, they covered all thoughts, so that I was forced to go back to my measuring. I worked flat out till three o'clock and although I had bouts of breathlessness and dizziness, I did not stop. My half full bottle of water was long emptied and I could feel my thirst taking over, my mouth dehydrated, my tongue inside feeling like sandpaper. I got picked up and was in my room by four o'clock. I did not have the strength to shower, but instead went to the kitchen and drank water directly from the tap. The refreshing feeling was instant, but when I lay down in bed, I felt nauseous, yellow and white lights flashing in front of me, even when I closed my eyes, dark spots flying around, a killer headache emerging from nowhere, everything around me moving. I started to sweat again, although it was cool in the room and I felt my skin and forehead burning. Laying in the bed I could feel my heart beating fast, could see my chest palpitating like a wild animal's, sweat beads on my skin. Suddenly I felt sick and rushed for the bathroom, vomiting in the toilet.
I spent all afternoon and evening in a great state of agitation. I had a high fever alternating with cold sweats and shivering and I was drifting in and out of sleep. I could not keep down anything and was in and out the toilet vomiting. In that state of half consciousness, I saw in front of me the little boy, he had walked in the room quietly, holding his ball in outstretched arms towards me, but when I sat up in bed to take it off his hands, I caught a sniff of him smelling just like my old room. I jerked my hands and threw his ball away, wiping my infected hands on my sheets. The boy looked down and said, I just came to tell you not to drink the tap water, it is not safe for people, only plants. But I was not listening, only covering my ears and screaming, telling him to get out, I could not stand his smell. The boy started banging his head on the wall, or was it the ball he was throwing at the wall that was banging, I could not tell. The banging got louder and the smell took over the room and then I was back in the old room, Eleni standing at the terrace, out of ear shot looking at the port, her back to me, the old man and woman that owned the room closing in on me, the boy banging his head on the wall and everything coming closer, the faintest of smiles on their faces and then I screamed and screamed, but Eleni could not hear me and I sat up on the drenched bed, someone was knocking loudly on the door and Eleni was shouting, are you alright, please open the door, I am opening the door now! And that is the last I can remember.
As it turns out I was suffering from heatstroke and poisoning from the tap water. I was somehow taken to the local clinic and was put in an ice bath. I remember coming around shivering and feeling like I was being embalmed, stark naked in a metal tub. They made me drink a water mixture with salt and sugar which I vomited several times. By that night I was back in my room, I was given the remote control to the air conditioning and they told me to keep the room dark. I was to stay out of the heat for at least the next day. Eleni was visibly concerned and asked whether she should contact the agency back home. I said that I would be okay and would catch up with work in the following days, it would be alright. The truth was that I was still confused and agitated and in that state I asked her where the little boy that was hanging around was. She said she had not noticed any little boy hanging around. I had no strength to argue or explain and went back in my room thanking everyone for their help. In the darkness I lay there looking at the ceiling thinking that the old couple must have sent the boy around to my new place to make me feel guilty about leaving their room. Surely they lost out on a week's rent from the agency. That made me feel so angry, that they would use the little boy to get back at me. And why was it that since I had moved rooms everyone was looking at me differently? They were whispering, their eyes darting in my direction. What had the old couple told everyone about me? That I cheated them? Robbed them of their promised money? Possibly for no reason at all? In such a small place I was now pointed out, picked out not only as a foreigner, a land measuring and cutting foreigner, but also as a dishonest and cunning crook.
As my anger rose in waves, just as the smell had done only a few days before, I noticed that the room was not really that dark. High up above the door two round yellow lights were on, as part of a security light. If the electricity was cut out, I assumed the light would be turned on bright. But now, within the rectangular glass case, only two low, yellow, round light bulbs were on, like pale ghost eyes staring at me. I tried not to look at them, but they were staring straight at me, getting brighter by the minute it seemed, so that eventually I had to get up on a stool and throw a sheet on them. That did not really work, so I tried some underpants, a shirt and a towel and then I felt so dizzy from getting on and off the stool, I lay down on the bed again, out of breath, my heart beating fast. The eyes now had a body, more like a ghost than before, so that I could not stop looking at them. The slight draft from the air conditioning gently moved the towel, and the ghost was brought to life, kindly looking at me from above. That night I dreamt that I walked to the bakery, the weather was cool and breezy, and I bought some nice round local marzipan sweets, covered in sugar. They were in a lovely pink box with lavender coloured flowers, just like a box my nana had for her threads, and I was also holding some wild anemones, a large bunch, and I was walking up the old couple's stairs, three by three, but in slow motion, as if I was on the moon. When I reached the top the old lady was there, she was smiling and I apologised immediately and I said I was sorry, there was a smell in the room I could not get used to, here were some sweets and flowers for her to say sorry for leaving without saying thank you. She smiled and called her husband who brought figs and an album of more photographs to show me. I asked them about the boy, placing my palm flat by the side of my hip to indicate his height, but they both laughed and smiled at me without understanding.
The next day I spent it under the pine tree, sipping cold drinks all morning. Eleni came to see me, brought me some home made iced lemonade, but did not stay. I thought of actually buying some sweets and visiting the old lady, but I genuinely had no strength. In the evening I went for a little stroll by the seafront, the moon was large and bright, the smells of cooking food were making me a bit sick, so I sat on a bench and just looked out towards the colourful boats. It just occurred to me that I had only really worked two days and the other two I had not, for one reason or the other, and that made feel like a failure. I was aging fast, my body not as strong as it once was, not responding to demands as it used to. On top of it now I was high maintenance. A little smell bothered me so. Had it really been that bad? Why had Eleni not noticed it? While I was thinking this, I felt someone sitting on the other end of the bench, the weight shifting, the metal bars shrieking. The little boy had sat there, kicking his legs and looking out towards the boats. His plastic ball was next to him. I stared at him, tried to understand him, to observe him better. He was a boy like all the others I had seen on the island. Scuffed up bonny knees and old battered shoes, shiny black hair and tanned skin. He turned and looked at me with questioning eyes, pleading for something I did not understand. As I was about to speak to him, he got up and kicked his ball and did a trick, but missed and went running away to catch his ball again.
I slept well in my air conditioned, yellow-eyed, ghost infected room, and went to work early the next day, and paced myself, drinking lots of cold water and energy drinks and pissing every twenty minutes. It worked well, and I caught up with the work again, so that I was back under a cold shower by two o'clock. I went back to work in the afternoon, from six till eight to finish off all the remaining measuring and to double check some numbers. I had one more night on the island, and then I was off back to Piraeus and then London. I spent that night sorting out all my papers under the light of the taverna table. I was told to stay off alcohol after my heatstroke, but I could not resist some red wine. I looked at all the children playing out in groups till late at night by the seafront, an old-fashioned freedom long lost in London, really young kids looked after by older ones, a gang of twenty of them, from three years old up to fifteen, all playing together, with bikes, balls, skipping ropes and hoops. I looked out for my little boy, but could not make him out anywhere.
I never said sorry, or thank you or goodbye to the old couple. I still avoided passing near their place. I looked out wearily always for their figures, ready to turn around and leave the moment I caught glimpse of either one of them. Eleni sorted out all my bills as instructed by the agency, so that I had nothing to do on the last day, but fax my papers, pack up my things and wait around for my mid afternoon boat to come. I was wandering around the marina, looking at the golden shimmers on the blue sea, when I heard a deep call: Eii! I turned around and saw a small man sat on a shady table at a little ouzeri tucked up at the back, reserved only for the local men. The mustached man waved his hand beckoning me to approach. I looked around to make sure he was referring to me and approached apprehensively. When I got near, to my immense surprise I saw the little boy sitting on his lap, one hand behind the man's back. The man had a plate of boiled potatoes in front of him, drizzled with green olive oil and sprinkled with chunks of sea salt. Next to it was an oval dish of fresh sardines with chopped parsley. The man was drinking retsina and before I had a chance to speak he poured me a glass and with his free hand pulled a chair out for me to sit. He was feeding the boy a large mouthful of potato with a piece of sardine on it from the edge of a large fork. The boy opened his mouth wide like a chick in its nest and ate the whole contents of the fork up in one go. You are The English Man, the man said. My san talks about you a lot. I was at a loss of what to think. The boy had a father who cared and fed him, and I was almost thinking the boy was not even real. Yes, I am, I told the man and smiled despite myself. The boy carried on eating and looking at me. He is not abandoned! He is not alone! I thought. He is so happy you are an English Man...it is his best football...he sees it in the television in the winter...he wants to play for you...F o o t B a l l !, the man annunciated. At that I burst out laughing, at the absurdness of it all; I have never liked football and was a terrible player, even as a kid. He stretched his arm and offered me a large mouthful of potato and sardine from the same fork, and I was so high that I stretched my neck and ate it. We sat there eating the sardines and potatoes, drinking the retsina, waiting for my boat, while the little boy was doing tricks with his ball amongst the deserted ouzeri tables.
The boat left on time, the lovely horn echoing as it turned around, the voice of a living creature almost, hands waving away, boys jumping into the port, diving and swimming to follow the boat as it went, and me leaving, just like the Englishman I was when I came, only taking something away with me from the island, something more than just the measuring of its lovely land.
For little Alexandros, who was a Fantasmataki on the island this summer
