The Art of Becoming Homeless (19 page)

‘
So that one day, not now, some day, when the house is built and my mother has a separate bedroom for herself, someone will find them.’

‘
What?’

‘
Come on, did you see them? They are beautiful, the paintings of the people, they are our ancestors.’ Adonis stands a little taller and closes the gap between them. ‘I could not smash them, but I will not sell them, so I put them somewhere safe. One day, in the future, someone will find them and there will be no link to me and maybe they will go to a museum in Athens.’

Dino
’s eyes widen.

‘
I reburied them, but in a cave.’ Adonis smiles.

‘
What’s going on?’ Michelle asks.

‘
He says he couldn’t smash the pots so he hid them, so they would be discovered in the future.’

‘
Not selling them?’ Michelle tries to clarify.

‘
No, Michelle,’ Adonis slurs, ‘not selling them.’

Dino remains unmoved.

‘Dino.’ Michelle interrupts his thoughts, ‘He really needs to build this house. Adonis told me something before we came here. He told me the reason he doesn’t settle down is because he has no house to take his bride to.’ Michelle looks like she is going to say more but nothing comes.

Adonis scowls and shakes his head, staring at her, as though he is either denying he said it or displeased she has told Dino.

‘Come on, you tried to cover it up, but it’s true, isn’t it?’

‘
Maybe it was once, but we become what we pretend to be, don’t we, my friend?’ Dino speaks up, his anger not quite spent.

‘
And what have you become, Dino?’

‘
Well, I am not a gigolo.’

‘
Really?’

‘
Guys, I am here you know.’ Michelle speaks up. They ignore her.

Adonis puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the ground. Dino is already looking at a stone that he is poking at with his toe. They all remain silent for several minutes.

‘Look guys, you might not be approving of each other’s lives right now, but you can talk about that later. What we need to do now is get that report back, then you can discuss what you think of each other.’

Adonis looks at her first.

‘Come on, what time is it, will the office be shut yet?’ Michelle urges.

Dino looks at the sun.

‘We’ve almost got time.’ His voice emphasises his reluctance.

‘
Come on then.’ Adonis takes his hands from his pockets, ready to march down to the office near the port.

‘I wish you had let me come with you.’ Michelle picks at the Greek salad in front of her.

‘
No, it was better you were not there. If we got caught it would not have been as serious as catching a lawyer.’ Dino sniggers and pours her some wine before topping up his own glass.

‘
So, tell me what happened.’

‘
It was the same girl, we saw her through the side window. Adonis says she is new to the island. We walked casually to outside the door, and then stopped to talk. She looked up and Adonis had his usual effect on her that he has on all women.’

‘
Not this woman,’ Michelle grunts, Dino grins broadly.

‘
He smiled at her, she blushed, the usual. “Excuse me”, he says, “I think we are lost. Can you tell me which way the port is?” I froze on the spot.’

Michelle takes a sip of wine.

‘
Mousaka
,
patates
.’ The waitress puts the plates on the table, shuffling them around to make more room before hobbling away in her slippers.

‘
Go on.’ Michelle takes the forks from the breadbasket and hands one to Dino.

‘
She came out immediately and stood close to him to show him the way. She didn’t even notice me. Adonis used his charm and I just walked into the office. The report was where she put it on the table. Ta da!’

He pulls a crumpled sheet from his back pocket and holds it up in triumph.

‘Oh, well done.’

‘
And the last I saw of Adonis, he was in deep conversation with her about dance. It seems she was a dancer before the economic crisis.’

‘
Oh!’ is all Michelle can find to say.

Dino is looking at the sunset. The islands are sailing away for another night, the sky already the richest, darkest blue.

‘You know, when we were talking outside the office, he said he thought you were genuine?’

‘
Genuine?’

‘
Yes, any idea what he meant?’

‘
Um, not really. More wine?’

They do not hurry to finish dinner. But when there is nothing left on the table to pick at, and it is too dark to see anything but the moon glinting on the sea, Michelle judges it is time to broach the subject.

‘I have to go tomorrow.’ The words come out slowly. ‘The strike is over, and I have to be in Athens for the meeting on Friday.’ Dino, turned sideways from the table to enjoy the darkening view, becomes still, his long legs crossed at the ankles in front of him, his fingers interlocked on his full stomach.

‘
Did you hear me?’

He nods his head once.

‘If I go on Friday the boat arrives too late for the meeting.’

He nods again.

‘After that I was going to go to see Juliet. You know, when the original meeting was last Monday, this week was going to be work, but now all of that will happen next week, and then I fly home.’

He nods again.

‘It seems so far away. Home. Like it has nothing to do with me. In fact, when I think of it, it doesn’t seem like home at all.’ The wine has nearly all gone. She looks over to Dino’s glass. It is full; he is not moving.

‘
It feels like some distant dream, or a nightmare even.’ She chuckles but the smile does not reach her eyes. ‘London seems ridiculous. All that pushing and shoving, for what? There is nothing in London as beautiful as this.’ She looks out at the shapes on the moonlit sea that are islands. ‘And my house seems ridiculous, too. There are Adonis and Koula living in one room, and I am rattling around with five bedrooms to choose from and no one to share it with.’

She stops herself speaking. The words
‘share it with’ sticking like a fishbone in her throat.

‘
Stay.’

‘
Sorry?’

‘
Stay.’ He uncrosses his legs and turns to face her, clearing a space for his elbows on the table. ‘I don’t think you are happy in your work. It doesn’t suit you. You call your home your ‘house’. Who is there in London for you?’

‘
Well, Mrs Riley and her husband would struggle.’ She laughs.

‘
Who are Mrs Riley and her husband?’

‘
Oh, my cleaner and gardener. They have been with us—me—for years,’ she states dismissively.

‘
You go back to keep your cleaning lady employed?’

Michelle can feel her cheeks growing hot. She is glad the only light is from a candle on the table.

‘Well, no, there is Grace, and Isabella and Doreen.’

‘
These are your close friends, yes?’

‘
Well, no. Grace is my boss’s secretary, but we do get on, we have a quick coffee sometimes. Isabella is a colleague. We work well together, and Doreen ....’ She does not finish her sentence. Her list already sounds sad. If she owns up that most of her daily conversation is with Doreen, the office caretaker, she fears Dino might reassess his opinion of her.

Dino just looks at her.

‘There is my job. I cannot leave my job, and my house.’

‘
Why can you not leave your job?’

‘
That’s a bit of a naïve question.’

‘
Have you ever tried doing anything else?’

‘
No, but ….’

‘
So you have no idea if there is something that would make you happier?’

‘
I cannot just up and leave my job, especially at my age. What would I do?’

‘
What do you want to do?’

‘
Oh don’t you start.’

‘
What?’

‘
Come on, let’s go. I need to walk a little.’

Dino insists on paying, and when he returns to her, he has a bougainvillaea flower between finger and thumb, which he presents to her.

‘Stay,’ he repeats.

‘
Dino, how can I?’

‘
Sell your house and live here.’

‘
And do what?’

‘
What did you like to do best when you were six years old?’

‘
When I was six? Why six?’

‘
They say that is who you really are.’

‘
I played house, gave tea parties.’

‘
So there you go.’

‘
What! I should pack in being a lawyer and stay in Greece to give tea parties?!’

‘
Tea parties, bed and breakfast, guest house, what’s the difference?’

‘
A lot of work, I imagine.’

‘
Oh, and being a lawyer isn’t a lot of work?’

‘
Come to England with me.’

Dino stops walking and turns to her, an astonished look, fear in there somewhere.

‘England?’ He leads her up a couple of steps to some flat land by a disused windmill overlooking the sea, the moon now clearing a path of light in the waves, the mainland hills black holes in the mist of stars. Without ceremony, he flops to the floor, legs crossed in front of him, leaning back on rigid arms, head back, looking up at the stars.

It takes him a
while to respond.

‘
I got up, I went into work, I came home, I cried. I got up, I went to work, back home and cried.’ He exhales and looks at Michelle, who is standing, arms folded across her chest. She squats so she is at the same eye level, and drops her weight sideways to sit, her legs curled under her.

‘
I saw the days passing, my life passing, and all I saw ahead of me was more of the same—not for weeks, not for months, not for years, but for decades.’

‘
One day I got up, I didn’t go to work, and I didn’t cry. I just couldn’t face going into that non-human environment. Another day of my life would drain away for no purpose, and I just couldn’t force myself to go.’ He interrupts his stargazing to look at her, monitor her response. She cannot break her stare. ‘The next day was even harder to make myself go, so I stayed at home again.’

‘
By the end of the week, the phone in the flat was ringing every hour, which I presume was them asking me where I was, so I started to go out all day, trying to form a plan, decide what to do, but mostly I went to museums. Have you seen the size of the Attica-ware collection the British Museum has? More than in Greece. Makes Adonis’ few pots look immaterial.’ He turns his head slightly to look out to sea. Michelle shakes her head. ‘Rooms of it, they’ve got. Rooms and rooms, stolen, not like Adonis’ pots hidden away.
Really
stolen, like the Parthenon marbles ….’ He sucks his teeth, suddenly very Greek.

Michelle breaks her stare to watch what she thinks must be a bat circling.

‘The days merged one into the other, and I came home to notes from my flatmate, who I sublet my room from, saying my rent was due and I hadn’t done my share of what we agreed to do in the house.’

‘
That sounds awkward,’ Michelle says.

‘
There were more notes, and then I came back one night, really late, and my key wouldn’t work. There was an envelope sellotaped to the door saying I could “discuss” my stuff if I gave him a call—but I didn’t want to call.’ He sighs, a deep relaxing sound. ‘I became homeless.’

Michelle stops breathing until finally her body takes over with a big gasp.

On her way to work every day, well nearly every day, Michelle has passed a man slumped in what looked like a camouflaged sleeping bag, stained and torn, claiming to be homeless and in need of spare change. She has never quite believed him, thought it was some sort of scam, or that he is a person who … well, she is not quite sure what kind of person he is, but what kind of person would end up homeless anyway? Alcoholic, drug user, mentally challenged? Not a real person that she could talk to. She puts her fingertips over her mouth. Dino turns his head so he faces the stars again, eyes closed.

Michelle wonders if the man near her work is still there. She can
’t remember the last time she saw him. It wouldn’t be so bad being homeless in Greece; at least it’s warm. She chastises herself for the frivolous thought.

‘
I just wandered, slept where I could, tried to think of something, make sense of life, I suppose, but whichever way I looked at it, the system wants to suck my days away in some pointless pastime, work or army, for which I am meant to be grateful.’

‘
Where did you go, what did you do?’ She thinks the last time she saw the man on the street was the day Grace told her about the reshuffle, that someone was going to be laid off. But she was distracted by the news that day. She might be wrong.

‘
I watched the Thames float by. I watched the clouds change. I watched the kestrel being flown in Trafalgar Square to keep the pigeons away. Anything to feel close to nature.’

The bat is flying closer, or maybe it is another one. He can
’t have been properly homeless, maybe just a night or two on other people’s sofas. He will have had his credit cards on him. She narrows her eyes.

‘
So if you were homeless, how did you get back here?’ she asks.

‘
Oh, I rang my flatmate last week and got my stuff—passport, bankcard, and some clothes, everything I have in that bag. He had sold my speakers and the rest of my stuff to pay the rent.’

They sit silently side-by-side. Michelle leans her head until it touches Dino
’s, and she feels him relax with the contact.

‘
All the time I was wandering, I could never concentrate to sort out my life. All I could think about was why my Baba wanted me to feel guilty about my Mama’s death.’ He looks at Michelle out of the corner of his eye for a second, then away again.

‘
You know what I realised?’ He can feel Michelle rock her head side-to-side on his shoulder. ‘I realised I feared having a girlfriend lest I kill her, just like Baba implied I had my Mama. I started to hate him then.

‘
That was why I became homeless. The weight in my chest, the feelings of guilt. The whole, “Go to an English University and get a good job to look after a good wife” bit. When I found myself in the job, I knew the wife was meant to come next. Why? So I could kill her? That’s how he had made me feel!’ He sits up and breaks physical contact with Michelle.

‘
But something didn’t fit, and now I know what it was. It was the lie, the lie of the guilt I should be feeling. I knew it was fennel, I am sure it was fennel, but he condemned me with his silent accusations, so my trust in him—well, there was no trust. And yet I was meant to give up my life to follow the path he had designated. No! So I quit. I didn’t know what to quit, so I quit everything.’

Michelle says nothing. Dino glances at her briefly.

‘I was going to stay homeless, you know.’ He stands and wanders across the grass to the windmill door, which hangs on rusted hinges. There is a clonk of distant goats’ bells, somewhere beyond the town and the olive groves, somewhere in the hills.

‘
Until one night.’ His head drops. ‘It was chucking it down and someone else was in my “skipper”, used my boxes and everything ….’

‘
A what?’ Michelle interrupts.

‘
Skipper? Street talk. It’s a place that suits you to sleep, out of the wind, out of the cold, preferably out of the rain. It becomes like your own, almost like home. So I wandered for a bit, wondering where I would sleep. I came across someone else homeless who said he knew a dry place to bed down. We walked for ages. He took me to a warehouse squat. I had been to squats before.’ He lifts his head, his voice gains animation. ‘There are some really good ones; clean, a sense of communal living, full of creativity, trying to make arrangements with the building owners that is agreeable to all. Sometimes they do, you know. They arrange a peppercorn rent when they see their properties are being taken care of.’ He exhales and his head drops again.

‘
But I wasn’t looking for anything positive; I was drowning in my pit of guilt and despair. I wanted annihilation, blackness. Well, I thought I did.’ He gives a dry laugh. ‘It turned out this was a drug squat. There was no electricity and the guy led me along a corridor with his lighter. I looked in the rooms as I passed. It was like a gallery of paintings by Hieronymus Bosch. Each room lit by candlelight, a different view on how to torture lost souls. Faces and limbs in the flames’ orange glows, the shadows rustling with movement of the unseen. The man I was following stopped by one room and said hello to a girl sitting on the floor. She was rocking and holding her arm. It was cold, but all she had on was a thin t-shirt and shorts. She looked up; her eyes did not focus but she smiled. The man I was with went in and sat on the floor and beckoned me. I sat, and in the flickering light I could see the toes on one of her bare feet were all black—gangrene.’ He turns and leans his back against the windmill wall.

‘
Sand, crushed paracetomol, scouring powder, crushed glass … the dealer will cut heroine with anything to increase his profit. Any of it, all of it, will create infections or collapse veins so the blood no longer flows. Then you get gangrene. This girl could not have been any older than me, and as we sat and talked, I knew she would never go to a hospital with her gangrene. It would spread, she would lose her foot, maybe her leg. Maybe she would take no action at all until it consumed her. But you know what frightened me the most?’