My Son...His Father...And I...

By Ekaterini

You know, one day your son is going to ask you what
happened. Anna said as she was driving.
You know what you should do?
What?
Write a book. When Leo gets older and the questions start,
youll just have to reach for the bookcase and voila.



I knew she was right. Infl uences and time, restructure and distort events in the human mind to suit each persons contemporary life style; hencerelative truth... unless they were documented early enough. An autobiography, a testimonial to human interaction... interesting.She momentarily looked at me through the rear view mirror, her eyes were smiling. I was grinning too. The concoction felt almost sinister.



Ekaterini was born in Melbourne, Australia, to migrant Greek parents. When she was three and a half years of age, the family which also included a brother, decided to migrate back to Greece and establish a rabbit farm. The business failed and at the age of seven, she and her family returned to Australia again with only the proverbial suitcase. Within five years another two siblings were added to the clan. For a long time
the family just made ends meet.

Living in a city and with the aid of free public education she managed to complete a Bachelors Degree in Microbiology, Cell Biology and Genetics. Due to the inability to fi nd work she returned to school and became a high school teacher for Mathematics. Blessed with an artistic fl are she was also commissioned to paint numerous murals and canvas paintings over a twenty year span. Throughout her life she has worked in the country and city areas dealing with fast food outlets, factories (book binding and manufacturing electrical goods),
schools (teacher, lab technician and library technician), tutoring, being an artist, handy woman (painting, tiling, plumbing etc)and mother. Writing began at the age of ten when she wrote her first poem. She has travelled to Europe over ten times and with the moto, Tomorrow is another day, life is manageable and...never boring.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479745401

Ekaterini

Ekaterini was born in Melbourne, Australia, to migrant Greek parents. When she was three and a half years of age, the family which also included a brother, decided to migrate back to Greece and establish a rabbit farm. The business failed and at the age of seven, she and her family returned to Australia again with only the proverbial suitcase. Within five years another two siblings were added to the clan. For a long time the family just made ends meet. Living in a city and with the aid of free public education she managed to complete a Bachelor’s Degree in Microbiology, Cell Biology and Genetics. Due to the inability to find work she returned to school and became a high school teacher for Mathematics. Blessed with an artistic flare she was also commissioned to paint numerous murals and canvas paintings over a twenty year span. Throughout her life she has worked in the country and city areas dealing with fast food outlets, factories (book binding and manufacturing electrical goods), schools (teacher, lab technician and library technician), tutoring, being an artist, handy woman (painting, tiling, plumbing etc) and mother. Writing began at the age of ten when she wrote her first poem. She has travelled to Europe over ten times and with the moto, ‘Tomorrow is another day’, life is manageable and ... never boring.

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Copyright © 2012 by Ekaterini.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012920866

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-4539-5

Softcover 978-1-4797-4538-8

Ebook 978-1-4797-4540-1

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Leonire, I have a question to ask you. Did your mother write a book?

Yes, she did, Leoniros said calmly with a little grin, revealing the presumption that she must have read it recently.

Was it about you?

Clear liquid was starting to line the lower periphery of her eyes, giving them a reflective quality.

‘Yes, he was right,’ he thought. She never knew the story, and no one bothered to explain. They only bothered to give excuses. They thought they were protecting her. Most likely they were catering to their own needs. Lifestyles with fewer confrontations were managed easier.

It’s about all of us. My mother believed in happy endings. She wanted them to exist in real life and not just in stories and movies. He paused as if he was about to float away in some memory, but then he continued, To have them, though, one has to put ego aside and to care about others beyond oneself. She tried to do this in every way and fought for me to grow up happily… all her life. He couldn’t say any more. Her life was full of pretty images, other people’s impressions, and her unworldly assumptions. He didn’t want to be the one to scratch the smooth edges that paved her existence. That was destiny’s demeanour, not his.

Leoniros pressed his lips together and gave a little nod as if he was agreeing with someone in the distance. Yes, her journey has finally begun. He picked up his suitcase, put his other arm around her shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek.

I think we should go home now. Everyone would be eager to see me.

Well, it has been two years, she added, hugging her brother.

It was 2001. I was leaning on a table. Actually, it wasn’t a table, so to speak. It was where we played pool during the day. It was covered by a wooden board. My elbows were on it, steadying my head situated in the palms of my hands. Of course, the rest of my body was also attached to these appendages. After all, this is not a horror story… just a human one.

The place was an old pub that had, every Friday and Sunday, Greek music that originated from Asia Minor. In the 1920s, it reached Greece and was played in the underground dingy bars. It was outlawed due to the rebellious, unacceptable lyrics that evolved around politics, dope smoking, and having a good time. As Greeks spread all over the world, (the diaspora), trying to find a better life, so did their culture and music. In one of those little corners of the world was the pub in Northcote, Melbourne. The floor plan of the place catered for about one hundred people, but who said we had to stick to the floor. There were patrons on tables, cupboards, and anything else that could be reverted to some sort of a seat. Young or old, it didn’t make a difference. We were all one happy dancing, drinking, and socialising family. Most of us were smokers too, so the atmosphere was foggy and poorly ventilated—not a place for asthmatics, I guess.

I always admired the murals that covered the upper half of the walls. They were various scenes of Greece, places you’d want to run away to when everything was going very wrong or going very right. Yes, they were mine. The one behind the band depicted four musicians, one having the face of the love of my life when I was twenty-five. No one knew, though. As I passed it, I would occasionally wink in that direction. No one knew that either. They probably thought I was suffering from a twitch or something. Assumptions, if only we could manipulate them… or could we.

Eight years ago, I used to work here; now I was a patron. If I was ever needed, though, I would slip behind the bar and pour the one-centimetre high froth-covered beers and spirits that were never the standard 30 ml but always more… more, as I would like all bartenders to pour.

Getting back to my head in hands position, I decided to stand up straight and see who was in this colourful concoction of humans. Two men in the distance standing next to each other caught my eye… again. Goddamn that eye. One was six foot something and the other five foot six. I laughed to myself.

Hey, Annamaria, come here, I called out to one of my friends. As she came and stood mimicking my position, I began with a tone of sarcasm.

We must be very open-minded people, I shared with her my thought.

She lifted her eyebrows a few millimetres above sea level, a response to my incoherent statement.

See that guy over there, he’s my husband, and the tall one next to him, he’s my lover. Ain’t life funny? And I went back to resting my head on my elbows.

July was a cold month. We arrived at the pub early, and there weren’t that many people around. Jaan was near the pool table, leaning on it, and Stassi, the owner, was standing next to him, looking in my direction. I was three metres away.

Oh, Stassi, what have I done to suffer this way? The boy was fretting because he had to put up with a disease called… marriage. Not that he had time to get the full-blown version of the sickness. Just five months of it and already the stress was showing. Nothing is perfect, especially the human brain.

Shut up. You’ve won the lotto. Stop complaining. That was Stassi, holding a smoke in his hand; did I mention he was staring at me? After that, he walked away towards the inner part of the bar.

Did you hear what he said? I asked Jaan, having walked closer to him.

I know, he paused, I won tattslotto.

Yes, I got closer to his face, but if you don’t cash it in, looking in his eyes, it’s just a plain piece of paper. And I walked away.

That night, the band played a song that was danced in pairs. It was a lively song, but the lyrics spoke about two lovers, where the woman was asking the man the reasons for not coming to her place to stay the night. The man replied that it was pouring rain by the bucketloads. Her reply was that he should have come, even if he would have gotten drenched… How appropriate. Jaan and I danced this song that night exclusively. No one else entered the dance floor. It was so ominous that it felt that the ‘powers that be’ were moulding our path, and everyone was part of the play. Ironically, no one knew the state of our marriage.

The next day was Saturday. In the morning, Jaan piled all his clothes on a sheet that covered our bed. He pulled and tied the corners together forming a huge shiralee and placed the bundle in his father’s station wagon. Before he left, his head and arms were resting on the car window. He was staring at me. He broke into a song, in Greek, with a hoarse voice, Oh my beautiful Katerina…

Stop it… , I said quietly with tears beginning to swell in my eyes. He stopped. He pulled in his head and accelerated into… the wild yonder of suburbia. No, that would have been a cowboy… a man. He… drove to his parent’s house of open and comforting arms… poor boy.

I stood there in the long muddy driveway frozen for a few moments. How surreal? I went inside and called my best friend to come over. My friend and I were hard-core women. We could handle any devil, and a few times we did. We weren’t affectionate to each other unless we were drunk. That day, though, was different. As the words ‘he left’ rolled from my lips almost inaudible, I broke down emotionally, and she hugged me for a long time.

Nothing changed as to where I went out. After all, the pub was my territory.

Are we waitering now? I asked Jaan as he stood at the bar waiting for the change. We were still friends. I couldn’t hate him. Whatever he decided to do, it was because he believed it was the right thing. His actions were wrong due to lack of experience not because he was malicious.

Yes. Stassi asked me to help out.

And what’s with the beard? Are you trying to look ugly so that you don’t meet anyone new?

How did you know? he asked with an astonished look.

‘How did I know?’ I guessed, that’s how I knew. But then again two years with someone, you get to know him well, if you really wanted to.

That night, as the crowd gathered to hear a Greek guest musician, there was a new face leaning against one of the columns of the bar. He was tall, skinny, and nerdy looking, just my type. I went past him on purpose and smiled. Two steps later, I looked back and caught his stare. Yep, he was mine. As the hours passed and the consumption of alcohol increased threefold, I threw care to the wind, or better to say, it left on its own, and I asked the guy to dance. The guy obliged. I danced with him for a while. I then thanked him and moved on. At a later stage, I also passed on my number to him and sealed the deal.

The phone rang about 2.30 p.m. the next day.

Hello.

Hello. Do you know who this is?

Yes, it’s Jo, I replied.

How did you know?

Because I gave you my number.

How many people did he think I gave my number to in one night? Unbelievable. I’m not that fit.

Do you want to meet up for a drink?

OK. Could you tell I was playing hard to get? He was a tourist on a six-month visa. He was also visiting his sister.

That’s how it all began…

His sister was here, living with her husband and three daughters. Along time ago, she was adopted by an uncle and aunt of hers who were visiting the motherland at the time. She was nineteen. She had separated from her boyfriend. Being heartbroken and all, she was contemplating a career in a nunnery. I’m not joking. Along came the older couple and being childless and well off, they suggested to her the adoption and, hence, migration option. She agreed, but her parents were slightly ‘pissed off’ (angry), to say the least. Once settled in Australia, the telegraph for a proxy was sent out to the motherland. Along came the short, curly haired import from Samothraki (an island off the east coast of Greece. The philosopher Democritus came from thereabouts, too, but unfortunately, there was no relation). New parents, newer daughter, and grand-spanking brand new son-in-law, the family circle was complete. I think the only people not so content were the four siblings back in Greece and, of course, the actual parents. The biological father gave his daughter’s wedding a miss by stating, What will my role be there? She now has a new father.

Only her biological mother attended the festive occasion.

I had been separated for about a month by now. I would still see my ex-husband on the odd occasion, mainly when he’d ring and admit to me such revelations as, ‘You’re the only one whom I can speak to.’

‘So why did you leave me, Einstein?’ I would scream in the walls of my mind.

Yes, I know. I expressed outwardly like a good, nurturing ex-wife. Do they actually exist?

We’d meet for a beer at a nearby cafe, so he could tell me the things that bothered him.

No one understands me was his main complaint.

Yes, I can be diplomatic; what was there to understand when one constantly talked about being a naturalist and an ecologist and a philanthropist and all the other ‘ists’ of the world, and then, on the other hand, he had a mobile, a car, polluted the waterways with paint because he painted houses, and so on. It doesn’t add up, honey. And you want understanding? Well, you are only going to get that from your wife because she lives with you and wants some quiet moments at some stage of the day. As I said, it wasn’t understanding; it was diplomacy that got depleted and eventually deplored… dip… dep dep.

All my friends were Jaan’s friends. As we split, they split too. Some went back home to Greece. Others settled down and stopped associating. My friends were with their families. I could visit, but I didn’t go out with them. I was alone and not being one to stay home when I felt bad, I went out as much as possible and by myself. It was so lonely that at times it was painful.

One of my friends rang from Greece to see how I was.

I am sick and tired of crying, I told him. It was exhausting and to some degree boring.

He started to laugh. I think I was healing. I was tired of ‘sooking’ about the life I was looking forward to leading and what was happening now. ‘Frasier’, a character in a sitcom of the same name, once advised a patient in the series that she wasn’t actually mourning for the loss of her boyfriend but rather for the life she had planned to live with him. He was right. I wasn’t mourning for Jaan, but I was mourning for the family I had longed to be part of—excellent. Again I cried and cried and went out and then cried and cried and continued in this manner for many days to come.

In the meantime, between the floods of tears, I started to go out with Joseph. One night, we met at Port Melbourne pier. We parked the cars, picked up a small bottle of Johnny (‘Jaani’ ahahaha the irony), and found ourselves a park. Well, not really a park, some side grass area with a bench on it. We drank, talked, ended up at my place, and did the wild thing, and that was that. I couldn’t complain. The body was yearning for it, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience… and then the mind stepped in to spoil the fun of it all. At some stage, I realised that I wasn’t lying next to my husband, and a wall formed. I grew cold. I got up. I couldn’t relate to this man. I didn’t want to relate. I wanted the man whom I had chosen as my husband to be next to me. I was angry with fate, very angry.

I ended up meeting Joseph a few more times. On one occasion, I got ready, and he was meant to pick me up to go out. I made myself ‘real pretty’. Oh, I was pretty already, but everyone needs a few touch-ups after painting a house or something. He arrived on time. I opened the door. He walked into the living room, plunked a bottle of wine on the table, and that was that. Guess, what two unattached, intoxicated humans do in the comfort of one’s living room. Well, that’s what happened.

I really hate it when I ‘doll’ myself up ready to hit the town, and suddenly, we’re hitting walls, floors, and other structural objects. What a waste of time! Just let me know in advance. It’s not like I’m not into spontaneity, but I wasn’t bored with the norm yet. If I knew, I would have stayed with the minimum attire instead of wasting my time on the extra layers… and found a cushioned surface. Eventually, we just stayed in. He told me a bit about growing up in his family, and I ended up telling him the story of my failed marriage. His logic was that I should have followed my husband’s wishes to go to Greece.

That was the plan, Jo, but after six years, six good years, not five months with nothing to our name, minimum connections and a debt.

Didn’t you discuss all these things prior to your wedding?

Yes, we did, but Jaan was losing sight of what was reality and what were stories told to him by nostalgic friends. He believed his family and friends. He didn’t listen to me any more. He didn’t want to. I couldn’t be always right! That would be absurd! He was meant to be the head of the family. It got irritating, so… Jaan didn’t stick to the plan.

I don’t think I convinced Joseph either. I felt like Cassandra. You don’t know who Cassandra was? Look her up. She hung out with Agamemnon for a while. Stupid man took her to his house and forgot to tell the wife. Well, the wife killed her, didn’t she? Killed him too actually. Well, the wife’s boyfriend did, and she just organised everything—kind of complicated, these Greek tragedies. Oh, by the way, I wasn’t relating to the killings. I was relating to the fact that Cassandra could foretell the future, but she was cursed by the fact that no one believed her. I had that problem too. Nine months prior, two gypsy women confirmed it for me. They were sitting on milk cartons in a sidewalk in Plaka, Athens. They beckoned me to come close so that they could foretell my future. I told them I knew it already. They didn’t bother with my reply. I should have taken it as a hint. Taking my hand and looking at my open palm, one of them began, My daughter, be careful. Many things you will speak about, but very few will listen to you. I ended up buying them a packet of smokes, and with a thank you, I left. And here, I was now in my living room with someone else who had also chosen not to listen… whatever his reasons.

On another occasion, we were meant to meet in a tiny bar in some side street in the city. I got to hand it to him; he knew a lot of ‘nooks and crannies’ that we locals had no idea of their existence. I arrived a bit later than him and found him sitting at the bar. He looked very solemn. Suspense was never one of my pastimes, so I got right to the point.

What is it? What’s wrong? I asked barely having time to stabilise myself on one of the stools.

I have something to tell you.

What the hell was he going to tell me? Was he leaving, dying, so soon? (I mean about the leaving not the dying) What? WHAT?

Yep… go ahead ask me, I replied pseudo-patiently. He looked at me and slowly began… just torture me fella… and then it came… , How would you like me to be the father of your children?

WHAAAATTTT? Was he for real? This was our third date, and I swear it wasn’t love. It was barely a ‘like’. My reply must have been so logical and yet so disappointing if he actually liked me that much.

But I don’t know you. We just met. Let’s hang out a bit more, and we’ll see how things go. I can’t answer you now.

Yes, well, after that, small talk ruled the dialogue that night.

It was the year when America was plunged into the September-eleventh tragedy. We were at my house the night it happened. Joseph was watching television at the time, and he called for me to come and witness the planes crashing into the towers.

Come and see this. I think something has happened.

At first, we thought it was an assimilation of some kind. After repeatedly changing the channels and realising that it was all real, we both felt the impact of the disaster. It was a funny night. We both sat on the floor and watched the event over and over as it was repeated with any new details added on. I think it was the only time that I was humbled and appreciative of the presence of this man next to me without any other emotion getting in the way. Tragedy bonds humans and enamours them to life.

Four weeks had passed. It was time to meet some of his acquaintances. He didn’t seem to have close friends in Melbourne. I ended up going to a BBQ that one of his sister’s employees was holding. Joseph was working in his sister’s factory at the time and was also invited. It was good in one way. It gave him the opportunity to associate with people, other than his family.

It was on the other side of the city. I found myself sitting outside with the younger generation. I actually enjoyed their company. Two of the boys pulled out their electric guitars and started jamming. The girls tried to make me feel part of the group by conversing with me. The topic of Greece came up. They were all eager to go, but money, time, and commitments restricted their dreams. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

I’m going to Greece next week. There I said it. Now everyone could envy me in peace. My teeth were thanking me too. I had finally released them from the clenched position I was holding them, trying not to grin to high heaven.

With Joseph? asked one of the girls, all smiles. She must have been one of those ‘fairy tale’ believers or something.

No, by myself.

And what’s Joseph going to do? asked the concerned fairy godmother.

Whatever he did before he met me. Oops… there goes the happy ending. Sorry.

You’re harsh.

Yes, I am.

Come to think of it, I was downright bitchy.

If only she knew that the relationship was one of convenience. We had discussed this prior to going there. He was a tourist looking for someone to hang out with. I was a newly separated bride looking for a pseudo-husband to fill someone else’s shoes until I got psychologically better.

My ex-husband gave me $2,000 (some of what he owed me), and I had saved another two. My mother had gone to Greece after she left her job and took her superannuation with her. It was meant to be for six months, and four had already passed.

Anna, I think I’ll go to Greece for six weeks. My next teaching contract starts after that. I need to leave. I can’t handle this. At least there, everything is different.

We were in Anna’s car—remember the hard-core woman I mentioned earlier. Well, this was her. We were waiting for her mother to finish a doctor’s appointment. I explained what money I had and how I had it.

Go! Get away from here.

My mother would be surprised… for both reasons.

Doesn’t she know?

No, I couldn’t tell her over the phone. The only people who know are on this side of the Mediterranean.

That would be interesting. I wish I could be a fly on the wall just to see her expression when she sees you.

In the whole duration of the party, Joseph came to the table only once, and then he left. He stood mainly with the men around the BBQ, holding a beer in his hand. I was thinking that he didn’t say much in public. I was having a better time with the strangers. There was something that attracted me to him, but it wasn’t what was coming out of his mouth and that worried me.

The last time I saw him, he was exiting the front door of my house. It was just before I was to leave for Greece. He didn’t seem too happy with me. I informed him that I was going to have a going-away party. I told him that he was most welcome, but I would not be able to entertain him exclusively. He would have to make an effort to mingle and talk to others on the night. I also said all this in Greek (the language I usually spoke to him). Well, he didn’t turn up, did he?

What I wanted to say and how it came out was totally different. I’ve discovered in my years of thought that how Greeks express themselves is vastly different from how Greek Australians do. Our Greek is very poor and at times distorted because most of it was learnt outside of the classroom. It morphed according to our origins and the various influences and experiences in our lives. For this reason, verbalising in Greek with a Greek could often lead to conflict in understanding, emotions, and opinions.

A week later, I was on a plane going to who knows what. I was numb. There was no excitement. I just needed to breathe a different type of air. The one around me was stale, tinged with the sour lingering emotion of ‘What could have been’.

Twenty-two hours to Athens, an hour to Salonica, a three-hour bus trip to Kastoria, and I still hadn’t reached my destination. Kastoria was a beautiful city built over the top of a mountain range, overlooking a lake. There were rumours of how the lake had frozen over one winter during WWII and tanks were driven over it. I really don’t know how much truth was in this. It was a pretty big lake. At night, I would admire the effect the city lights had on the smooth surface of the water. Squinting your eyes, you could visualise a painting of Monet in the dark, encrusted with crystals.

I rang my friend Perikli to come and meet me. He was the one I always hung around with when I was in Greece. We were like the dolphins that every year would meet up to mate. It’s just that with us, it was every two or three years, and we weren’t interested in increasing any world population. We just practised the process using all of nature’s outdoor accommodations. Of course, in the beginning, we would be shy and needed at least three or four beers, a not too populated bar and usually a ute to shift us to our newly harvested field under the stars or blue sky depending on the time of day. We weren’t fussy.

Today, though, it was different. I had to unload my slightly overburdened and somewhat bigger chest (I couldn’t figure the latter out; I had actually lost weight) and retell the story of my non-marital state of existence. This was something I had done countless of times before, to anyone who would listen. It was like I wanted to cleanse myself of the whole ordeal by letting it seep out of my mind in a viscous form of sound (it sounds like I was spitting on people).

He listened patiently and then simply added, At the end of the day, you know, what’s best for you. Everything passes with time. Enjoy your stay here.

I need to get to the village, I stated.

I’ll take you to Argos, and then you can take a taxi.

I thought it was odd that he didn’t take me himself. This was a rural town in Greece. Like all rural towns, you breathe next to someone and people talk. I didn’t care about such things. I was old enough. In the state of mind I was in, I don’t think I would have cared if I was young enough either. I didn’t understand why he cared either, but this was just in the beginning, and I wasn’t going to make an issue of it. This relationship didn’t have time for issues anyway. If we blinked or wasted time on rubbish, we would miss out on all the important things in our short existence together.

My cousin’s daughter, Victoria, was near the taxi stand. She was probably looking for a taxi to share with someone. She was a twenty-five-year-old Greek American, so we most often spoke in English, or as the Greeks would say ‘American’. How irritating! There was no such thing. It was English tainted with colloquialism and a ‘rolling the Rs’ accent. She was overjoyed to see me. After the hugs and kisses, we jumped into a taxi and were on our way. Victoria was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, in the United States, along with her younger brother and sister. My cousin and their father, were married by proxy. They then migrated to America. They spent sixteen years running a restaurant and then decided to come home. The only problem or one of the only problems was that the father wasn’t cut out for the village and small town life. He went to visit his parents one day and never came back. Just like the proverbial ‘Honey, I’m going out for a packet of smokes. I’ll be back soon.’ He just didn’t mention how soon. He flew to Ohio and resumed his restaurant career. His wife discovered this a few days later from his parents. My cousin wasn’t very versatile either. She ended up running a pensioner’s club a few hours a day as a means of making ends meet. The kids’ education was funded by my cousin’s parents. They planted a considerable amount of tobacco crops to cater for the American college, board and food for Victoria in Salonika and for the siblings, the education and the necessary tutoring that accommodated the normal scholastic rituals of the Greek education system. It came to thousands of drachmas per year. The money flowed a few years later from the father, but by that stage, he was not a very popular fellow in his children’s eyes and, of course, the in-laws. Eventually, Victoria’s American college education, which sounded prestigious but really was a paid high school diploma, amounted to nothing. It was not recognised as a Greek