Sophia Nikolaidou - The Scapegoat

Tasos didn’t believe in national saviors. He believed in hardworking people. In people who knew how to divide wheat between two donkeys, who understood what was at stake, who saw solutions to problems and had the endurance and fortitude to work toward them. Intellectuals and academics were all fine and well, some were even willing to put their hands in the fire, and they certainly knew how to dress up their ideas in pretty words. But just because you write about cancer, doesn’t mean you know how to treat it , he commented to Evthalia. We need a doctor here. A surgeon who knows what he’s doing .

She agreed, in part. But she also believed a little theorizing never hurt. Theories offer a frame , she reminded him, without a theory, you’re just shooting into the air . Sure, a hatchet would do the job, and a scalpel would be even better, but you still had to know where to cut. Injustice has become an institution , Tasos said, shaking his head, perhaps the only institution that actually functions in this fucking country. Enough already with the violence. Institutionalized injustice is a form of violence, too , he would shout, and Evthalia knew he was right. So they would launch into one of their endless conversations, about representational democracy and rhetoric and philosophy. And when the comb finally reached the knot, Tasos would run out of quotes to borrow, and she would, too. The conversation would end abruptly and they’d turn back to the television. It was somehow less painful to speak to the screen.

MINAS

Minas felt all-powerful. Indefatigable. Triumphant. That was how Evelina made him feel. He swallowed entire pages, memorized the exceptions that proved the rule, read and took notes the way his grandmother had taught him.

He listened, watched, and didn’t speak. Only once, walking past the television as some panel of experts ran on about the national good and how much was at stake now that the situation had become so critical, did he let out a pfff . When his mother asked him to move over so he wouldn’t be blocking her view, he nodded but stayed right where he was.

— Sure, we have to save the nation, he said in a voice dripping with irony, quoting the phrase they kept throwing around on the screen. I’m so sick of hearing that. It’s just what they said when they threw Gris to the dogs. Fifty years of the same stupidity. From people who are perfectly willing to watch as other people sacrifice everything. We’ve hit bottom, great, we got it. But it’s the same old shit all over again. Ideas above lives, the country above its people. As if that could solve the problem. Who do they think they’re kidding?

He has his Dictionary of Irregular Verbs under his arm. For now, all he cared about was his exams and Evelina, studying and making his next move. And the time had come for both those things. Enough with the flirting and kisses.

— Why aren’t we going to Agia Sophia tonight?

She wasn’t asking, she was teasing. Her eyelashes fluttered.

— Because I said so, Minas responded.

— Oh, really? And what are you, the man?

Minas grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the air. He carried her all the way to the statue of Venizelos. It was late spring and the grass smelled sweet, even here, a few steps from the cars on the street. There was a padlock on the fence around the ancient agora, the museum had been closed for months, there was no money at the ministry to pay a guard. They hopped the fence. Minas pulled her by the hand to the little theater, then backstage. Darkness, stones, everything deserted.

Evelina was used to cosmopolitan coffee shops, trendy bars, fancy restaurants. The law students she went out with, all top students with a family practice waiting for them, took her home at night in their cars, faithful protectors of female virtue. She sampled their kisses and then hopped out of their cars, leaving them with the sense that they’d been used, which was strange, since she was the girl — but perhaps it was her smile, or the look on her face, like a lion or tiger taking pity on a herbivore.

Minas took off his T-shirt and spread it out on a low wall. Evelina lay down on top of it, the shirt with the poem by Catullus on it protecting her back —Odi et amo , that’s the kind of thing Minas wore, and he would recite the lines in the back alleys around Navarino Square, and she would shout, Show-off, pretending to know Latin! A soft spring breeze was blowing, and brought smells to their noses, lifting up soil, and the hairs stood up on the nape of her neck as he fumbled with the button on her jeans and finally managed to pull them off, together with her underwear, in a movement that seemed planned but was actually just luck. He bent down and paid homage to her belly-button, licked its hollow as if seeking water. With anyone else the girl would have pulled away, but with him she liked it. When he lifted her legs onto his shoulders as if it were the most natural thing — which in fact it was, as Evelina only at that moment understood — she didn’t close her eyes. He didn’t, either.

Her back counted the stones beneath it.

— Jesus, the sky smells like pussy! Minas shouted.

Evelina laughed, her nipples hard and cold, and only then did Minas realize that he hadn’t even touched her, just rushed straight there like a glutton. And now there was no way he was coming out.

Evelina thought about all the stupid pickup lines she’d heard, and all the dirty talk and insistent I-love-yous designed to coax a girl right into bed, but Minas’s words made her dizzy. As did his body — particularly from the waist down.

And because she was a girl who respected words but judged according to actions, and who didn’t like to leave anything half done, she pulled him toward her again and squeezed her calves against his back. Minas felt her legs, reached out his hands and grabbed her ankles, wrapped them around his neck and surged forward.

— Fuck it, I like you, he said.

Evelina bit his ear.

— I bet we’ll do great on our exams, she whispered.

— Those are not the words I want to hear while I’m fucking you.

— Oh! I thought you were done, she teased.

She flicked her eyelashes against his chest.

— When I’m done, you’ll know, he said, and gave her a hickey, where it would show.

The night before the Panhellenic Exams, Evelina went out. Her mother started to say something but her husband gestured from the sofa, so she buttoned her lip again. Evelina took the stairs, high heels clacking — she was too impatient to wait for the elevator. She found Minas waiting for her in the churchyard. The bitter orange trees smelled wonderful, spring got under everyone’s skin, made the stray dogs go wild. Minas had been dying to see her but didn’t say anything, just let her decide. Finally she sent him a text: Downstairs in 5 . She didn’t need to explain and didn’t need to ask twice, he just ran down the stairs to meet her.

They kissed before they even looked at one another.

— Where are we going? he asked.

Evelina shrugged. They didn’t have much time, she wanted to go over her notes one last time, she knew that would calm her down. But Minas would calm her even more, with his talent for turning everything into a joke, particularly the things everyone else took so seriously.

— To the sea, he decided.

They headed toward the waterfront at a run, laughing like crazy people, two university hopefuls who should have been studying, or at least sitting with a book open on their laps, now that the seconds were ticking backwards.

Darkness. The sea, a diamond blue, stretched before them like freshly ironed fabric. The lights of the city shone like lanterns, and those in the distance like broken mirrors. Minas grabbed her from behind and wrapped his arms around her, and they walked like that together, or perhaps they were dancing. His breath was warm on her neck. And when he dropped her off at the door to her building, he said: