Christos Ikonomou - Something Will Happen, You'll See

Takis lights a cigarette and the click clack of the zippo hits me hard in the chest. He twirls his cigarette on the lip of the ashtray, takes a sip of his drink and looks out again at the sign in the square.

The other day, he says, this guy Vayios came in, a truck driver and a real character. He had a German guy with him, his sister’s husband who didn’t look German at all, a tiny little guy small and crooked. His name was Christian or Christen or something like that. He was an electrician in a construction company and last year or the year before he took a real bad fall at some building site and got hurt. For a whole year he was in and out of hospitals he’d broken every bone in his body. But he seemed like a good guy real friendly and was in a mood to treat. The place was packed and they sat down and struck up a conversation with some of the others and the German wanted to know how we’re getting by these days and the others told him friend, you’ve never seen poverty like this before, the rich making the poor work themselves to the bone so they won’t fall into poverty themselves — that’s the fine kind of conversation they struck up and if one of the younger guys hadn’t spoken some English it would’ve been tough since because the German didn’t speak Greek and even with the young guy translating I’m not sure you could really call it communication. At any rate at some point the conversation turned to those old times during the war and the occupation and everyone had a story to tell and they almost drove the guy nuts. The Germans this and the Germans that and all the people those animals killed during the occupation and this that and the other thing until at some point things started to heat up and I went over and said come on guys leave the man alone you’re ganging up on him and that’s no way to be. And Vayios says that’s right you cowards talking a big talk about resistance — and then he turns to me and says hey Takis bring some tsipouro for my brother-in-law so he can see what it’s like, all they drink where he’s from is beer and schnapps or schnoops whatever the fuck it’s called. So I bring over some tsipouro so he’ll see the kind of fire it lights in your gut. And I fill his glass and Vayios says to water it down a little because he’s never had it before and who knows what might happen so I go to toss a few ice cubes into his glass but the German guy says nein nein so we say cheers and clink glasses and the poor guy tips it all back at once without even taking a breath. And he freezes in place and starts to swell up and turn bright red and his eyes are full of tears and he jumps to his feet and starts limping between the tables and shouting ai ai ai limping up and down as fast as he can as if we’d lit him on fire pointing at the tsipouro and barking ai ai ai and we’re all staring at him with no idea what to do and then he pulls a comb out of his back pocket and starts combing his hair frantically like a madman, you see he thought all the hair on his head was sticking straight up from the fire in his gut so now he’s pacing all around pointing at the tsipouro and combing his hair and yelling ai ai ai. I can’t tell you what a scene it was. Such a scene, I can’t even describe it. Everyone in the place was screaming with laughter rolling around on the floor even Vayios was laughing so what could the poor German guy do except say all his haften houften and comb his hair until he was practically bald, you should have been there to see how hard we laughed that night. And he did too. I hadn’t laughed like that in years.

He stops talking and stubs out his cigarette then immediately starts rolling another. In the light of the lamp his fingers look blue. Strange fingers for a person who works as much as he does — narrow and smooth with a blueish tinge. On the ring finger of his right hand the two platinum wedding bands shine in the blue light of the lamp, like two links of a broken chain.

He lights the cigarette and tilts his head back to exhale and then continues:

At some point one guy who’s a little drunk stands up and turns on the cassette player and moves the tables aside and starts to dance. When the German sees him he stands up too and bows to us all and takes off his shoes and joins the other guy with a dance of his own. If you can call it dancing when the poor guy’s just taking these tiny slow steps like a migrant crossing a minefield. I mean he was barely moving his legs. And the others start clapping and shouting opa opa and tossing balled-up paper napkins at him. So Vayios jumps to his feet and says cut it out you jerks don’t you dare make fun of my brother-in-law the guy has so many pins in him he’s like a Playmobil toy. Cut it out guys I mean it. And he goes over to try and pull the German back to his seat but the poor guy has no idea what’s happening. He’s got his eyes closed and his arms stretched out and he’s moving in slow circles with his shoes off like he’s in seventh heaven. You should have been there to see. How that broken man danced. What did he know about bouzoukis and aman amans? If Vayios hadn’t been there to put a stop to it he might have danced a tsifteteli. It’ll go down in the history of this place, that German guy dancing. And when they finally left Vayios had to carry him out because he was too drunk to walk. We all went to the door to watch them leave. Vayios a beast two meters tall carrying his brother-in-law in his arms like a little kid. And him looking at us and smiling and waving and talking in his language. You should have seen him. How he danced. Sweating and trying so hard to move his arms and legs. Like a little kid just learning how to control his body. It had been years since I’d seen a man so, how can I say it. At peace. That’s it. At peace. I’d forgotten what it’s like. The next day Vayios came back to get his brother-in-law’s shoes. Things had gotten so crazy he’d forgotten them here.

Takis remembers what happened that night and starts laughing again laughing loudly and happily and in the dim artificial light of the lamp I see his mouth take on an odd shape and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes look like prints left by small birds on wet earth, so many tiny wrinkles, like carved lines, like the prints of birds that took fright at something and rose up into the air.

I fill our glasses, we drink.

We look outside.

Our faces shine in the window like fingerprints from some enormous hand. Unrecognizable faces, the faces of people who aren’t us.

Immortal cabinets.

There that still is, Takis says and blinks. Then he raises a hand to his hair and starts to smooth it with quick sudden movements as if something awful just passed through his mind or in front of his eyes as he stares out at the darkened sign in the square.

Did you know there are cabinets that never die? Everything dies except not cabinets anymore. The world is changing. Who knows if one day. You never know. Of course you’ll say who’s going to live long enough to see it happen. But I think about it. It’s been forty-nine days, you know? And I think of the kids. The older one is obsessed with computer games. Day and night at the computer. When’s he going to live when’s he going to fall in love? Sure, it’s technology, progress, I know. But I look at him and all I can think of is the past. I look at my son and instead of looking ahead I turn back to the past. And I feel a kind of shame as if nostalgia has become some kind of crime. And I keep dreaming of the past. I dream of how it would be if things had happened some other way. But that’s a kind of madness, isn’t it? You’re supposed to dream about the future, not the past, aren’t I right? But I can’t. I can’t anymore, I’m telling you, I can’t. Forty-nine days. And then there’s work. Day and night I see people crushed by their jobs. People who are tired and scared. As if it’s no longer possible to work without being afraid. And I tell myself. I tell myself I don’t want to be like that I want to fight it and not let it bring me down. But how long can you stand it. And the more time passes and the more I move forward the more my heart and mind return to the things of the past. And I think about how one day all three of us will be gone, me and my heart and my mind, too. One day I’ll lose my heart and my mind and then what’ll happen. I don’t know what’ll happen. One day. Just like that.