URSABLOG: Peace and Goodwill To All Men And Women

The following short story is fiction. Any resemblance to any person living, dead or in shipping is purely coincidental and unintentional.

It was five o’clock in the afternoon on the Saturday before Christmas, and as I looked at the empty plates on the taverna table – and the half empty glasses – I felt satisfied and relaxed. The four of us had gathered again for what had become a seasonal tradition: run around like hell in the morning to grab last-minute gifts, and then eat, drink and relax before the real Christmas festivities began.

“So,” I said, “Plans for Christmas?”

“Nothing,” said Katerina. “I’m bored with it.”

“What?” said Kostas in surprise. “You usually love it. You travel somewhere, you find the perfect snow-filled landscape and blitz Instagram with it. What’s happened? And, coming to think of it, why don’t you post so much on Instagram these days?”

“Well,” said Katerina, “I’m not in the mood for all that these days. And Instagram isn’t real life.”

“But Katerina,” said Christina, “you went to Bratislava last year with that boyfriend you had, what was his name? George?”

“Ah yes. Georgaki…” snorted Kostas.

“Stop it,” said Katerina. “That was a short-lived mistake. At first I thought he was amazing, and when he suggested the trip I thought he was the one. We flew up on the day before Christmas Eve, and he had booked us into amazing hotel – at least it looked amazing on the website – next to this lovely square with a church and a big Christmas tree. But it was a disaster.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well,” Katerina carried on, “George was all about appearances and nothing about reality. All about things and not about people, or relationships. The hotel was fine, but only as a backdrop to the movie that is his life. He didn’t want to spend any time with me – as a woman – he wanted me as a silent co-star, not even a co-star in fact, at best a supporting actress, or more probably a model.”

“But you are beautiful Katerina,” said Christina, and we all nodded our agreement.

“So what?” she replied, rather angrily. “If I’m so beautiful, why didn’t he want to spend time with me? He was posting stories all the time, some with me in them, some not, some of him, but none of us together. And he kept glued to his phone, checking the likes, the comments.”

“So what happened in the end?” asked Kostas.

“Nothing much. We had a schedule, which George had planned in great detail, to see one place after another. At one point I thought he was being employed by the Bratislava Tourist Agency. We had coffee in one place, lunch in another, glühwein in another, drinks and then dinner, all of the food and the drinks and the scenery, and the churches, and the pretty streets and cafés photographed. And then the checking of the phone, and the comments, and the texts, and the calls. He wasn’t there with me, he was in his own movie.”

“But it must have been romantic, with snow, and music, and lights in the darkness, and all of that?” asked Christina.

“It may have been if I was with someone that wanted to be with me. But it was as if I was there just so that he could show off. Who to? I have no idea. Well not then, but I found out later…”

“So what happened?” I asked.

“After two days of this I was bored as hell. We were in a café, and I asked him to put his phone away for ten minutes and spend some time with me. It lasted for about three minutes until his phone beeped and he instinctively picked it up to look at it. I got angrier and angrier, in this cosy Slovakian café. First of all I was hissing at him, but I got louder and louder as he was trying to quieten me down. He paid the bill, almost pushed me outside, and then he lost it.

“Apparently I was ruining everything that he had planned, and spoiling the moment, and wasting the money he had spent on the trip. At this point it was my turn to explode. I asked him what had he planned for us, rather than just for him. I asked him why had he invited me if he didn’t want to spend time with me. He said ‘But agapi mou, we are spending time together’ and I took his phone and looked at the messages and showed them to him: ‘See all these people that love where you are, and what you are doing? You’re with them, not me!’ He smiled and said ‘You’re jealous of my profile and my likes?’ I almost slapped him. I should have, but people were looking at these two Greeks having a drama in the street, and I was embarrassed.

“I walked off, and he followed me trying to talk to me, but I was just so furious. And I didn’t really know why. I said ‘Just leave me alone, I want time by myself.’ And I did.

“I walked around the streets, slowly cooling off, and started thinking. Thinking what the hell am I doing with this self-absorbed malakas, chasing after pictures, stories, when I could be living.

“I went into a church and sat down at the back. It was dark, lit only by the occasional candles in front of statues of Maria and various saints. An organ was playing soft Christmas music. It was beautiful. I gradually became calm, peaceful. I sat there for a while, thinking nothing, just experiencing the moment for what it was. I still think of that moment when I need calm in my life; I go back to that church in my mind, at that moment, to remember what peace feels like.

“I got out of the church and texted George to ask where we were having dinner. He told me, and I said I would meet him there. He asked me if I wanted to go back to the hotel to change beforehand, and I said there was no need.

“I walked around the Christmas markets, buying gifts for my friends and family that I had forgotten about in my excitement of going off with George, probably spending too much but suddenly it felt important. I arrived at dinner, and George acted like nothing had happened. Half talking to me about himself, half engaged on his phone, I ate and drank, and we went back to the hotel. He didn’t seem bothered and he got ready to sleep without even looking at me, or touching me. After one last look at his phone, he switched his light off and turned over to sleep.

“I sat on my side of the bed, half angry, half sad. All the clothes, all the lingerie in my suitcase unworn, all the future moments wasted. I took a long time in the shower, washing all the day away, and got into a T-shirt and went to bed, turned to my side, away from him, thinking about the church I had visited earlier.

“The next morning at breakfast I told George I had an urgent family matter to deal with and had to fly back immediately. He accepted this without question, almost with relief. I packed, kissed him on the cheek and said thank you for everything. He wished me a good flight, and I got a taxi to the airport.

“At the airport I booked another ticket – hugely expensive, via Zurich – and arrived home late in the evening. At Zurich I looked at my phone, and the Instagram photos of our time together, and saw how little I, we, featured. And I also saw how me leaving George did nothing to affect the flow of stories and posts coming from his account, or the amount of likes and comments he was getting. I looked at who was liking him, and saw it was mostly women. I deleted and blocked his account, and disabled my own. It felt important.

“I found out later that a couple – friends of his – went to spend the rest of the time there with him, and they took a friend – a woman naturally – with them, who ended up staying in George’s room, naturally. Apparently there were lots of photos of them all together, having fun.

“So as you can understand, I am not in the mood to do all this again. I still love Christmas, but I want something more, not just the packaging. Something like what I experienced in that dark church. So I will be spending it quietly. And no Instagram.”

“Malista,” said Kostas, after a pause. “Well I think you should see some people anyway. Last year showed to me that whatever the reasons, whoever they are, Christmas can only be a success with other people.”

“Yes Kosta,” I said, “But last year, and I admit you were going through a really tough time, but last year you went and hid yourself somewhere up in the mountains for the whole of the Christmas period. You left Athens, and we couldn’t find you. You were avoiding people completely.”

“I know,” replied Kostas, “but I really needed to get away. I just took the car and drove north. I stopped in Florina for Christmas, and that was ok, but I was frustrated wandering around alone where all those couples and families and friends were enjoying themselves together, when I was lonely and alone. But I didn’t want to be with anyone; I was miserable, stressed and tired. But being alone, even though I wanted to be alone, made it worse.

“So after Florina I headed west, into the mountains, past the ski station and just drove around with no real idea of where to go. I was getting hungry so I stopped in a village and found a taverna. It was empty, but the host came out, and without saying much to me – and not being particularly friendly – told me what they had for food, and I ordered. He shuffled back into the kitchen, and then came back with the food. It was amazing – home cooked, tasty and real. I felt better.

“When he came back, I asked him if they would be open for the next few days, and whether there was anywhere to stay in the village. Without stopping what he was doing, he shouted out ‘Roula!’ and a short, friendly faced woman with an apron on scuttled out. He nodded at me and said “O Kyrios” and went back into the kitchen with the cleared-up plates.

“’Parakalo? Tell me,’ said Kyria Roula. I repeated my request. She told me that they had no accommodation but her cousin, Chrysa, had a room above her shop, but it didn’t have a bathroom attached to the room, only one down the hall, but that no-one else used it, would it be ok? I said of course, I just wanted a clean, peaceful and comfortable room. She nodded and took out her mobile phone.

“After an interminable and complicated phone call – with her cousin I imagined – she nodded at me, and asked me to come with her. We left the taverna and I followed down and around some narrow streets to an old house with the first floor jutting out over the street. At the front door of the ship, Kyria Chrysa was waiting for us with a smile. A bit younger and a bit slimmer than her cousin, she had the same friendly face, but with a mischievous glint in her green eyes.

“The people of this village were not very talkative to outsiders but very voluble amongst themselves, and I could barely follow their conversation as they exchanged their news, views and observations as we all walked up the stairs to the first floor. They opened the bedroom door and beckoned me to enter.

“The room had a fireplace with a freshly lit fire burning in the grate, with a large old bed with crisp, spotless white linen sheets under an old-fashioned quilt. There was a window seat looking out above the houses below and across to the mountains opposite which had a dusting of snow right at the top.

“The bathroom was old-fashioned with green-patterned tiles from the seventies, with a shower and sink to match, but just as clean as the bedroom.

“‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘How much?’

“Kyria Chrysa replied: ‘Fifty euros a night. Cash please, no receipt. Ok?’

“’Perfect.’

“That evening I went back to eat at the taverna. The locals watched me, but talked amongst themselves. I was happy with this: I still wanted to be alone, but I was in company, unobtrusive but warm company.

“The next morning, having had the best night’s sleep for a long time, just after I was about to leave for a walk, I heard a timid knock on the door. ‘Ela!’ I called, and Kyria Chrysa opened the door and without coming in, asked me whether I had any plans for the New Year. I had lost track of the time and had forgotten that it was New Year’s Eve.

“’Nothing,’ I said. ‘Is the taverna open this evening?’

“’It shuts at six,’ said Mrs Xrysa. ‘But our family is having a small celebration, and we wondered whether you would like to join us.’ I thought about it for while. I really wanted to be alone, but something about the way Mrs Xrysa asked, with that same glint in her eye, made me curious and said ‘Thank you very much. Of course I will come.’

“’I will come and fetch you at nine o’clock. Don’t eat too much today,’ Mrs Xrysa said, and left me with a smile.

“I bought a coffee and a cheese pie from the bakery and walked amongst the mountains for some hours until the dying light and cold drove me back to my room. The fire was prepared, and I lit it and read and dozed until my alarm went off at eight o’clock, and I showered and got ready. At ten to nine I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and saw Mrs Xrysa with her two young daughters, around five and seven years old, hiding behind her and peeking out at me. ‘Please join us down stairs for a little something before we leave together,’ she said. I followed her downstairs into the warm, brightly lit kitchen, and was introduced to all her family properly, her husband Mr Yiannis – a huge man who once he decided I was not a threat, greeted me warmly, to the two girls Foteini and Athina, Mr Yiannis’ mother, Kyria Maria, and two or three other cousins, or friends or something. We drank a glass of tsipouro with some little cakes together, and stepped out into the night.

“Again through the narrow streets of the village we climbed up, above the church square, towards a house surrounded by a high wall with a huge door. We passed through an arch and the lights were pouring out into the night through the small windows set into the thick stone walls. I ducked under the door to find myself in a wide welcoming room, with a fire blazing in the corner, with a huge amount of food laden on a long large table set for what must have been at least twenty people. I was introduced to more cousins, uncles, aunts, or friends, or something, and we were pushed into our seats and began to eat, and drink.

“Suddenly I was no longer a stranger to be watched and left alone. I was not only accepted, I was not only welcomed, but I had become one of them. The food kept coming, the drink kept being poured, toasts given, jokes made. The talk, the laughter became louder and louder. At midnight we stopped for a few minutes to watch television and the New Year arrive, and then things really started to get going.

“First of all the women started singing together, and Foteini and Fenia looked on with mouths open as they saw their mothers and aunts and cousins (or something) enjoying their music together. Then musical instruments started appearing – a tambouras, a clarinet, some drums – and the men started playing. I normally get very irritated with the clarinet but here it was different: the music was fast and furious, infectious and drawing people on their feet. I was pulled up too, but the dancing was complicated and the steps difficult – no easy tourist dancing in Naxos this – but no-one cared, the point was to dance.

“I don’t know what time we finished, but I was swept up again in the bosom of Mrs Xrysa’s family for the walk back down to their house – in the condition I was in, intoxicated by tsipouro, laughter, music, company and dancing, I would not have found my way – and a fine snow was being blown around in the air, not settling, not wet, as though it too was dancing in celebration of the new year just arrived.

“The next day was slow, but by the time I made my way to the taverna in the late afternoon, I was welcomed as a friend, and made to join them at their table after I had eaten. I stayed for two more evenings until real life pulled me back to Athens.

“But I left with a lighter heart, and a hopeful mind. My problems had not left me, nothing had changed, but they were easier to carry because they had been put in perspective. Even when you want to be alone, even when you think that you are better alone, and don’t want to infect other people with your bad mood, and your problems, other people have their own lives and own things to do and sometimes their positivity and joy has to be shared otherwise it means nothing to them either. It was – apart from being an amazing time – an important lesson for me. Loss, joy, fun, unhappiness, pain, laughter happens everywhere. But to celebrate life is essential, if only because it is so short and fleeting.

“Have you been back?” I asked.

“No,” said Kostas. “I’m almost afraid to, I don’t want to spoil the memory, to contaminate the lesson I learnt with something more mundane, more banal. I am happy to know that I lived, there, at that time, with them. That is my happy place in my mind.”

“You were lucky, I just seem to be a magnet for malakies,” complained Christina.

“Oh come on Christina, you are a hugely successful woman, you travel, you enjoy your work, you are an example to so many people that look up to you,” I replied.

“Oh work, that’s fine, but I am not just my work, I have a heart and a soul too. It’s just that I seem to make the wrong personal choices over and over again. Money and success do not lead to happiness. Time and time again, the same pattern repeats itself.” She looked at her glass sadly.

“What’s happened?” I asked.

“Well I was in London a couple of weeks ago, and there was this big party I was invited to, to celebrate that deal that I was leading, and I was really looking forward to it. It would show I had arrived, that I had reached a new level.

“It was a Thursday night, and it was a black-tie event, and I had spent the afternoon buying a dress and getting my hair done, and getting ready generally. I was staying in a lovely boutique hotel in Covent Garden, and this guy – Andrew, the man who was leading the New York part of the deal – had sent me a bunch of red roses and a bottle of champagne. I didn’t open the bottle, but I smiled at the gifts as they sat on the coffee table.

“The evening started at six o’clock with drinks in a bar in a hotel on Park Lane. It was reserved for us only, and was very classy. Martinis only. Then we were taken to a private dinner in this art gallery or mansion or something – out of this world, the food and wine amazing – with candles everywhere, and a small orchestra playing classical Christmas music, and all the while Andrew close to me, giving me all his attention.

“Handsome, intelligent, stylish, classy – with that wonderful English accent – he was just the perfect gentleman. I was swept off my feet.

“We left the party and went to this private nightclub, with champagne, music and dancing. I was on a huge high, and so of course I invited him back to my hotel. Well, I had the champagne to drink, didn’t I?”

“Malista,” said Kostas, smiling.

“Anyway, that’s when things started to go wrong. Instead of opening the bottle, the first thing he did when we got to my room was to go to the toilet. He came out sniffing, and wiping his nose, and his mood had changed as well. He was more aggressive, and whilst I was more than in the mood for intimacy, I wasn’t in the mood for this.

“I managed to get things back to a more normal, intimate basis, more relaxed, but it was weird.”

“And was it worth it? Were there fireworks?” asked Kostas.

“It was like being aggressively read a contract,” Christina replied. “Like he had a big statement to make. All anger and power, and no passion, no affection. But what happened later was worse. He stayed, and we slept. I got up to go to the toilet in the middle of the night, but when I got back to the bedroom not only was he gone, but he had thrown the red roses scattered all over the floor, and poured the water from the vase onto the bed. It was soaking.

“It was humiliating and degrading, and a bit frightening and weird too. But since then he has started attacking me in work, and undermining my authority. And I feel vulnerable now, and can’t fight back. I don’t know what to do.

“And if I look back to those few days in London, there is no real happy place. It was stylish, and classy, and expensive, and exciting, and exactly how you see it in the movies, but it wasn’t real. Everything is fake, everything and everyone is soulless.” Christina looked up at us, as if checking to see we were still there, still with her. We were, but were silent. We understood.

“And what about you?” Christina asked me, changing the subject. “Where is your happy place?”

“I don’t particularly have one,” I said. “I think it’s a mistake to rely too much on the past to provide happy places. I prefer to find them in the present.”

“So what are your plans for Christmas Day then?” asked Katerina.

“Well,” I said. “I am planning a celebration. I have found a goose to cook, and I will make the best roast potatoes you have ever tasted with the goose fat, and prepare some salads and other stuff. I will buy lots of cheese, and fruit, and I will make my famous Gringlish Christmas pudding. I have lots of wine, as you know, and I am in a good mood. So I will invite a bunch of people to pass by, to share my food and wine, and to join in the season’s festivities. If they come, they come, if they don’t, they don’t. Nonetheless they are welcome, and their friends and family are welcome too. And of course you are all welcome too.”

“But,” said Kostas, “everyone will be with their families, or friends, or away. How can you prepare a huge meal for people when you don’t know whether they will come or not. Imagine if no-one comes at all?”

“And what if everyone comes, and they bring a friend or two?” said Christina. “You will be inundated, and run out of food and wine. And you have some very good wine too – too good to share with anyone!”

“And how do you feel about inviting strangers into your home?” said Katerina. “They may be a disaster and ruin your things!”

“Look,” I said. “There are three things you have to bear in mind.

“Firstly, as you have all told me, Christmas may not always go to plan, or match your dreams. And people can get hurt too. But if you give generously, in love and with no hope or need of anything in return, I believe good things will happen.

“Secondly, I take the rules of Greek hospitality – ancient and modern – very seriously. I want to give unconditionally, not only because that is my duty as a host, but also because it gives me great enjoyment. But guests should follow the same rules too: to be a good guest is as important. I trust in this process.

“Thirdly and most importantly, this is the time of year where – as you have shared with me as well – the unbelievable can happen, or at least we are more susceptible to the notion that it could happen. I believe – deep down, somewhere, despite all previous evidence to the contrary – there is good in everyone, and there is no better time of the year to find that goodness and share it. When the light is the least – even here in Greece – then the need for different types of light, and illumination, is far more.

“But I also have three rules, which must be followed strictly.

“One: guests should bring something suitable for the celebration. It doesn’t have to be food or drink, but it should be something meaningful, and something that can be shared.

“Two: no social media. Photos and videos are allowed for future reference, but nothing should be shared outside the gathering as it is happening. We should be living in the moment as it is happening.

“Finally, what happens and what is confidentially shared at my table is not to be shared with those not at my table.”

“Sounds fair enough to me,” said Kostas. “I’ll be there. As long as there’s music.”

“Count me in,” said Katerina. “I could do with something real.”

“I’m in too,” said Christina. “I don’t need anything more than honest company.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s a good foundation for a great table, and a great time. And now you must excuse me but I have things to do.”

“Like what?” asked Katerina.

“I have to start sending some invitations and go and track down that goose. It won’t cook itself you know.”

Simon Ward