Andonis

If you go out for an afternoon walk in Pireas, like everyone else you‘ll take the coastline road passing along Zea, Freattyda, until Piraiki. The sidewalk is broad, comfortable and your way is crossed pleasantly with all the others who came out alone, with friends, family, or their dog; or others who expect to sell something.

You’ll never miss the sea from your sight. There’s a whole bunchof places where you can gaze at and many more to eat and drink, turning your back for a while to the endless row of apartment buildings.

Near Freattyda there’s a very small park, usually looked after, with cobblestones and flowerbeds. It projects somewhat unnaturally towards the sea that erodes its flimsy base, some 15 metres down. The old timers know that it owes its existence to accumulated debris. From this point you can sateyour eyes with sea and sky: the island of Salamina to the west, Aegina to the South and to the east Attica, stretching its limb. You can even see the Acropolis.

It was late summer, September or October, and dark had already fallen when I passed from there, it was a sweet evening. Three or four people with their dogs were standing in the middle of the park, itlooked like something was going on. As I approached they started to scatter and in the middle of the gathering a tall man appeared, thin blond, with a stray dog by his side. He was talking in broken Greek and seemed like he was trying to explain something to them. When I got near him the last man of his audience was stepping away silently. On the long, wiry arm of the blue eyed stranger a small stream of blood was trickling, starting a little above the wrist, swelling at the beginning of the palm and splitting down his fingers, where from it dripped on the cobbles. The deep, intense red was attracting and repelling.

Our friend gladly repeated the incident to me. He had tried to separate some dogs that were fighting. There was a stray dog attacking all the others and when he tried to interfere this dog gave him a good, strong bite. Then, other dog owners got in the middle too, the dragon was chased away, their dogs cooled off and now everyone was turning back to his business. The tension in his narration as he was struggling to describe the scene with his few Greek words, his eagerness to make me understand, looked as if that was the story of his life: trying to find some understanding with very rare or no success at all. Ι find it impossible to recount the details of his gesturing and his eyes’ expression that made me form this impression. Maybe it was just my idea. Besides, who in this life is satisfied with the understanding that he is able to find or possess for himself? It also seemed to me that he was a drinker, although he looked sober, and that was later proved right.

He didn’t ask any help for his wounded hand, like he didn’t care, as if it was just a scratch. I told him that he must see a doctor, we should go to a hospital, get a taxi. He denied all that, he didn’t want to cause or get into trouble, but when I told him that Zanneio hospital was very near and we could just walk up to there, he agreed. We set off, together with the dog. We didn’t stop talking along the way. It was a matey and joyful conversation, the language gaps made it more funny. He told me about his life in a few minutes, with a child’s simplicity. He was Polish, he used to work on ships as an electrician, had a wife and a daughter once, (his face darkened for one moment) now he’s alone with a stray dog and the booze. He had spent the summer by the beach nearby that has small pebbles and a fresh water tap. Indeed he was very clean for someone living outside together with a stray dog.

We reached Zanneio hospital which was not on callthat night but we were accepted right away, without any questions. The dog stood by the gate with no instruction, yetunderstood that it was better to wait there. I told the first man I saw that it was a dog bite and he showed me where the first aid is, very near, on the ground floor. The whole place was empty and quiet. There were three doctors in the first aid doing nothing so they all started treating him. One was cleaning his wounds, the other was preparing the injections and the third was preparing the stitches and the bandages. The injections on the tip of his fingers must have been very painful because I saw him clenching his teeth. Again, it was a little bit funny but also noble sometimes, when the pain was culminating and he looked ready to scream, he addressed his torturers through his teeth, almost groaning and repeating very quickly: “thank you very much, thank you very much.” After half an hour and about a dozen “thank you very much” his fingers and palm were swathed in bandages. We thanked the doctors for the last time and we stepped out. The dog welcomed him joyfully. I think, no I am sure, I bought him a can of beer from the near-by kiosk. We greeted each other and went on our ways.

The months passed and one sunny day of spring I went out for a walk in Piraiki, along the coast, where I reached Porfyras’ open basketball court. There’s a big opening there, just under the road, about the size of three basketball courts, including Porfyras’, a couple of wooden benches, a big eucalyptus tree and a cement cannon base overlooking the sea. Built by the Germans during the war, now it’s full of silly juvenile love poems, names, initials, some written and some carved on its surface. To add to the sense of irony and vanity, the cannon base was built (a base has to be based somewhere) on a turret of Themistocles’ wall, the defense project that triggered the Peloponnesian war about 2.500 years ago. People sit or stand there occasionally, to admire the sea view, alone or in couples. I made my usual stop, a guy had brought his dog to turn it loose, allowing it to run up and down a bit, let off some steam. The man was enjoying his dog’s freedom, the sunshine and his can of beer in a simple and silent way, like someone who has worked in ships or done time in jail. We started chatting and talking about the company of an animal I mentioned the Polish guy and his dog. I realized then that I didn’t even know his name. But the other did, “ah, you‘re talking about Andonis” he said, and then he gave me the bad news. The sea had taken him during the winter.

Andonis used to go fishing some nights, by the lighthouse under Olympiakos’ football team offices. The owner of the team at the time was half Russian and he had Russian security men. Andonis was friendly with them and the night shift was letting him pass and offered him beer sometimes. That night a storm broke out suddenly and as he was sitting at the edge of the deck, the sea came up and grabbed him.

I felt a grip in the heart and a sense of injustice because he paid very dearly for that carelessness. And now, in my warm home, on my convenient table and between all these things that I have easilyobtained , without much effort of will, looking forward to another equal portion of years, I commemorate him that let all these pass by, who lived a stray life and got lost in the sea, in my sea. And I bid him farewell with a quiet lamentation, not because he wasn’t one of my own but it seems to me that Andonis never wanted to leave sad people behind him. Maybe that was his virtue and his weakness.

Dimitrios Zacharakis

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