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that only a handful of people are joining us in visiting
this dot on the map. A stocky man around seventy,
dressed as if it were winter, is pounding a large octopus
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against a rock that s stained black from years of soaking
up squid ink. Once the octopus is tenderised he throws
it into a rope basket and it s not alone. We think about
asking the guy to look at Cali s note with her address
but instead just follow the other arrivees, presuming
they ll be heading for where the rest of the locals are
hidden away.
A sick-sounding bus putters just behind a wall of
trees that s been hiding the rest of the island from our
sight as well. The bus waits patiently to see the catch
from the ferry, and the guys we re following clamber
on as if they know where they re going. I put my head
inside non-committally, leaning Cali s note into the bus
driver s view. He nods us onboard, and when I hold out
a hand of euro coins he waves them away. This has us
confused until he stops after just a few minutes and
gestures towards a single taverna that looks out over
a secluded and virtually uninhabited beach. We could
easily have walked  hopefully the driver puts it down
to naivety rather than a severe dose of tourist laziness. I
gotta stop worrying what a complete stranger may think
of me and get back to worrying what a virtual stranger,
Cali, thinks of me.
The taverna, unsurprisingly, is painted stark white
with soft blue window and door frames. It has two
levels, presumably Cali s family inhabiting the upstairs.
The inside and outside dining areas are both empty,
but I recall Georgina telling me that everything on
the islands closes for a few hours after lunch until the
air cools.
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 So, am I going to do this? I ask Miller as we re just
metres from entering Cali s life.
 Do it! Miller replies as if we re contestants on
some extreme sports show, preparing to leap from safe
to risky.
We walk into the dining area, where it s cool and
dark. There are about ten tables, and the walls are
decorated with images of Greek islands in case you
forget where you are. I can hear someone singing in the
kitchen and realise that it could be Cali. Miller calls
out her name and the song gets louder and closer.
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37
ike some sort of paparazzo, I want to capture Cali s
Lunguarded reaction to seeing us and not some
hastily posed shot. I m desperate for her face not to show
disappointment or indifference before her brain has a
chance to correct it back to polite. Miller has reminded
me a bunch of times, when we ve talked about this
moment, that I should give Cali a chance to place us as
we ve only met twice and naturally she ll be surprised,
irrespective of how she might feel about me.
 Ash! she screams.  Miller!
With my eyes set to a shutter speed that s been
responsible for the embarrassment of a club-load
of celebrities, I will forever record that her face was
coloured with actual delight. It also did not escape my
notice that she called my name out first. Surely she
didn t have enough time to consciously alphabetise.
My day has already been made and it s really just
beginning.
The three of us hug simultaneously as she escapes
the kitchen and we drop our packs onto the floor.
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 I guess you re surprised to see us? I ask as we stand
in the middle of the taverna looking at each other.
 Yes, but it is a good surprised, Cali says and for the
life of me I believe her. It s that or her acting ability
makes Cate Blanchett look like Hilary Duff.
 Did you just arrive? she asks.
 We ve been in Athens for a week and now here,
says Miller.
Cali can t keep the smile off her face, and it s the
same one that s refusing to budge from mine.
 Did you expect we might come and see you? I ask,
interested to know if she d given us a thought since
Amsterdam.
 I know if it s meant to be it will happen, Cali replies,
sounding a bit New Age but not so much so as you d
start to worry.
Miller gives me a  told-you-so look which I m more
than happy to accept.
Suddenly, as if she s experiencing a burst of
Tourette s, Cali screams out a word in Greek and soon
we hear someone descending the wooden stairs that
finish by the side of the kitchen. It s a very refined-
looking fifty-plus woman with greying dark hair scooped
into a bun. Her bright-blue dress suggests she s never
had to bury a husband.
 Guys, this is my mother, Melina, says Cali, and the
woman shakes us both with a soft hand.
 Mom, this is Ash, and this is Miller. They re the
Australian guys I told you about who came to Alexa s
party. She uses the American  Mom , I guess like anyone
who s learnt English from the TV.
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 It s nice to meet you both. Are you hungry?
You ve got to love Greek hospitality.
 We don t want to put you to any bother, Miller says,
not meaning a word of it. Those calamari are already
feeling like they were a long time ago.
 It is no trouble. This is a taverna after all, says Melina
kindly and goes into the kitchen after telling Cali to get
us some retsina and take us to a table outside. Glorious
smells of lamb, squid, and untold herbs that Colonel
Sanders has ignorantly left out of his mix waft from the
kitchen, through the inside eating area and out to us.
We update Cali on what we ve done since meeting her
and she laughs heaps. The retsina goes down steadily
as we talk non-stop. A few tourists who ve chosen
this small and secluded beach over the more popular
ones elsewhere on Antiparos drift about in the still,
crystal water.
 It will get much busier later this afternoon, Cali
says, nearly embarrassed about the lack of people.
Maybe she thinks tourists are lost without the noise of
a crowd.
 This is great, I tell her.
 It is flavoured with pine resin, says Cali, thinking
I mean the wine.
 Do you like squid? Cali asks as Melina brings out a
huge platter of it, gently fried and splashed with lemon
juice.
 Absolutely, we had some this morning in Paros, I
reply, and then thinking that this sounds a bit rude add,
 and it wasn t nearly enough.
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Miller, reminded of Paros and its legions of cats,
asks Cali,  Do you have any animals?
 No. We do have Milou, though, Cali replies curiously,
before another Tourette s-like shout, this time of  Milou .
There s a sudden thunk as a skinny cat with funeral-
black fur jumps from one of the upper level s balconies.
Milou nuzzles his face into Cali s shoulder before being
distracted by the squid. He flashes a paw into the platter
and springs onto the ground to eat his catch.
 Quite a mover, that Milou, I say, and Cali laughs so
freely and fondly that I want to nuzzle my face into her
shoulder myself. And purr some.
The food keeps coming until Melina eventually joins [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]