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Authors: Sara Alexi
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retrace his steps. It is hot and the lane offers no shade. A lizard darts across his path.
‘Do you want Juliet?’ the immigrant asks in Greek, his eyes scanning Mitsos’ empty sleeve as he turns again to face the house. Mitsos raises his brow; he didn’t expect such fluent Greek, and the man’s accent is not that bad.
The immigrant misinterprets his hesitation and asks again, ‘Do you want Juliet?’ in English. Mitsos’ feels his eyes widen. He tries to cover his surprise by quickly asking, ‘Where is she?’ in Greek. He would rather speak directly to her anyway. That is how things should be done, face to face, person to person. These days it’s all middle-men, telephones and computers. How can you judge a person, build a relationship, if you never meet them? The world has become so complex, impersonal.
‘ She has just gone to the nursery for some plants for the garden. Would you like to come in and wait? I could get you some water.’
Mitsos ignores the Indian, Pakistani, whatever he is, and turns to walk away. He wants to keep this simple, get the translation from Juliet and leave. It is not a social visit. He does not want to talk to immigrants. A car approaches up the narrow lane.
‘Sir, this is her now,’ the immigrant calls. Mitsos wishes he could carry on walking away. This was a bad idea; he cannot let people he doesn't know into his personal business. In a small village that is a recipe for disaster. If people find you are doing well they get jealous and put obstacles in your way. Only if they hear you are doing worse than them do they leave you alone. Everyone in the village talks of nothing more than how badly they are doing, to appease their neighbours. But he is trapped between the car and the gate in the narrow lane; there is no escape.
The woman driving the car smiles. She has striking golden hair. Mitsos cannot help but smile back.
The immigrant opens the gates wider and Mitsos steps aside to let the car pass.
She is light on her feet as she jumps out of the car, and she puts out a hand towards Mitsos.
‘Hello, I am Juliet, welcome. How may I help you?’ Her Greek is fluent.
Mitsos closes his mouth, which he can feel has just opened a fraction at the enthusiastic welcome. He struggles to form his reply.
‘Hello, I am …’ He glances at the immigrant and does not finish his sentence.
‘ Oh, excuse me, this is Aaman.’
Aaman puts out his hand to shake but Mitsos is very slow to respond and in the delay Aaman retracts his. Juliet turns to him and talks quietly of the plants she has bought and where to put them. Aaman takes the plants round the side of the house, out of sight.
‘So, Mr …’
‘ Mitsos.’
‘ So, Mr Mitsos how can I help you?’
‘ I have some very private business I wish you to help me with.’ Mitsos looks towards the house. He is not comfortable talking about this in the open; you never know who is listening over the wall. He is keenly aware of this fact because once upon a time it had been him hiding behind walls … and Manolis too.
Juliet takes the hint. She leads the way and offers him a seat on the sofa. The room is entirely white, with a white floor, white walls, white sofa. There is a bookcase full of books, neatly arranged. It is alien to him but the place has a very calm feeling. He looks at Juliet, feeling he knows her a bit better for seeing inside her home.
‘I have a very personal, private document I wish to have translated. It must remain private.’ He chooses a hard-backed chair.
‘ I see.’ Juliet reclines on the sofa.
‘ Will you do it?’ Mitsos is not sure how such a conversation should be conducted.
‘ Is it long or short? For one copy I have a minimum fee for anything under two thousand words, and if it is longer there is an additional cost per word.’
Mitsos looks blank. It had not occurred to him that she would charge a fee. He has no money on him and precious little elsewhere. ‘Er …’ He does not know how to
‘Do you want Juliet?’ the immigrant asks in Greek, his eyes scanning Mitsos’ empty sleeve as he turns again to face the house. Mitsos raises his brow; he didn’t expect such fluent Greek, and the man’s accent is not that bad.
The immigrant misinterprets his hesitation and asks again, ‘Do you want Juliet?’ in English. Mitsos’ feels his eyes widen. He tries to cover his surprise by quickly asking, ‘Where is she?’ in Greek. He would rather speak directly to her anyway. That is how things should be done, face to face, person to person. These days it’s all middle-men, telephones and computers. How can you judge a person, build a relationship, if you never meet them? The world has become so complex, impersonal.
‘ She has just gone to the nursery for some plants for the garden. Would you like to come in and wait? I could get you some water.’
Mitsos ignores the Indian, Pakistani, whatever he is, and turns to walk away. He wants to keep this simple, get the translation from Juliet and leave. It is not a social visit. He does not want to talk to immigrants. A car approaches up the narrow lane.
‘Sir, this is her now,’ the immigrant calls. Mitsos wishes he could carry on walking away. This was a bad idea; he cannot let people he doesn't know into his personal business. In a small village that is a recipe for disaster. If people find you are doing well they get jealous and put obstacles in your way. Only if they hear you are doing worse than them do they leave you alone. Everyone in the village talks of nothing more than how badly they are doing, to appease their neighbours. But he is trapped between the car and the gate in the narrow lane; there is no escape.
The woman driving the car smiles. She has striking golden hair. Mitsos cannot help but smile back.
The immigrant opens the gates wider and Mitsos steps aside to let the car pass.
She is light on her feet as she jumps out of the car, and she puts out a hand towards Mitsos.
‘Hello, I am Juliet, welcome. How may I help you?’ Her Greek is fluent.
Mitsos closes his mouth, which he can feel has just opened a fraction at the enthusiastic welcome. He struggles to form his reply.
‘Hello, I am …’ He glances at the immigrant and does not finish his sentence.
‘ Oh, excuse me, this is Aaman.’
Aaman puts out his hand to shake but Mitsos is very slow to respond and in the delay Aaman retracts his. Juliet turns to him and talks quietly of the plants she has bought and where to put them. Aaman takes the plants round the side of the house, out of sight.
‘So, Mr …’
‘ Mitsos.’
‘ So, Mr Mitsos how can I help you?’
‘ I have some very private business I wish you to help me with.’ Mitsos looks towards the house. He is not comfortable talking about this in the open; you never know who is listening over the wall. He is keenly aware of this fact because once upon a time it had been him hiding behind walls … and Manolis too.
Juliet takes the hint. She leads the way and offers him a seat on the sofa. The room is entirely white, with a white floor, white walls, white sofa. There is a bookcase full of books, neatly arranged. It is alien to him but the place has a very calm feeling. He looks at Juliet, feeling he knows her a bit better for seeing inside her home.
‘I have a very personal, private document I wish to have translated. It must remain private.’ He chooses a hard-backed chair.
‘ I see.’ Juliet reclines on the sofa.
‘ Will you do it?’ Mitsos is not sure how such a conversation should be conducted.
‘ Is it long or short? For one copy I have a minimum fee for anything under two thousand words, and if it is longer there is an additional cost per word.’
Mitsos looks blank. It had not occurred to him that she would charge a fee. He has no money on him and precious little elsewhere. ‘Er …’ He does not know how to
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