The Holy Machine

40

‘Don’t look at them!’

Lucy and I sat outside a café in the centre of Ioannina, near to the archaeological museum. The usual group of boys and young men had gathered round to stare at the immaculate young woman from the City, as had happened several times already.

‘Don’t look at them, Lucy.’

I knew that if she looked at them and saw them smiling, she would respond. She would smile back, she would give them her sweet come-on look, she would even start getting up from her seat. The last time it happened, in a town near the border, it had very much excited the boys that had gathered round her. It had made them catcall and guffaw and whistle. But it had made them angry too. Their eyes had become cold. They had looked around for the religious police, hating Lucy for what she awoke in them.

‘That’s right,’ I said, ‘just don’t look at them.’

She looked at me instead. But I made the mistake of smiling encouragingly and immediately she was doing it all to me, reaching out for my hand, running her thumb over my credit bracelet, looking longingly into my eyes…

‘Shameless!’ I heard someone spit among the onlookers.

‘No. Don’t do it to me either, Lucy. Just be yourself, remember, be yourself!’

Her face at once became blank and dead. There was a sudden silence among our observers.

‘She’s mad,’ they muttered, ‘She’s an idiot of some sort…’

And they started to turn uncomfortably away.

‘Drink up your lemon,’ I said to her, draining my tiny cup of coffee. ‘Let’s get our business sorted out quickly and leave.’

Suddenly a large hand descended on my shoulder.

O3!

I froze, then squirmed round and looked up into a broad, thickly moustachioed face.

‘I remember you my City friend. A merry dance you and your friends led me. I thought I was going to get lynched.’

It was the taxi-driver Manolis. He took a spare chair, turned it round and straddled it between Lucy and I, leaning forward to examine us, a cigarette smouldering between his lips.

‘George, isn’t it?’ he said to me, ‘I remember. A good Greek name! Well, no harm was done, as it turned out, and now we’re friends again aren’t we? Epiros and the City, the Archbishop and the Chinaman with robot legs!’

He lifted his hand from the chair-back to reach out and shake mine: a rather magnificent gesture, managing to combine generosity and nonchalance.

‘And this is… your wife perhaps?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Yes, my wife. Lucy. Lucia in Greek…’

He turned to Lucy, smiling.

‘Just a little smile, Lucy,’ I coached her in English, ‘Just a little smile, that’s it, now be yourself again…’

As her face composed itself back into blankness, the Greek’s eyes momentarily narrowed. Then he extended his hand again with the same grand and lazy gesture, a little medallion of a saint dangling from a gold chain at his wrist.

‘Pleased to make your aquaintance, kyria.’

‘Take his hand, Lucy, that’s it, smile, and now let go. Say good morning, remember how I told you? Say good morning in Greek.’

‘Kalimera,’ Lucy intoned.

‘Very good! Very good!’ the taxi driver grinned.

I smiled apologetically. ‘It’s all the Greek she has.’

‘Well, no doubt she’ll soon be speaking it like one of us. Please tell her from me that she is very beautiful.’

‘Lucy. Smile. Look shy and pleased. That’s enough.’

The taxi-driver looked at me and back at Lucy. Again his eyes narrowed slightly. Suddenly he leaned back and reached into the pocket of his jacket.

‘Pistachio nuts,’ he said, producing a small paper bag and offering it to Lucy. ‘I can’t resist them. Will you have one?’

A boy jeered. ‘You’ll have to pay her in more than nuts!’

Manolis turned, reddening angrily.

‘Hey!’ he thundered at the group that had gathered again to stare. ‘Some respect please! Do you think these people are animals in a cage?’

Lucy was still staring down at the bag of nuts. She had no idea what they were or why they were being proffered.

‘Won’t you have one?’ asked the taxi driver.

‘Smile at him and say something!’ I told her, adding to Manolis: ‘My wife isn’t very fond of nuts.’

But Lucy took the whole bag. It tore. Nuts fell out over the table. Lucy stared at them.

‘Smile and say something,’ I hissed, ‘and put it down!’

She smiled, not at Manolis but at a man sitting at another table.

‘I do love you,’ she said to the man in English, dropping the bag of nuts.

Then she seemed to realize that she had entered the wrong territory and turned to Manolis: ‘I am a machine,’ she added.

This really scared me, even though Manolis spoke no English.

‘Never say that out here, Lucy!’ I hissed, ‘Never, never say that!’

I turned back with an effort and a very strained smile to Manolis, who’d been watching all this closely but without comment. Now he winked at me.

‘I will never understand that City of yours. Never.’

I must have looked flustered. He politely busied himself with lighting a new cigarette, then turned back to me.

‘Now tell me my friend, is there anything I can assist you with? You must have come here for a reason.’

I hesitated, then decided to trust him. I did actually need his help.

‘Documents,’ I said, ‘you showed me a place where I could get documents, and I’ve been looking but I’m not sure exactly where it is.’

He laughed triumphantly, exhaling quantities of acrid smoke.

‘Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say you would need it one day?’