25b - The Old Neighborhood: Kostakis & Christakis (Best Friends)

Our second-floor balcony offered a panoramic view of the courtyard and the open terrace for peeping into the comings and goings of the Kazineris’ family, most of the time in anticipation of Kostakis’ visit to his grandparents from his home on Fleming Street, five minutes’ walk away. As soon as he showed up, I was often invited to my delight to play with him in the courtyard, by Mrs. Marika, the old neighbour and friend of grandma’s -with old Kazineris assent, of course, and only in Yiannis’ absence; generally, he did not tolerate noisy kids playing under his bedroom. Kostakis, that is little Kostas in colloquial Greek, he was the boy I could name as the closest of childhood friends; in fact, he came to feature at the top of the pantheon of friends and classmates of that first life stage. I learned plenty through our companionship and friendship, and shared several moments of joy, playing and growing up together in our streets and first school. Inevitably, the memories of the time in each other’s company, in the old neighbourhood stayed with me for the rest of my life, their nostalgia commensurate with the time gap from that distant past.

Kostakis embodied a common, popular child. He was of the same age and short stature, although with a slightly stronger body, light brown eyes and blond hair, usually cut thin. There was nothing special about his physiognomy that would allow me to recognize him several decades down the line. So, in the courtyard and our alley outside, in the surrounding streets, by the Toumpa stream, in nearby open plots, in football grounds and basketball courts, an innocent and pure childhood friendship flourished spontaneously, between two similar boys through a mutual thirst for play and joy and sports, unconscious of their inherent boyish carefreeness, in no hurry to grow up.

We were often joined by the younger by one- or two-years Christakis, another boy living in the alley, the third member of a little gang, though associate. Rather unfortunately, due to our age difference and, consequently, smaller frame, he had to tolerate the often derogatory and contemptuous remarks by Kostakis, as the latter’s behavior often strayed beyond the patronizing and showing-off or laddish, typical of an older brother, and verged to what one could call bullying. There were many times when Kostakis’ clumsy displays of superiority forced Christakis to abandon our games and return with bitter feelings -often crying. In those confrontations, I, ostensibly a neutral bystander, felt sorry for Christakis, but I kept my temporary irritations from the injustices and unfair play, and a form of compassion towards him within myself and mostly remained silent. Despite all this, he followed us faithfully and willingly in our games and escapades when called upon, and generally complied with the dictates of our domineering friend.

The Kazineris’ courtyard no matter how small it seemed, it was still big enough for our children’s world and became our first playground, especially in the hot summer days. We could, insulated from neighbors' complaints and tellings-off, as well as the heat of the summer, under the discreet supervision of Mrs. Marika and sometimes Katina and Foula –Kostakis' mother or grandma from her balcony, our innovative games of three-way football without undue distractions: with three goal posts for each one of the three friends to defend. The first and the most vulnerable to shots and attacks was at the door of the store-room under the terrace, on which old Kazineris’ used to sit for hours on end vacant and detached, his chin supported by a cane; the second was the front door that led out into the alley; the third was the door of the laundry room under the porch to main entrance- it was the most difficult to assail and score against. A boisterous game was played at a frantic pace, often involving unscrupulous scheming of two players against the third. A game which poor Christakis was incessantly finished third, defeats that he accepted without protestations as something natural amongst good friends, however older and bigger than him. The undisputed winner in most cases was Kostakis: the most competitive of the group, the stubborn winner, but in his rare defeats the sorest of losers.

Our games ended around lunchtime when Kostakis was summoned by his grandma Marika for lunch. In the latter case, unwilling to relinquish our games and naturally disobedient towards his grandma, at least, she had to occasionally chase him around the courtyard with a bowl of pasta and a spoon to feed him. These summons or my own grandma’s calls from her balcony signaled the regrettable end of another day of laughter and fun.