On the ground floor, in addition to the small laundry room and the dark hall room where an internal staircase led upstairs, there was another room, just below Yiannis’ master bedroom -a ‘chamber’. One of its windows faced the courtyard, our playground, through some thick curtains, the other, faced the street, but had its shutters permanently shut. This so-called chamber was rented by the Kazineris’ from time-to-time to day labourers and journeymen. Of the last tenant I happen to remember was a poor decorator, whom, a few times in early morning I came across on my way to school: in white overalls stained by paint, on a bicycle heading towards the city centre, towards a spot where men of his trade gathered in search of work. He carried a ladder on his shoulders, like Jesus carried his cross, and a bucket from the handle was filled with brushes, and tools of his trade.
One evening the people
of the usually tranquil alley, first amongst them the residents of our block
across, were perturbed by noises stemming from the Kazineris’ house below. It
was Katina shouting: "You bastard! Get out of here! Pervert! Get out
now!" I joined Mother in the balcony, curious to see what was going
on. Only the pale light of the laundry room could be seen through its open door
under the porch. None of those who were listening and peering from their balconies
across and above could make out what was happening, until eventually silence
prevailed after a ‘Shut up!’ and a ‘Get the hell out!’ cry from Yiannis’ thunderous
voice.
Next morning, some
whispers between grandma and her daughters-in-law that caught my ear revealed
the cause of the trouble below. It was rumoured that the painter was prying on
Katina through a gap in the door, as she was having a bath naked or half-naked;
it was even mentioned that he had attempted to enter the dim-lit bath room by a
sexual impulse. Katina was no beauty; her youth was in the past. She was a
relatively ugly old woman, a barren spinster. Then again, for the lonely day-labourer,
whose end-of-a day’s hard work, with each evening identical with the previous
one and the next -locked up within the
four walls of the depressing chamber with only his thoughts and fantasies, a
temptation would in any case be real, and little crumbs of entertainment like
the image of a naked Katina, any Katina, could be the object of some cheap self-gratification
in a dull life. Or, the presence of a female next to him might have rekindled improbable
hopes of a sexual encounter. Or, most likely, it might have been a mere accident,
an insignificant careless indiscretion, which the latent paranoia of an old
lady stretched beyond reasonable bounds.
Fearsome Yannis, Katina’s
and Foula’s younger brother, was always the
central and controlling male figure in the Kazineris’ household. Kostakis always
referred to him in awe. A bulky former water-polo player and part-time swimming
coach for one of city’s clubs, sported a huge potbelly under broad shoulders
and brawny arms. He was unmarried, but seen a few times, in our neighborhood as
well as patently ill-reputed night spots of the city port area, in the company of
licentious women. Uncle Marios, who frequented the same café as Yiannis, told us
stories of his heavy whiskey drinking and illicit gambling playing cards. He
worked as a customs officer in the port, an employment which in Greece would
have automatically positioned him in an unscrupulous an even corrupt
professional sector of the city fabric. After settling the altercation with one
or two words that evening, he chucked the painter out of the house next
morning. Since then, the ground ‘chamber’ remained uninhabited and locked. The dignity
and virginity of Katina would be preserved for ever.
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