Election
time in Xidera
The window ledge in Avgalia's is littered with
political posters and brochures. As we eat our
dinner, one of the candidates charges in, shaking
hands and greeting everyone, including us until he
realizes we are Americans. He acknowledges us in
perfect English which takes me by surprise but he
doesn't waste any time with us, telling his father,
the campaign manager not to bother enlightening
us. In a flash he is out the door and across the
street to Thanasis' cafe where he shakes hands
with all the old men, temporarily breaking up
their card game. I read the pamphlet he has given
me and discover that he got his degree from Boston
College and then studied economics at Cambridge.
He's with the new Political Spring Party one of
the small alternatives to Pasok and New Democracy.
A few minutes later I can hear his voice booming
through the village. On my way home I stop in the
main square where he has set up a small but loud
PA system at the cafeneon where the young guys
hang out. He's practically shouting as he exhorts
all the men to support him, so that he may support
them. Several time his voice cracks and I am
reminded of Clinton at the end of his first
presidential campaign. The old men in the cafe
across the street from him look bored, but when he
is finished they break into a thunderous applause.
He sits down at one of the tables where there is a
cold beer waiting for him and he continues to talk
with the other men sitting with him. I imagine him
going to every village doing this and I am
impressed, but I wonder if he is sincere about
recognizing their needs and representing these
poor farmers, or does he just want a piece of the
pie?
...We go across the street to Avglaia's for
dinner. It's packed with old men but they make
room for us at one of the tables. Everyone greets
me. Most of them, if not all, by name. Amarandi is
fading fast so Andrea sends me to the car for the
stroller and the flashlight so we can find our way
home. The streets are even darker but I follow the
sound of Simitis' voice to the first
cafeneon in the square where a handful of men are
watching him on the TV attentively. The
proprietor waves a greeting to me. From
inside someone calls out "Yassoo Matheos". My car
is parked between the other two cafes. In one they
are watching the Pasok rally. It's full of old
men. In the other which is considered the young
men's cafe, they're not. In fact it looks like
they are watching MTV. I see a large old man pull
himself up from his chair in the old man cafe and
walk towards me smiling. It's Andrea's cousin the
taxi driver who invites me in for a coffee. I
refuse apologetically telling him I have to bring
back the stroller because Amarandi is about to
fall asleep at Avglaia's. Of course he
misunderstands and tells me that the cigarette
store is closed. I try to re-explain but he is
already offended and goes back to his
seat.
I arrive back at Avglaia's just as my ouzo is
being put on the table, along with a nice
tomato and rokka salad and a plate of what I
thought was sun-dried tomatoes, but turns out to be
fried sheep's liver and spleen dressed in olive
oil. I eat it happily. It goes great with ouzo. At
first I am uptight about the situation. We are the
center of attention and everyone asks us
questions, then comment to each other about our
answers. Gradually the ouzo begins to warm me up
and open me up at the same time. I relax and with
some translation help from Pamela, my Greek is
sufficient to get my ideas across. Most of the
discussion is political. Various parties are
represented in the room and they ask me who I
would vote for. I tell them I'm for the guy from
Boston College of course. They nod their heads. Of
course.
Avglaia starts bringing us fish. After awhile
she's like the Sorcerer's Apprentice and we can't
keep up with her. After we tell her we have had
enough she brings us one more plateful. We send
them back and tell her to save it for Amarandi's
breakfast tomorrow. Amarandi's new thing is to
eat the noses off all the fish. Her plate is full
of noseless fish heads. Even she finds the pace
exhausting and falls asleep in her stroller.
Avglaia puts another salad on our plate and offers
me another portion of sheep spleen which I turn
down. But I do order a beer which compliments the
fried fish perfectly. I tell Pam and Andrea that
according to Michio Kushi, beer is the perfect
balance for fried food. I don't know if it's true
but it sounds good. The talk is always about
America. One old man tells us that he loves Cuba,
hoping to get a response from us and get the
communist versus capitalist debate going, but I
sidestep it. "My favorite baseball player comes
from Cuba!" I tell him excitedly and then explain
to Pam how Rey Ordonez had climbed over a wall in
Binghamton, New York during an exhibition tour and
all the baseball teams took place in a special
lottery for his services. "He's the best shortstop
in the world!" I tell her, but then I have to
explain what a shortstop is. Then we are on to
defensive shifts, variety of pitches, catcher to
pitcher communication and the use of computers to
evaluate information on the tendencies of opposing
players. Pam is interested but Andrea has found
her excuse to go home and read her mystery book.
We say goodbye's all
around.
...I walk in to Thanasis' to say goodnight but an
old man pulls me over to a table he is sharing
with a friend and insists I join him for a
discussion. He's a communist named Anthymos. He
hates America. Not the American people, he makes
sure I understand. He believes the American
government is on the side of the Turks. I tell him
that it is not possible. The Greeks have too much
power in America. They have a strong lobby and
spend millions. They are in government and more
important, they are at the tops of some very
powerful corporations. Even if it is strategically
better to support the Turks, America could not do
it because of public opinion. Americans love the
Greeks. He doesn't agree. I can understand. Any
communist who witnessed America's role in the
Greek Civil War would find it difficult to ever
forgive us. When comrades and family have been
killed by American guns and money and your future
has been snatched unfairly from your grasp, to be
able to forgive would take a superhuman effort. To
me it is enough that he holds no grudge against
the American people.
Thanasis is the translator when something Anthymos
says is beyond my range of understanding, but
mostly, through repetition and intent he is making
himself very clear and he is happy that I am
agreeing with almost everything he says. He keeps
shaking my hand in the solidarity handshake. He's
missing parts of most of his fingers.
Finally it's only Thanasis, Anthymos and myself.
All the other old men have gone, and Thanasis
yawns, signaling that the evening is over. When
Anthymos leaves I say to Thanasis, "You don't know
how lucky you are to have this business. Every
night you can have a meaningful conversation with
people who talk passionately about what they
believe in. You think you are stuck in the middle
of nowhere but really you are at the center of the
universe. Every night you are a guest in the
hearts and minds of men. I am envious of
you."
"Maybe", he tells me with a disinterested shrug.
"But you said something to me that made me very
proud. It was when you told of your friends
college thesis on the Greek/Americans being the
most educated and successful of all immigrants in
the United States. This is very
special."
We say goodnight. He has to wake up at five in the
morning to take his wife and mother-in-law to a
small church up in the mountains. I walk home but
it is so dark I can't see the street. It's like
walking with my eyes closed. I take one slow step
at a time with my hand out in front to feel the
way. I miss the turn and find myself down at the
square. I am tempted to go back and borrow a
flashlight but instead look up at the stars. By
using them I can find the streets by seeing where
the total blackness of the rooftops end and the
stars begin. I finally find what feels like our
gate but until I open the front door of the house
and switch on the light, I'm still not totally
sure I am in the right
place.
Someone has ordered a lamb slaughtered for a big
party in the platia tonight. Many people have come
back to the village form Athens and Mytilini town
to vote. If you live within five-hundred
kilometers from your home village you must vote
there. The government pays for half your fare so
many people who live more then that distance take
advantage of the law and come home to visit
friends and relatives.
There are two
uniformed soldiers eating dinner at Aglaia's. They
are here to guard the polling place. Pam, Andrea
and Amarandi arrive and we sit down for dinner.
Andrea can't handle anymore ouzo so I drink hers
and several more. Stavros comes in and hands his
mother something wrapped in plastic. Is it
sardelles pastes? No it's kolios pastes, and not
fresh but canned, though it will do for now. By
the time dinner is over I feel like hell after an
afternoon of eating and drinking. We go home to
bed but I wake up at two in the morning and sit
outside. I can hear music coming from the platia
and I am tempted to join the party. But even the
thought of roasted lamb is not enough to stir my
appetite after today and the possibility, or
probability of another round of ouzo frightens me
enough so that I stay in
bed.
Tonight the village priest makes his first
appearance at Aglaia's. According to Thanasis he
has been hiding out in his home because he has
been drinking too much. This must be a tough
posting for a village priest. He is pleased to
see us. We tell him we had seen a portrait
of him on Andrea's Aunt Yota's piano. "In
the bedroom?" he asks us with a shocked look on
his face. "Of course not", says Andrea. "In the
living room, on the piano".
I go across the street to watch the election
returns with Thanasis and a group of men who keep
filling my ouzo glass and offering me what I
thought were little sausages but discover they are
merely hot-dogs. They are also eating something
called 'elies pikra' which means 'bitter olives.
These are the green olives that fall early from
the trees. I am told not to eat them alone but in
the same mouthful as a piece of bread and tomato.
All I taste is the bread and tomato. It's too
early to tell who the winner is so I go across the
street to have dinner with Andrea and Amarandi.
Pam had fallen asleep and was skipping dinner. I'm
not very hungry and have to struggle to finish the
fried eggplant and salad Aglaia has given me. Just
when I thought my task was completed she plops
down before me another plate of the sheep's liver
and spleen. She must have an endless supply, and
for some reason Amarandi is not interested in it
tonight so I have to finish the whole plate to
avoid offending Avglaia's hospitality. I am able
to stop her before she gives me a second helping
and hurry across the street to avoid any more and
to watch the elections. Miltiades Evert, the
leader of New Democracy is not only giving his
concession speech, but stepping down as leader of
the party, stating that the loss is his
responsibility. He had cancelled his party rally
in downtown Athens saying that the Greek people
are tired of these shows. Pasok had held theirs
and as Simitis spoke the camera's panned on
hundreds of thousands of supporters filling the
square at Green Park, and the large avenues
adjoining it. It was a powerful
image.
I sit next to the priest who tells me he has
submitted a blank voting card. "What do you
expect", he tells me. "I'm a priest". Every time I
ask him a question about what's being said on TV he
says "How should I know? I'm a priest." I'm hungry
for information and I'm sitting with the one guy
in the village who knows less then me. He invites
me for coffee at his house common which I
accept. Maybe he has a spiritual problem he wants
to confide in me. I get up for a moment to quickly
ask Thanasis what is going on and from the corner
of my eye I see the priest slip out, most likely
offended. Thanasis explains that Pasok has
won.
But the election is not over in Xidera. Stavros
asks if I want to help him bring food to the
soldiers at the school where they are tallying the
votes. I carry the bread. We walk to the top of
the village to the school. The entrance is crowded
with teenage boys awaiting the results. Lost in
the group is a short soldier, guarding the
entrance in full battle dress, holding a large
automatic rifle. We are allowed to pass. The boys
are envious of Stavros being able to pass the
guard and curious who I am. Inside a classroom it
looks like a barracks. Mattresses and sleeping
bags are laid out on the floor and the soldiers
are involved in various activities until the food
arrives and they jump up. There are children's
drawings and educational posters and pictures on
the walls and it's strange to see the soldiers and
the guns in this setting.
We
leave but return with more fried potatoes, retsina
and coca-cola. One of the soldiers asks me where I
am from and is surprised to find out I am
American. He is from one of the lower class
neighborhoods near Omonia Square in Athens. Though
he is very young his teeth are falling out. I ask
him how he likes the army.
"What's to like? he asks. "Do this. Go here. Do
that. Yes sir. No sir. It's a bunch of
crap."
"Yes but you get to do jobs like this", I point at
his surroundings.
"Yes. This is fun," he admits but he doesn't like
being posted in Petra where all the tourists are
old British couples. He's only got six months left
and he'll survive. Stavros and I say goodbye and
the soldiers thank us and wave. As we leave one of
the officials is dialing the phone and I wonder if
he is calling in the results to Mytilini. At the
gate of the school we are surrounded by the
teenagers who for some reason want me to do a
chin-up on the trellis. I resist but finally make
a feeble attempt. Then they want to know who my
favorite NBA team is. I tell them Charlotte
Hornets and they seem disappointed. They all
want to talk about Michael Jordon and the Chicago
Bulls but I don't think this is an appropriate
audience for me to criticize either, which is my
usual stance, and so we say goodbye
instead.
When we get back to Avglaia's everyone wants to
know what it was like in the school. I describe it
as best I can and leave them discussing it to
watch whatever's left of the election on TV. A few
minutes later, Thanasis' son Yorgos, who has been
staying with an aunt while he attends trade school
in Mytilini, runs into the cafeneon from the
polling station. He excitedly recites the numbers
he has heard. 289 for Pasok. 210 for New
Democracy. 33 for the Communist...and down the
line. One of the men tallies it up.
"It's impossible he says. This adds up to
six-hundred and there are only 400 people in the
village. Yorgo seems disappointed that his
information is
inaccurate.
I
continue to ask Thanasis questions about voting in
Greece and he wants to know about America. I laugh
about the soldiers and tell him that when I go to
vote I walk into a room where there is a desk.
Behind the desk is a big fat old man with a white
beard, a black man, and a woman who checks my name
off a list.
"Wait just a minute. Do you mean everywhere you
vote in America you have one black man, an old man
with a beard and a woman?" he asks incredulously
as if the three are some kind of tradition
symbolic of age gender and race. I apologize for
not being more clear and explain that this is just
my village. Who knows how the people look in other
villages. I am also realizing that by using the
term village for where I live in Carrboro, North
Carolina, with it's traffic jams, super markets
and malls, I place another false image in his
mind. Compared to Xidera, my village is a
city.
He
nods and happens to look out the door just as the
village president is passing by holding a manila
envelope.
"Get in here!"
he yells. "Let me have those numbers so we can
start collecting on our bets" He writes down the
results the village leader gives him. George had
been correct except he had said two-hundred for
both Pasok and ND, where it was only
one-hundred.
"Tomorrow the paper
will give us a breakdown for the whole island", he
tells me. "Something to look forward to", I think
as I say goodnight and walk home having enjoyed
the electoral process in Xidera.
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