Saturday, 30th April 1988
A day of action: I spent the whole morning going from publisher to publisher, leaving a copy of my novel “The Conspiracy of Shadows” to each one of them. This first contact brought no encouraging results: The great majority of publishers didn't even deign to have a look at my book because they are snowed under with work, as they told me. Some others acted the idealists, claiming that they publish only meaningful books, after careful selection.
Mr Marris, one of the most famous publishers in the country, was sincere enough to tell me that he never publishes books of new writers; he does business with recognized authors exclusively.
“My novel is good,” I insisted.
“No doubt, there are thousands of good books, but we don't publish good books we publish books that are in vogue!”
“My book is in vogue, too!” I went on undaunted.
“It can't be in vogue, because you are not famous!”
“Thanks for your time!” I said and left.
He didn't give me any hope, but I recognized his frankness.
Later, following my father's instructions, I went to find another publisher called Tsalikis; I've never heard of him but dad says he is an old friend of his from Lixouri. When I arrived at the given address, I was surprised to see that there was a patisserie there. I asked to see Mr Tsalikis and they sent me next door, which proved to be a clothes shop. I returned to the patisserie and they finally informed me that Mr Tsalikis is on a business trip to Italy. Obviously, the bloke has nothing to do with books.
Sunday, 1st May 1988
Today my family and I went on an organized day trip to Saint John the Russian, in Euboea, together with uncle Harry, his wife and their daughter, Nassia. It was an enjoyable trip along wooded mountain sides and green fields. However, I was exasperated by a paranoid old man who, during the whole journey, went near the coach driver again and again, took the microphone in his hands and made ridiculous speeches or told insipid jokes with his nasty, clarion voice.
When we arrived at the church of Saint John the Russian at last (my ears!), the whole group went to bow before the saint's relics and his belt, which is believed to cure illnesses. His face is covered because the faithful used to bite it and take the pieces as a talisman. People are crazy...
We had lunch in a local tavern and then we played volleyball with Nassia and some other young people from the group. Volleyball is my favourite sport but I seldom have the chance to play. After that, my cousin and I went for a walk in the green, flowery village of New Prokopion and we talked about many interesting subjects, such as the oppression of women in the modern society, where a woman is considered to be finished unless she is married by thirty.
I had a very nice time while we were in the village; however, on the way back home I got really indignant at the old cretin, who made us listen to his prehistoric cantatas for hours, while he was singing along! Someone tried to protest but the moron paid no heed at all. Strangely enough, nobody else dared say another word to him.
As I found out at the next stop, it was bad luck that had led my mother and me to the wrong coach. My father and his relatives were in the other coach, where nice pop and rock songs were heard and the atmosphere was more pleasant.
Until we reached Athens, I (and all the other passengers, I think) had almost had a nervous breakdown because of the nasty prehistoric songs and the unstoppable, psychotic verbal diarrhoea of the cretin. I wonder, though: How is it possible that nobody reacted dynamically during all those horrible hours? Why do people submit themselves so easily to any nutcase who acts the leader?
Tuesday, 10th May 1988
My whole life condensed in a day: There was a frightful commotion at work, because I had to arrange the arrival of Italian technicians at the factory of Christides in Yannena. At the same time I had to persuade Derossi and Meltec to send the invoices for Dimoulas in time.
At about 4:20, while Meltec was acting the fool, the customs broker phoned and demanded I should send the Dimoulas invoices by coach no later than this afternoon -which is impossible, because the last coach to Argos (where the customer's winery is) leaves at 5:00 and the coach station is too far from Vinomec. Despite my successive faxes, Meltec had sent nothing until 5:00 o'clock and I got hysterical.
Later, at home, while I was getting ready to have my meal, I noticed that mum was watching me closely.
“Eat some bread!” she cried suddenly.
I reached for the bread but before I touched it...
“Eat some cheese!”
I reached for the cheese but before I touched it...
“Eat some salad!”
I reached for the salad but before I touched it...
“Eat some of your food, now! Haven't you had enough junk?”
“Mum!”
“What is it now?”
“Get off my back! Go and watch some television! Now!”
“I want to die, so that you will get rid of me!” she muttered and got away.
Later, when I went to the gym, I felt terribly alone. Greta was not there, she has disappeared for months now. There was nobody else to talk to and I got bored. Moreover, as I was returning home, one of the bums in Tempi street (who give me the impression they are always on the look-out for me) called me “giraffe”. I would be happy if he fell down and broke his leg.
Friday, 13th May 1988
Incredible but true: Dimoulas has a fax machine in Argos but he told us so only this morning! All that agony and frantic run with his stupid invoices was nothing but a fool's errand! The bloke is a lunatic! But that wasn't all: There is also another problem with the Tafel labelling machine, which will arrive at the port of Piraeus instead of Loutraki. I just hope this ends well; if anything goes wrong, I will be the one to blame for mistakes made by the Italians.
At noon I phoned Mr Kotsonis, I introduced myself and told him about my novel. He seemed happy for my phone call, he explained that he is a writer himself and that he keeps contact with many famous publishing houses. However, he pointed out that I am not likely to find a publisher who will publish my book on his own expenses; most probably, I will be asked to pay a certain amount of money. He showed an interest in my novel, but there was something I didn't like in his expressions: “I will bend over it (he means my book) with love” … “I like the Ionian islands but the increasing tourism has resulted in the prostitution of their inhabitants” (twice). Finally, we arranged an appointment for Tuesday evening.
Later, in the evening, Persa dropped by because she wanted me to make a painting of fish for her. I finished it in a quarter of an hour. Aunt Pauline, who happened to be present, sought to tease her: She told us about two sisters for whom she used to embroider when she was a schoolgirl. The sisters always got full marks in housekeeping, but if the teacher made them embroider in class, they would put their foot in it. Persephone made a wry face but she pretended she hadn't taken the hint.
Tuesday, 17th May 1988
Right after work, I met Chryssa downtown and we both headed for the bookshop of Chris Kotsonis, in Pagrati. When we arrived there, I was impressed by the rustic furniture and the great number of arty books put on three long shelves they will hardly ever leave.
We sat on a nice sofa made of logs and covered with patchwork rugs. Right from the first moment, the guy was very friendly and he gave each one of us a copy of his last book, “The Unknown City”, as a gift. He also gave me a collection of his poems titled “Brief Gleanings”, which I must return in due time.
Chris is about forty, single, an ex rebelled youth, one of those who think they have avoided compromise. Answering his questions, I told him that I have been writing stories ever since I was a child but “The Conspiracy of Shadows” is my first novel. I also told him I read Greek and foreign literature, mostly books that give information or teach something.
“This is what I do too, but in this way you eventually obtain nothing, and you don't enjoy reading either. I have read thousands of books; if I had kept something fr
om each one of them, I would be a wise man now,” he retorted.
I went along with that, although I'm not so sure that I agree.
Finally, he assured me that he will read my book carefully and see that it is published. We shall also give it to journalists and get some reviews. I will probably have to pay for a part of the publishing expenses, while the publisher will undertake the distribution of the book. Linotype costs much less than phototypesetting and we'll prefer it, since the result will be the same.
A little later, a guy and his girlfriend showed up. As soon as he saw them, Chris greeted them warmly and remembered the good old times after the political changeover of '74, when lots of people went in and out of his shop and revolutionary books were in vogue.
When we finally left the shop, Chryssa confided in me that Kotsonis struck her as a nice person, though a little overreacting. “He will be impressed at your book,” she concluded smiling.
“Sure he will; but I don' know if it will be a positive or a negative impression; he is an arty guy, you see,” I joked.
Sunday, 22nd May 1988
I spent the whole morning with my little nephew, because his parents are on a day trip to Aegina and my mother has gone to the funeral of aunt Diamanta. At first we watched some stupid animated cartoons on television, but most of the time the kid was a handful: We played football for more than an hour, he wet his pants, he wanted to see my breasts, he sought to get out of the bedroom window.
All at once, Yanni showed me a bag full of toys and told me with a cunning look: “Take these toys to the kitchen!”. I did him the favour but as soon as I got back to the living room, just a second later, the boy had vanished into thin air! I looked under the bed but he wasn't there. However, the window was open, so I supposed he had sprang through it into the yard. I got out of the house, I searched the yard, but the boy was nowhere to see. I called his name again and again, nothing. I rushed into the street, I ran to the nearest crossroads, nothing.
Almost mad with worry, I returned to the yard, still calling his name. Right then, I heard a voice from heaven: “Auntie, I am up here!” I raised my head and saw the boy standing on the terrace of our three-storeyed house! Apparently, the door which leads upstairs had not been well closed, so the kid just pushed it and entered the stairwell.
I ran to the terrace at the double, I grabbed Yanni by the hand, I took him down immediately and I gave him a good old spanking. I really wonder about all these women who fancy raising children. I don't think this lifestyle is right for me...
Tuesday, 24th May 1988
In the afternoon I called on my sister because she wanted me to meet Vangelis: He is one of Antony's cousins, he lives in Crete and he will stay in Glyfada for a few days. We waited and waited but the bloke was nowhere to see. Finally, Alice left me alone in the sitting room and dropped by Vangelis' uncle, who lives nearby, so as to find out what had happened to the would-be groom.
In the end, the young man rang the doorbell at 8:30, and he informed us that he had come earlier, at about six o'clock, but oddly enough the bell hadn't rung. Was that bad luck or what?
As soon as I stepped into the living room and saw him, I felt a strange embarrassment -probably because Alice didn't go to the trouble of introducing us. We just said “hello” and that was all. A little later, when I followed my sister into the kitchen, she put on a disdainful look and admonished me for not mincing enough. “You were just standing there, like a gawk!” she said sharply.
A few minutes later, Antony came home together with three video tapes, two of his friends and their girlfriends. He closed the French windows and we all sat and watched all three films, one after the other; as a result we couldn't utter a word. Vangelis proved to be an agreeable guy. He doesn't like video films so much, he said, I don't like them either. He is tall, thin, good-looking, a little dark-skinned -I could hardly discern his features in the darkness of the living room. So much of a match-making...
Alice and I soon got bored and we went out for a walk. We took little Yanni with us but he was very naughty and he made a scene because the ice cream we bought him was too small, as he complained.
Suddenly, Alice remembered she had not gone to the birthday party of cousin Niki's daughter two days ago, and she was worried that Niki might be angry at her. So, she turned to me and ordered: “On your way home, call on Niki and tell her that I am terribly sorry for the negligence and that I will drop by tomorrow and wish many happy returns”.
Needless to say, I didn't do anything like that. Alright, my parents and I have landed ourselves in a mess serving Her Majesty the Queen Alice, but ludicrousness has a limit...
Sunday, 27th May 1988
At about noon I phoned Chris Kotsonis and he announced happily the following: “Your book is fine, it has many good points but you could abridge it a little. You should have it published though, and for heaven's sake, don't stop here, write more books, better ones!”. Then he said he had already found “a very important and willing publisher” who, however, will ask for my contribution in the expenses.
When I called Chryssa and told her about it, she agreed: “Don't turn down the proposal. My boss will undertake the type-setting and we'll offer you a discount”. I am beginning to like the idea.
Saturday, 28th May 1988
Early this morning mum got on my nerves because, as usual, she started finding faults with me: “Don't put on the red blouse, it shows off your wry shoulders” … “The yellow on shows off your wry back” … “You've lost weight, you look terrible!”.
All things considered, she is a deviously oppressive woman. Ever since I was a kid she has been scolding me for anything, criticizing whatever I do and depriving me from any initiative, even in the simplest matters.
Alice dropped by at noon, she had lunch with us, I told her about the above incident and she agreed that our mother is wayward and pushy, especially towards me. “You certainly don't let Yvonne take any initiative,” she said to mum. Paradoxically, my sister has escaped her influence: mum never tells her how to do this or that maybe because, for some strange reason, she never fears that Alice could ever do anything wrong...
Tuesday, 31st May 1988
I worked with Kyriakides till late in the evening because I had to type some stupid ten-page contracts, plus the rest of the correspondence. Then he offered to give me a ride home but he annoyed me a little because he sought to prove that I never go out with friends: “How is it possible, that you haven't planned anything for tonight? Don't you have a love affair?” he asked suspiciously. No matter how hard I tried to convince him about the opposite by telling him fibs, for example that I often go out with friends and that I just happened to stay in tonight, he still insisted on his story. What does it matter to him, anyway?
When I arrived home, I was informed that Alice had just found a job: After her mother-in-law's mediation, who has been working as a chambermaid in the luxurious hotel Blue Rose in Vouliagmeni for many years, tomorrow Alice starts work as a chamber-maid in the same hotel. She will have to work for eight to ten hours every day, she isn't sure whether she will have any days off during the whole summer, nevertheless she is very pleased.
Thursday, 2nd June 1988
This afternoon Mr Kotsonis and I had an appointment with Mr Kourtakis, owner of the publishing house Evagoras. As I found out soon, this company is a “ghost”: It consists of one dusty room only, it has no sign, it doesn't appear in the yellow pages, and its owner didn't even have a business card to give me. Anyway, what I heard today had nothing to do with what Kotsonis had been telling me lately: They want me to pay all the publishing expenses, and they won't even distribute the book because the great company consists of two persons only. Kourtakis also made clear that he won't put the name of his house on my novel, because a serious scholar like him doesn't put the name Evagoras on any insignificant book.
In the end, I told them I would thing about it for a couple of days, but I don't foresee any agreement with them. Anyway, both of
them struck me as two cunning skint blokes who are desperately looking for pennies...
Friday, 3rd June 1988
In the afternoon, right after work, I went to Evagoras again and gave my final answer. As soon as Kourtakis heard that I was not prepared to pay for the publishing of my novel, he started trembling of fear! Then he put on an air of profundity and announced that he is not interested in my book because it looks like a soft cover mainstream novel (I bet the nitwit wishes he could write something like that) and a “serious” publishing house like the invisible Evagoras doesn't publish such books.
The fact is that Kotsonis put his foot in it; moreover, when I called him in the evening, he wanted to make something of it: “Who do you think you are, to have such demands? I was more bashful when I was having my first book published,” he reprimanded me. That was it: I am never going to get in contact with those two morons again.
Chapter 22: Circle of Promises