Chapter 2 •Vita Nuova

Dimitri was an admirer of Cavafy. But he was not particularly inspired by the poet’s dictum in the poem, “Do What You Can”, during that particular summer. Since he could not live his life as he wished, what did it matter if he cheapened it by “too much contact with the crowd, too much posturing and idle chatter”. It was not that he had given in to his father, at least not in the beginning. As far as he was concerned, he would do anything but give in. But since he was not naturally violent or rebellious, he had adopted a method of passive resistance.

Dimitri had not the strength openly to contest the parameters that his father set him. But without stepping beyond them, he could interpret the rules that had been imposed upon him in his own way. His father could marry Jenny as much as he liked, but Dimitri would never think of her as his mother. His heart was full of memories of Eleni, and a longing for Maria. He would spend time with Johnny and Laeta, but only to make use of their social circle so as not to feel a stranger when he went to the English School. His real friends would always be Paris, Iason and Nikos, Evdoxia, Aspasia, Christina, and even little Fanny - whether he was able to see them or not - and never ever Johnny and Laeta with their pretentious Cypriot friends. He would go to the English School, but his school would always be the Pancypriot. Dimitri kept these and other similar decisions well hidden. His real thoughts and real loves he would keep to himself.

That summer, a party of young English people, a rare exception to the relics of the British Empire residing there, had sought refuge at The Dome from the furnace which was the capital in summer; meanwhile their parents worked on in their various government offices or businesses in Nicosia. Almost all the young people had come on holiday from England, where they were boarders in private schools. Only one of them went to the English School in Nicosia, in the class below Johnny. Since Dimitri was condemned to associate with anyone other than his real friends, he preferred the genuine British article to its Cypriot replica. But unfortunately he would still have to make use of the children of the Cypriot contractor in order to gain an entrée to the English at the hotel.

Dimitri’s earlier dealings with English people of his own age had not left him with a good impression. He had been just four or five years old, it had been during the war, and they were waiting for the house they had bought to be refurbished. His parents had temporarily rented the basement of a large villa, in the neighbourhood of Ayios Andreas. An English major with his wife and son lived on the floor above them. Dimitri was full of admiration for the black nameplate on the door, with a royal British crest and the name of its distinguished tenant fixed onto the garden gate. The major wore brown polished boots, a thin blond moustache, and carried a stick under his arm: all equally impressive to Dimitri.

However well-cut his own father’s suit may have been, and however spotless the white handkerchief in his breast pocket, however elegant the half-open rosebud in the buttonhole of his lapel, none of these things could compare, in Dimitri’s eyes, with the austere elegance of the khaki uniform. His playmate, Tim, had toys which came, together with all his parents’ household possessions, directly from England. They looked incomparably more solid than Dimitri’s toys, which had been made exclusively on the island, at a time when the war had limited its imported goods to absolute essentials. Dimitri was not jealous, but he couldn’t help admiring the clockwork cars, the electric train,the swords and guns made of solid wood and metal belonging to his young neighbour. They all looked strikingly real next to his own, which might have been bought at apanegyri, a local fair. When Tim’s mother invited him to play with her son upstairs, it had come as a true revelation. Dimitri would never forget the mysterious smell of the food and drink, of their wooden and leather furniture, and especially the sight of stuffed trophies: stags’, gazelles’ and wild goats’ heads, ranged along the walls of the drawing room. It had nothing in common with his own family’ssaloni. Even the silver on the low tables was different: severe geometric designs and uniform sleek metal, instead of the intricate arabesques of their own local silverware.

Dimitri sailed along ecstatically in the blissful environment of Tim’s house. He felt that he would rather consent to any sacrifice than have to be removed from such a fascinating, exotic world. By the time he had to leave, reluctantly, with his mother, who had come to collect him in time for his evening bath, Dimitri had determined to work out a way of obtaining permanent access to the earthly paradise upstairs. In his little four- or five-year-old head, he conceived the notion that he might suggest a mutual exchange of language lessons. He could teach Tim Greek and Tim could teach him English. He was so persistent that on the following day, his mother, despite her reservations as to how it would be received, agreed to communicate the idea to Tim.

“Why should I want to learn Greek?” was the spontaneous - and to Dimitri extremely traumatic - response. He be