I don’t understand how it happened. I don’t know when I turned from somebody who gives advice to person who needs consultation. I only remember that the time, when Nana introduced me to Niko, he was totally lost.
Those times the two of them had somebody like a love-affair. I use the express “something like”, because Nana never had the real love-affair. The moment I’m speaking about, she hadn’t recovered from her second marriage. As for Niko, after his wife’s death, he got in a mess all the time.
And all this mix ups were not just his habit, but a way of life. He wanted, really wanted to help all those around him. Only in the end, he appeared to be the one who was in need. Exactly in that kind of state I find him the time, when Nana made our acquaintance.
Niko’s house in Ypsilanti’s street in Kolonaki was always full of unfortunate geniuses. The first one was a poet, named Mary, who stayed in the house. Her book was to be published at any moment, but never was.
A boy-friend of Mary, who also lived in the house, supposed to be a composer. He called himself Riri. Meanwhile, his real name was Sosipatros Parafonos (which means: “without good musical ear”). Days and nights Sosipatros wrote his music. As he, himself, said, he needed only an attempt to reach the highs of Tchaikovsky.
So, he tried and he tried, learning the parts of the great maestro…But the only thing that got from those attempts – was the music of Tchaikovsky himself.
There were also two others of this sweet company – a journalist Petkovich and a medium, which everybody called Cybele. Her real name actually was lost with time and never discovered…We mustn’t forget about Niko’s own son, to fulfill the picture.
So, the whole company used to eat, drink, dress up and make long-distanced calls on Niko’s account. Apart of this sweet company, in the house also lived: six big and small dogs and a dozen cats. All of them: the humans and the animals needed something all the time. So, they spoke and mewed, and begged and complained about their fate and grabbed the food from Niko’s mouth.

 I’ve no idea what to say. So, I nod my head as if I agreed with his complains.

While he spoke, a black cat jumped on his knees. Maybe, she wanted to console him…Maybe…Petkovich twitched. Whisky poured on his expensive suit.

The cat didn’t answer. She didn’t even move, just was looking at him with disgust. Petkovich caught the cat from the back of its head, stood up and directed his pet to the door. In his right hand the cat was dangling, and in the left hand he kept his glass.
The cat tried to cry out for help, but no sound came out. The whisky spilt out the valuable carpets of Niko. Petkovich went to the door and threw out in the end of the corridor both: the cat and the glass.

  It’s easy to advice, don’t you think so? The advice flies away from one’s mouth – weightless and gay – and poised in mid air, like balloons. From one side, Niko asked for my advice. But from the other, he had no intention to follow it.
What was our friendship anyway: a necessity for asking an advice, or inability to follow it? I never knew the right answer. But I felt:  Niko and Nana needed my care. And this feeling made me very proud.
A strong wish – to share our spare time – kept us close together. We liked the same things: to listen to some good music, to see a good spectacle, to go to exhibitions. We even chose the same island to spend our holidays. We loved Tinos forever and ever.
We used to dinner at Eleny’s in Triantaros, or at Marko’s in Agapi. Sometimes we telephoned to Roko’s in Bolax, asking him to prepare us something special.
The only thing I could never understand:  what was going on between Niko and Nana? Was their relationship a love or a passion? I couldn’t stay the ignorance, so I asked Nana:

 Oh, I do know this problem perfectly well! Her tragedy is the tragedy of all intelligent women. They can make the word better, but the man (a husband or a lover) expects from them other things: the floors in the bathroom cleaned well enough, the hot dinners – served nicely and the children (his own, or somebody else’s) to stay out of his way. He is not interested in your poetry or your films, all those things that make you independent of him…

  It was a cold, white day, the usual February day in Tinos. The ivies bent under the cold, northern wind. The boukamvillies had lost their last leaves. Nana moved closer to the fireplace.

  Then silence fell. There, out of the window, the wheels of cars rustled melancholically on the asphalt road. The motorbikes buzzed like sleepy flies. The telephone wires droned. The North blew open the balcony doors and played with the latches.
The January of 1999 happened to be cold, rainy and unlucky. I was nervous, uncertain about my abilities, and not able to write. I was suffering. I felt the necessity of consultation. I knew that Niko was a successful writer, so I decided to ask his opinion.

  Dostoevsky was not my favorite writer. But he was the great plot twister. Analyzing his books, I understood the secrets of storytelling. But when I decided to use my new knowledge, I found out that I had no strength to do it.

  He ignored my question.

  He kept silence.

  I’ve bit my lips. It was quite unpleasant to think that he counted me weak, because I was not. But I was obstinate. So, I decided to stop writing. This decision calmed me down. Day by day I felt better.
Once after that, I decided to fix my office. So I got out all my handwriting in order to throw them out.  While doing so, my eyes picked up phrases from the text. Against my will I began to read one page after another.
It took me the whole night. Now I knew what I should do. So, I put together some stories, which needed some changes. I placed them in a paper-case and wrote on it with big red letters
“SOS”. This time the telephone rang.  

  While dressing, I thought about Niko. He had everything the rest of the people could only dream about. He was rich, intelligent and famous…But he was not lucky in his personal life.
When he was eighteen years old he felt in love with a pretty girl. As it appeared after their marriage, she was mentally ill. But Niko had that strange idea of saving her from schizophrenia.
We have all have such kind of ideas from time to time! Poor Niko was not the only optimist in the world. So, he stayed married to her for another twenty years. And all these years she made his life a living hell.
One night she cut his veins, just because the previous evening he disagreed with her about the dress she’d been wearing. Fortunately for Niko, doctors managed to save him. But Sia tried to kill him again, this time driving their car on the rocks. The car split into two. Niko was traumatized. Nothing happened to Sia. After this event Niko’s family asked him to leave Sia.

  Nobody knows what kind of extra surprises Sia could invent, but one nice evening she would throw herself out of the window from the 30-th floor.  Only Niko’s life wouldn’t get any better. The fact is that Sia left behind her a hair – a son.
This dearest boy was mentally ill, just like his mother. Niko tried to cure him, sending to the best clinics of Europe, but failed. Elevterious Leventis chose the lovely life of adventurer. From time to time he disappeared from the house for months and months, and nobody knew nobody knew where he was or what his income was. Later he appeared at his paternal home: ill, weak, and asked for money.
While I was thinking about all that, our car reached the house of Niko. We found him sitting next to his dead son’s body. He was not crying.

  And suddenly it occurred to me, that he had been preparing his departure for a long time.

  Anyway, he kept his word and left for Paris. His guests disappeared. Nobody heard about them again.
Six months passed. Nana opened a shop, like she promised, met a basketball player and engaged to him in short time. I prepared a book of short stories.

  So, I went to Paris. I was ready to fight. I was ready to become famous. But I was worried about that meeting with editor. All the time I was asking Niko what to wear for this important event.

I did as I was told. I bought one gray business suite, fixed my hair on the back of my neck and looked in the mirror.
“You’re such a freak!” – I murmured to my reflection.               
But the editor seemed to like this freak a lot. He told me politely:

  I wanted to say something clever…but I remembered well what Niko said to me. That’s why I only smiled at him modestly. And it worked out.
Have you noticed that men simply hate clever women? As for me, I’ve never thought it over, but that very moment I understood everything about that old hate.
So, everything happened in a peculiar way: the contract was signed and everybody was happy. When I met Niko outside of the office, I said:

  He only smiled at me. Later, when we made ourselves comfortable in a very elegant cafe, I told him:

  Oh, my! I simply knew that would get mix up in a mess again. But I knew as well that nobody can keep him away from the mess. So, I said nothing. Not that it was the right thing to do…
I saw Niko again few months later in Tinos. It was warm, sweet September. We’re sitting in the balcony of the tavern, called “Drosia”, looking at the red, hot disk of the sun falling down in the dark-violet sea. Yellow shadows flew upon the sea surface. Suddenly I heard Niko saying:

  Instead of the answer, I took out of my bag the new book, which smelt of the typographies print.

  He even didn’t look at the book. He made himself more comfortable in his arm-chair and smiled. He looked like a big, fat cat, who just ate the fish, which you prepared for your own dinner.
And then it happened! Suddenly I understood all his behavior. I realized that from the moment I’ve asked him for help, he became to theorize me as one of his “cases”. And just because I knew all his smiles perfectly well, I’ve got very angry.

  He smiled again. And this made me even angrier.

  At this very moment over our heads the big, pale moon rose suddenly, touching the tops of the trees. And all at once, the cold, silver light poured around us. Women hurried to put in their jackets. Even the sea itself felt cold. And the chill passed through it.
All around was stricken with this chill. Only the moon-light poured around, bringing with it the feeling of loneliness. So, the moonlight poured around, the cold poured around, the loneliness poured around. Loneliness…