Di King
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An extract from Ash
Today he went to a different part of the beach and a different taverna. Blue checked cloths covered the tables. He chose one facing the sea and ordered a beer. The island’s peace was beginning to permeate him. Later he would walk along the beach, read, and tonight eat at his favourite taverna. Many of the people from the conference had gone and he was pleased to have the extra time on his own.
This beach was hardly more than a hundred yards from his usual one but something was quite different. A young man, who he had quickly identified by his uneven gait and demeanour as special, had his back to the café and was struggling to take off his swimming trunks under a small towel. Ash averted his eyes, but short of moving chairs, it was hard to ignore him. With difficulty the young man struggled to hold up the towel and remove the trunks. He stopped every so often with the effort. Suddenly the towel fell to the ground, totally revealing his bottom. The young man looked surprised, his swimming trunks were still covering his front but as he bent to pick up the towel, his bottom was in full view. In gentle amusement, Ash changed seats so he faced away from him.
His eyes wandered to the other people on the beach. A woman with tyres of fat on her legs, leaned on a stick talking animatedly to three people under an umbrella. He was struck by the universality of special needs. Many of the people on this beach, he noticed, were elderly. A man with an overhanging belly walked down the café steps and made his ungainly way across the beach. He waddled into the sea where he became a beautiful porpoise, swimming with grace and style.
Voices and laughter behind him heralded a thin man with long grey hair and jeans, wearing a headdress of orange hibiscus and followed by a small entourage who danced along behind him. Fascinated Ash watched him, convinced now that he had stumbled on a Greek version of ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. The man and his followers danced towards a car. Their driver was probably going to take them home, Ash thought, till he realised that the man with the orange headdress was getting into the driving seat.
Ash paid and walked back along the beach. The scene he had witnessed strangely disturbed him. Perhaps it was something of the gentle bizarreness of the outing that touched a feeling of unreality that matched his own.
* * *
One day a cat died in the street outside his apartment. From his veranda Ash could look down the cobbled street to the café. The village was coming to life after the siesta and he could see the waitress setting out the tables.
At first he thought the cat was just enjoying a sunny spot. Its front and back legs were extended as if it was enjoying a stretch. Then he noticed the tail quivering and he saw that the head was jerking, and there was a red mark near its mouth. It was a pale ginger and white tabby, thin and delicate like all Greek cats. Still not quite sure whether the cat was ill or whether it had a mannerism, he stood watching.