The Replicant, the Mole & the Impostor, Part 35
Part 2—the conclusion—of a duology where a reality event held in a refugee camp on a Greek island unfolds in an utterly unexpected manner. There will be 50 parts. Chapter 9: April.
Even as the tourist season is heating up, by some unwritten rule, even the most coffee-craving visitors are never seated at a particular table in the very back of the Medoussa coffeehouse. The utmost majority of them prefer to sit outside, anyway, but even when it’s very, very busy on a late Friday afternoon, that table’s always free for a group of select locals (who help keep the place running in the colds of winter). Even if one of them has a touring company that exists for the tourists.
“Our good mayor—often my esteemed opponent in the city council—has begged to stop attending our get-togethers,” Alex Papazoglou says as he pours his coffee, “to prevent being seen as ‘too easily influenced.’”
“As if he’s not influenced when he’s at a soirée in our local yacht club,” Kleonika Chronis says. “Or when he’s dining with Livanos, our local millionaire.”
“He probably thinks he’s weathered the storm,” Dr. Logothetis says, “and doesn’t need our advice anymore. Opportunistic, like every politician with a well-honed survival instinct.”
“Not me,” Alex protests. “I’m a principled one.”
“Famous last words,” Kleonika says.
“Wait ’til you’re my age,” Filomena Panagiotis says, “and see what’s left of all those ideals. You’ll have other things on your mind.”
“Don’t discourage the young lad,” Dr. Logothetis says. “We all need his youthful vigor. Any news from Chorió?”
“The renovation is moving forward very well,” Alex says. “Those modern metamaterials not only enhance existing structures, they seem to accelerate the rebuilding process as well.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate the tight integration the refugees have with their AR-gear,” Dr. Logothetis says, “which we should start copying, if we’re smart.”
“Another topic for the next council meeting,” Alex says. “And they say I’m too ambitious, too pushy, already.”
“Keep pushing,” Kleonika says, “as I suspect public opinion is slowly swaying in that direction as well.”
“We’d be stupid to ignore new technologies that can bring so many new opportunities and new jobs,” Dr. Logothetis says.
“And it will help stem the brain drain,” Alex says, “of our smartest young people to the rest of the EU, or beyond. I expect to be making those arguments repeatedly in the near future.”
“Please do,” Dr. Logothetis says. “An injection of hope, after all the hate from both Greek Solution and New Democracy. So refreshing.”
“Agreed,” Kleonika says, “and we should make it visible to everybody around here. Hopefully these tours they’re starting to give are helping.”
“Actually, they’ve told me stopped doing tours of the neo-village, because they are too busy doing actual work,” Alex says. “They’re happy to restart tours once the renovations are finished.”
“Were these tours not part of promoting this project to the locals?” Kleonika says. “To generate a positive vibe for it, to increase its standing in public polls?”
“True, but I think delaying the actual work would be more detrimental in the long term,” Alex says. “So let’s agree with their demand, and announce that touring will restart once the project is finished.”
“And maybe hint that there’s a secret attraction being made,” Kleonika says, “which we’ll be announcing at the official opening.”
“Good one,” Alex says. “But now I need to make one up.”
“What’s that egotistical ‘I’ I hear?” Dr. Logothetis says, his voice thick with snark. “We can certainly work something out.”
“I do appreciate your help,” Alex say, his face turning red. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re not helping me. It’s just a bit lonely in the council, as only one of two green members.”
“No problem,” Dr. Logothetis says. “Each one experiences something differently.”
“So what’s your experience, Filomena?” Kleonika says. “As you live right on the border of Chorió. Didn’t they visit you before?”
“Oh, they visited me again,” Filomena says. “Which was quite strange at first.”
“How so?” Alex says. “I hope they didn’t do anything crazy.”
“No, not at all,” Filomena says. “It was their sheer size that initially put me off. The Black guy visiting me was both huge and very muscular, and his dog was bigger than most of my sheep. Even crazier: it was wearing these newfangled things—what’retheycalled—AR-glasses.”
“Did you feel threatened?” Alex says. “Because I know the man and dog you describe, and—as far as I know—they would never threaten anyone.”
“They didn’t,” Filomena says. “The dog gladly leaned into me as I was petting it, and they said they were checking my new fence, which was offered by a very tall, yet slender black gentleman and his lovely wife. Then they asked me if I knew one of my neighbors trespassed my property quite often.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kleonika says, “but were they right?”
“They were,” Filomena says. “It’s Mavros, who is a Greek Solution supporter. He’s been bothering me all the time, said an old hag like me doesn’t have the right to run such a property, and that I should sell it to him.”
“Really?” Dr. Logothetis says. “That’s awful. You should’ve told us, so we could have taken action against him.”
“I’m old-fashioned,” Filomena says. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. Anyway, what the huge Black guy said sounded quite right with me. Then—as if the devil arranged it—Mavros came to my front door as well.”
“Quite possibly,” Alex says, “he saw the Black man and his dog—I’m fairly sure they were Yannick and Amavaraka—go to you, and thought he needed to intervene.”
“Who knows,” Filomena says. “In any case, he started shouting at the big Black man, cursing him, saying he had no right to be here.”
“Oh God,” Kleonika says. “Did they fight?”
“The big Black guy remained icily calm,” Filomena says, “and asked him why he was trespassing on my property, while showing pictures of him doing it.”
“Alright,” Alex says, “and then?”
“Mavros started calling the big Black man even more horrible names,” Filomena says, “while saying he should not be there, and neither should I—as he pointed at me—and that he’d arrange his friends of Golden Dawn to remove both of us.”
“The fucking bully,” Alex, getting angry, says. “So I hope you called the police?”
“That wasn’t necessary,” Filomena says. “The big Black man just looked at his big dog—which was also wearing AR-glasses—and that dog, perfectly friendly until then, started to growl at Mavros, who left immediately.”
“Really?” Dr. Logothetis says. “Just because a dog growled at him?”
“That was no normal growl, Dr. Logothetis,” Filomena says. “I’ve never heard something like it. It was the sound of a thousand dogs who—being whipped all the time—were saying they’d had enough. It was the sound of righteous anger about to be released. It was the sound of the desperate masses finally rising against lifelong oppression, figuring they got nothing left to lose. Mavros didn’t know how fast to leg it.”
“Oy,” Alex says, “and that didn’t scare you?”
“No, because it wasn’t aimed at me,” Filomena says. “The moment Mavros was gone, the dog became all friendly again, as if it knew, quite exactly, who his enemies were, and who not. Then the big Black man said that they could trigger my fence so that it would try to scare away my evil neighbor, and I just said yes. He hasn’t bothered me since.”
“Very interesting,” Dr. Logothetis says, “considering you didn’t exactly like the refugees a few months ago. Did you change your mind?”
“I’m certainly giving them the benefit of the doubt,” Filomena says. “They’re definitely being nicer neighbors than well, you know who. Next week I’m seeing a gentleman who wants to advise me on improving my harvest, while making it more sustainable. I might as well give it a good listen.”
“That’s good to hear,” Kleonika says. “Best of luck with it.”
“What can I say?” Filomena says. “I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Dr. Logothetis says, raising his cup of coffee. “Maybe we should get something stronger.”
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Author’s note: December 21, the shortest day of the year on the Northern Hemisphere. Where I live (‘s-Hertogenbosch), on this day the sun rises at 08.43 AM and sets at 16.31 PM—only seven hours and forty-eight minutes of daylight (while the sun is mostly obscured by clouds, as well). Where I am—Arrecife, Lanzarote—sunrise was at 07.43 AM and sunset at 18.01 PM (see picture above)—ten hours and eighteen minutes of sunlight (and the skies are mostly sunny). That two-and-a-half hour difference—and the average daytime temperature of around 20 degrees Celsius—mean a lot to me.
I just feel better, more active, less morose. Monday I’m travelling back to The Netherlands, but at least the shortest day has passed. We will only get more daylight from here (even if the worst cold is still to come). Anyway: if you’ve visiting family and/or friends during the holiday period: safe travels. Many thanks for reading while I’ll make sure you got some extra reading during these dark nights1. Take care!
Or beach reading in the Southern Hemisphere;