LIFE is a fool’s journey

Starting with nothing

Ending the same

All that exists

Is the space in between

Peter hates the airport with its modern glass building, its ticket kiosks and check-in counters. He sees it as a glorified stockyard for people. As he watches them scurry from one holding pen to another, he envisions sheep being herded into cramped carriers and thinks, “I am not one of them”. Then an anonymous voice announces his plane is boarding so he joins the queue to show his ticket and take his assigned seat. Wedged between the window and some stranger that hogs the arm rest, he spends the next twenty-four hours stewing and wondering why he subjects himself to this indignation.

Once he disembarks, his frustration increases. He is here but his luggage is not. It had the good sense to remain in Melbourne. Tired and longing to sleep in his own bed, which also remains in Melbourne, he stands in line, bare foot and hungry. Peace and quiet would help but instead loud speakers blast out directives in a language he barely recognizes any more. He waits in the customs line, listening as his predecessors plead their cases. When it’s his turn, he slaps his Australian passport on the counter and the idiot customs official asks him to put his shoes on. Then, this ignorant government official demands that he explain why he is in Thessaloniki without his luggage. He knows complicated explanations are useless so he says it’s his wife’s fault but she’s not here because like his luggage she is in Melbourne. The official shrugs and nods. This is an acceptable reason so he stamps Peter’s passport and waves him through, pointing again at his shoes.

The luggage is not her fault except for the fact that she sent him here. She told him over dinner, “Your grandmother is ninety-nine and she needs to see you before she dies.” Then she placed his ticket on the table without explaining why she was not coming. When she dropped him at the departure building she did not say, “Call when you get there.” Nor did she say, “Come back safe.” She just said, “Let me know when you are coming back so I can pick you up.”

He knows he should go to a hotel and rest but while he was stewing on the flight, he made a decision. This trip was his opportunity to complete something unfinished from long ago. There is a burden he has been carrying most of his adult life and now he wants to off load it.

So instead of finding a hotel, he goes straight from the airport to the train station where he arrives just in time to catch the Belgrade train. He hurriedly buys a ticket and jumps on board with only his carry-on luggage. The airline has assured him that his bags will meet him, at some point, in his village. Unlike the plane, there are plenty of wide comfortable seats so he locates a window and makes himself at home. Since he  is not going to the end of the line, he sets the alarm on his mobile to ensure that he does not sleep through his destination. Skopje is only four hours away but that is enough time for a short nap.

As the train engines whir into life he thinks he has never made the trip from Thessaloniki to Skopje on his own before. He imagines his wife sitting across from him looking the way she looked at the kitchen table. Other men’s wives have aged, he thinks, but not her. Even though they have been married for thirty-six years, she is still as beautiful as the day he met her. So why, then, is he so discontent these days? And why has she sent him away?

The last time he was in Skopje on his own he was a young man, a boy really. Looking back at his nineteen year old self he realizes, now, how eager he was to toss aside the village and embrace the new life of an immigrant. Those days traveling from the port in Genoa to Melbourne he was filled with optimism. Like all the immigrants on board, life was a heady mixture of hope and anxiety. In the village, he would always be Petar, the trouble maker, the recalcitrant shepherd. In Australia, he could become anything.

In those days, he had dreams, big dreams. Once he was settled in at his god mother’s house in Coburg, he rejected the low paying factory jobs they found for him. He found a much better job at the foundry. Not only did it pay better but it was a melting pot, a microcosm. He quickly shunned the Yugoslav tables in order to sit with the Aussies. When they asked him why he chose them over his countrymen, he said in his simple English, “I am a new Australian.”  He wanted to learn English so they taught him English. He loved soccer so they recruited him for their soccer team. He wanted a car so they taught him to drive and helped him get his license. Then, as soon as he had his license he bought himself a car and started dating Australian girls. While other young men from his village arranged marriages from home, he enjoyed his new found freedom.

He successfully evaded attempts to introduce him to someone’s sister, niece, or cousin just as he had evaded their attempts to lock him into a lifelong mundane job. Now that he was free, he had every intention to stay that way. Then he met Anna.

Anna was Vlacha, an ancient ethnic group indigenous to Greece and Macedonia, and so was he. While he grew up in Tito’s Yugoslavia speaking Serbo-Croatian and she grew up in Karamanlis’ Greece speaking Greek, they shared a common tongue – an old Latin language closer to Romanian.  Village ties he could break but these old ethnic ties were too strong. As much as he wanted to be Australian, he was proud to be Vlach. If only he knew then that his wife didn’t want to be Australian or Vlach. She was Greek and proud to be Greek. Over the years, home became a battlefield over language and customs until Peter surrendered the house and family to his wife. He retreated to his business and there he created his own empire.

As he tries to reconcile his younger self with the middle aged man now coming home, other last minute passengers arrive and settle into their seats. The conductor walks up the aisle checking tickets and making sure bags are properly stowed. The train lurches once, then strains to pull free from the station. ‘Inertia’, the word springs to Peter’s mind. It comes from the Latin and means a tendency to do nothing. He thinks Macedonia, or whatever they are calling themselves  these days, suffers from inertia. He likes to think he has been moving forward, while it has been standing still.

The train’ s windows do not open but the air conditioning switches on as the train starts to move. It’s a big improvement over his last visit. He remembers how he and his wife sat crushed against each other, a child on each lap, sweltering in the summer heat. Their first stop, her family home Larissa, where she could show off her successful husband and their beautiful children. Then he was taking her to Nizepoli to meet his grandmother and visit his mother’s grave. She loved the sweltering heat of Greece but he couldn’t wait to breath the cool mountain air. Now, she was the one who sat cool and collected in Melbourne while he fumed inside this train.

Looking out the window, he watches the city give way to the  suburbs and the afternoon give way to dusk. There is nothing to look at, just flat lands that stretch all the way to the mountains. He checks his watch. If the train is on time he should arrive in Skopje by 10pm.

Despite the plush seats, Peter shifts his body, hoping to find a more comfortable position. The train that carried him away from his village back in ’59  wasn’t nearly as modern as this one, but for a boy seeking a new life, it couldn’t have been more luxurious. Then, all his belongings fit in a single bag and the irony of returning empty handed is not lost on him.  The memory of that departure, is more vivid than this return because he has relived it so many times.  He can still see the red lights of the switches fading away, the mountains receding and thinking to himself, “Good bye village. Good bye Mira. I’ll see you in another forty years.”

As the gentle rocking motion lulls him, his head nods and his mind drifts. Images fade in and out. There’s a younger version of himself hopping over a fence, startling a group of village girls. One girl in particular, the one with the twinkling eyes, catches his attention. She laughs with the others as he stands up and brushes the dirt from his pants. Angry voices remind him why he leapt the fence and he takes off again but not without risking one last backward glance.

Mira. Her name is Mira. He learns this from his younger sister. She knows Mira because their grandmother has organized for her to spend afternoons at Mira’s house in order to learn women’s crafts. This was the same grandmother who wanted this little sister adopted out after their mother died. Peter’s father refused to give her up, just as he refused to accept the  woman they organised to be his new wife. They survived as a motherless family but there were costs.

The train screeches to a halt and Peter is jolted awake. He doesn’t remember falling asleep and it takes him a moment to reorient himself. Around him everyone is grumbling and asking the same question. “Why stop? Is there something on the track? How long before we start again.?” Peter just hopes the delay will be a short one. He has something to do. Something he has waited years to do.

A conductor pushes his way through the carriage, ignoring everyone’s questions, stepping over luggage that has toppled into the passageway. Peter ignores the confusion and returns to his window. Like past and present, images of people in the train are projected onto the mountains outside. Ever since the breakup of Yugoslavia, his Macedonia has been falling apart. He checks his watch and calculates that they are probably an hour from Skopje.

Before emigrating to Australia, he had only been to Skopje once. His mother took him by train from Bitola to Skopje for his father’s trial. Another train trip from the past. He looks at his own hand and remembers hers. She held his small hand in hers for the entire journey. She gripped it even tighter in the courtroom as the judge read the sentence. His father and his father’s twin brother were on trial for smuggling. He didn’t understand what that meant at the time but he knew it was the same offense as his grandfather. His grandfather’s sentence was a bullet in the head and Peter’s mother feared the worst as the judge read the sentence. He remembers how she kissed his hand and  squeezed him hard against her when the sentence was announced. His father would only be jailed for a year while his twin would serve eight. Peter never knew why his uncle received the harsher sentence and now he wonders why he never asked. Probably because in Yugoslavia, ‘why’ , was a forbidden word.

The train lurches and picks up speed. No explanation is given and passengers who have wandered into the aisles  return to their seats. No one demands an answer so perhaps, ‘why’, is still forbidden.

Beyond the window, it is now completely dark. There’s nothing to see except stars and a blackness where the mountains block them out. How many times had he stared up at these same stars when he was sent out to shepherd other people’s sheep. Anger still surges as he remembers being taken from school. If his mother had lived he was destined to go to university, but instead his father sold him for a few dinars.

His cousin, however went to university and her old textbooks followed him into the mountains. Life was not fair or equal. Despite the communist propaganda, he knew then, as he knows now, that the idea of everyone being equal just meant that some were more equal than others.

He nods off again as some passengers drift off to the meal car and others pull sandwiches from their bags. He hates restaurant food almost as much as he hates airline food. He prefers his meals cooked at home. This is a hold over from his shepherd days when some families fed him well, while others not so well. Even as a boy he preferred to go hungry rather than eat inferior food.

As  his eyes close he  leans his head against the window. He’s running again. As a young man, he was always running. Running from the rangers who caught him fishing illegally, running from the border guard’s dogs as he slipped across to Greece, running from his father and poverty and loneliness. The list was endless.

He is back in the village and he can hear the music and laughter coming from the dance hall. This is a special night for him. He has been keeping a secret for he knows that soon he will leave the village and this time he won’t be sent back. Tito has opened the doors and he is booked for Australia. Just the knowledge that he will have a new life lifts his spirits. No longer will his future be proscribed by his communist uncles, or his grandmother or his father.

His departure was meant to be secret. No one was supposed to know but Mira must have found out for that night at the dance she refused to dance with anyone but him. He tried to push her towards his best friend saying, ‘You should dance with him.  He likes you.” Her response caught him completely off guard. She grabbed him by the waist and held him saying,” You don’t understand anything do you?”

Suddenly, his well thought out plans cloud. How many times had he said to her, “Someday I will be a king and you will be my queen.” Only to hear her say, “We will always be friends – good friends.” Now she held him tight as if she would never let him go. Had she changed her mind about him? Had he misunderstood her all along? At the end of the evening she told him to meet her at the water fountain on the following night.

He had the entire day to replay every moment of the night before and formulate his next steps. That night there was no moon and the path to the fountain was obscured but despite the dark he found her there, waiting for him. They were not lovers, had never even shared a kiss, yet he found himself saying, “Give me two years and I will send for you.” He wonders even now, what if she had come?

The train is slowing. Everyone getting off in Skopje gathers their luggage. Peter gets up from his seat to leave and then remembers his carry-on bag. Jet lag is starting to kick in and he longs to get to his hotel. Tomorrow he will buy what he needs.

Forty years ago he left with nothing but dreams and now that he’s returning with his dreams realized,  all he thinks about is the past. He has a beautiful wife and family. He has the house, the car, and the business to support all these things he has acquired. He is returning victorious but inside he knows, he is just Petar. He’s just not sure who Peter is anymore.

The hotel is a short cab ride from the train station and tomorrow he will visit his cousin. He will ask where he can find Mira. He has to close that door, once and for all, but for now, he needs a good sleep more than anything.

Peter finally gets a decent meal at a small cafe, then shops and returns to his hotel where he showers and dresses in his new clothes. He is not a vain man but he likes to be well groomed and he likes comfort. Having worked outside all his life, his body is tan and firm. Except for a thickening around the waist his body is just a filled out version of the boy. His legs that stopped growing in his teens are short but strong and his most distinctive feature, his wide shoulders and straight back have not changed over the years. A wisp of grey chest hairs peek out from the open collared shirt but the hairs on his arms and legs are the same fine auburn he has had since childhood. The grey hair, however has been with him since his thirties but at least it  hasn’t thinned like some of his friends. He runs a comb first through his hair and then through his large walrus moustache.

The moustache, the tan, the blue of his shirt, all contrive to intensify the deep cobalt blue of his eyes. Those blue eyes, sharp and intense when angry, can just as easily be twinkling and delighted when amused. He checks himself out in the full length mirror and he is satisfied.  The overall effect is that of a well proportioned, affluent but not ostentatious man in the prime of his life.

He stuffs his wallet and passport in one side pocket of his cargo pants and his mobile in the other. As he opens the door he checks his watch, noting with satisfaction that he is right on time.

In his cousin’s house, he lights a cigarette and fingers the coffee cup on the table in front of him. His cousin is talking about university politics but Peter isn’t really listening. He takes a drag and as soon as there is a pause he asks, “Do you know where Mira lives?”

“Mira! Why she just lives a block away. Why?”

“I want you to call her and ask her to come for coffee.”

His cousin hesitates, but without questioning further she brings the phone to the table. Peter thinks, there’s something nostalgic about the heavy black landline phone. He hasn’t seen a dial phone in years. He concentrates on the click, whir, as his cousin dials.

“ Mira, it’s Nadia. Can you come for coffee?”

She holds the handset so Peter can listen as well.

The voice at the other end replies, “Nadia, I’m so busy I can’t even go to the toilet. I’ll come another day. “

Peter takes the phone and says in Macedonian, “ I won’t be here on another day”, then hands the phone back to his cousin.

He hears Mira ask,” Who is that? “

“ It’s Petar”, she says this without emotion and doesn’t bother to add, from Australia.

For seconds, that feel like hours, no one speaks. Then Mira says, “I’ll be right there.”

Peter goes outside to wait and lights another cigarette. Before long he sees an old woman dressed in a long black dress ambling towards him. For a moment he thinks, that can’t be her. Then she lifts her head and smiles. Her face has aged but those beautiful eyes have not changed. Has her smile always had that tinge of sadness? He can’t remember.

“Petar”, she looks at him the same way she did that last night by the fountain. He drops his cigarette and smashes it with his foot. Now that this moment has arrived he is lost. They stand apart. There are no hugs, no kisses, just an uneasy awkwardness.

Finally Mira says, “I heard you have done well and you look good”.

He knows he should say the same but instead he says,” Come have a coffee”, and walks back inside knowing Mira will follow.

His cousin has left two fresh cups of coffee on the table and has disappeared. Mira sits next to the wall and smiles at Peter, motioning for him to sit.

“It’s been a long time but the years have been good to you. You know, everyone in the village talks about your success.” The words come in a rush and it’s been a long time since Peter has spoken Macedonian. The words feel foreign in his head but at last he responds.”

He simply asks, “What happened?”

Mira’s smile fades. “You got married.”

“Before that.” He is pushing her, but he needs to know.

She knows what he wants to know but the memory is painful so she looks away. She pushes the coffee cup away and folds her hands in front of her on the table. Finally, she speaks.

“I waited. I waited a year but a year is a long time when you’re twenty. My friends were marrying and Australia”, she sighs, “is not, well it’s not Yugoslavia.”

She pauses but Peter is silent so she continues, “The more I thought about leaving my family, my friends, everything I grew up knowing, the more frightened I became.”

She catches his eye and holds his gaze, “Your grandmother told me that Australia  changed you. She said you were a New Australian. She said you would not be happy with a village girl. “

For a moment they sit in silence and study their coffee cups as if they contain some answer.

“ And the singer? “

Mira reaches for her coffee cup but  uses both hands to steady the shaking. She takes a long slow sip, giving herself time before she answers.

Finally, she lowers the cup and still looking down says, “ Your grandmother said he was a good choice for me. He had a good job looking after the school and he had a fine voice. You know,  he sang on the radio sometimes.”

“ So, why didn’t you marry him?”

As she looks up at him, he sees the hurt in her eyes. “I wanted to but he married someone else.” She pauses then continues, “Maybe he knew he wasn’t my first choice.” She sets the cup back in its saucer. She shrugs and says, “I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”

After a moment  she adds brightly,” Your wife is very beautiful. You know how you sent your wedding pictures to your sister? She was so excited looking at them that she dropped one and guess where she dropped it.?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer.” Right next to the old fountain.  Isn’t that strange? I found it on the ground, as if you had left it for me. “

Peter watches her wipe away a tear but he is a man who has learned to bury his feelings. He says nothing but her words are like a sharp knife cutting into his flesh.

“ So,” she continues, “I told my sister in Skopje to find me a good husband and,” she shrugs, “here we are.”

Peter knows he has no right to ask but he does anyway. “Did he make you happy?”

“What is happiness in a marriage?” Peter thinks her voice has a sharp edge but maybe he has lost touch with this language. She continues, “He’s a good provider. We have two children, a boy and a girl. I’m satisfied. And you? “ He feels the same intensity that he did that last night at the dance.

He dodges the question and her gaze, saying, “I came here to ask you to release me.” There’s a hardness in his voice that takes her by surprise. Now, it is her turn to be confused.

He explains, “ For forty years I have had you in my dreams and now I want you to let me go. “

Mira doesn’t respond. What can she possibly say? There’s a kind of justice if what he says is true, for he has haunted her dreams as well. She simply stares at her hands so he stands up. He doesn’t say good bye because that was said long ago. He has done what needed to be done so now he simply walks out the door.

There’s no need to stay in Skopje as he planned. He checks out of his hotel and organizes a taxi to take him to the village. It’s a long drive so he buys another pack of cigarettes to smoke on the way. His mind is whirling and he needs to get it back under control. He argues once again that bringing Mira to Australia would have been a mistake. What if she came and didn’t like it? What if she wanted to go back? Lots of village girls decided to go back. It could have been a disaster for both of them. The more he tries to convince himself, the more he sees her standing at the fountain, her face close to his, her voice as she says, she will wait. And what about him? All he thought about that night was how glad he was to leave the village and everyone in it behind.

Now the question he really doesn’t want to answer, “What did I really leave behind? In the end, I married a woman who, although she already lived in Australia, never left her village. The more I tried to be Australian the more she pulled me back into the village. Worse yet, it was a Greek village she wanted. In the end, what did I achieve?”

As the taxi pulls into the village, he sees a commotion and asks the driver to stop. Sitting at the side of the road, just outside the cafe, is his luggage. Another taxi has just dropped it off and the driver is arguing with the cafe owner.

“Those are my bags”, he says getting out of his taxi and both men stop to look at him.  “Petar! “, cries the cafe owner.” I was just telling him he can’t leave these here. He has to take them to your grandmother’s house.”

Peter takes out his wallet and pays his driver who has joined the group. Then he gives the other taxi driver some money as well and says, “I’ll take them from here.”

“But you shouldn’t have to carry them. Look, I’ll get one of the boys to take them”, says the cafe owner. This is the same man who once grabbed him by the shirt and said he would never amount to anything.

Peter grabs the man’s arm before he can hail anyone. By now more villagers are coming out to see what’s going on.

“I want to take them myself.”

He lets go of the cafe owner who holds out his hands in surrender, then as an after thought, gives Peter a big hug which Peter does not return. More neighbours arrive and soon Peter is surrounded by old acquaintances, friends and relatives. They walk along as he climbs the hill to his grandmother’s. It is getting late and it is a steep climb, so having said their hellos, most break away to go back home. By the time he gets to his grandmother’s door only his closest friend remains.

Peter is tired and doesn’t feel like talking but as he starts to climb the steps, his friend grabs his arm. His friend looks hard at him, and says, “What did you do to Mira?”

Peter is surprised, “What do you mean?”

“Your cousin called me. After you left, Mira collapsed. They took her to hospital.”

Peter does not ask for details. He removes his friend’s hand and then he replies, “I asked her to let me go. Now, I need you to do the same.”

His friend removes his hand and Peter continues up the stairs. His needs his grandmother to supply some answers.