WHITE HOUSES AND WINDOWS ON THE SEA

WHITE HOUSES AND BLUE WINDOWS ON THE SEA

Greece, June 1982.

A few hours before, the landing plane that took me to Athens was a distant memory. The ferry that crossed that sea so intense and dark, full of tourists, saw me sitting on the sidelines, with my suitcase and a bag at my feet, to observe the nearby islands that loomed during these hours of travel.

The island that awaited me would soon appear on the horizon and in fact from a distance, after a few minutes, the first rocks of the hills began to be seen. The blinding light of the sun despite the dark glasses prevented me from seeing anything more than a few patches of green vegetation on those light rocks, then the closer we got to the harbor the clearer the spots had become.

Dark green Mediterranean bushes with some yellow and red flowers sprouting up between the hills, a few small olive trees peeked out on roads invisible to the eye and every now and then a white house with all-colored windows and finally, the ferry turned to the right quickly it was approached the port.

There were no more white and green spots, but lots of people, lots of houses, lots of wild flowers, a few cars and taxis waiting for someone: after docking at the pier, while we were standing in line to get down, in front of and behind me a shouting of people, a shouting of children and some push due to suitcases or travel bags.

Finally arrived in a small square with white tiles with strange designs, after a long pause under a blinding sun, it was finally my turn to get on that old-fashioned taxi driven by a man with a mustache with a radiant smile.

He knew Italian and it was easy for me to tell him where my accommodation was: a rented house or rather a part of a family home that was given as an apartment to those who wanted to take a vacation away from it all. The road that led to that house was uphill, not far from a street not far from a small church surrounded by Mediterranean-style houses that resembled our south, and with surprise the road continued towards the sea, descending in gentle curves to the east.

I arrived in front of that simple but wonderful structure for its colors: white, of a blinding white and the front door with the door next to Boungavillee and the window shutters were tinged with a vivid blue and a flat terrace for solarium. it was the roof.

Having paid the taxi and got off with my bags, a very kind lady came up to me and, speaking to me, a rather strange Italian took me home where he introduced me to her husband and one of the three children.

After the various presentations, various signatures and my documents given to them for an almost absent-minded check, we had crossed a small courtyard full of red Boungavilee, cedar plants and some white-flowered vines surrounded at the base by the Alyssum of each color, the other side of the house showed two floors with an external brick staircase painted white and blue. The lady told me that there were four English girls underneath, at the first a Turkish gentleman who spent the summer there writing stories, a German student ...

Then we went up the stairs, my room was on the second and last floor, the woman kept talking, saying that in the room next to mine there was a French boy named Louis (who over time had become one of my closest friends with I had spent some holidays in Paris as guests of his, holidays already described long ago).

Once in the room, I immediately saw a small living room with a table and two chairs, a buffet, beside the wooden double bed with white embroidered sheets and bedspreads, a bedside table, a wardrobe. The bathroom on each floor was common, with shower and perfect sanitary facilities in Greek style, adorned with cobalt-colored designs. Everything seemed perfect except me.

I had waited for the lady to make sure that everything was fine and I liked the room, then she went out in silence with a sweet smile.

The large window that swept towards the sea had immediately attracted me, once opened, before my eyes there was that magnificent panorama that I would never have forgotten: the sun was behind us and it was almost sunset now, the lights of the town were beginning to lighting up and a light air coming from the east, he began to give a light coolness to that torrid, long and tiring day.

I had decided to take a shower and entered the bathroom convinced there was no one, so the door was open and instead I found myself in front of a completely naked Louis who was singing a soaping song, he had not closed the door convinced that there was no one else guest on our floor ...

In practice we had frightened each other so much that he had slipped into the cup hitting the bottom on the ceramic, while with a jump back I had dropped the hanger resting on the wall.

after a few seconds of silence we burst into laughter. I no longer knew how to apologize and I had left by closing the door behind me. What a figure.

We were found two hours later at dinner table neighbors, in a small restaurant next to that beautiful white house with blue windows; before leaving I wanted to be in the company of myself but then that evening I decided that at least for that time I would not be alone, I would have tasted my solitude in the following days.

With Louis we understood each other immediately, so much so that the day after we happened to meet again at the beach, near a small cove one kilometer from the town, at first we talked about stupid things, then each of us had begun to tell his own story and it was there that I discovered that it was the same as mine.

Unbelievable, but it seemed a sign of destiny:

two boys in their early twenties who lived in two different cities, more or less physically equal, the same type of school they attended, a sister both, two parents who had recently announced their separation, the same hobby of astronomy and painting and finally the most important thing we had escaped from a love story that ended very painfully.

I thought of having a bohemian vacation, where my heart had to be destroyed by lost love, where the stab wounds I had in my chest had to make me cry and think about what I had lost, where the future separation of my parents would have torn my mind from a thousand bad thoughts and instead ... Louis and I found ourselves having an amazing, fun and unforgettable vacation.

You dance in discos, we met nice girls and boys, some excursions to various islands and baths in the sea while white houses with blue shutters were the backdrop to everything. Milan and Italy were so far away that they seemed to no longer exist. Louis and I talked about everything about our problems except for our private stories that had made us suffer.

One evening the penultimate holiday of the two of us, we had found ourselves alone on the roof terrace, thousands of lights were shining on our heads, the lamps of the boats in the Aegean sea looked like fireflies in the dark, the distant echo of shouting people in the street and dance music did not disturb the peace where we were.

We were sitting close together and we were drinking two cool drinks when he didn't look at me and started telling me a story, his, the one that had tormented him for some time: I heard his voice crack but what made me shiver was that his was so similar to mine .

He worked in French national TV and had met a famous person, also known in Italy, and from there the story began a few months later, like mine and in the same way:

"My agent does not want" or so. We weren't anyone for them and so continuing something important was not worth it. When he had finished telling, he had turned his face to me, I think mine looked like a ghost and without looking at his friend at the side, I began my turn, to recontact him with my story.

Louis was speechless, how could such a thing be true? We looked like each other's mirror, I found myself crying silently, but I don't know if it's because of the painful memory or what was happening at that moment.

A plane passed over us and Louis, he had approached, embracing me, crying.

After days of joy that hid a pain that was dormant from distractions, it had now burst for both of them, the embrace of that friend had given me the feeling of embracing myself, a fraternal embrace of those women exchange to console themselves with great affection and that only they know how to do.

A liberating cry when behind us a calm, calm male voice had made us turn around without detaching ourselves, the owner was in the shadows near us, he had been there for so long that he had heard all our speeches.

His words with a light and hoarse voice had been: "Apparently a nice evening for everyone."

We smiled at him and broke away from the embrace, he looked at us like we were two children, his children and he began to tell another story, a strange story, his that resembled so much to our ... Only different in the choice of the partner.

We had spent part of the evening with him listening to him, his smile shone in the dark, at the end of the story, he had taken us down to our rooms, it was very late and his story had helped us to understand, to endure and to look away , that man was Nesios, a great man.

Two days later Louis and I were at the Athens airport, exchanging our addresses, telephone numbers and I was sure (as it happened then) we would meet again, I wanted it at all costs.

I had found the brother that I had missed so much, after half an hour the speaker had announced the flight to Milan and we greeted each other with a big hug.

Before passing the customs I turned to him and with a wave of his hand I had raised him again, Louis had smiled, squeezing an eye.

Later on the plane I had thought of the whole vacation, one of the strangest that had happened to me in my life, but Louis will always be a special person for me, as that vacation had been.

I had closed my eyes and while the plane was turning towards the Ionian Sea, with the thought I had seen that beautiful white house with blue windows in front of that unforgettable sea.

Giampaolo Daccò Dos Lerèn