Villa Bourani 2
Svensk version
The search for the house gave us no peace. In the evenings we wandered around town, had dinner at one of the tavernas, and felt as if we were in waiting, in a state of readiness. The whole town, even the whole island, lay in a careful, meditative awaitment, and we felt that the riddle we attempted to solve required its own time, its own space, its magic. It didn’t work to force into the open an answer to everything. We were forced to fit into the pattern, and in the spirit of the book and the island, find a piece of the puzzle a bit at a time, to attain, hopefully, the solution.
Day four, and we repeated our boat trip around the island. We jumped ashore on a tourist beach and then attempted to swim around the ochre coulored cliffs in order to catch a glimpse of the villa and see if there was some kind of path that led to "our house".
After our swim, we found a little taverna above the beach, and there we met Tassos, a small man with a Zorba like charisma and the impish glint of a youngster. It didn’t matter that his English was poor, when his face and the whole of his body was so full of life and expression. A good contact was made and when the next day we came back, he served us with quenching cold beer before we had time to sit. Then we asked him if he knew about Villa Bourani.
Rather nervously we glanced at his face working; would we get a negative answer even here? "Nice villa. Big dog!". He emphasised his exclamation with vast gestures. We thanked the Lord that we hadn’t begun to traipse up to the house unannounced.
We found an important piece of the puzzle that day. Tassos was able to tell us that a recently widowed woman from Athens was living in the house with her daughter. He could even give us her surname. That evening we were convinced that we would meet that woman; after all she couldn’t live alone in the villa all the time. Most likely she came to town to shop or to dine out.
Next morning we walked down to the town’s little telephone office. After an unsuccessful search for a telephone directory, we were forced to ask two assistants, who were clad in shirts with rolled up sleeves. They aearched together, but when they aked for the subscriber’s christian name, we could only look blank. The episode ended with the receipt of a slip of paper with three phone numbers on it.
We went immediately to one of the evil smelling telephone booths and with thudding hearts tried the first number on the list. The connection was made , but no answer. We tried the second number, but no answer here either. It was the same with the third number. We looked at each other questioningly, really disappointed by the fact that our great idea (we thought) hadn’t worked.
We travelled to the beach on the other side of the island this day too, and to our new friend Tassos. It was here that we felt closest to "our" Villa Bourani. Tassos was in very good humour, and had the help of his son Paris in the taverna. We found that Paris was much better with the English language than his father, and we could converse really well. On an impulse, we asked for his help with the number to the villa. "Sure! Out of his little telephone book he picked out a number, which he wrote down on a scrap of paper. It was a number which we had not been given at the telephone office. (A fourth number!) We thanked him, and did all that we could to subpress our delight. Now, we felt, this scrap of paper had the correct number!
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We used the telephone in Tassos’ confined kitchen. The fingers shook a little as they sought after the correct numbers on the dial. Would we make contact with the villa? What happens then? The connection was made, and we held our breath. Eventuelly ... a click and then a woman’s voice, which spoke in Greek. I swallowed a couple of times before I could come out with "Milate anglika?" (Do you speak English?)
After I had received a positive reply I tried to explain, politely, who my friend and I were. I told of our interest in the book and asked if it would be possible to come and take a look at the house, to see if description tallied. The woman listened, throwing in several sentences in Greek, (of which I didn’t understand a word) presumably to test me. When my rather lengthy explanation was concluded, the lady replied in rather a short manner that it was not a good idea as she was on her way to her beach to bathe, and then she was flying to Athens. "Maybe some other time. Goodbye!" Disappointed we went back to our table in the taverna.