RETURNING TO THE WILD…

My rose bush of little white roses, a hybrid variety, forced into domestication, to sprout flowers perfectly shaped and to blossom in spring and early summer…has succumbed to the call of its untamed beginnings. Under the Cretan sky with the frigid breath of the icy mountain ridges and the salty air of the sea, it has shed off its false identity and returned to the wild…bushy and thorny with tight blossoms, of white with a tinge of blushing pink that bloom only in winter. And it seems to me that under the same sky, my friends, other species are also inclined to return to some untamed roots, to answer to some tribal drums.

When I first met Yiannis in very different surroundings in Leeds, I thought…what a gentleman he was. Then we moved here, to his wild mountainous island and windswept shores and…he went back to his DNA… Many years ago when we were young and Annie was around 4, we used to drive around in a second-hand Alfasud. One night, we were driving through the mountains of Theriso, after having a meal at the village with some friends. It was pitch dark with the mountains towering on either side and blocking out the starlight. Yiannis had put on his headlights as we were taking one precarious bend after another. Then suddenly a few metres in front of us was a hare, sitting frozen in the glare of the lights, totally petrified.

Me: Yianni! Stop! Stop! There’s a hare in the middle of the road! Don’t run it down!

Yiannis: What do you mean! Wow! This is a gift from nowhere! I’ll knock it down and we’ll take it home and cook it!

Me: Stop! ( screeching hysterically) Stop or I shall never speak to you again!

He reluctantly dimmed the lights and the terrified creature shook off its stupor and bounded off.

Who did I marry?… I wondered. The whole thing took on a very caveman-like scenario, the only difference being that they carried clubs and bludgeoned innocent creatures and took them home to the cave wife to cook for supper and… our Mr-Once-Upon–A-Time-Gentleman was going to run down the creature in his second-hand Alfasud and bring it home for ME to cook.

This brings me to our present day story. Just a few days ago Yiannis came back with a look of total incredulousness on his face.

Yiannis: You won’t believe what happened!

Me: What?

Yiannis: Do you remember Yiannis, ( don’t get confused, Yiannis is a very common name and every second person is a Yiannis ) one of my workers? Do you remember his youngest son, Manolis?

Yes I did remember both father and son and he got on with the story. Manolis is 16 and quite a looker. He’s gifted with the looks of some Greek God…tall, with rippling muscles, blonde hair and sea- blue eyes. He is supposed to be the most perfectly behaved of the three sons. Last Saturday, he announced to his parents that he had finally plucked up the courage to ask this lovely girl in his school on a date. His parents were delighted because he was a shy lad and had finally crawled out of his shell. His mum pressed his good clothes and his dad drove him to the meeting point, which is a lovely beach in town.

It was one of those wonderful winter Saturday evenings…the night was young, the air was crisp and fresh and the sky was studded with winking twinkling stars. They fumbled for each other’s hands as they strolled along the beach…the night was full of promise. A slight breeze rocked the sea and the surf rolled up on the beach foaming on the white sand, gleaming in the dark. Then suddenly, Manolis loosened his grip on the girl’s hand and without any warning, sprinted towards the shoreline and leapt into the waves. He appeared to be splashing about and wrestling with something. Finally he heaved himself out of the water, shoes squelching and trousers dripping and wrapped around his legs. He was holding a great big, wobbly, writhing something in his arms. It was an…OCTOPUS… that the sea had tossed out. He held it up, laughing triumphantly, calling out the girl’s name. He imagined her glowing with admiration for him…OH WHAT A NIGHT!!!!!…But where was she? He called out to her again and looked around frantically and… just managed to get a glimpse of the hem of her skirt disappearing among the Saturday night promenaders…She had scooted for her dear life.

Yiannis: Do you know that he told his father he was going to give it to her as a gift? ( Yiannis was totally empathising with young Manolis.) What’s wrong with women these days!!!!

Me: ( Totally empathising with the girl.) I would have done the same thing.

Yiannis: What!!!!

He has a short memory. In THOSE days he used to bring home gifts from his workers or from somebody from a village who was appreciative of his services…gifts of wild or domesticated rabbits or hares, skinned and ready for the pot, a chunk of meat from a charging wild boar shot in the mountains, a quivering mass of fatty pork from somebody’s sow that had grown too big for the sty or a basin of bony fish, freshly caught with eyes all glazed staring into nothing. What did I do?…I shuddered and he took them to his mother’s. Now he doesn’t bring anything home unless it’s from the supermarket.

So unlike my roses that rambled its way back to its wild origins, the butchy species, unfortunately for them, have us to hem them about and snuff out those…feral tendencies.

Cheers!