Athens is honest. To be honest is more than not lying, it is a man’s pride, and a woman’s too. Being honest is being free. Being dishonest is making a disgrace of yourself. Honesty is a sign of courage and respect. It is something that goes without saying, not a favour you do someone. When I tried thanking people for complimenting me on my Greek proficiency, I almost insulted them: “I am not giving you a compliment, I am telling you the truth.”
But Athens is honest in other ways too. Rich people dress to show they are loaded. Beggars are not simply unlucky, but miserable all the way, pointing to their blind eyes, missing an arm or both legs, whilst calling to you their “pináo, pináo”. How can you deny someone who is hungry? One day I bought a man a peinirli. He showed himself so grateful, while covering his shame with apologies. I believe we felt the same.
In the subway, I was approached by a man selling socks. He missed half of his brain so that his head came a quarter short. I was amazed by what this man could do without a part that I had always believed to be indispensable. That he could walk, talk to people, sell things, find the courage to get up every day and collect some money to feed himself to live to the next day. And I just wanted to cry for the cruelty that life inflicts on some of us.
Another day, I passed one of the migrant families who have their bedrooms in the middle of the busiest streets for everyone to see and mourn them. I saw a young woman concerned with a toddler, her young husband sitting next to them, cross-legged, his head bowed, and a carton coffee cup for some alms in front of him. He looked defeated. I felt what anyone would have felt. That young woman could have been me, that child could have been my child. And that man could have been my beautiful husband, the love of my life, caring, proud and strong, faced with a humiliation so deep that he had come to hate himself.
I don’t remember whether I gave him something. I fell silent. And walked on.
Leave a Reply