Sunday, 24th June 1984
This evening my sister is getting married to her beloved Antony, after a passionate and adventurous love story of one year. It's hardly been three months ever since they got prematurely engaged, because Alice had a miscarriage -which meant that the two of them had consummated their love affair. Consequently, my father had demanded that they should be engaged at once, “before we become the scorn of the whole city”.
As about the wedding, it was initially intended to take place next year. However, the groom is going to join the army in the camp of Tripolis at the end of next month, and Alice raised the roof the other day because she wants to go and visit Antony in Tripolis, every time he is on furlough. Once again our father remembered the traditional manners and customs: “This is unheard-of, an unmarried woman staying with her boyfriend for days! I won't allow it, unless you two get married!” he said. Just as I had expected, the crazy lovers didn't bear the slightest objection to getting married here and now.
Nice couple, anyway: Antony is 18 years old, Alice is 16, they both are very young, lively and good-looking. “They look like children who have dressed up as a groom and a bride for the carnival season,” said uncle George, as soon as he saw them together in church. When the sacrament was over, there was a feast at home with dozens of guests. We all had a whale of a time...
Monday, 30th July 1984
For six months now, since the very next day of my return to Greece, I have been looking for a job feverishly. On one hand, I feel the need to earn my own money; on the other hand, the continuous pressure from my parents is terrible. So, with the Proficiency Certificate in hand, I have already sought work in hundreds of companies and English tutorial schools in Athens, Piraeus and suburbs. Yet, so far it has proved impossible for me to find even a part time job, probably because I haven't got any working experience.
However, maybe there is also something else to blame for my unemployment: When I go to apply for a job in an office, my sister usually comes along with me. As a result, personnel managers don't take me seriously because I carry my little sister along. She says she wishes to find work too, although she is only sixteen and a half years old and her only qualification is the gymnasium certificate. In addition, she is married and her husband wants her to stay at home and be a good housewife. Sometimes I have the impression that Alice is only trying to compete with me.
The only one who seemed willing to hire me as a secretary, was the owner of a car rental office near Omonia square, where I went on Friday afternoon. “You are good enough for me!” he said calmly, as soon as he heard that I can speak English and Italian and that I have finished a secretarial school. He warned me that I would have to work overtime very often, and that “in our company, secretaries bring their own typewriter at work”. I didn't say no, although I found it weird: On one hand, the company has so many clients that I will have to work overtime; on the other hand, instead of furniture they use chopped tree trunks; moreover, their only typewriter is badly damaged and they can't afford to buy another.
Nevertheless, I agreed to start working this morning. My mother is enthusiastic about it, but my father seems to be a little troubled. “You might as well lose the typewriter” said aunt Lina, his elder sister, when dad phoned her yesterday and told her about my newly-found job. Finally, after a lot of wavering, at the last moment I decided to turn down this job...
Monday, 10th September 1984
After a month of summer relaxation, I have started looking for a job again. I've had enough with companies and English tutorial schools, though. Instead, I prefer to start giving private lessons of English. For this reason, I have placed a classified ad in the newspaper, and a week ago I finally managed to find my first pupil: His name is Constantine, he is in his thirties, married with a two-year-old child, and he lives in Kalamaki. He works as a waiter in an expensive restaurant and he wishes to learn some English so that he can communicate better with foreign customers.
No sooner had our third lesson started this morning, than his wife came into the room, paid me 500 drachmas for an one-hour lesson and announced that “Constantine hardly has any time to eat, still less to study English! That's why we must stop the lessons!”.
I got a smack in the eye but didn't show any displeasure. I refused to get paid without having worked, but she insisted on my taking the money. So, I finally accepted the banknote and left, sad and perplexed, wondering what had gone wrong; maybe it was the fact that the previous time the gentleman was entirely unprepared and I told him he should study harder...
Friday, 14th September 1984
Fortunately, two days ago I managed to find another pupil: Her name is Vassia, she is twenty years old and she studies Literature. She lives in Hymettus, which is a little far from my home; I have to take two buses to get there, but never mind. This afternoon we had our first lesson, and I saw she has a good knowledge of the English language. She is also friendly and polite. I think we'll get along very well.
Wednesday, 19th September 1984
It was about 2:30 in the afternoon, when I had a phone call from a frenzied bloke who said he was the owner of an English tutorial school in Alimos. He explained that he had just seen my advertisement in the newspaper and that he was in urgent need of an English teacher, because one of his employees had just quit her job. Then he demanded that I should take a taxi and come to his school at once.
Twenty minutes later I was at his office. I was full of optimism, expecting to be hired on the spot. However, as soon as he saw me, the bald, skinny, black-dressed man made it clear that he wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible: “So, you have no working experience? But I thought you had some... I would prefer a teacher who's taught in a class before...”. Nevertheless, while we were talking on the phone, he had not mentioned anything about working experience.
Thursday, 27th September 1984
This morning I saw an interesting ad in the newspaper, reading that “ladies with some knowledge of English are wanted as teachers in an English tuition centre in Athens”. As soon as I arrived at the given address, I saw there was no signboard of the school. I found that strange, but I rang the bell. When I got in, I was received by a dark-skinned guy, obviously of Asian origin, who acted as if he were the manager. He gave me a written and oral test, and he was very satisfied with my results. “You don't pronounce ''r'' so well”, he only remarked. He told me that I would give private lessons to children at a price of 200 drachmas per hour, instead of 500 drachmas which is the usual. I noticed there were samples of Lower and Proficiency Certificates hanging on the walls. Paradoxically, all those papers were written in Greek. Do they make these papers themselves? I asked myself.
At that moment, the bell rang again and another candidate came in. She said she had no certificate, she had only finished the third class in English, and they didn't seem to like that. “Why, you want a Proficiency Certificate?” she wondered, and so did I: In their advertisement, they didn't ask for such qualifications; they only required “some knowledge of English”.
Then, the school owner summoned me to his office. “I like you,” he said twice, among other palaver, but I pretended I hadn't heard. Finally, he told me to come back tomorrow, so as to go to a pupil's house together with the Asian teacher and see how private lessons are taught.
As I was leaving, I noticed that next to the door there was a big signboard, reading “English by Labiris”. Why I didn't see that before? I wondered but gave it no further consideration.
Friday, 28th September 1984
I can see this is all wrong, probably the whole thing is a fraud, but I'm also afraid of losing a good job opportunity and so are my parents. That's why this morning I went to “English by Labiris” again. Once again, the school owner said he likes me and I acted the fool; then I agreed to go to a pupil's house in New Ionia, together with the Asian teacher.
The bus journey lasted about 50 minutes, and the bloke wouldn't stop playing the expert from England: “When I first came from London to A
thens, I wasn't impressed by the Parthenon! I was more impressed by the countless tutorial schools everywhere! There is no serious education, here in Greece!” he said with an air of profundity. I pretended to agree, so as not to displease him and lose the great job. He went on with the verbal diarrhoea, constantly bragging about the super wow education he had had when he was in in England, until he flung in my teeth: “Really now, Yvonne, who do you think you are? You think you are a teacher? There are thousands like you!” I kept my mouth shut, because I hoped to get that envied job.
Finally, the private lesson proved to be a foul play: The fourteen-year-old girl sometimes said it was the first time she had met the Asian teacher, sometimes she acted as if she had known him for years. As about the “super teacher from England”, he could hardly read a text and he pronounced the word “door” as “duur”. Well, I didn't like the whole performance and I have no intention of working for rascals...
Sunday, 30th September 1984
When I returned from the baker's this morning, I found my father talking on the phone in a loud voice. As mum explained full of joy, dad was talking with a Mr Bill Kargas, who had responded to my advertisement about giving private lessons of English. “This is the opportunity we have been waiting for! He wants you for his tutorial school on the island of Samos!” announced mum, exhilarated.
I was taken aback for a second, but I agreed to talk to the bloke on the phone; he seemed to be positive and willing to hire me, he even offered to pay for my plane ticket. He also promised to let me stay in his ancestral house for a small rent.
Taking into account that a) my parents and I are convinced that I will never find a permanent job in Athens, b) so far I haven't managed to find any other pupils apart from that girl in Hymettus, c) my parents are looking forward to my earning some money and helping with the house expenses, I didn't turn down the proposal. So, after a lot of wavering, I finally decided to quit my only pupil and set out for Samos the very next day.
Monday, 8th October 1984
Mr Kargas' old house has proved to be a decrepit ruin, so I've been staying in a hotel ever since I arrived in Samos. The fact is that I have almost run out of money and I have to leave the island. As soon as I informed the boss this morning, he got frantic, he took me from the hotel at once and led me to his tutorial school; He will allow me to sleep in a store-room for a few nights, until I manage to find better lodgings, as he said.
I spend most hours of the day carrying out secretarial duties in the office. The amount of work is terrible, since the school year has just started. Every day I have to go through lots of correspondence, I type endless lists of names, I fill in hundreds of pupils' cards; actually, I organize the whole school for him.
I occasionally watch lessons as a spectator, in order to learn methodology, as Mr Kargas says. It is Wilma, his obese American wife, who teaches most of the times, and she has accustomed the children to a mockery of a lesson: While she is in class, a loud hubbub of shouting and laughter is constantly heard, which is often fomented by the “teacher” herself. She never takes the pupils' notebooks at home; she spends a lot of time correcting compositions and dictations on the spot, losing all control of the class.
This afternoon she wasted half of the lesson making the children act sneezing, according to a story in the reading-book. “A-ti-shu!” the whole class was shouting, for half an hour or more. All pupils, included those of higher classes, know almost nothing about English vocabulary and grammar, they can hardly even read. Nevertheless, Mr Kargas is always praising his wife's teaching skills: “My Wilma has taken many awards for her unique methods,” he brags.
It's a mystery though: The lessons given at the Kargas Tuition Centre are a fiasco, there aren't any Lower or Proficiency classes, yet most parents don't care about this and they prefer his school. His branches in Samos and Pythagorio are the most successful tutorial schools on the island, counting more than 400 pupils...
Thursday, 11th October 1984
This morning Mr Bill and I went to his school in Pythagorio, so as to watch him teaching and get an idea of his wondrous methodologies. During the whole journey, once again I had to put up with his incessant bragging about how perfect he has always been in his job, even when he and his family lived in Congo, from where they had to flee overnight, leaving everything behind, six years ago. He didn't explain why, he only mentioned that his father had gone bankrupt ten times, in contrast to him who has always been very successful.
“I am a hard-working man, I can't stand losing my time; I'm not like your father, who is a lazy pensioner,” he concluded, and I was speechless at his insolence.
“Your father is a lazy idler, isn't he?” he said sarcastically.
I pretended I hadn't listened.
“Isn't it so?” he insisted ironically.
“Yes,” I replied in a low voice.
“Eeeeh?”
“Yes,” I repeated louder, so as to please the boss.
He shut up only when we arrived at his branch in Pythagorio. While he was teaching the third class, I was sitting at the last desk with a typewriter in front of me, typing an endless list of pupils' names during the lesson. So much of a lesson...
On the way back to Samos, the boss suddenly stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and announced we had run out of petrol. After a few minutes of pointless discussion, “what shall we do now, etc”, he said that the best thing he could do was go and find a friend of his who lives nearby, so as to borrow some fuel. This means that I had to wait in the car for 20 minutes, all alone at the back of beyond, until he came back with a jerrycan of petrol in hand.
In all probability, the bloke was not at all in need of petrol; he just hoped to get something else from me while he was dragging me into the wilderness...
Monday, 15th October 1984
It's been three days since Mr Kargas first allowed me to teach for a few hours in the afternoons. This means that I have to work more than eight hours per day, taking into account that I still have to carry out lots of secretarial duties. Yet, all I get is ironic remarks: “You don't even know how to talk on the phone! Hellooooo... People will think we are bums!” … “You are weak-willed, you lack initiative” … “You have no gumption, and I can't do the thinking for you” and so forth.
All things considered, the podgy little man with the mouse-like face who happens to be my boss, is nothing but a hysterical workaholic clodhopper. He is always swinging around like a whirligig, actually doing nothing but complaining about everything. He often gives me wrong or inadequate instructions regarding the lessons; as a result, I make inevitable mistakes for which he reprimands me later.
This morning, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find my teacher's book. I searched and searched everywhere for hours, nothing! Telling the boss about it was out of the question. The blasting I would get for losing that book, would be unprecedented. So, I preferred to go to a bookstore and buy a new book, with my own money. However, just two minutes before the lesson had started, I found the old coursebook in its usual place in the bookcase. Strange, isn't it?
Wednesday, 17th October 1984
I have begun to suspect that dear Mr Kargas has set up an “intelligence network” for me, engaging family and friends as his spies: Almost every evening he makes sure that I go out with his twin twelve-year-old daughters who, oddly enough, are mature and polite children.
Moreover, a few days ago I first met (by chance?) Rita, a woman of my age, who works as a hair-dresser. We were having lunch in the same restaurant, and it was her who first talked to me. She seems to be a kind and interesting person, and we became friends very quickly.
This evening, while we were going on a walk, we happened to meet Mr Kargas on the road. The two of them started talking joyfully, and it was crystal clear to me that they've known each other for a long time.
Friday, 19th October 1984
Mr Bill himself seldom loses sight of me and he always makes sure to come with me when I search for new lo
dgings. He says he doesn't want to me to fall a victim to some impostor, and he insists on choosing himself my new house. He also says he is willing to pay for my first rent. The truth is that he does everything he can to sabotage every attempt of mine to find accommodation: Whenever I try to make an arrangement with a landlord, he always chips in and claims that the house I've just found is unsuitable for me for lots of possible or impossible reasons.
Yesterday I managed to find a nice, independent, cheap chamber situated on the roof of a house. This evening I had an appointment with the elderly house owner, and Mr Kargas insisted on coming with me. Soon he started arguing with the landlord, and finally he triggered off a nasty row. As a result, we left empty-handed.
Right after that preposterous incident, Mr Kargas took me to a nearby hotel. The owner proved to be a friend of his. We asked for a cheap room for me -to no avail, of course, all single rooms were occupied. In the end, the hotel owner agreed to accommodate me in the basement for a few days. It is not so bad here, but obviously I can't stay long.
Tuesday, 22nd October 1984
Finally! This morning I managed to find me a furnished room near the city centre! It is sunny and spacious, and the landlady is a polite, calm woman. Mr Kargas didn't manage to draw her into a quarrel, and he made a very sour face when he paid 5000 drachmas for my first rent, as he had promised.
I was greatly surprised, when the Kargases invited me out tonight. It was late in the evening when we all got in their car, with a view of going to a taverna in Pythagorio. We arrived there but we didn't stop, as I had expected; the head of the family kept on driving until we were out of the town.
After a while he turned back and drove through Pythagorio again; then, he took the way back to Samos, and finally he stopped outside an abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere. As the boss explained, the old house belonged to Moira, an old family friend who had followed them from Congo and helped them set up the tutorial school in Samos. “However, Moira left the island years ago,” concluded Mr Kargas with a smirk.
I was really flabbergasted when they all agreed to wait outside the big rusty street door for a while, in case their old friend made a miraculous appearance in the weedy garden! So, we all stayed inside the parked car and waited. The time was already 00:30 after midnight. Twenty minutes later, Moira's ghost hadn't deigned to appear yet; Mr Kargas feigned disappointment and he said we had better go.
Thursday, 25th October 1984
While I was getting ready to start my lesson this afternoon, the boss informed me that this time I would have to begin half an hour earlier than usual. Yet, he gave me to understand I would finish at the usual time. Nor did he come and stop me tactfully when I exceeded the expected teaching time.
When I finally finished, he was mad at me because some parents kept phoning again and again, very worried about the half-hour delay of their children, as he said. Then he burst out shouting that I am a discredit to his school, that all pupils complain about my strictness, that I am completely spineless and unable to achieve anything in life because I am nothing but a loser. In the end, he demanded that I should resign at once, before I destroy his good reputation on the island.
Friday, 26th October 1984
Mr Kargas was more than willing to repeat all the above to my mother, who arrived in Samos this morning so as to bring me some needful things. “Pity! We wanted to hug her as if she were our own child!” he concluded and made a characteristic gesture of embrace, which surprised both my mother and me.
He, my mother and I had met in the main square of the city a few hours before: Mum was taken aback when she first saw the sweaty, flushed up, frantic, stumpy man, who was running here and there in the heat of the noon, as if he were out of his mind.
“I'm always on the run, what can I do? I'm awfully busy with the school all day, but what can I do? Send pupils away?” he broke out, in a hysterical condition, and then he ran away as if chased by hound dogs.
“This man is a neurasthenic! Didn't your father realize that when he talked on the phone with the lunatic?” mum wondered.
Saturday, 27th October 1984
The end of the story: Mr Kargas refused to pay me for one whole month I have been working for him night and day. He gave me nothing, not even one drachma, because, as he claimed, he has already paid a lot of money for my expenses in Samos! Of course, the enrollment period is over now, I have organized the whole school for this year, and he doesn't need me anymore.
So here I am, on the ship to Athens, together with my mother, the TV set and some other things she had brought me, since we all thought I would stay on the island for eight more months. I'm standing at the stern of the ship, which has just departed, and I am experiencing untold relief as I'm slowly leaving the port, the city, the island, further and further behind.
Another horrible adventure of mine has finally reached an end. I can hardly believe I have just escaped from a nightmare, for a second time in a year...
Chapter 17: Apprenticeship