If You See Him, Say Hello

In a small café in Cyprus, Alex threw down his bags. The café was small and mostly empty. It was late afternoon; people were just working to work after their naps. Alex figured the place would fill up shortly. He observed the area. There were planks of wood overhead wrapped in vines, heavy with grapes. The fruit was overripe; it filled the air with a sickly, sweet scent that clung to everything.
 
Whenever anyone would walk, they’d kick up a small cloud of dust, or dirt, or sand—Alex wasn’t quite sure. The street in front of him was nothing but dirt. It was a burnt-orange color, almost like clay, but much more brittle. Flies buzzed everywhere. Alex watched them hover on people’s cups and dishes, land on the grapes overhead and quickly fly off. He swatted at one that got too close to his face and sat down.
 
He was so tired that he felt he could fall asleep right there if he let himself. He hadn’t slept since his plane touched down in Larnaca. He spent three days in Nicosia, bitterly walking the sidewalks at night. Nicosia had been crowded; it smelt metallic. He hated looking up and seeing nothing but buildings on the horizon. He thought he had left that behind.
 
Now he was in Asgata, though—this small village (barely on the map) that his grandfather had come from. He wanted to do what he had to do, and leave. The afternoon sun was painfully bright; it hurt him. He wished he had his sunglasses but he had lost them along with his phrase book on the bus his first day here. It was horribly hot, as well. His shirt was damp; his skin clung to the plastic chair. He just wanted to take a shower. He wanted to leave.
 
A waiter approached him. He was a young man, with dark olive skin and darker eyes. He asked what Alex wanted in quick curt, Greek. Alex tried to formulate an answer in his own broken Greek. He wished he had his phrase book. He could tell by the way the waiter’s lips turned up that he made a mistake. After confirming what he wanted, the waiter left. From inside, he could hear something about the americano outside. It wasn’t a surprise. Alex spoke in a crude parody of inland Greek. There was a different music to the Cypriot dialect, different sounds, difference significances—but the same words, overall.
 
After a few minutes, the waiter brought him his coffee and left before Alex could thank him. The café was beginning to fill up. There were four men to his left, all just about the age his grandfather had been. Alex thought, any of these men could be his brother and wouldn’t that make everything easier?
 
The men were loud and they seemed happy, slapping their thighs in amusement every once in awhile. Alex tried to listen to their conversation, but he couldn’t make out a word. He tried to find his own features in their faces. He saw nothing.
 
They were looking over at him curiously. It was a small village; Alex would bet that these men knew everyone of its inhabitants. Finally, one of the men introduced himself. Putting out his hand, he said, “Kali spera. Pose se lene?” Good afternoon. What’s your name?
 
Invoking the name of his grandfather, whom he was named after, Alex answered, “Aleco.”
 
“Constantine,” the old man replied with a smile. “Call me Dean.”
 
When Dean spoke English, he did so with a pronounced accent, just as his grandparents had, but he spoke it clearly and musically.
 
Alex laughed, a little embarrassed for being recognized as a foreigner. He thought of his phrase book again, how lost he felt without it even now, even hearing his own language. He wanted to ask what gave him away. He began to speak, but couldn’t find the words.
 
The old man must have guessed, though and offered, “Just call it a sense. Where are you from, agori?”
 
“Chicago,” Alex replied, wanting to add “America” but realized how foolish and condescending that was.
 
“Beautiful city,” Dean nodded in approval. “I had a hotel business a long time ago—in London. I wanted to move it to America. I spent a few years there, but it never worked out.”
 
Alex nodded because he really had nothing to say. He looked over at the other men at the table. They were still smiling, nodding, joking with each other. They obviously had no clue what was going on. He wanted to talk to this man about his grandfather and his great-uncle, but he held his tongue. He waited for the man to ask him.
 
“Have you been here long?” asked Dean, with warmth and genuine interest.
 
“No, I just arrived,” Alex admitted. “I stayed a few nights in Nicosia. I wasn’t sure how to get here.
 
“But now that you have, what do you think of our little town,” Dean prompted.
 
“It’s beautiful,” answered Alex, sincerely, “It’s a remarkable place.” But he wanted to add: I’m not much on those sort of places.
 
“Yes,” agreed Dean, “so what brings you here?”
 
Okay, Alex thought, now I can explain. He told Dean about his grandfather, who was from this village. How his grandfather’s brother had never left. His grandfather had passed away a month ago. They left messages for the brother, but he never returned them. Maybe the phone was off. Maybe he had moved. But they still wanted him to know.
 
“What was his name?” Dean asked with more interest.
 
“Aleco Zaimas,” he replied, then added quietly, “I’m his namesake.”
 
“His brother was named Yirgos, yes?” Dean continued.
 
“Yes,” Alex repeated. He felt his heart strain against his ribs. He thought, this is it. I can be the bearer of bad news, and we will cry for awhile. Then I will leave. Alex wondered what he would say to his great-uncle. What should he call him? How should he greet him?
 
“I regret being the one to tell you this, but your theo passed away last year,” Dean said, taking Alex’s hands. “He was a great man, a dear friend.”
 
Alex nodded; he wanted to say thank you but that seemed wrong. Instead he said nothing and Dean slowly withdrew his hands, turned back to his friends. Alex was struck by how empty he felt, though he expected nothing. He finished his coffee slowly. Dusk was beginning to settle on the horizon. He wondered how he was going get back to the city tonight, or if he even should.
 
He could walk the same streets as his great-uncle and his grandfather, retrace their steps, breathe their air. Maybe he could ask the villagers about them both, hear their stories, the histories his grandfather never recounted for him. It seemed silly. Still, he was not ready to return to the city. He felt something calling to him. A siren’s song, he hoped to ignore.
 
Taking one last sip of coffee, he called over the waiter in his sad Greek, and asked for the check.
 
 
 
***
 
Interviewer: What was the inspiration for your story, “If You See Him, Say Hello?”
 
Ioannou: What strikes me most about travel stories is the fact that most characters are searching for something. Sal is searching for bliss, or IT. Port is searching for the authentic. Jake is searching for meaning—and he’s running away. Similarly, my character, Alex, is on a quest to find his great-uncle, but it’s more than that. A reunion with a relative, especially one that you have never met, is a reconnection to your past. I believe, by learning about your history—and your family’s history—you better understand yourself. Alex may think he’s just abroad to do an errand for his family (and he obviously detests the errand), but it’s really more for that. The ending of the story suggests he does want to understand his relatives and through that, he may learn more about himself.
 
Interviewer: Why did you choose to never allow Alex to meet found his great-uncle?
 
Ioannou: Well, there are two reasons for that. First, at the heart of a lot of travel stories is the conflict between people wanting something and being unable to obtain it. Winterbourne wanted Daisy Miller. Jake wanted Brett. K wanted Sumire. Alex, in many ways, wanted to reconnect with his roots but could not really do that. Still, I think this inability to get what you want, or came for, is the beginning of self-discovery.
 
Interviewer: There seems to be a lot of ambivalence in Alex’s character, was that intentional?
 
Ioannou: It was. Overall, I think Alex has no clue what he wants. He knows what he is supposed to do (find his great-uncle and break the horrible news) and he knows what he doesn’t like (the city, his life back home), but he isn’t quite sure on the specifics. That’s why at one moment he may admire the rural way of life, and the next want to leave. He isn’t really too sure of himself, and won’t be until he better understands his roots.
 
Interviewer: What are some of the elements of your story that you believe echo traditional travel narratives?
 
Ioannou: Even though its not explicitly said, I believe language plays a significant role in my story. First, Alex loses his phrase book and is unable to communicate with many people he encounters. He has the benefit of knowing some Greek, but as he points out the Cypriot dialect is very distinguished, so he has trouble fully understanding what is occurring around him. Even when he finds someone who is able to speak to him, he still feels lost and this touches on the theme of miscommunication. Dean and Alex may understand each other perfectly well, but as Alex points out, there is a still a distance between them because of their respective backgrounds. Alex’s conversation with Dean also touches on the idea of befriending the natives. Furthermore, the movement from the urban to the rural is an important aspect, since Alex is very tempted by the rural perhaps because his family has their roots their, or because he is tired of his urban life. Lastly, the description of places (especially rural places) is particularly common in travel narratives, such as The Sun Also Rises.
 
Interviewer: Speaking of The Sun Also Rises, I noticed a few allusions to the work. Was this intentional? Are there any other allusions in your story?
 
Ioannou: Yes, the allusion to The Sun Also Rises was intentional. When Dean asks Alex what he thinks of the village, Alex replies, “It’s remarkable” but notes that isn’t much for remarkable places. This is actually a quote from Harris, one of the natives that Jake encounters. Harris says this about the city, however. The purpose was to emphasize Alex discomfort in an unusual place. The description in the beginning is also meant for the reader to recall The Sun Also Rises when Jake goes into the country to fish. It was meant to emphasize the beauty of the rural area, since Jake was so focused on the beauty of his temporary pastoral life. Finally, Constantine—or Dean—is a reference back to On the Road. Like Dean Moriarty, the Dean of my story is used in order to fulfill our protagonist main quest. Sal used his Dean for experience and bliss; Alex uses his for information and a connection to his uncle.
 
Interviewer: Thank you.
 
Ioannou: Thank you.