Zorba and the Racks

            

"You are an early riser!"

I was.  And it was already oppressively hot in Atlanta, at 4:30 am.  I needed to catch the first flight out.  But I could not sleep the 4 hours I was counting on upon when returning  at midnight to my freezer-like hotel room. 

It was Game Four between the Celtics and Lakers, and I decided to postpone sleeping, unwillingly. The lamb rack with garlic, the artichoke with garlic, and the pureed chick peas with garlic were wide awake in me.  Or, perhaps it was the Lebanese anise liqueur that the lovely waitress generously poured into a water glass.  There was more tension in me than there was on the Lakers home court 53 seconds before the end of the game.

"Yeah, have been out here since 3 am.  Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping."

I put my head back and hoped for a cat nap till we get to the airport.

"Kazandjian-- that is a nice Armenian name."

There goes my nap, I realized.

"And, how do you know that?" I inquired.

"I am Greek.  Nikos Mavromatis. We know Armenians."

Then, looking at me through the visor mirror, "Do you know our national novelist Nikos Kazantzakis?  May be you guys are related!"

May be I will sleep during the flight, I consoled myself.

"Yeah, Zorba was my hero."

"I was born in Atlanta from Peloponnesian parts,” he said.  “My parents talked about the old country till their last breath."

"We are all immigrants," I agreed. 

"I do not remember much about Zorba, but only a few lines,” he continued. “Do you know how Zorba justified sleeping with married women?"

Ha!  I guess Nikos did not worry that some customer would be offended and complain to the office.  And Nikos could lose his job.  But it was too early in the morning for such worries.

"You wonder why I ask such an unusual thing, yes?"

Yes.

"Well, your name brought back memories of that novel I read when I was young. I apologize, sir, if I overstepped."

Charming!

"Ok Nikos-- how did he justify sleeping with married women?"

"He said that he returned them in better shape than he found them."

And Nikos did not laugh.  He did not wink.  Nor did he comment on Zorba's questionable rationale.  Nikos was a man of facts.

... I always cherish simple moments during travel.  An oasis of a time when unexpected tremors, incomprehensible encounters, or when an unusual thought is shared between two strangers with passion, perhaps because they know they will never meet again.

I was about to ask why he thought I would welcome such questions.  But his phone rang.

"Ehlooh!" he prompted.

I was contemplating the strong, eclectic, familial, dominating and victorious architecture of downtown Atlanta.  It was still dark.  It was warm outside.  And Nikos was now laughing over the phone.

"I thought I had heard it all," he said while folding his cell phone and carefully placing it in a special pouch on the dashboard.  "See, there is this mechanic who comes to my house to maintain my car.  He just called..."

"To say that...” but I controlled my tongue at the last second.  No, his mechanic could not have had read Zorba.  And he could not have just called to talk about Nikos' wife…

"Well, to say that he is not going to come this morning because his bitch is in labor!"

"I am sure you understand that, Nikos," I said.  These are important moments.  I am sure he needed to be there."

"Hec.  She seems to deliver fine every year by herself.  And eat her own placenta when no one is looking!"

Now I felt a bit lightheaded.  The Lebanese lamb rack with garlic moved again in my stomach.  I could count the times chick peas with garlic bounced around the lamb rack.

"Nikos, what the hec are you talking about?"

"Man's best friend, they say.  Well, I guess some dogs are better than some women," he suddenly became pensive. "They will always welcome you home.  They will not tell you how to drive.  They will not wear wool socks to bed!"

Nikos was on a roll.  I just let him be.

"I once watched Cesar (somebody) on National Geographic.  It was about psychotherapy for dogs.  He is amazing!  No dog was ever too big for him.  He changed all behaviors."

Now, I was getting upset that we were getting close to the airport.  I wanted to know more about Cesar-the-Mexican who now lives in LA and treats celebrities' pooches.

"But you know, Armenis filomou, no dog can be changed without first changing the master.  Cesar said that-- I think he is right.   One cannot change without changing context and friends."

"You are a philosopher, Nikos," I exclaimed.  "Do you always treat your customers to such delightful discussions?"

He smiled.

"No, very rarely."  Then, with a wink he added "last night my wife made the worse lamb racks on the grill.  I did not tell her anything, but could not sleep all night.  Tums do not help, yogurt did not help."

And, as I was going to laugh my brains out, he added:

"It was good I had the assignment to pick you at 5 am-- drank my coffee early with a sweet koulourakia.  Poly orea!"

As I said "Yassoo" to Nikos, I realized that through Zorba and Cesar, he had shaped a simple philosophy of life.  One where bitches deliver alone.  And husbands do not tell their wives how bad dinner was.

June 13, 2008
©Vahé Kazandjian, 2013