Open Writing

It was 1968 and as a result of the military coup in Greece young Greeks were emigrating to every corner of the world to escape the tyranny of the colonels.

Dimitrios was one of these. I was 22 and returning from a year in Europe when I met him on board the liner Spartacus. He was one of a group of young men going to Australia to start a new life.

He was an extremely handsome man. A veritable Adonis, he was tall with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He had a smooth olive complexion, a head of loose dark curls which tumbled almost to his shoulders, the finely sculpted bone structure of an aristocrat, lips which begged to be kissed and dark brooding eyes which spoke of nights of passion. He was the type of man every red blooded woman dreams of.

The first time I saw him he was standing alone by the rail of the ship. For one fleeting moment I thought I saw him throw something over the side. He looked up as I approached. Our eyes met and he smiled. I knew in an instance that although I was travelling alone my journey was not going to be a lonely one.

Over the next few days we became close. Very close. But not as close as he would have liked.

One afternoon towards the end of the journey, I allowed him to persuade me to go with him to his cabin. I assured myself it would be okay as I’d leave before things became out of hand.

Once in his cabin he took me in his arms and kissed me. “Maghapas, Carol?” he crooned. “Saghapo para poli agapemou.”

“Dimitrios,” I said, “you’ll have to speak English if you want me to understand you.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “I want you, all of you. Stay in my cabin the whole night and let me take you to paradise.”

“The only way that’s going to happen is if you marry me,” I quipped.

“Agapemou,” he smiled, “just as soon as we get to Melbourne, I will marry you. Now take off all of your clothes.”

“If I married you it would be bigamy, Dimitrios.”

“Bigamy? What is bigamy? I do not know this word.”

“It means marrying somebody when you’re already married.”

“No problem. I’m not married.”

“Dimitrios, I saw you throw your wedding ring into the sea,” I said, looking at the third finger of his left hand, which showed obvious signs of having recently sported a ring.

He didn’t flinch.

“Greek divorce,” he said. “Every Greek man on this ship has thrown his wedding ring away. We don’t love our wives. These girls were found for us by our parents. We go in Australia and find our own wives.”

“You can go to gaol for bigamy,” I warned.

“Bah, nobody will find out,” he mumbled as he carried on snogging me and trying to tear my clothes off.

He didn’t know it, but by admitting he was married, there was no way he was going to get me to stay in his cabin.

“I think we should be just friends,” I suggested. “Let’s go for a swim.”

“No,” he said, sinking to his knees and grabbing around the ankles. “No swim. I beg you, stay with me. I show you paradise. I marry you. No problem.”

“Get up,” I said crossly, “I’m not impressed with your Greek dramatics.”

“Bah! You drive me crazy,” he said realizing he’d lost the battle.

“I think you’d be wise to bring your wife to Australia,” I said as I got up to leave.

“Being alone in a strange country isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

We continued to keep company until we reached Melbourne a few days later, although I was careful not to get into any compromising situations.

In Melbourne Dimitrios disembarked and I continued on to New Zealand. I gave him my address, even though I didn’t expect to hear from him as he found writing English difficult. Nevertheless, almost a year later I received a postcard. It read:

My darling Carol,
Thank you for your advice. Next year I go in Greece and bring my wife back in Australia. P.S If you come in Melbourne we have very good time. I show you paradise.