I'm in a small Greek town, in the late summer. Quiet streets, shuttered houses, sun and leaf shadows on the paving. Most Greeks away on their summer holidays, the bars and cafés quiet. I sit in a cafe on the main square sipping a tiny coffee, and gradually became aware of the interest of a pair of Greek girls a few tables away. They glance briefly at me, talk quietly together, glance again and look away if they notice me returning their gaze. One is plump and dark, the other slimmer with a narrower face, blonder hair and the classic Greek nose. The first is wearing a black vest, showing an ample brown cleavage, and beach shorts; the other, a long summer dress with a modest neckline. I finish my coffee and beckon to the café's owner for the bill.
When he comes over he says in English,
"Those two. They wants to know if you are from Englands."
"I am," I say. "From London."
Something makes me linger a little before leaving, and I look over at the girls who again look away much too obviously. They dawdle out of the cafe and stand half in and half out of the square. I take the plunge.
"You were right," I say. "I'm from England."
I say this in English, half in their direction and half to the air: they could take it or leave it. A pause while they look at each other and giggle.
Then,
"I could tell by your hair," the plump one says. "What is your name? Mine is Maria."
I tell them my name; they are Maria and Eleni. Every few seconds they exchange glances, and seem always on the verge of a mischievous chuckle.
Eleni says,
"Would you like to see my Uncle's house?"
She is quite pretty, with her long nose and slanting eyes. She mistakes my puzzlement for apprehension, and assures me,
"Don't worry. It is quite safe, my Uncle is not there."
So why would I want to see her Uncle's house? I don't know, but it's fun being with them and I'm happy to get further acquainted, so I go along. They lead me through the glare of the sunlit streets, walking as a pair just ahead of me. Now I can admire their figures in loose-fitting summer clothes. Eleni has a small shapely bottom under her dress; Maria has round bouncy buttocks and sturdy legs in her shorts. She glances round and guesses what I'm looking at. Did she just wink? These girls seem very self-assured: their shyness is just a polite veneer, perhaps.
We come to an ornate wooden door in a sunlit wall: Eleni unlocks it and we go in. Wow. From the glare of the street, we find ourselves in a shaded courtyard. A fountain plays in the centre, and around the sides is an arcaded cloister, with vines and a cushioned settee swing. It's quiet here, and there's an air of wealthy privilege. The absent uncle must be a grandee to own such a property. The girls ignore all this and whisk me into the (enormous, cool) kitchen where we sit on bar stools and drink fizzy lemonade.
They kick their shoes off and I do the same, feeling the cool tiles underfoot. They ask me about how I come to be in Greece, and I tell my story (college language scholarship, Athens summer school, travelling blah blah). Occasionally they exchange a few words in Greek and a conspiratorial look between themselves; I can make nothing of it. Eleni suggests shots of tsipouro to go with the lemonade: the local liquor makes us all garrulous and relaxed. Maria stands up, yawns ostentatiously and stretches: her breasts swell magnificently over the top of her vest.
"Would you like to see the house?" she asks.
I say of course, and we look into the vast opulent salon, the plush and cluttered parlour and even a small library.
