Owl in the Rain
By Philip J. Lees
I had a haircut yesterday. I was going to ask the guy to give me a shave while he was at it, then just for a moment I met his eyes in the mirror and they were full of blood. I blinked and it was gone, but I took my haircut and left.
Afterwards, I went to the kafeneion and asked Yannis about the hairdresser. Yannis is my source of information about all the people around here.
“Ah, Ambrosios,” he said. He scratched his belly, a bad sign. “Better not the razor,” Yannis said. “Better not. Haircut yes, shave no.” It was a warm spring day, and the bougainvillea was spilling pink and purple over the green metal tables, but I felt a chill nonetheless.
“Is a problem,” Yannis said. “Ambrosios, his wife, she leave with other man.”
He picked up the tray from the table and polished it with a grubby cloth.
“Sometimes, Ambrosios, he look in mirror, see other man. Not good.”
“Not good,” I agreed. I rubbed my stubbly chin and felt lucky.
I didn’t stay long, because it clouded over and looked like rain. Greeks love bad weather. It gives them something to complain about. I left Yannis standing in the doorway, hands on hips, thumbs tucked into the strap of his apron, his moustache bristling at the sky in pleasant anticipation.
It was still raining at dusk, a light drizzle, enough to keep people indoors, but not to contribute appreciably to the water reserves. Ideal grumbling weather. I had the balcony doors open and was looking out at the dregs of the amber sun oozing through cracks in the cloud cover.
There was a scratching in the corner and two beady eyes emerged from the split in the floorboard, the one I’d been meaning to fix. A furry body vaulted into view, followed by a long, scaly tail. Not another one! I thought the poison had got them all. The rain must have driven it inside.
Like a cartoon cat, I jumped from my chair, grabbed a broom and chivvied the beasty along the wall, through the door and out on to the wet balcony. It stopped and so did I. I wasn’t going out in the rain, but no way was it coming back inside. Stalemate.
Not for long. Something moved in fast from the right, diagonally down, shocking in its silence. It paused for a freeze frame, then it was up again, wings beating, still no sound. It turned in the air and went back the way it came. The rat was gone.
Owls can’t fly far in the rain. Their feathers are too soft. They have to stay in shelter and swoop out to catch their prey quickly, then go back. A sudden sneak attack. It must have been perched in the olive tree next to the house.
§
Two weeks later. My hair grows fast in the spring, but Ambrosios’ place was closed, the shutters rolled down. I cast around for an alternative, but I’d left it late. Everywhere was closing for the afternoon break.
As I expected, Yannis supplied the reason. He went to scratch his belly, but then thought better of it. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked at the floor.
“Ambrosios dead,” he said. “He leave shop late. Raining. Then, poof! Nobody see. Ambrosios head. Bang! Smash! Ambrosios dead.”
Nobody saw, I thought, but everybody knows.
“Other man?” I asked.
Yannis shrugged. His hands wrestled with the dirty dish towel as if it was an enemy.
I thought of owls, and the rain.
- End -
© Copyright Philip J. Lees 2007