...And Dreams Are Dreams

basement, took the bear by its chain and started to lead it up the stairs, but on the first floor he ran into an unusual congregation of young motorcyclists, probably motorcycle messengers who had been forced, because of a new law, to re-register their bikes. The hallway was packed solid outside the registry office, but the appearance of the white bear had a catalytic effect.

Where it had been impossible to get through, panic and terror soon opened a space; the officer and his animal passed through easily and continued up the stairs. Both officers and civilians laughed at the unusual spectacle; the bear, who had never been in a public building before, did not seem perturbed by anyone or anything.

Upon arriving at last at the lieutenant’s office, the bear came face to face with its boss, the gypsy, who threw himself on it sobbing woefully, like a poor man who has lost his sole possession. Unmoved by this display, the bear sat down and proceeded to follow what was being said about it, as if the discussion concerned another: did the bear have a license to circulate? Had the gypsy paid for a bear registration? Had the bear been cleared through customs? Since the bear had been imported, it must go through customs. The gypsy thought he was losing his mind.

“It’s from Ahladokambos, Lieutenant, it’s not imported. This country has bears, doesn’t it?”

“Bears come from the Soviet Union, from up north,” the white bear heard one man say.

“It’s Greek,” insisted the gypsy master. “Come on, Aliki, show them what the Socialists do in Parliament.”

And so, while the office filled up with more and more policemen, the bear did its usual routine, then it pretended it was a goalkeeper diving for the ball — it didn’t dive as far as it should have of course, because the space was limited, but in its desperate attempt to prove it was Greek, it did whatever it could.

“And how come it got away?” insisted the

lieutenant.

“I had gone, with all due respect, Lieutenant, to relieve myself. I left the bear outside the municipal restrooms, and when I came back out it was gone.”

“Okay, get going,” said the commissioner as he marched into the office. He had heard that there was a bear in the building and was afraid the tabloids would get wind of it. “Get lost!”

The gypsy, glad to have avoided a bureaucratic odyssey, declared he would take better care of the animal, took it by the chain and walked out. Outside on the street, he breathed with relief. “You better not disappear on me again, you fleabag, or I’ll wring your neck.”

— 5-

But Where Do I Fit into This Story?

I bought Aliki the bear from the gypsy at a disgracefully low price. He had wanted to get rid of the animal as soon as the holidays were over. He could no longer afford to feed it. This suited me fine, since I lived in a small villa in Halandri with a garden, and I wanted company. In this house lived people who had nothing to do with me — in a way I was putting them up by default — and I wanted to have an animal of my own, since I didn’t have a person of my own, or rather since I didn’t want to have one. People generally have a lot of problems, whereas animals only give you their devotion and love. At night, I would take the bear to my room and we would sleep side by side. I always intentionally present it as my companion.

All it needed was a few caresses. It loved me very much. It would look into my eyes, its eyes concealing the unknown land of its origin. And I would dream of arctic steppes or distant retreats where man had never set foot.

In any case, when you circulate with a bear, just like with a dog, you discover things that were not evident at first. Many places are forbidden to you, and moving around in general becomes difficult. An animal, of whatever kind, imposes upon you the circle of a powerful spotlight. You cannot go unnoticed.

People in the street will stop and stare. Women and children are fearful. They react atavistically to the sight of the animal that, very long ago, was their enemy.

During winter the bear did not suffer. But in the summer it seemed to have trouble with the heat. So I decided I would take my vacation time. I was going to show the bear Greece, but a Greece different than the one it had seen with its old master, the gypsy.

“Tomorrow we leave for Nafplion,” I announced one morning as I awoke.

It had been years since I had been to Nafplion, and I was amused at the thought of returning and seeing all my old acquaintances, accompanied by a bear. So we got into my Toyota. At the tollgate, I got my first snide remark. The bear was sitting next to me in the passenger seat, with its seat belt tightly fastened, perfectly behaved, and ignoring the mustachioed man who looked over at it mockingly as he handed me my receipt. At Corinth Canal I fed it ten souvlaki and from there we went straight to the new Xenia Hotel in Nafplion. I requested a room for two. Fortunately, there was one available.

“Two beds?”

“No, one double.”