THE SPOOKISH GUITAR
By Vassilis C. Militsis
Lounging in the pleasant warmth of the Thessaloniki University Library, I was absorbed in Virgil’s Aeniad – a carryover subject, and my last chance to pass it at the December exams. Quidquid id est. Timeo Danaos et dona ferentis. The last word intrigued me: why ferentis and not ferentes? The poet must have written it so to suit the meter of the verse. Anyway, little did I care!
Although I had been sitting there since noon – it was already dusk and the library would shortly close for the day – I was loath to leave, as it was so bitter cold outside that it pierced down to your bones. It was St. Nicholas’ Feast Eve and the temperature outside was below zero. Except for the cold, it was dry though the sky was overcast with dull clouds like lead. The winter of ’67 was one of the harshest.
The time for the library to close had already come and I went out shivering. You see, my financial condition, as that of the majority of students, was not blooming at all. Dressed rather in light clothes for the season I could not help shivering and stop my teeth from chattering. Involuntarily it occurred to me the passage from the gospel ‘the gnashing of teeth”. I headed to the bus stop to get on No 15 for Saranta Ekklisies, the city quarters where I shared with two more roommates a rented apartment without heating. I got on the bus hurriedly and rode off at the stop before the end – not to go home but to Uncle Joseph’s café-cum-tavern to have something to eat, on credit of course, as was our wont. We usually had lunch at the Students’ Club, making use of special vouchers issued by the priest of our parish, approved naturally by the junta police. The meal cost only the symbolic price of 92 drachmas. As far as breakfast was concerned, there was no question about it – most of the times we went without it. On that day, I clearly remember, the lunch was cuttlefish stew – the cook failed to clean it from the sea sand – and lettuce salad aside, in which the chef dripped oil with a perforated ladle.
After my frugal evening supper, I did not dare to go home, which was a proper freezer. I counted the little change I had and realized that it was enough to watch a film at a second rate movie house. (First rate houses cost 11.50 drachmas, and second rate ones 9.50). Walking down the street from that quarter – I wanted to spare 0.80 drs for the bus fare – I arrived at the Ideal movie house, where two horror pictures were shown. I got a ticket, either to get out of the freezing cold or due to morbid interest and I immediately entered the projection room. As it was expected, the pictures were of low quality, but the scenes were really horrifying without reaching the point of revulsion. I watched the films to the end; the show ended at midnight.
Leaving the cinema, I picked up again the way uphill on foot, and after twenty minutes I arrived at our apartment freezing to death. I climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor – an elevator was a luxury – and with numb fingers I put the key into the keyhole. I was looking forward to meeting my roommates in order to entertain my utter dejection in their camaraderie, but neither was there. Who knows where they must have also been mucking around because of the cold? I went into my gelid room ready to fall into bed. The bed covers were in the position I had left them when I had got out of bed in the morning. They were just ready for me to snuggle up under them and fall asleep. Before getting into bed, I went to the toilet to brush my teeth, but on turning on the tap, there was no water. The pipes had frozen from the extreme cold.
I returned to my room cursing my ill fate and losing no time, I curled up under the covers. It was of no avail; I felt so cold; so I got out of bed and put on again my trousers and socks over my pajamas. Still I went on shivering and I got up again and this time I donned my overcoat and got a new pair of socks on my hands in lieu of gloves. I began to feel a little warm and was about to put out the light when with one end of my blanket I knocked down my guitar, which stood upright against the wall. I picked it up and put it again in its former position. I finally turned off the light and shoved my head into the covers. After a while I began to surrender in the sweet embrace of Morpheus. I was in that stage of sleep between the conscious and the unconscious, when I heard my guitar strumming on its own. I woke up in terror and listened tensely. After some moments the guitar chords throbbed again: twang, twang… I was really in blue funk. What with the horror films and this eerie event in the midst of the night I was scared stiff. I dreaded turning on the light lest I would come face to face with a vampire playing the guitar and smirking at me. Finally, mustering all my courage, I turned on the light. And what did I see? Three to four cockroaches were marching upon the guitar and with their tiny legs were making that sound while attempting to scramble over the chords.
As if the cold was not enough, I freaked out, as well. At that time my honorable roommates returned to their base – God knew from where – and I told them of the incident and the fright it gave me. Whether they believed me or not, it is of no consequence, as they poked so much fun at me for my superstitious fear.
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