CELESTINA SUMBY, Australia

Celestina Sumby was born in 1973 and lives in Wellington, New Zealand. After spending two years travelling and working throughout East Asia and Europe, she has returned to complete her Bachelor of Arts. While her major is in Theatre and Film, she has also been studying Creative Writing at the Victoria University of Wellington.

Blue Sky Red Apples
by Celestina Sumby

-Oi, Rachael!

Mark, I think and smile a brief smile, not too encouraging, but not wanting to appear a snob. Too encouraging. Mark jogs over the road, nearly getting nailed by a truck and stops in front of me, breathless.

-You looking for a job?

I shrug my shoulders.
-dunno

I start to walk away with the intention of leaving Mark behind.

-We need pickers

I had once kissed Mark in the corner of a smoky bar, on one of those narrow stools with the vinyl, easy-to-wipe tops. I remember that because I kept sliding off its slippery surface, half-stumbling, half-drowning in tequila. We swapped numbers. I lost his amongst my clothes on the bedroom floor. He phoned. A number of times. I never returned his calls.

-I'm boss up at Kirkwoods

-Great. I flash a smile of support, a good-for-you Mark kind of smile; I'm-pleased kind of smile. This would be followed by the inevitable. Please, I think, don't ask, please, please, please

-You doing any thing at the moment?

I search for a viable career option
-I'm going to Greece, I say, why the hell not.

-Great. He smiles, a genuine smile of interest.

-Holiday?

-Work.

Mark raises his eyebrow, he could do that, you know-raise one eyebrow, half impressed, half in disbelief. I wasn't lying, that was my plan. After completing my degree in Classical Studies and spending every Friday night in the local fish and chip shop, staring at posters of blue sea and white washed houses sitting against a perfect blue sky, I thought, why not?

-Where are you going?

-One of the Ionian Islands. I was shocked that I could tell such an obvious lie-I had never been one for lying, but the truth was not an option, Mark wouldn't understand, might be angry even, a lot of people were, my Dad for instance.

-Which one?

-You wouldn't have heard of it, it's really small.

Mark raises his one eyebrow again. How did he do that? Any way what did I care what Mark thought, it was just one of those pride things. I don't have a lot of pride but I have enough to lie to a boy I grew up with and kissed on a barstool two years ago.

-Well if you need some money

-Yeah, maybe

-You ever done picking?

-Once, in the school holidays. When I was fifteen.

He raises his eyebrow again and smiles. He is mildly good looking, has sex appeal even, when he does that, that eyebrow thing. Felicity had once described him as a very good looking bloke and I reminded my self that blokes were not my type, not even drunk, leaning precariously on the edge of a bar.

-Well we're desperate

Desperate, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

-The job's yours if you want it.

He gives me his number for the second time and I say I'll call. Maybe, wasn't sure, I'd think about it.

-No worries

-Sure, fine and I shrug my shoulders to give the appearance that I really don't care. Which I don't, really.

God, picking apples, I'd be watching the sunrise, shiny smooth apples in both hands, all day. I'll never want to see one again, ever, which is sad because I like apples.

I had been out of work for two weeks. Then two months had rolled by, then two years. Two years since I'd left university and signed up. It would be a reason to get up in the morning I supposed. Lying in bed, till the sun was high in the sky, ashtray full to the brim. That wasn't true, I don't even smoke and I always got up before ten and I had never had any problems filling my days. I guess that's why I had never had any problems with being unemployed for so long. I had been thinking about Greece lately though, reminded every Friday sitting on the hard blue plastic chairs, waiting for one fish, one crabstick, half a scoop of chips!

Then I'd think Greece. I'd go and visit the home of Odysseus, Homer and what's his face. Greece, it sounded nice, maybe Felicity would be into it.

-About bloody time. Dad would say, then he'd hesitate

-When are you going to get ya self a real job? and he'd start raging about how useless the government was and bloody students and the bloody dole bludgers, his own daughter, never thought, blah, blah, blah

-Lovely dear. Mum would say,

-I used to work on an orchard once with a nice man called Jerry. Then she'd wonder why she married Dad and not some nice man called Jerry because Dad was a bloke and blokes weren't really her type. She'd miss me in the garden

-What will happen to my garden? She'll ask, genuinely disappointed.

-I'm going to Greece, I'll say.

-Why the bloody hell would you want to go to Greece for? it's too bloody hot, too many bloody Greek people.

Then he'd laugh at his own lame joke

-I went to Greece once. Mum would say

-Before I met your Father, I met a lovely man called Raymond.

Greece I thought, why not, may be Felicity would be into it. We had always talked about travelling.

-Greece. The word rolled off Rachael's tongue and made her smile. Ironic, Greece, Greece and greasy fish and chips, then she laughed at her own lame joke.

Three years ago my mate Dennis went back to visit his family in Greece. He came back three months later with plenty of duty-free booze, cigarettes, one hell of a tan and loads of good stories.

In 1950 his grandfather had caught a boat bound for Australia, where the weather was hot and he was told there would be plenty of good Greek women, just waiting for him to marry. The boat went to New Zealand instead and he immediately got offered work as a farm hand, in Greytown.

-Where the hell is Greytown? He asked

-How the hell should I know, answered the immigration officer.

There was only one Greek woman in Greytown and she was as cold as the weather, but she could cook. So they married and had children, who married and also had children, which is where Dennis comes into the picture with his dark hair and olive skin and dark brown eye's and his nose, his nose you cannot miss, at school we called him Caesar.

So Dennis goes back to the homeland and he swears he'll find a beautiful Greek Goddess called Helena, cause we'd just finished studying about Troy and Paris. When he arrives his Aunts and Uncles and cousins and second cousins pour all over him, he's a celebrity and he doesn't meet a Helena but he meets a Lesa, a Mira, a Fanola and so on and so on. He swears he's going back as soon as possible.

-Mark, it's paradise. He says

-It's the home of the Gods, white pebbles, blue sea, blue sky, white houses, green trees and beautiful women

-Your Grandfather came here?

Dennis shrugs, lies back and closes his eyes. Outside the sky is grey and the small drift of people move a long the street in and out of shop doors, brown cords, green jerseys, black oilskin jackets.

Two years ago Dennis' cousin comes out. Her name is Lambrini. Her eyes are the colour of liquid honey and her skin is soft, soft and olive, with fine hair that stands on end when you touch her arms. White teeth, thick hair, long legs. It's a cliché, I know but I fall in love, straight away. Dennis say's

-You touch her, I kill you, understand?

Who the hell does he think he is? He laughs and says he's only joking, just don't touch her. Okay. This isn't a question.

For two weeks I don't touch her. We talk, we go to movies she doesn't understand, we go for long walks in the rain across paddocks covered in gorse and cow shit. She says she likes it here. I say I like it here too, but I could be tempted to go to Greece, may be. She shrugs her shoulders

-Sure she says
-Maybe

After two weeks she leaves. For two weeks I can't get up in the morning, I feel sick. I spend my time watching my mother's collection of old musicals, where the guy always gets the gal. I watch High Society over and over again; I begin to sing along to the songs. When Dennis comes over he says

-What the hell is this shit?

-dunno

Dennis is seriously worried.

-We're going out he says

-Sure

When I'm getting dressed I find this piece of paper in the pocket of my jacket. It's small and crumpled and torn at the edges. It says

I miss you

This is all. I know it's from Lambrini because it's written in a way where the tense is all-wrong, it even smells of her. I breathe it in and put it back in my pocket, swearing to treasure it for the rest of my life, swearing to go to Greece and marry her.

Dennis plies me with liquor. Tequila actually, which isn't quite the same. We end up in this bar on Dickinson St. It's dark and smoky and I can't see a thing. Dennis yells some thing at me

-Are you having a good time?

I don't know, I don't know what the hell is going on, I'm so off my head. Next thing I know I'm kissing Rachael, Rachael from school, Rachael who lives down the road.
We swap numbers.

When I wake up two days later I discover the note is gone. When I realise what's happened I phone Rachael. A number of times, to explain, to get the note back.
She never returns my calls.

Every time I see Rachael, I am reminded of Lambrini, I can't help it. I am reminded of what a complete stupid wanka I was, I am reminded of blue sky, blue sea, golden sun, golden sand. This sounds a bit strange but it's true.

This is my last season here, I've saved enough to do a bit of travelling, see the world, that sort of thing. Dennis and I are travelling together, we're going to Greece, his Uncle owns a restaurant on one of the islands. Then it's back to Dennis' homeland to visit the family. Lambrini's phoned, say's she's looking forward to seeing me again.

-Sure I say
-It'll be nice.