Foolish Belonging

It was always warm during the summer. Not sticky, hot warmth. But golden, roasting warmth where even spending a whole day in the sun couldn’t quench your thirst. It was so insatiable - this sense of warmth, that people would follow the sun, almost worshipping it. They would climb to the top of the hill and as the sun rose and fell they would gather their picnic baskets and blankets, and books and tanning oil and shuffle to where the rays illuminated the stalks of grass. It was a spectacle in itself, but that wasn’t what brought people to Corfu.

Instead it was the crystal blue water which lapped against sandstone cliffs. It was the yams and peaches and olives and wine. It was the sandy beaches and ornate churches. And it was the culture which oozed through the cracked flagstones, seeped into the soundscape of chatter and music and was exuded by the locals.

The distinction between locals and visitors could not have been more apparent. With tanned bronze skin, olive eyes and thick black hair, the locals strutted - despite Araidne’s denial - whilst tourists clad in big sun hats and brown sandals revealing pasty white feet hurried through the streets burdened down by more luggage than could possibly be necessary. The troupe used to find it amusing watching them from their high perch on the big hill that overlooked both the sea and small town, and more often than not when asked for directions would send the tourists on goose chases.

“What better way to explore Corfu than when lost”, Kyros would remark, a boy gifted with a sense of unrivalled mischief.

However Mya couldn’t help but notice she also resembled that of the distasteful tourists, her straight blonde hair and fair complexion certainly prevented her from blending in with the locals. She did have the olive eyes, and after every summer her skin would be as dark as her cousins from the power of the glorious Greek sun but that didn’t stop it fading over the course of the year. Her mother had fallen in love with her father when he was visiting the picturesque island. It was something out of a romantic novel until they divorced when she was ten and from then on she lived in the city of Sydney only interrupted every summer sunning in Corfu.

There was no typical day in Corfu, each as changeable as the next. No responsibilities or deadlines or worries, the sky was the limit. And the sky in Corfu seemed to stretch on forever.

That afternoon the posse had sunned themselves almost to exhaustion on the big grassy hill. They descended down the slope as the sun was starting to set. It was never too long before one of them started running and soon all four were sprinting down the grass, across the cobbled paths to the modest family home they stayed at all summer. YaYa welcomed the breathless and panting rascals firmly seating them at the table to eat the honeyed peaches she had prepared, but as soon as her back was turned the four snuck out the back to sprawl under the pear tree at the bottom of the garden - Ariadne grabbing the peaches.

The pear tree had stood humbly in the garden for longer than even YaYa could remember, providing respite from the unrelenting sun for anyone who called upon it. But Mya liked to think it was really their tree, it was the fifth member of the crew. They had buried George under the tree - the local cat who used to follow them. They had reenacted monumental battles of pirates and princesses below it’s watchful branches. Ariadne had experienced her first kiss under the tree with a boy two years older than her, and Mya had cried under the tree later that night thinking he had loved her. Yet despite all the years the pear tree had stood for, it’s fruit had never ripened. Small, bitter, cherry-like fruit had sprouted for years but never had it turned sweet - for they knew that much, they had tried enough of them.

YaYa claimed that it just needed time. “When it’s ready, it will be sweeter than anything you have ever tasted”. But time was running out. Mya was sixteen and this was her last summer on the golden island before she had to knuckle-down at school and focus on her future - her dad’s words not hers. Everyone seemed to know. It was evident in the looks traded between the cousins. It hung in the air as they cliff jumped off the coast of Agios Gordios. Or when they stole into the night to ruminate under the blanket of stars and pretend they were carrying the world on their backs. Their little safe haven was ending. The summers of bare feet, blisters and banter. Of tom foolery and spontaneity was coming to a close.

It had been Kyros’ idea. One final hoorah to pay homage to the memories that had weaved the four troublemakers together. Kyros, Ariadne, Evander and Mya. Kyros said he knew someone, who knew someone who could get the fireworks - he always knew someone. Ariadne promised to convince YaYa to pack a four course meal, it was never hard to convince her to cook more food than necessary. As for the boat, Evander was adamant his father would let him take it - “or we can steal it if it comes to that”. Thankfully it didn’t. And as for Mya, she just needed to pick four of the ripest pears from the pear tree.

The sun was setting when the four reached the water. It almost looked like the sea was bleeding, an orangey-red leaked into the crystal blue. It almost reflected how Mya was feeling, the ache in her heart had only grown as she realised she was saying goodbye to a paradise she didn’t know when she would return to. The boat - if it could be called that - was a small metal dinghy with a spluttering excuse of an engine and as the four clambered in, it sank noticeably low. Evander assured them it would float, it carried his dad after all who was probably the size of all of them combined.

Following Kyros’ instructions Evander pointed the tiller towards the empty expanse that faced them. With the objective of not hitting anything Evander pulled the throttle and nothing but the roar of the engine to disturb the peace, all four were transfixed on the view ahead. The sea breeze streaming through Ariadne’s hair, a sense of tranquility washing over them all. They sat in silence for a while. They could do that even though they ignored each other's existence for the rest of the year, during summer they were family, inseparable.

“Here, this is it”. Kyros threw down the battered anchor causing the dinghy to lurch forward soaking the picnic basket at the bow. Giggles escaped from the corner of Mya’s mouth before erupting from Ariadne and Evander. Breathless and in stitches the three calmed down long enough to notice Kyros attempting to mop up the wet cardboard firecrackers stowed under the provisions which caused another cascade of cackles.

Not from lack of trying did the fireworks fizzle out pathetically, but even Kyros had had enough after trying unsuccessfully for the fifth time to light the Roman Candle. With the food wet and entertainment water-logged it only left the pears to be eaten. A seemingly insignificant aspect of the evening but with everything spiralling as it did, the pears were the only shot at redemption.

The sun had almost retired completely when the four took a bite together, hoping against hope that this time they would be sweet and ripe and juicy. And almost simultaneously did they spit out their bitter inedible bite straight into the sea. Mya only learnt years later that the pear tree had never been a true pear tree. It was simply an ornamental pear tree with fruit that would never ripen, no matter how long YaYa would wait. But they didn’t need to know that sitting in their little dinghy soaking in the little time they had left. Because even though the pear tree may have been fake, Mya had realised that despite the fact she looked so different, she belonged there just as much as any of them did.

But what did she know, even a pear tree had managed to fool her.