A lock, like most people, will open up with patience and a bit of kindness.
– Anonymous
Crime was said to be nonexistent on the island.
Cars were left unlocked, bicycles unchained and homes open. People set packages down on café tables and walked away for hours. They deserted boats and cars for weeks or months, leaving them by the roadside or decorating public squares. And once the owners returned, they found their things exactly as they had abandoned them.
The culture was quirky that way. A scarf someone found on the roadside would be tied to a nearby tree letting its owner know it wasn’t gone forever. A car parked in a narrow lane had the keys in the ignition in case someone needed to move it. And a jacket left at a restaurant was hung on a patio chair until the forgetful owner returned.
But it wasn’t just belongings. A ripe tangerine, fig or lemon hanging from someone’s tree was available to any who passed. All-night public parties drew the entire town and helped pay for civic improvements like new schoolbooks, a church bell, the construction of a library or travel expenses to another island for a boys’ basketball tournament.
Neighboring islands thought the inhabitants here were odd with their peculiar customs passed down through generations. In this place, people had once slept during the day and came out only at night. They’d hidden in camouflaged homes high in the mountains and learned how to survive off small farms, scraggy herds of sheep and goats, and the plants that grew in the wild. Even now their descendants foraged for food, grew their own fruits and vegetables and fished from the abundant sea. With a history of isolation and exile, the islanders forged strong community bonds that ensured no neighbor went without. And for Willie Dare, perpetual alien without home or country, he hoped to find his tribe among the island’s eccentric population.
Despite the language barrier, Willie felt confident he’d make friends. And when the woman who rented him a room met Willie and his wife at the dock, they “conversed” through pantomime and the few English words the woman with curly, blonde hair knew. So when Willie heard Irini say that keys weren’t necessary on the island, he took her at her word.
After all, his new landlady had demonstrated the point when she left two large bags filled with clothes and linens in the middle of the dock to make space in her tiny car for the Dare’s oversized luggage. As she maneuvered her car along the narrow road hugging the cliffside, Irini assured Willie her bags would be there when she returned to pick them up, “tonight, tomorrow, whenever.”
Arriving after midnight, Willie and Carrara waited until morning to investigate their new surroundings. And when they prepared to head out, Willie intentionally left the decorative keyring with a colorful blue ball and silver porpoise on the table by the front door. After all, hadn’t Irini confirmed in actions as well as words that a key wasn’t necessary?
The moment Willie closed the heavy wooden portal, he knew it was a mistake.
The outer knob was just a handle independent from the latch. And Willie suddenly recalled seeing the key dangling in the lock as Irini escorted them inside hours earlier. Because while the islanders seemed to have little use for keys, the Dare’s apartment clearly demanded one.
Locked out, Willie wondered how to get in touch with Irini while his wife, the clever Carrara Dare, stomped downstairs to find Stamatis, the owner of the restaurant directly below their apartment.
Though they’d met the middle-aged man with a mustache when they arrived, introductions had been brief. But now Carrara was ready to beg their new neighbor, an essential stranger, for aid. And after explaining how Willie left the key in the room, Carrara hoped the lanky restaurant owner had a way to contact their landlady.
Stamatis had something better. Loping away with his long-legged cowboy gait, he returned carrying a ladder. And as Carrara relayed the plan to Willie, explaining how he needed to clamber onto the restaurant roof, hop over the narrow balcony railing and enter the apartment from the porch where the Dares had a view of the Mediterranean, the couple looked up to see Stamatis already on their patio beckoning them upstairs.
Willie took the stairs two at a time, meeting Stamatis as he opened the front door to the apartment.
For weeks afterwards Willie would visit Stamatis at his restaurant, bringing morning pastries to share. And while the men sipped their coffee and ate the flaky pies stuffed with warm cheese, they laughed about the event. It wasn’t the way Willie had imagined getting to know his new neighbor, but then things rarely turned out the way Willie Dare, perpetual alien and dreamer envisioned. Yet somehow, life had a way of falling into place.
Like the blunder with a key that opened the door on an unlikely friendship.