Kosta
is the un-crowned King of the Kamakis. There is no question about it. First
of all, I know that you are wondering what a Kamaki is. It translates literally
as harpoon. What it means is Casanova. It's practically a profession in
Greece. It's seasonal and the pay is meager, but it keeps the young men,
and some older ones, busy during the summer. Most of the victims are tourist
girls. Actually all the victims are tourist girls and many of them would
not classify themselves as victims. Many women, mostly from cold Scandinavian
countries, come to Greece with the intention of spending their vacation
with one or a few of these semi-professional hot-blooded lovers. A trip
to Greece without a romantic experience would be an empty one. I have been
told that on islands like Rhodes and Kos where there are hourly flights
from Stockholm, Oslo and Copenhagen, the Kamakis are organized. They know
that the bars with the most Kamakis will be the ones that the women flock
to. If they are not being paid for sex they should at least get their drinks
for free. They say that one summer they went on strike and nearly crippled
the tourist industry. Luckily the bar owners and union negotiators came
to terms after several closed door bargaining sessions.
But I don't care what anybody
says. There is no better Kamaki then Kosta who could also be labeled the
W.B. Yeats of Ceramics. He is acknowledged as one of the modern masters
on an island whose history of ceramica goes back a thousand years or more.
Kosta has realized the connection between sexuality and creativity,
just as WB Yeats had nearly a century ago when he had the gonads of an
ape implanted to enhance his when he feared that age was diminishing it.
This won't be a problem for Kosta. The line between sexuality and creativity
is clearly drawn. Ceramics and painting is for the long, cold and lonely
winter. The summer is for sex.
Nobody knows how many women
Kosta has slept with. Some say thousands. Others say none. The truth lies
somewhere in between. But he is a man larger then life, dark and handsome,
driving past the cafes of Kamares with three beautiful Swedish blondes
on the back of his vintage BMW motorcycle, his new Alpha-Romeo, or in his
speedboat, on his way to the Greek music nightclubs of Appolonia where
he will entertain them with acrobatic dancing, back flips and jokes about
the government. "I no worry about AIDS", he says in his charming broken
English. "Papandreau fuck everybody in Greece and he no have AIDS." And
even as he is promenading on his motorcycle, the envy of every man who
would be happy with just one of the beautiful blondes, he is oblivious
to them because he is busy scanning the cafes for more women.
"I think you have sex last
night", he says to me. "I know because your eyes very clear like the sky."
He's right.
"Last night I pass by your
house and I hear you have very good sex. I very happy for you so I give
you one ceramica." Ah ha. So that's how he knows. Sure enough he comes
back with a beautiful vase glazed and decorated with painted flowers that
I give to my mother as a gift when I return to America.
One summer we were in love
with the same girl. She happened to be my girlfriend. I was living in Old
Markos hut and she was a tourist girl from Denmark who I had met one night
at the Old Captain and invited her to move in with me. Every morning I
would wake up and go out the front door for a swim. Every morning I would
painfully step on a sticker bush that I assumed the wind had blown against
my front door. It never occurred to me that someone was leaving a sticker
bush for me to step on because they were jealous as they watched me and
my summer love at night. It wasn't until Lefteris gave me a blow by blow
account of my previous night's activity that I realized what was going
on. I approached Kosta and confronted him. "You make love so beautiful
I very jealous." I was flattered but asked him not to leave the sticker
bush anymore. "Is OK that I make looky-look?" he asked. I told him that
I didn't care. Actually I knew I couldn't stop him so why make him feel
bad about it. He embraced me and looked like he would cry in happiness.
"Wait here", he said. He was back in a flash with a ceramica. Another gift
for my mother.
Unfortunately I made the mistake
of telling my girlfriend who never slept with me again, luckily for my
mom.
Every night at the Old Captain,
Dorian would play a special song on guitar by Theodorakis that Kosta would
sing to whatever girl he brought into the bar or had seen in the bar and
was trying to impress. He had no voice and no ear but it was very sweet
and people would applaud loudly. The balcony of his house overlooked the
courtyard of the Old Captain so Kosta always had a clear view of what
the customers looked like and whether or not it was worth coming down and
singing his song.
I often asked him for a ride
on his speedboat but he told me that it was bad luck to have a man on the
boat. He did invite all of my girlfriends though.
"I love you. I want to marry
you" he says to the new girl drinking a coke at a cafe. It's as good a
line as any because two minutes later I see her watching in admiration
at his shop while he molds a piece of clay into a beautiful shape. Then
they drive off for lunch to the taverna at Chrysopigi. Will she sleep with
him? Nobody knows for sure, because though he will openly admit to failure
("Last night self-service"), he's not the locker room boaster that most
Kamakis seem to be ("Last night I slept with eleven virgins".)
He's always the talk of Kamares.
Most breakfast conversations start out with "Did you hear what Kosta did
last night..." and then continue as newcomers are filled in on his exploits
as we repeat all the stories we know by heart.
"Why you say lies about me?"
he asks Yon from Holland who was trying to protect the virtue of a female
fellow traveler. Kosta is angry and gesturing wildly but soon they make
peace and he is smiling. "Now we must show all the people we are friends.
You must ride on the back of my motorcycle." A rare honor for a male. Minutes
later they are riding down the street smiling and waving to the strangers
seated at the cafes like they are part of a parade.
His parents want him to get
married, which is not surprising because he is well over forty. He confided
in me when I asked him about it one night. "Yes, for me this is the most
important thing. When I fall in love and I get married I will never look
at another woman again. All the girls who come here they like me for ha-ha
and then they go away."
They say Kosta went to Sweden
for a cup of coffee. He had fallen in love and took the three day train
ride from Athens to Stockholm. When he arrived, his true love met him at
the station and told him she had a new boyfriend. They had coffee together
and he got right back on the train and went back to Athens.
The King of the Kamakis. I
used to be alone often, thinking about guys who have lots of women, wishing
I could be more like them. And here is Kosta, with three women on his
motorcycle, two more in the cafe, dozens on the horizon. He's the King
of the Kamakis. And he's just as lonely as anybody else.
Matt Barrett
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