‘Joran’s Song’ by Dave Gregory

There’s something about travelling to far off lands that allows us to imagine ourselves as someone a bit different from our at-home self. Someone, perhaps, a little braver, a little bolder — maybe even a little more bust-a-move-y. In ‘Joran’s Song’ by Dave Gregory, we meet a backpacker who learns all the right moves, and becomes a little braver and bolder along the way. Sail away with us to Greece, and enjoy this excerpt from Issue 27, Summer 2020.

Joran’s Song

by Dave Gregory

I knew him less than twenty-four hours. But when he died, fifteen years later, I considered him a friend.

The night we met, he had the nerve to tell me, “You’re trying too hard.”

My right eyebrow leapt halfway up my forehead. “Excuse me?” I was in a small but crowded hotel bar on the Greek island of Syros, ordering a second round of drinks for some women in the corner. Beside me, on a stool, sat a short dark-haired man with sun-drenched skin.

 “They’re backpackers. They seek adventure, not potential husbands.” Clipped sentences were the best anyone could do above the blaring speakers. “You’re bragging about law school. They won’t remember who studied where. Or who bought drinks. They’ll remember who had the cojones to dance with them.”

He had a point. “Maybe. Puts me at a disadvantage, though. I can’t dance.”

“Madre mía. Everyone can dance.”

He dismissed my helpless shrug, told me to forget the drinks, and led me to the quieter, cooler terrace. A dozen hotel guests, talking and drinking beer, occupied tables and chairs beneath a sloped white awning. Some sat on stools at the long counter, watching reflections of city light shimmer across the bay.

“I’m Joran, from Mexico. I’ll teach you moves any white boy can do.”

His smile reflected innocence. I was intrigued rather than offended.

“Can you shop?” he asked.

“What?” That eyebrow again.

“Show me how you push a cart.”

I played along and extended my arms, elbows slightly bent.

“Now to the beat.” Joran balled his fists and reached out. His voice changed to song. “And shop. And shop.” He bounced to the music coming from inside the hotel. “Top shelf on the left.” He acted each line. “And put it in the cart.”

I followed. Keeping one arm steady, I raised the other and reached for an imaginary overhead item, then dropped it in the pretend cart.

“Now, top shelf on the right. And put it in the cart. And shop. And shop.”

Long aisles of boxed cereals, jarred sauces, and canned vegetables materialized around us.

Joran kept bouncing, every reach was a dramatic flourish until his hands returned to the tubular handle of the make-believe cart. “And shop and shop and shop,” he continued singing, pushing and selecting groceries.

Three backpackers on the terrace stared and laughed. Joran’s moves looked absurd until I peered through the windows and noticed the dance steps, the ones everyone inside the bar had been doing all night, weren’t so different from those Joran had just taught me. His were funnier but no less fluid or rhythmic.

“Now sprinkler.” Joran put the palm of his right hand behind his head and pointed the other arm in the same direction as his right elbow. “And sprinkler. And sprinkler.” Pumping with his bent arm, he watched the fingers on his left hand sweep in a steady arc. Joran twisted his upper body as far as he could without shifting his feet, then stopped pumping.

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Pulp Literature Issue 27, Summer 2020 here!

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Dave Gregory is a Canadian writer who worked on cruise ships and sailed the world for nearly two decades. He is an associate editor with the Los Angeles-based Exposition Review, and his work has appeared in numerous literary publications, including Typehouse, Firewords, and The Nashwaak Review. Follow him on Twitter @CourtlandAvenue or at courtlandavenue.wordpress.com.