The House by the River

by Lena Manta

  “Everything! Whatever we have is here, Melissanthi: the fields, the house, the river.”

  “There are fields everywhere, and houses all over the world!” she insisted. “And if there’s no river beside them, what does it matter?”

  “No, child, that won’t happen. If I go, I’ll feel like I’ve been uprooted and I couldn’t bear that.”

  “Yes, but then you’ll be keeping us here too.”

  “What are you saying, Melissanthi? How am I keeping you here? You were born here. This is your place, your land.”

  “Wherever the land is, is a homeland. That’s what I say!”

  Theodora was silent and turned her gaze again to the river. If all her girls had the same mentality, then her mother was completely right: a great loneliness awaited her. “I don’t know what the future has in store for us,” she said to her daughters. “But I’ll tell you something to remember this hour by: life is like the river that flows in front of us. It carries you easily with it and pulls you wherever it’s going. And a river doesn’t come back. If it takes you away, you can’t come back. Always be careful of the river . . . make sure it doesn’t carry you away.”

  She was silent again as she continued thinking. The girls contemplated their mother’s advice, except for the youngest, who didn’t understand a word of what she was saying. But she saw that all her sisters were paying attention, and so she began to throw pebbles into the water to keep herself from getting bored. She was surprised when she heard her mother call attention to her idle game.

  “Watch what Magdalini’s doing,” said Theodora. “She’s throwing stones in the water. But none of them move from the place where they fell. The river doesn’t carry them because of their weight. Wherever they fall, that’s where they stay.”

  “Is that what you want for us too?” asked Melissanthi again. “To become stones so we’re not dragged away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then didn’t it occur to you that stones sink just because they’re stones, Mother? They reach the bottom and they stay there; they don’t go anywhere! I’d rather be a little branch and travel than a stone and drown at the bottom of the river.”

  Theodora looked at her daughter and then at the others. It was obvious that they agreed with their sister, even if they didn’t understand the full meaning of her words.

  “You’re a very clever girl, my daughter,” she observed tenderly.

  “Father used to say the same thing,” the girl said with a laugh.

  “Every one of you will do whatever is in store for you, and what that is, only God knows. I hope I won’t lose you, but if it’s for your good, let that be! Just remember that as long as I live here this house will exist, and the door will be open to all of you.”

  A week after Melissanthi finished middle school, the matchmaker came to the house with her first suitor. He was a young lad from the village, twenty-six years old, and from a good family, but Melissanthi rejected him without a second thought.

  “If I’m to marry someone who’ll offer me the same life I’ve led since I was born, I can do without him!” she declared disdainfully, and Theodora gave her a worried look.

  It was quite clear that Melissanthi wouldn’t accept anyone from the village. Tactfully, Theodora told the matchmaker she might want to consider bringing someone from Katerini. But three months later, Melissanthi also rejected a businessman from there, and Theodora became even more concerned.

  The following year, a public works project brought new residents to Katerini, people who took the opportunity to get to know the broader region. Fokas Karapanos was a civil engineer from Thessaloniki who became enchanted by the village in the shadow of Mount Olympus with its stone-paved streets, tall chestnut trees, and magnificent view of the sea. He was also enchanted by the beautiful eyes of Julia.

  He met her one day when he was drinking coffee in the village café, when Julia dropped by on her way home from school. Julia’s grandfather was also in the café, and Julia and her sisters came in to talk to him. Fokas couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful girl. At first, Julia noticed him only in the way she noticed any unknown face. But his gaze—the way he looked back at her with interest—made an impression on her. Their second meeting took place one afternoon when Julia was coming back from her grandmother’s house and Fokas was taking a walk, admiring the nature and the view. He could hardly believe his eyes when he ran into the girl. She stood still as he approached and he smiled at her.

  “Look, here we are meeting again!” he said confidently to her.

  Julia feigned ignorance. “Do you know me?” she asked.

  “We haven’t been introduced, I realize, but I saw you a few days ago at the café,” Fokas explained, looking a little embarrassed. “You came in to talk to some gentleman and you were with some other girls.”

  “Oh . . . yes!” said Julia slyly as if she’d just remembered. “It was my grandfather; my sisters and I went in to talk to him. What are you doing in our neighborhood?”

  “I’ve recently come to Katerini with a group of engineers in connection with a road that’s being built. But I love your village and I often come here when I have some free time.”

  “What do you like about the village? It doesn’t have anything special.”

  “Except for you?” he asked and the girl blushed. “Your village, Miss . . .”

  “My name’s Julia.”

  “And I’m Fokas. So, Miss Julia, since you live here you may not realize it, but this area has something special, something wild and at the same time peaceful and calming. The air here is quite special. It smells of pines and earth. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  Fokas also couldn’t explain anything else that happened after that. Julia haunted his days and nights. She became an obsession, and he did everything he could to turn up in her village and see her.

  Theodora noticed that her daughter had suddenly lost her appetite and was always ready to run errands outside the house and take the goats to pasture—duties that she, like her sisters, had always tried to avoid, even to the point of quarreling. It didn’t take much for her to understand what was going on. It may have been many years since she’d fallen in love with Gerasimos and invented all sorts of excuses to leave the house and meet him, but the memories were still fresh. Who, she wondered, was the lucky man?

  The roof nearly fell in when she saw Fokas standing in front of her, asking for Julia’s hand. Fokas told her sincerely how he loved her daughter, how he wanted to marry her, how he did not expect a dowry, nothing else mattered to him. But Theodora would have to accept that he would take her away with him as soon as the wedding was over because he lived in Thessaloniki. For the first time since her husband’s death, Theodora understood how alone she was, and how much need she had of a second opinion. Her daughter had made it clear that she loved Fokas and wanted to marry him. She also contrived to make it understood that even if Theodora didn’t give her consent, she would follow him.

  Her own mother and father accepted the news calmly, which surprised Theodora.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked them, irritated by their attitude. “I tell you that my child is going to marry a foreigner, a man I know nothing about, and on top of that, he’ll take her away to Thessaloniki!”

  “What do you want us to say?” her mother answered. “Julia is not a little girl anymore.”

  “And he’s about to turn thirty! So he’s younger than Gerasimos when he ran off with you,” her father chimed in. “And anyway, from what you’ve told us, he’s educated, handsome, and the main thing—he loves your daughter! What more do you want?”

  “It’s not so simple, Father. Julia . . . how can I put this?”

  “Julia is the first of your birds to fly the nest, and that’s always painful,” her mother told her with understanding. “That’s what I felt like when poor Lefteris told me you’d secretly married Gerasimos. So let the little bird you’ve hatched fly, because whatever you do, you won’t achiev
e anything if you try to stop it.”

  Theodora knew how much truth lay in her mother’s words. She gave Julia and Fokas her blessing, the wedding took place a few months later, and the couple left for their new life. Just before they got into the car to drive off, Theodora found her daughter standing beside the river, staring sadly at the water.

  “What’s going on, Mrs. Karapanos?” she asked her cheerfully. “Maybe now that you’re leaving, you’re regretting it?”

  “No, Mother. Fokas loves me and I love him. I’ll be happy wherever I go with him. But I never expected to leave here. This house by the river was my whole world.”

  “That’s what happens when a girl marries.”

  “And to think that Melissanthi was always the one in a hurry to leave.”

  “Her time will come. You make sure that you are happy. And if something goes wrong, if it’s not all you dreamed it would be, the river won’t take this house—it’ll always be here.” Mother and daughter hugged each other, tears wetting their cheeks.

  And a little cloud of dust from Fokas’s car was the last memory Theodora had of her second daughter.

  Apostolos Fatouras was a major tobacco merchant in Athens. At thirty-nine, he was already a widow. His wife had died in an accident two years earlier, leaving him a huge fortune. Her wealth was, in fact, the reason he’d married her; he was honest enough with himself to admit that and he certainly didn’t intend to remarry. He led a happy life and was never lacking in female company because first, he was a very handsome man, and second, his money was a significant advantage. The fact that he didn’t have children didn’t bother him at all.

  He found himself in Katerini for a tobacco deal and he was rather irritable, especially since at the last moment, his companion announced that she couldn’t come with him. He hated traveling alone and so he had invited a friend along for company. But the choice of friend was a mistake. Christos was a nature worshipper, and the area bewitched him. He wanted to explore it willy-nilly. Apostolos, not once but many times, cursed the moment that he’d asked him to come along. Christos dragged him into ravines; they visited water mills and scrambled up rocky crags to admire the view. The worst thing was that Christos, an aficionado of ancient Greek history, especially mythology, insisted on conveying everything he knew or didn’t know to Apostolos, who was bored to death.

  It was evening and they had just finished another guided tour. Christos had literally dragged him to see the Baths of Aphrodite, thinking that his friend couldn’t possibly have any other interest but to see it. The beauty of the landscape left Apostolos unmoved; the three linked basins among the pure white rocks had nothing to say to him, nor, of course, did the deep blue of their depths. The unearthly beauty that they emitted was not to his taste, and so he smoked one cigarette after another until his friend had taken as many photographs as he deemed necessary, which were a lot. The sun had started to set and Apostolos had no desire to be in the mountains after dark.

  “Shouldn’t we get going?” he said gently to his friend. “It’s getting dark and we don’t know the area well.”

  Christos’s answer filled him with relief—he’d already prepared to do battle if his friend declared a desire to linger. “Yes, unfortunately we have to leave,” Christos agreed. “You’re right, we mustn’t be caught in the dark in this wilderness. But how I wish we’d had more time! Isn’t it magnificent, Apostolos? The gods knew where to choose to live! I almost envy them!”

  “If I, on the other hand, had to live in such desolation, I would die of boredom!” Apostolos retorted cynically, drawing an admonishing glance from his friend.

  “Poor Apostolos. It seems to me that all those years spent with your tobacco business have managed to dull your brain and your eyes. Look around you! Imagine the most beautiful goddess, Aphrodite, taking off her cloak, letting her blond hair fall freely over her white shoulders, and then lowering her body into these pools! Imagine the water flowing over her alabaster skin and watching her sigh with pleasure at the joy of the refreshing water. Imagine her diving and wetting her hair and later the drops caressing her divine body. Imagine . . .”

  “Stop! This isn’t imagination anymore, my friend. You’ve become a true hedonist.”

  “Apostolos, you’re so prosaic. Don’t you have anything inside you?”

  “Of course I have. A desire for tsipouro and some little snacks to warm up. Come on, Christos, let’s go! Otherwise, we’ll be caught in the dark.”

  They ended up in the village at the café, drinking tsipouro and enjoying the delicious snacks the café owner, Kyrios Pandelis, had prepared for their enjoyment.

  “This is a reality that I prefer to all your fantasies, my friend,” Apostolos declared cheerfully, as he held up the transparent liquor. “And if the gods you admire so much drank nectar, who can tell me that it wasn’t like the tsipouro we’re drinking tonight in this village forgotten by gods and men?”

  Christos didn’t answer. He looked around him as if he couldn’t get enough of his surroundings. This village, “forgotten by gods and men,” as Apostolos had put it, had an incomparable charm. It was only September, so the inhabitants hadn’t yet gathered in their houses, secure beside the fire, nor was it too late for people to be out. Children were running up and down shouting happily, grandfathers were drinking their little glasses of tsipouro at various other tables, and some girls were sitting on a stone bench nearby, casually chatting.

  “I visualize Aphrodite something like that,” Christos suddenly observed, pointing to Melissanthi, who was sitting a few yards away from them, laughing at something the girl next to her said.

  As he raised his glass toward his lips, Apostolos looked in the direction his friend was pointing, and his hand just stopped in midair. “Her, certainly. For the first time I agree with your taste. Look at that body! Look at the hair! Molten gold. Heavens above!”

  As if something were drawing her gaze, Melissanthi turned to the two men and fixed her eyes on Apostolos. He looked at her with obvious admiration, and she seemed to smile at him. Then she turned her head back before anyone watching might notice.

  Apostolos went to stand up, but Christos stopped him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, holding his friend by the arm.

  “But—didn’t you see? She smiled at me!”

  “So? Where do you think you are? In Athens, in one of the cafés you frequent? Or in some sophisticated salon waiting for someone to introduce you to the prettiest girl in the room? We’re in a village, Apostolos. Pull yourself together! Some of these peaceful men sitting at the tables next to us could be her father and brothers, and I have no desire to find myself with a black eye—and that may be the best-case scenario.”

  “Oh—maybe you’re right but I’m bewitched!”

  “I’ll help you recover. The girl is twenty at most.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Nothing. Except the fact that you’re forty. Now that has a lot to do with it! This tender morsel is not for your teeth to chew on.”

  “Christos, you’re talking silly nonsense.”

  “I’m trying to keep you from doing something silly. Now pay up and let’s go before we find ourselves in trouble.”

  It was all Christos could do to persuade Apostolos to leave. And the next day, when he’d finished his work, Apostolos showed no desire to return to Athens. On the contrary, in the afternoon he got dressed, smartened himself up, and put on cologne. As soon as Christos saw him, he scowled.

  “Where are you off to all dressed up like that?” he asked.

  “Well, what do you think? Are we going to stay in the hotel? Aren’t we going for a walk?”

  “Actually we should be setting out for Athens, since you’ve finished your work here.”

  “But I didn’t really finish . . . all my work in the area,” Apostolos replied suggestively.

  Christos anxiously approached his friend. “Apostolos, I don’t like the look of you. If you’ve got a
nything on your mind concerning the girl we saw yesterday, get rid of it! The girl is young. She’s not like the ones you’re used to going around with.”

  “That’s exactly why I like her, my friend.”

  “Forget about her, Apostolos. Let’s get away from here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I meet her. If you want to leave, leave.”

  “And leave you behind to turn things upside down? Forget it! I’m staying. I want to see how far you get with this.”

  Not even Apostolos knew how far he’d get. And the experienced Mr. Fatouras certainly didn’t expect to be caught up in the trap of love; after all, he’d cleverly avoided it for so many years. And to fall for such an unworldly little girl? He never saw that coming.

  After their first meeting in the square, Melissanthi confessed to herself that this man was something different. He was more amusing than any other man she’d ever known, sure of himself and more smartly dressed than even the doctor, and he looked as if he must be rich and lived a good life. Coming back home that night, she unconsciously sighed. The unknown man was only passing through the village, so she certainly wouldn’t see him again. And yet, a man like that would suit her. Maybe he was from Athens. By the time she reached the house she was irritated that destiny had landed her in such a desert, where the only men around were shepherds or farmers. She was jealous of her sister. She got to live in Thessaloniki, a big city, whereas Melissanthi herself was rotting in the countryside. It wasn’t fair!

  As soon as Theodora saw Melissanthi, she knew that some storm had disturbed her mind. When her daughter had that look, it would be hard to get words out of her.

  The next afternoon, Melissanthi set out again for the village. She was bored to death there, but it was worse at home, with her mother and her younger sisters driving her crazy with questions. She was irritable again, and took it out on the bushes around her, furiously tearing off their leaves. When she came upon Apostolos, smiling at her, she nearly stumbled and suddenly turned pale. Instinctively she cast her eyes around her to make sure no one was watching them but the road was deserted.