by Lena Manta
Theodora’s mother was right again. The announcement of Magdalini’s departure drove Polyxeni to hysteria. She cried, she howled, she beat her head so violently that Theodora had to give her a slap to stop her. Polyxeni managed to resume some composure, but was still very upset.
“Why can’t I go with them?” she asked through her tears.
“Do you want to study? Maybe I missed something?” her mother said sarcastically.
“Yes, I want to be an actress!” Polyxeni answered.
“Ah, yes, of course! An actress!”
“Yes!” shouted Polyxeni. “And you can’t stop me. Not you or anyone else. I’m leaving!”
“Where are you going? Are you leaving alone?”
“I’m not silly like the others. I’ll do whatever I do alone. I don’t need a man or an aunt who doesn’t have children and takes in strangers!”
If she hadn’t been so distraught at losing Magdalini, Theodora might have realized how serious her daughter was at that moment. But she didn’t, and afterward, she never forgave herself for it.
The days leading up to Magdalini’s departure flowed like the river outside their house, with its occasional surges and eddies. The girl’s mood changed from one moment to the next. She’d smiled happily at the thought of her new life, then cry because she’d soon have to leave her mother and face so many unfamiliar things. The atmosphere in the house was tense. With tight lips, Theodora forced herself to speak to Anna, while Polyxeni spent most of the day sulking in her room. When the time came for her younger sister’s departure, she kissed her coldly, said a stiff good-bye to their aunt, and returned to her self-imposed exile. Theodora said good-bye to her sister with the same stiffness. Then she embraced her daughter, who was crying.
“Don’t cry, my child!” she said, although she only just managed to hold herself together. “The best things are ahead of you. And if something doesn’t go as you want, don’t be ashamed to come home. I’ll buy the ticket for you; you only need to send a message. Your home will always be here.”
“And the river?” Magdalini smiled through her tears.
“And the river,” her mother answered. “Make sure you become what you dreamed of, but always remember this corner of the earth!”
Once again, Theodora watched the familiar dust as it rose up behind the car that took her daughter away.
She turned to her mother, who was standing beside her, crying. “Do you know something?” she murmured. “I’m tired of saying good-bye to my children. I’m tired of seeing that same dust cloud behind them. I wonder when it’ll be the last one’s turn.”
“I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity to say good-bye to the last one, or see that dust again,” her mother answered.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at her. She’s like a wild animal, that Polyxeni. Ready to run away. She’s just waiting for the chance, and she won’t bother to say good-bye to us.”
“Don’t frighten me. I’ve had all the sadness I can take. I don’t need any more. Your words scare me, Mother—they always turn out to be true.”
“I only want to warn you.”
Despite the warning, when Polyxeni left, the thunder came straight down on Theodora’s head. Everyone was shocked when the girl ran off one night with a troupe of traveling players, just six months after Magdalini left. After her sister’s departure, the girl had retreated more and more into herself.
Every time the occasional photograph arrived from one of her sisters, Polyxeni only got worse. She looked at her siblings, well-dressed and smiling, almost with enmity and then disappeared into her room. Theodora worried a lot. She could hear her daughter through the bedroom door, reciting poems or telling fantastic stories or impersonating some heroine born from her imagination.
When the traveling players came to the village, everyone gathered to see them. Some laughed, some made fun of them, but only Polyxeni seemed enchanted by their mediocre interpretations and their ragged costumes. No one suspected what the girl had in her mind, and nobody noticed when she hopped into their truck, not even the players themselves.
She left a note for her mother. When Theodora found it and managed to make out what it said, she let out a small cry, then fainted. Julia, who’d been living with them since her husband’s death, found her daughter a short time afterward on the kitchen floor. She bent over her, trying like a madwoman to make her come around. When Theodora finally did, she immediately started to cry and explained between sobs that Polyxeni was gone.
The old woman put her head in her hands. “My God, what shame!” she whispered and began crying too.
“You were right, Mother!” said Theodora, wiping her eyes. “We didn’t even see her dust. My daughter, the last daughter I had at home, didn’t even want to say good-bye.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Julia.
Theodora looked at her mother calmly. She dried her eyes and came close to her. “We won’t do anything, Mother, because there’s nothing we can do. Polyxeni is a big girl now. Let her follow the road she chose. We’ll just pray that God looks after her and helps her do what she dreamed of.”
“And us?”
“We’ll stay here . . . in the house by the river. We’ll watch it flow and we’ll wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For the children to return or for death to take us, whatever comes first.”
MELISSANTHI
Although she was exhausted from trials of the journey, Melissanthi, now Mrs. Fatouras, looked in wonder at the entrance to the hotel where she and her husband would stay for the next few days. Never in her life had she seen anything like it. The white marble floors shone; chandeliers, enormous and bright, hung from the ceilings. Although she was wearing a dress that Apostolos had bought her, Melissanthi felt very ugly, very provincial, compared to the elegantly dressed people around her. She was certain that everyone was looking at her disdainfully.
To make matters worse, her husband leaned toward her and said sharply, “Melissanthi, stop staring around you like a fool!”
The girl hung her head, blushing deeply, then followed him to the reception area, where Apostolos gave his name in a curt voice. Everyone behind the counter fell all over themselves to serve him, a sure sign that he was a regular customer. Her fear and insecurity grew. What did she know, in fact, about this man after such a brief engagement?
As soon as he’d received Theodora’s permission to marry her daughter, Apostolos had left the village to prepare all the necessary paperwork for the marriage. Fifteen days later he returned, laden with gifts for her and her sisters. Melissanthi was impressed by the beauty of the simple white wedding dress he’d bought for her, by the silk stockings, and most of all by the ring with the flashing stone that she’d wear alongside her wedding band. For her sisters, he’d bought blouses and stockings unlike anything they’d ever seen and delicate pieces of jewelry that they were crazy about. For her mother, he’d bought a thick woolen jacket that she seemed very pleased with. He’d even remembered her grandmother and grandfather and brought them gifts as well.
In the few days leading up to the wedding, Melissanthi and Apostolos went for short walks, usually with his friend, Christos. Only once or twice were they left alone. During those moments, they didn’t really talk. Rather, Apostolos would take her in his arms. Swept away with passion, Melissanthi never got the chance to ask him all that she wanted to learn about her future life.
So what did she know? Nothing. Everything seemed strange to her and a little frightening. Nobody had told her what to expect, especially on that first night. What would happen now, when they went upstairs to their room and for the first time she lay down on the bed with him? Her mother had tactfully tried to explain a few things about the “duties” of a wife, but she’d been vague in her advice, too embarrassed to discuss such things in detail with her daughter.
As they went up to the room, Melissanthi continued to keep her eyes low, so as not to suffer another scolding
from her husband. A porter carried their luggage, and as soon as he put the cases down, Apostolos gave him some money. When the door finally closed, her husband approached her and raised her chin.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Why are you keeping your head down all the time?”
“If I raised it, I’d only look around like a fool and make you angry,” she answered sheepishly.
At that moment he smiled at her. “My poor little one! I really insulted you. I should have anticipated that you’d react like that and explained some things before we came in. I’m sorry.”
“I should say sorry to you because I made you ashamed.”
“You made me ashamed? Never! I just didn’t want you to provoke any sarcastic remarks that would have upset you. Do you like it here?”
“I’ve never seen a more beautiful place. But this is the first time I’ve left my village, and . . .”
“And it frightens you?”
“A little. My biggest fear is that I might disappoint you.”
“There’s nothing to fear. You’re tired. Do you want us to go out to dinner, or should I arrange for them to bring it to us here?”
“Whatever you want.”
“All right. Since it’s our first night, I’ll go down to the bar and have a drink while you relax and have a bath. I’ll order dinner. Then we’ll eat quietly on our balcony with the wonderful view of the Thermaic Gulf. What do you say?”
“I think that’s best. I don’t think I’m ready to meet the world.”
Apostolos blew her a kiss and disappeared. Melissanthi felt relieved to be alone. She locked the door behind him, then finally looked around her. The suite was enormous; it even had a sitting room with velvet sofas and armchairs. Delightedly she touched the beautiful furniture, sinking her feet into the deep carpet. She avoided looking directly at the huge double bed, but did notice that it was impressive. Heavy curtains hid a door that led to a very large balcony. She drew them aside and stepped out into the clean air that smelled of the sea. She breathed its freshness in deeply and looked around her at the lights of the city. She felt she was living a dream and she didn’t want to wake up. Now that she’d married Apostolos, she’d never have to live in the poor, miserable village again.
She sighed with pleasure and turned back to the interior of the room. A door at the far end attracted her attention. Surely it must be a bathroom. When she crossed the room and opened it, she couldn’t suppress a cry of delight. White marble everywhere and a flood of light. A huge mirror dominated the room and there were big towels so white that Melissanthi was almost afraid to touch them. There were soaps too, and little sachets with multicolored contents that were totally foreign to her. She opened one and a wonderful smell overwhelmed her.
She turned on the tap and immediately hot water flowed out, steaming up the large room. She undressed and got into the water. She used the best-smelling soap and felt intoxicated by its scent. When she got out of the tub a little while later, the feel of the huge bath towels on her body was like paradise.
Having finished her bath, she faced the problem of what to wear. She looked with distaste at the little cloth suitcase she’d packed. She realized that the cotton nightdress her mother had given her, the one with the handmade lace, wasn’t going to do. Two robes were hanging in the bathroom, so she put one on and sat comfortably on one of the velvet armchairs, enjoying the luxury of the room.
When Apostolos returned and saw her sitting there, with her damp hair and the bathrobe emphasizing her nakedness underneath, he felt a lump in his throat. He turned his attention to the porter who was following him, pushing their dinner on a cart. As soon as Melissanthi saw the strange man behind Apostolos, she blushed and drew her robe tightly around her. But the porter didn’t even raise his eyes. He passed straight to the balcony and with rapid movements, began setting the table out there. When the door closed behind him, Apostolos, avoiding her gaze, said: “I’m going to take a bath too. We’ll eat in a few minutes.” Then he disappeared into the bathroom.
Apostolos let the cool water calm him down. He was conscious of the fact that his wife was young and inexperienced, so he mustn’t frighten her. On the contrary, he must hold himself back.
They ate, talking very little and enjoying the view, the good food, and the fragrant wine. Apostolos made sure to keep his wife’s glass full and watched her carefully, waiting to see on her face some sign of relaxation from the alcohol. When Melissanthi laughed playfully at something he said, he knew that the spirits had performed their miracle.
Nothing and nobody had prepared her for the experience that followed. Apostolos had mustered all his patience as well as all his technique to make sure that this first time would be a happy and unforgettable one for the young girl. For all her inexperience, Melissanthi was demonstrative in her movements. Despite the alcohol, though, when Apostolos undressed her, he could see her eyes fill with shame, and his caresses and kisses at first provoked embarrassment rather than delight. But his patience prevailed and Melissanthi soon found herself sighing in his arms until the climax came for them both. The pain she felt, as this was her first time, didn’t lessen the intensity of her pleasure. Afterward, she slept, satisfied, while her husband lay awake, moved by the experience of watching this young girl become a woman in his arms. He wasn’t tired; rather, he was ready to go again.
A short time later Melissanthi woke up and looked at him. “Aren’t you sleeping?” she asked.
“No, I can’t. You go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice a little hoarse.
“If my man can’t sleep, how can I?”
She stretched out her hand to stroke his cheek—and it was as if she had lit the fuse of a bomb. Apostolos’s thrusting surge of desire inevitably consumed them both; its fire lit their bodies and souls.
The trip to the shops the next day was yet another new and intoxicating experience for Melissanthi. Apostolos kept his promise to her completely. He bought her everything but the town itself. Even she finally complained that she didn’t have forty feet to wear so many pairs of shoes, nor a hundred hands to hold so many handbags. They bought only the necessary clothes, though, because Apostolos wanted them to visit the best fashion houses when they returned to Athens, where everything would be custom made. They also didn’t visit a hairdresser, in spite of Melissanthi’s wishes. Apostolos was adamant about this: he adored his wife’s hair and didn’t want it cut. He loved touching it and it drove him crazy when he saw it spread out on her pillow or when it fell freely on his chest.
At the end of the day, they returned to their room exhausted, but not too tired to find themselves embracing again in their large bed. Melissanthi’s body drove Apostolos crazy; he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d felt like this about a woman. It was impossible for him not to touch her, not to kiss her; he wanted to lock himself in this room with her and keep her in this bed for the rest of his life. What’s more, her reaction to his touch only made him lose his head even more. She seemed as insatiable as he and had proved herself to be a good pupil with an exceptional talent for lovemaking. She quickly learned how to make him lose his self-control and she laughed happily at her achievements.
Melissanthi turned out to be a surprise to Apostolos in every way. After just a month in Thessaloniki, she’d acquired excellent style; nobody would have known that she’d spent all her life in a remote mountain village. She loved to read and bought a lot of books about the arts. One morning when they were eating breakfast, she announced, “Apostolos, I want to learn a foreign language.”
“Which one?” he asked.
“French, I think—don’t all the ladies in Athens know French?”
“Yes, but what made you think of it?”
“I want to educate myself. Is that bad?”
“No, my darling, but I didn’t expect it.”
“As soon as we get back you’ll find me a teacher and I’ll begin lessons straightaway. I don’t want your circle of friends to say you married a vil
lager.”
“You are my circle and only you interest me.”
“Yes, but from what you said, you have a very busy social life in Athens, and I don’t want to be behind those other women in anything.”
“By virtue of your beauty alone, you are already the most impressive woman they’ll have ever seen!”
“Beauty isn’t everything, Apostolos,” retorted Melissanthi. “I don’t want them to say something to me in French and not understand.”
“All right, all right! When we go back I’ll have to see to my work, anyway, so you’ll have plenty of free time at your disposal.”
“You haven’t told me anything about Athens. What’s it like? Is it much bigger than Thessaloniki?”
“When we go there you’ll see. Compared to Athens, Thessaloniki is like a big village.”
“Impossible.”
“And yet . . .”
“And your house?”
“You mean our house,” Apostolos said. “It’s a big house in a neighborhood called Kypseli. The bedrooms are on the upper floor.”
“It has two stories? Why?”
“Because that’s the way they build houses. So, upstairs are the bedrooms and bathrooms, downstairs are the kitchen, my office, and the living rooms.”
“Living rooms? As in more than one? How will I manage all that?”
“What do you mean?”
“How will I clean it? How will I look after it?”
“Sweetheart, you won’t even make a bed. We have a household staff to do all those things.”
Melissanthi’s eyes opened wide when she heard this.
“What did you imagine?” Apostolos asked. “That I’d married you so you could spend your time in the kitchen? We’ll have two girls living with us to help maintain the house. We’ll also have a cook, and Maria comes once a week to do the washing.”
“That’s a whole army. So what will I do?”
“You’ll tell them what to do, you’ll relax, you’ll go out shopping, you’ll make love to me—is that not enough?”
