The House by the River

by Lena Manta

  “Like the fairy tale . . .” whispered Polyxeni thoughtfully.

  “What I told you isn’t a fairy tale.”

  “No, no, I’m talking about something else. Somebody once told me a fairy tale about a mirror that broke and some shards of glass got into the eyes of a man, or a woman, I don’t remember, who from then on saw everything around them coldly and distantly.”

  “So you do understand what I’m saying.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it, though.”

  Vassiliki interrupted their conversation by throwing herself into her mother’s lap, crying, with her favorite doll in her arms. A tragic accident had separated the head from the body and the inconsolable child had run to Martha for help. With sure movements, Martha put the head back in its place and handed the mended doll to her daughter. The little girl’s eyes sparkled, a smile lit up her face, and two little arms wrapped themselves around her mother’s neck. Vassiliki thanked her mother with a tender kiss before running off, completely ignoring Polyxeni.

  Martha turned to her friend. “That’s a moment of happiness, Polyxeni. Inexpressible happiness. A creature that you love more than yourself needs you and has complete trust in you. She offers you her love and you accept it, like the earth accepts the rain, and give it back because that’s all you can do. Just love without any limits and without seeking anything in exchange.”

  “Mercy, Martha! Don’t tell me I have to have a child to become human,” Polyxeni replied.

  “I don’t think it would help in your case,” Martha answered sadly. “If you don’t mature emotionally, a child will do you more harm than good.”

  Polyxeni left her friend’s house confused. When she got home, for the first time in so many years, she allowed the past to visit her thoughts. She once again became the little girl living below Mount Olympus; she remembered her sisters and especially her mother. She closed her eyes and saw herself barefoot on the banks of the river, playing with Julia and Melissanthi, one splashing water on the other, with Aspasia sitting a little farther away, squealing every time drops fell on her, and Magdalini clapping her hands excitedly. She was moved when she realized that she felt almost happy with her memories. Outside, it had started to rain and a flash of lightning was followed by the roar of thunder, a sound that reminded her of an evening when little Magdalini, frightened by a storm, had run and jumped into her bed, shaking.

  “What are you doing here?” Polyxeni had asked her little sister.

  “I came so you wouldn’t be afraid by yourself,” the child had answered. Then Polyxeni had hugged her, smiling at the innocent lie that hid the little girl’s fear. She could almost feel the warm, childish breath on her face; in her arms she could feel the little body trembling uncontrollably.

  Unconsciously she touched her hair and the memories rose up again. She saw her mother with a comb in her hand and a small bowl of water beside her. Every morning Theodora had followed the same procedure. Sitting in front of the fireplace, with her five daughters waiting their turn, she dipped the comb in the water and then began combing their hair, one by one, then plaited it into tight braids and tied them with big bows that looked like butterflies with open wings. As soon as Theodora had tied the last ribbon, she would make the sign of the cross over all of the girls, kiss them one by one, and say “Good morning.” Then she would look at them with pride. This routine lasted until Melissanthi, the oldest, rebelled against it. Only Polyxeni was sad when it stopped. She adored the feeling of her mother’s hands in her hair and that first kiss of the day.

  Irritated, Polyxeni got up from her seat and turned on the radio. What was wrong with her tonight? Why such an onslaught of memories apropos of nothing? She had chosen her way of life—nobody had imposed it on her. And there was nothing she could remember that would encourage her to go back. She was Xenia Olympiou, the famous actress: the dream had become reality.

  She wondered if the news of her success had reached the village. Then she realized how ridiculous the question was. Of course it must have reached them. She remembered the traveling cinema people who would show up in the village with whatever films they could find and project them on the white wall of the school. After all these years, things must have improved; there must have been progress. Her mother and grandmother must have seen her films, and perhaps even her sisters had too. And where were they? Where had the river carried them? Years ago all contact had stopped. Her mother had sent notes full of complaints, but since Polyxeni never answered, Theodora finally gave up.

  That night, Polyxeni slept very comfortably and woke refreshed and in good spirits. A new script was waiting for her, and at the theater, after so many rehearsals, a new work that she had loved from the first time she’d read it would begin. Everything in her life was going wonderfully; her account at the bank kept growing, and next month she would travel to Italy for the premiere of her latest film. At Christmas there would be a premiere in Athens and perhaps Giovanni would come.

  Her producer traveled with her to Italy, where Polyxeni gave dozens of interviews and did a photo shoot for a magazine. The producer’s mouth fell open when she arranged the session for three o’clock in the morning.

  “We take off for Greece at 8:00 a.m.!” he protested.

  “So?” Polyxeni asked. “They’re paying me well. Why should I lose out on so much money?”

  “But, my girl, after the screening there’ll be a reception!”

  “Which will last until twelve or, at the most, one!”

  “And when will you rest?”

  “Don’t worry,” Polyxeni answered. “I didn’t come here for a rest—I came to work.” Then she just smiled and walked away. If Mr. Stefanos knew what else she had arranged for that evening, he’d be much more worried.

  Giovanni appeared at her door on time holding a bouquet of red roses and ready to give his best to their encounter. As soon as Polyxeni felt his hands on her body she realized that she had missed making love, at least the way the Italian did it. His lips, which reached every corner of her body, sent electric shocks up her spine. Polyxeni trembled as she heard her own voice, as if it came from far away, begging for more. She felt as if she were made of clay. Her legs were amazingly supple, wrapped around his body like tentacles in an effort to bring him closer to her, but he didn’t hurry. Unless he first heard her cry out, he didn’t allow himself to be free.

  The photo shoot that followed was unique. Surfeited by love, Polyxeni had an obvious energy. Her eyes shone and her lips, still swollen from Giovanni’s kisses, were a provocation to the lens. The Italian photographers were stunned by the results. All of her breathed an eroticism that wouldn’t leave any reader of their magazine unaffected. They were assured of success and they knew it before the film was even developed. This woman was made to be in front of the lights. Polyxeni slept all the way back to Greece and naturally, as soon as she reached her house, she closed the shutters and lay down exhausted on her bed. That night she had a performance and she had to regain her energy.

  The premiere in Athens was another success. The film had been very well publicized and Stefanos had done surprising work. There wasn’t a day when some so-called “exclusive” piece of information wasn’t leaked to the press, and Polyxeni was always ready to accede to everything they said to make everyone talk about a film they hadn’t even seen. The press worshipped her; she was their beloved child, and nobody put her in a difficult position by asking her questions that didn’t pertain to the film. Her personal life, which seemed to be nonexistent, was always the subject of media interest and investigation, of course, but apart from the Italian, and enough had been heard about him, nothing else turned up in the life of Xenia Olympiou.

  Giovanni’s arrival in Athens for the premiere intensified the gossip. The couple was obliged to make joint appearances to promote the film, and the camera flashes lit up the fancy clubs where the two of them went, sometimes by themselves, sometimes with the producer and the other actors. Polyxeni’s female costar hadn�
�t come, supposedly because of other responsibilities, but Polyxeni knew that was an excuse. The Italian actress might be the center of attention in her home country, but in Greece that game would be completely lost, and she knew it.

  However much Polyxeni was in a hurry to be alone with Giovanni, she was very careful. There would be no evidence of what the press, who were now following her everywhere, had suspected for so long. Even though they chased her, she managed to escape them and spend a whole night in his bed. They both knew it would be the last. Their ways were separating and neither of them was sorry about that. They simply celebrated, in their own way, their meeting and its ending, without regretting it. How lovely it was while it lasted!

  As Polyxeni approached thirty, she felt a little strange. For the first time in her life, she was aware of the years that had passed, and the panic she experienced sent her straight to Martha. She found her reading with her daughter and without wishing to, she remembered sitting at her own family’s large kitchen table as a child, struggling with difficult math problems, and how Melissanthi would try to help her. Her sister’s voice always became indignant when little Polyxeni forgot how much that cursed seven times eight came to.

  “Hello there,” Martha said, getting up to greet her.

  “Don’t stop because of me. I’ll wait until you’ve finished. I’m not in a hurry.”

  Polyxeni sat down opposite Vassiliki, who greeted her politely.

  “Good evening Miss Olympiou,” she articulated shyly.

  The girl avoided, as much as she could, her mother’s distant friend, who had never paid her any attention. She thought the woman was very beautiful but her behavior gave the impression that she found children annoying. Now, though, the distant lady was looking at her with interest.

  “What are you two doing?” Polyxeni asked Vassiliki.

  The child showed her the book. “I’m trying to doing some reading with my mother,” she said with a sad expression. “But the letters get mixed up . . . as if they’re dancing and in a hurry to come out of my mouth, so no one understands what I’m reading.”

  “Oh, that’s not so serious,” Polyxeni said cheerily. “The secret is to read slowly and to breathe properly. To give your brain some time to put some order into those naughty, hurrying letters.”

  “Really, miss?” asked the girl hopefully.

  “Of course. Then what’s important is practice. The more often you read, the better you’ll get.”

  Martha watched Polyxeni talking to her daughter with amazement. The young woman had never spoken to the girl before, and now she spoke to her with so much understanding and tenderness. Martha kept watching, while opposite her, the conversation continued.

  “How do you do with arithmetic?” Polyxeni asked now.

  “Everything’s easy there,” the child answered enthusiastically.

  “You see? You’re lucky. I hated numbers and I couldn’t keep them in my head no matter how hard I tried. My poor sister spent hours standing over me so that I learned addition, and even worse, multiplication!”

  “What’s your sister’s name, miss?” Vassiliki was curious to know.

  Polyxeni seemed to have difficulty for a moment. “Melissanthi,” she finally said softly.

  “What a beautiful name,” the child replied admiringly.

  “Melissanthi?” Martha repeated. “An uncommon name, but I’ve heard it somewhere. Where does your sister live, Xenia?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Is she here in Athens?”

  “I think so.”

  “Is she, by any chance, the wife of a tobacco merchant?”

  “My brother-in-law’s name is Fatouras,” Polyxeni recalled with difficulty.

  “Bravo! Melissanthi Fatouras. I know her.”

  “Where do you know her from?” Polyxeni managed to ask.

  “I met her at a party I went to with Stathis. We were introduced, we exchanged a few conventional words, and that was all there was to it.”

  “How is she?” Polyxeni’s voice could hardly be heard.

  “She seemed to be fine. A really beautiful girl. And now that I remember her, you look alike. But why . . . ?” Martha suddenly realized that her daughter was following the conversation with interest and stopped. “Miss, I think these grown-up conversations don’t concern you,” she said sweetly but firmly. “And since my friend is here, why don’t you take a break, like the lucky girl you are, and we’ll talk when Miss Xenia has left.”

  The girl hurried off. But, then, as if she’d forgotten something, she came right back and stood in front of Polyxeni. “Thank you for your help, Miss Xenia,” she said politely and quickly as if she were ashamed. Then she kissed Polyxeni on the cheek and ran off.

  Polyxeni’s hand covered the spot where the child’s lips had rested. She turned to look at Martha, but her friend just smiled.

  “Hasn’t a child ever kissed you before?” she asked.

  Polyxeni, still shocked, shook her head.

  “Now you know what you’ve been missing for so long,” Martha teased. “And now that we’re alone, Miss Leading Lady, tell me why you don’t go to see your sister since you live in the same town. Leave aside the others—you don’t even know where they live. But with Melissanthi, why don’t you go and find her so that you have someone of your own?”

  “It’s been so many years . . .”

  “So? Did you have a fight?”

  “No, never.”

  “Well? The same blood flows in your veins! And even if you did have an argument, by now she would have forgotten.”

  “We wouldn’t have anything to say to each other, though. Each one of us took our own path. Anyway, if she wanted to find me it would have been easy. She must know about me. Leave it, Martha, it’s better like this.”

  “Whatever you think. But I believe you’re making a mistake. As for other matters, how come you’re taking an interest in the child? What’s gotten into you? Until today, you’ve never known she existed.”

  “You’re wrong, now! I never forgot her birthday.”

  “Yes, but as an obligation.”

  “Are you putting me through psychoanalysis again?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time. I can hear her coming back.”

  Vassiliki entered the room again and sat down beside Polyxeni, where she began reading her lesson loudly and clearly, stopping to breathe as she’d been told, and leaving Martha speechless again.

  “How did that sound to you?” the girl asked her mother’s friend.

  “I think you managed it wonderfully!”

  “Thanks to you, miss,” the child murmured shyly.

  “Yes, but I don’t like this ‘miss’ at all.”

  Vassiliki seemed prepared. “So then I’ll call you auntie,” she declared quickly.

  “That sounds just fine.”

  “Can I also tell my friends that Xenia Olympiou is my aunt?”

  “Of course!” Polyxeni agreed.

  Vassiliki began jumping up and down happily while behind her back her mother crossed herself.

  “Now I can say that I’ve seen everything in life,” Martha said, looking upward as if she was speaking to God.

  The next hour was full of surprises. Polyxeni continued listening with interest to the child and answering every question she asked; she even held Vassiliki’s favorite doll at the girl’s request and dressed it in the clothes the child picked out. While they were playing, Stathis arrived and it was his turn to be astonished as he watched Polyxeni outfitting his daughter’s doll in a lacy dress with infinite patience.

  As soon as she saw her father, Vassiliki ran to him and told him in a single breath everything that had happened on that strange afternoon. “I’ll call her auntie from now on,” she concluded. “And they’ll all be amazed at school when they find out I have Xenia Olympiou for an aunt!”

  Stathis smiled at his daughter and sent her to fetch his slippers before he turned to Polyxeni.


  “What sort of new game is this?” he asked accusingly.

  “I don’t understand,” Polyxeni answered.

  “Neither do I, but be careful. Stay away from my kid!”

  “But . . . what did I do?”

  “Don’t give me that! Since the day she was born, you’ve ignored her, and suddenly today you become ‘Aunt Xenia.’ Do you expect me to believe that you’ve finally begun to behave like a human being?”

  Martha tried to intervene. “Stathis, dear—”

  But Stathis stopped her with a look. “Martha, not a word! I won’t let your friend play with our child the way she played with Leonidas. What’s happened, Miss Olympiou? Did they give you a role where you have to play the mother? Are you looking for experience again?”

  His tongue dripped poison and his eyes radiated fury. Polyxeni felt a lump in her throat and her eyes welled up with tears.

  “Stathis, you’re very wrong about me,” she said, trying to calm him down.

  “Like you were with him.”

  “So you still don’t forgive me.”

  “Nor is it likely that I will. Just as I don’t forgive myself for not leaving you behind with the traveling players! Perhaps the boy might still be alive. But I repeat: stay away from our child! I won’t let you play with her sensitive soul for as long as you . . . collect experiences, and then wound her with your indifference because she’s no longer necessary to you.”

  “You’re wrong, Stathis, but I can’t persuade you. I don’t blame you, of course. I’d better go.”

  Polyxeni left before anyone could say anything.

  Behind her, an argument broke out.

  “You’re unbearable!” Martha shouted at her husband. “How can you behave like that toward her at the very moment when she managed to feel something for someone apart from herself?”

  “So you believe she’s sincere?”

  “Completely! And I’m not stupid or easily fooled. I know Polyxeni better than you. Something has begun to change in her and if you’ve stopped it, I’ll never forgive you. Even her expression isn’t so cold anymore. And her voice! It’s become lively, and she’s lost that apathy that used to only disappear when she was playing some role. You know she’s begun to talk about her home, about her family?”