by Lena Manta
Three weeks. It took me twenty-one days and many nights to put the house back in order, working methodically with Karim. What I didn’t expect was the talent my companion displayed at painting. Beginning with the upstairs, he painted the rooms one by one. With patience and care, we managed to make the house gleam. We even cleaned and painted the two rooms in the basement, one of which Karim stayed in. The furniture down there was mostly rotten, but Karim repaired a lot of things. I called a plumber, who took some days to redo the piping and replace tiles in the bathrooms. Meanwhile, I ordered a new modern stove and all sorts of electrical appliances, not forgetting to equip Karim’s basement kitchen with a fridge and a stove. The loyal young man surprised me again and again. In the beginning, he was wary and constantly on guard, but with every day that passed, I gained his respect. He was an observant Muslim and was careful to follow his dietary customs. I honored his hours of prayer and treated him like what he was: a human being with equal rights. He was very intelligent and learned Greek fast, in contrast to me—however much I tried, I couldn’t manage five words of his language. Sometimes, we had to resort to English, which neither of us knew well.
For his part, Tiger made our lives difficult, since he insisted on literally tangling himself up in our legs. I was often in danger of breaking a limb as, out of the blue, I found a tail and four legs in the way of my own. I’d scold him, and he’d go rub up against Karim, begging to be hugged. In the evenings, he curled up on the bed beside me, and his green eyes spoke volumes. It was his way of saying I’d become family.
I kept the large bedroom for myself and tried to figure out what to do with the others. I might be busy now cleaning up the dirt and dust of many years, but when it all ended, I was sure I’d spend hours in the little office that had offered me its hospitality on those first evenings. While cleaning it, I had discovered a few albums with old photographs. I didn’t dare touch them. I wanted to wait until I felt calmer to get to know my family.
Besides, there was also the tin box Karim and I had discovered . . .
After those first few nights on the office sofa, my back was aching, and I wanted to move into Grandfather and Grandmother’s bedroom. I ordered a new mattress, sheets, and a quilt, and we dragged the heavy bed, creaking and protesting, away from the wall so we could clean and paint behind it. We took down the little cupboard that held the marriage wreaths, as well as a cross, and Karim laid down newspapers so as not to dirty the wooden floor. But when he set the ladder up and stood on the first rung, it wobbled dangerously. We pulled the newspapers aside and saw that a floorboard had moved.
“That’s all I needed,” I exclaimed. “Rotten floors!”
“No, madam,” observed the young Syrian. “Look!”
I knelt down. The floor was in good shape, but two planks had come loose, and in the gap between the wood and the cement was a tin box, rusty and covered in dust. I opened it. Inside were a few letters tied with a ribbon that must once have been pink. There was also a pair of old earrings, their elaborate design covered in a green substance. I rubbed them on my pants, and the color changed. I wasn’t a specialist, but they looked to me like bronze. Once, for about a month, I had worked as a house cleaner in a home with bronze candlesticks.
I closed the box and turned to Karim, who was looking at me expectantly.
“Argotera, Karim. How do you say that in English? Ah, yes, later . . .”
I stood up, and he was already looking for a hammer and nails to secure the floorboards. Meanwhile, I went downstairs and placed the box in a drawer of the office. I was burning with curiosity, but didn’t waver in my commitment to get the house in order before anything else.
We may not have had a fully functioning kitchen yet, but the rest of the house was now like new. Its two inhabitants, however, were in a terrible state. All our clothes, or to be honest, seeing as Karim didn’t have any of his own, all my clothes were covered in splotches of paint and plaster, torn and worn out.
The next evening, I went up to my bedroom in my torn clothes. Opposite the large bed was a full-length mirror, and after a bath I dared to approach it—something I hadn’t done for a long time. There, I examined myself from head to toe. OK, I wasn’t twenty years old. Soon I’d be turning forty-four, but however critical I was, and despite the fact that I’d never taken care of myself, I had to admit I looked younger than my years. My hair certainly needed attention. The dark-brown color was littered with white, and the short style I’d chosen had grown out and been shoved into a convenient braid. My face was clear with delicate features but also with delicate wrinkles. My best feature was certainly my eyes, with their unusual color. I wasn’t fat, but neither was I thin. My curves were smooth, and my body firm because of the hard physical work I’d done for so many years. In short, like my house, I needed a good renovation. Now that we had restored the place so beautifully, I didn’t look as if I belonged there. My mind turned to Karim, who needed clothes and shoes. I lay down that night having made up my mind that the two of us would go shopping.
But the next day it was impossible to persuade Karim to leave the house. He looked panic-stricken. His head went back and forth again and again, as in a mixture of Greek and English, he said, “No, no, madam. Karim inside—danger outside! I have no papers. I need nothing, everything fine. You go!”
After that came a monologue in his own language that I naturally didn’t understand, but the message was clear. If they caught him, they’d deport him, and dressed in rags as he was, he was an easy target. I reassured him, and when I began taking his measurements, he understood. What my long-suffering friend couldn’t imagine was how happy I felt. It had been years since I’d bought myself anything new. I set out with the enthusiasm of the newly enlightened for Patission Street and its shops.
It was dark when I came into the house with the taxi driver, who helped me unload all my shopping bags. Karim must have hidden when he heard the man’s voice, so when I was alone, I called him to help me with the bags. In the dim light of the foyer, the change in my appearance wasn’t apparent, but when we went into the chandelier-lit living room, the young man jumped back and looked as if he didn’t recognize me.
“Beautiful madam!” he called out in English, and his dark eyes shone.
I looked with satisfaction at the mirror opposite me. My hair had been cut again at a length that suited me; it shone like a chestnut, glowing with the highlights they had added in the salon. We sat on the comfortable sofa, and I showed all my purchases to Karim, who greeted them with exclamations of admiration. But when I started to take out men’s pants, shirts, and shoes, his chocolate eyes filled with tears.
“Madam,” he whispered with difficulty, “all that for me?”
“For you, Karim,” I answered. “You helped me so much. I’ve had you at my side for a month. You’re a good man, Karim.”
His tears fell on my hand when he brought it to his lips to bestow a kiss of gratitude. In broken English, he said, “Don’t know what to say. Good person, madam—like my mother.”
“Where is your mother, Karim?”
“Back to Syria—died.”
I looked at him sadly. In all this time, I hadn’t been able to learn much about his past. The obstacle of language was too great. He had made me understand that he had crossed from Turkey to Lesbos and, from there, made it to Athens. He was alone. In Victoria Square, he’d waited for some time, planning to move on to some other European country. But for reasons I couldn’t understand, he’d decided to stay in Greece. He explained, as well as he could, that he had found me the first day he’d ventured away from the square. The fact that he had lost his mother made me feel closer to him. So, both of us were orphans. And while he was in a foreign country, I felt just as lonely. I stroked his hair in a maternal way. In a different life, he could have been my son. He smiled at me through his tears, and then with a bound, Tiger landed between us and meowed loudly. We both stroked him, and then I gave him his gifts: an elegant collar that he was patient enough
to allow me to fasten on him and a basket to sleep in. This latter gift turned out to be utterly useless. My black cat had no intention of being separated from me or my bed.
Visitors? No, I wasn’t expecting any. That’s why the doorbell surprised me that afternoon. I was in my little office, with a strong dose of caffeine for company. I’d finally opened the first album, the oldest. Among the unknown faces, I discovered my mother’s, and tears came to my eyes when I saw her as a child, then as a beautiful adolescent. They were mostly family photographs, and I soon found my grandfather, my grandmother—the one whose name I bore—and my mother’s siblings. As far as I could tell, I looked like my grandmother.
The doorbell was an unwelcome intrusion but also a source of wonder. Who could it be? I pressed a button, and the downstairs door opened. From the landing, I waited for the visitor. A woman was already climbing the stairs, and the ease with which she did so revealed that she was treading on familiar ground. She stopped in front of me, and her expression wasn’t friendly.
“I suppose you are Chrysafenia Karapanos,” she said brusquely.
“You have the advantage, madam,” I answered. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”
“My name is Hecuba Papadakis. My family name, though, is Sekeris.”
So it was my aunt who stood before me! I didn’t dare to even give her my hand. It was obvious that there was no room for a sentimental family reunion. I simply stood aside to let her in. She strolled confidently toward the sitting room, but on the threshold stopped and looked with curiosity at the renovation. From where I was standing, I couldn’t see if her icy eyes warmed even for a moment, finding themselves in the house where she grew up. Without an invitation, she went ahead and sat on the sofa.
“I would ask you to sit down, but you’ve already done so,” I said slowly, recovering my composure. “Can I offer you anything?” I thanked my lucky stars that my new kitchen was finally finished and stocked.
“No, thank you,” came her abrupt reply.
“Then I take it you will tell me why you have come here. From the little I know of my mother’s family, you are one of her sisters.”
“And this was my house!”
I sat in an armchair opposite her. So, the woman was looking for a fight. Everything about her announced it: her eyes that flashed lightning, her voice, raised to an unpleasant pitch. I took a deep breath and answered calmly.
“Yes, I suppose you grew up here, just like my mother and her other sister—Fotini, isn’t that her name?”
“My father threw your mother out.”
“Yes, I found out about that. And then that same man righted the injustice with his will.”
“It was no injustice. He shouldn’t have done what he did!”
“The fact that my mother married someone without her father’s approval—”
“Is that what they told you to say?” she snarled.
“Do you have a different opinion?” I asked, but I was beginning to feel disturbed by her presence.
“It’s not an opinion; it’s the truth!”
“Which I probably don’t know. Do you want to enlighten me?”
“I didn’t come here to educate you.”
“Then why did you come?”
“I came to tell you that you have no right to my father’s fortune. This house is mine!”
I nearly lost my patience. I got up from the armchair and folded my arms across my chest.
“Then, madam, contest the will! You had all that time to do so, and you didn’t. I accepted what, by rights, belonged to me. My grandfather had his reasons for what he did, and the fact that he died here alone, without his daughters, probably had something to do with his decision.”
Aunt Hecuba leaped up, having lost the last vestiges of self-control.
“How dare you talk to me like that!” she shouted.
Tiger appeared, attracted by the noise. His hair, standing on end, showed that he was about to pounce.
“Hush, Tiger,” I ordered, and like the faithful, doglike creature he was, he sat at my feet.
The woman took a step back.
“What happened between me and my father is not your business,” she said, more quietly this time.
“Correct. But neither can you come in here and threaten me as if I’ve stolen something. I had no idea about any of this until the lawyer found me. I didn’t even know I had relatives. But now that you’ve come, you should know that I intend to learn all I can about the family.”
“Good luck! But it isn’t so easy.”
“Are you hiding something?”
She didn’t answer me, just rose and fled the room as if she were being chased. The sun hadn’t set yet, but I was in the dark.
The front door slammed noisily behind her, and Karim appeared.
“Karim hide, madam,” he said. Every day, his Greek improved, and our communication got better.
“And you were right to do so. I wouldn’t have wanted that witch to see you!”
“I wait behind the door, in case she do some harm to madam.”
“I think she really would have liked to.”
“Who is she?”
“My aunt Hecuba. I have a family, Karim, but I don’t think it’s a good thing.”
“Very angry porson!”
“Furious porson, Karim! And I don’t know why. What did I or my mother do to her? And what was that about my mother’s marriage?”
“I do not understand.”
“Nor do I, Karim. Nor do I! But I’ll be damned if I leave the subject like that. Tomorrow I’ll go to the lawyer’s office and see what he knows. When he first contacted me, I was too confused to ask many questions.”
“Madam say a lot. I understand little.”
“Me too, Karim. I understand little, and I know even less.”
The lawyer seemed to have been expecting me. He welcomed me the next day with a smile full of condescension, but his expression became more sympathetic when I explained the reasons for my visit.
“It’s a common phenomenon, Mrs. Karapanos,” he observed, continuing to smile. “When they learn about an unexpected inheritance, many heirs concentrate only on that and forget to ask about all the details.”
“The difference, Mr. Doulabey,” I replied, “is that I didn’t even know I had relatives. I didn’t have a place to hang my hat, as the saying goes, and suddenly, I found myself inheriting a house and a small fortune. On top of that, I have an aunt who blames me for something I don’t understand.”
“That too is no surprise. The relatives who get the lion’s share of an inheritance are not liked by the others.”
“Yes, but why did I get it, considering that my grandfather cut my mother off and drove her out of the house, so that she found herself in Germany with her husband?”
“I would surmise that, at the end, your grandfather felt he had wronged your mother. He obviously didn’t approve of her choice of husband.”
“I don’t disagree with him on that,” I interjected.
“Those are things I know nothing about, Mrs. Karapanos, and they don’t concern me. I executed the will based on the instructions of the deceased, Pericles Sekeris, and I did everything I could to find you and give you what was yours.”
“And my aunts? This Hecuba, who came to find me, and the other one, Fotini?”
“Hecuba Sekeris married a businessman from Crete, Dimitris Papadakis, and settled there with her husband and two children. Your grandfather left her a symbolic amount, as you read in the will. As for Fotini, she lives in Palaio Faliro; she’s a widow and has no children. She married rather late. She inherited the same amount as her sister. There’s a rumor that she has some mental problems.”
“And why did the two of them leave their father to die all alone?”
“That I don’t know, unfortunately.”
“Do I have any other relatives?”
“Your grandmother had a brother, Nestor Ververis, who, after his sister’s death, cut ties with his brother-
in-law. Again, I don’t know the details.”
“But you did know my grandfather.”
“Yes, I visited him many times before his will was complete.”
“What was he like?”
“A proud man. When he was young, he must have been very handsome, but—”
“Please, Mr. Doulabey. You’re the only one who can tell me. It doesn’t matter what—I just want to learn about my family.”
“Yes, your grandfather was a cold man—even hard, I would say. But he was also very clearheaded.”
I left the lawyer’s office feeling dizzy from all the information rattling around in my mind. Not only did I have aunts, but cousins too. And probably none of them liked me.
Karim and Tiger were waiting for me to return: the first to hear my news, the second because he wanted affection. Fortunately, both could be satisfied at the same time. I took my cat in my arms and looked at Karim.
“Does madam know now why other madam is angry?” he asked me.
“I found out a few things, Karim, but now the investigation really starts. Now I’m curious!”
“Will madam who shouts come back?”
“I don’t know. Just as I don’t know where to start looking.”
“And the . . . the . . . the . . .” He tried to show me with his hands what he meant. “The box,” he finally managed in English.
“The box,” I repeated, and my eyes brightened. “Bravo, Karim! I’d forgotten it.”
I sprang up and ran to the office. I heard Karim calling to me that he would cook, and Tiger jumped out of my arms. The kitchen interested him a lot more than a dusty box.
I undid the ribbon carefully, but it almost fell apart in my hands. I was twice as careful as I took out the first letter. With surgical precision, I unfolded it on the desk. Fortunately, the writing was easy to read, but my eyes widened when I saw the date. The letter was ninety years old. It had been written in the summer of 1926. The sender was one Simeon Kouyoumdzis, and the recipient was a woman with the name Smaragda Kantardzis. I immersed myself in reading.
Angel of my life, being that I worship, this is the first letter I have dared to write you, and it was your eyes that gave me the courage. That look that you gave me on Sunday in church made me understand that the question I feel finds a response in your heart. And as soon as I understood that, everything made sense. The nights stopped hurting me, the days spread abundant light, my life swelled with sense and purpose. My ethereal creature, I want you to know that you hold my heart in your hands. I don’t dare to hope, but I long for a single word from you to reassure me that I didn’t imagine that look . . . that my lovesick fantasy didn’t create that imperceptible smile that was addressed only to me . . .
