The Gold Letter

by Lena Manta

  Absorbed in her children, Smaragda seemed to live in her own world. Social life didn’t interest her, and she attended gatherings with Fotis only when it was absolutely necessary. She would never have confessed that her soul trembled in fear of meeting Simeon and his wife. She thanked God every time she arrived at some friendly house and the Kouyoumdzis couple was not there.

  She had no girlfriends. Evanthia had also married but lived far away at Agios Stefanos, which had been renamed Yeşilköy in 1926, when a law required that all non-Turkish place names to be changed. Smaragda had regular contact with Dorothea, who had given birth to another child, and with her parents. Her only other social contacts were with some older wives of her husband’s colleagues. Nevertheless, she didn’t miss the company of a girl her own age. Secure in her household, she raised her children, completely satisfied with her life. But she never threw away Simeon’s letters. Tied with a pink ribbon, wrapped in a silk handkerchief, they rested in their box, buried at the bottom of a chest underneath some lacework and her wedding dress.

  One day, Fotis insisted they attend a party, but Smaragda didn’t want to leave the house. Her little Chrysafenia was still recovering from a bad cold. But her husband was intransigent, and that was rare.

  “Smaragda, dear, I tell you it’s impossible for us not to go!” he stressed for the fourth time when she repeated her objections. “There’s nothing wrong with the child. I’m a doctor, and you must trust that I know what’s going on.”

  “I just can’t understand why you’re insisting so much about this party.”

  “All right then, sweetheart, I’ll tell you again,” he said patiently. “Mr. and Mrs. Bezikis are patients of ours. My father treated Mr. Bezikis’s parents, and I took on the young ones. Their daughter recently got engaged, and they are very keen to introduce her fiancé to all their friends. I can’t not be there—Mrs. Bezikis begged me to come. She knows we don’t go out regularly, and it’s so important to them.”

  “Enough. I understand. Who else will be there?”

  “How do I know? The woman didn’t tell me who she was inviting. But with a name like theirs and a fortune to go with it, you can be sure it’ll be the crème de la crème!”

  Of course, that was precisely what she was worried about.

  And indeed, Smaragda’s good luck had finally run out. They arrived at the Bezikis house a little late because, at the last minute, their daughter asked her mother for a story. Her tiny hands were wrapped around her mother’s neck, and she wouldn’t let her go. If Fotis hadn’t intervened, Smaragda would have gone on telling the fairy tale all night.

  The couple entered the large drawing room full of people, turning heads as usual. Fotis and Smaragda Ververis were considered one of the handsomest couples in the city. The hostess introduced them to some people they didn’t know, and a few moments later, Smaragda found herself face-to-face with Simeon and his wife.

  She cursed the moment she had stopped telling the story to her daughter, and was angry with her husband for insisting she come—all in the few seconds it took Mrs. Bezikis to make her introductions.

  “Doctor, permit me to introduce you both to an outstanding member of our society,” the woman was saying. “Mr. Simeon Kouyoumdzis, son of an old family who continues the tradition of his grandfathers in the goldsmith business. And this is Mr. Fotis Ververis, one of the best doctors in Constantinople.”

  “But I know you!” her husband was saying now. “I’ve bought the most beautiful jewelry from your shop for my wife.”

  It was the women’s turn to be introduced. Smaragda would have been less pale in the face of a firing squad. Her frozen hand found itself in Simeon’s, and he politely brought it to his lips as her husband made the same gesture to Roza. Smaragda remembered that kiss in Mrs. Marigo’s living room, his words, the oaths he had sworn, and everything changed. Beside her stood a man who not only loved but also respected her, while opposite was a small, cowardly person, a man who had abandoned her without a word of explanation and run away like a child. There was no reason for her to be heartsick, just angry with her own stupidity. She was no longer the young girl in love with something that existed only in her imagination. Now she knew what a man who loved his wife was capable of; her husband had taught her this. She raised her head, the blood returning to her cheeks, and full of determination, she held out her hand to greet Roza Kouyoumdzis. The young woman’s face startled her. It spoke volumes, making it quite clear that she knew her husband had once promised marriage to the woman with whom she now exchanged a cold handshake.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Bezikis wanted to introduce them to more guests, and so she led them off to the other end of the salon, putting an end to the charade. Now Smaragda could breathe easier, although she felt Simeon’s gaze still fixed on her. A nervous laugh threatened to erupt, and to avoid it, she pinched her hand and bit her lip. The next couple were quite pleasant, and they spent a little time talking to them.

  A few yards away, Simeon’s wife nudged him. He turned and came face-to-face with her anger.

  “Stop drooling, you fool,” she growled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you want me to bring you a mirror? Your jaw is practically on the floor!”

  “Can’t you lower your voice?” he scolded. “People are looking at us.”

  “And will these people see me? Or will they be too distracted by how you stare at her?” she retorted in a low voice, hoarse with tension.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simeon answered. “That story was over a long time ago, practically before it began!”

  “Really? Then why did she nearly faint when she saw you? And you—so much emotion about an old story? I’m not an idiot, Simeon, and I know what’s going on—not just now, but for years!”

  “Roza, do you really want to talk about all this here? Can’t it wait till we get home?”

  “You may have obeyed your father’s wishes because of my dowry, but your mind is still on her. What do they call it? Repressed desire?”

  “Roza, will you be quiet now before I say something stronger?” her husband said, growing angry.

  “The guilty don’t speak, my love!” she shot back. “You’d better pull yourself together, or I’ll have to take serious measures.”

  Smaragda was relieved to see the Kouyoumdzis couple leave early that evening. From that moment on, she was able to have a pleasant time. She danced with her husband and chatted with the other women. When they got home and went to bed, though, her mind was free to examine itself. She marveled at the absence of those feelings she’d had for Simeon. Her logic had overcome them. Yes, she had loved Simeon with all the strength of her childish soul. Yes, she had hoped that the two of them would live happily together, but life doesn’t happen the way one hopes. She was lucky she had married a man who adored her and demonstrated that every day; she had two wonderful children, a lovely home. She must stand by what fate had offered her with open hands, and not fret over something that was never real in the first place. She turned over and saw her husband’s eyes looking at her in the darkness; it scared her.

  “Fotis,” she said, upset. “What’s the matter?”

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked calmly.

  “I’ll fall asleep soon. I’m very tired—maybe that’s why.”

  Her husband sat up. The moon shone so brightly through their window that she could see him clearly. Smaragda got up and put on her robe.

  “Shall I bring you some milk?” she asked him in embarrassment. “Or would you prefer something hot?”

  “Sit down, dear. I don’t want anything. But will you tell me what’s the matter? We’ve been married for long enough that you must know by now that whatever upsets you upsets me too. Something happened tonight, and I want to know the cause of it.”

  “My pasha, I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she said.

  “Smaragda, if you won’t tell me, that means it’s something serious. You never
hide anything from me. And tonight you got very upset. Do you want to know when? The exact moment?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Tell me, what’s going on with Mr. Kouyoumdzis?”

  “Nothing!” Smaragda reassured him, blushing. “I swear to you.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything! But when we were introduced, I felt you stiffen. Your hands got icy, and you turned very pale. Don’t tell me it wasn’t so, or I’ll be angry.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Fotis, but it’s nothing. The craziness of youth, my pasha, that’s all.”

  “Go on, tell me, so I can be at peace.”

  “Before you proposed to me, Mr. Kouyoumdzis told me he loved me and wanted to marry me.”

  “And you? Did you love him?”

  “Yes. Fotis, I’m telling you the whole truth. His father didn’t want me as a daughter-in-law; he intended him to marry the woman you saw. So, as a young girl, I had hopes, and the loss upset me a lot.”

  “Is that why you said yes to me? Out of spite?”

  “That was part of it,” she admitted. “I believed then that I wouldn’t love anyone else, and so it wouldn’t matter who I married. I knew you and liked you.” The tears she was holding back spilled uncontrollably from her eyes, but she wanted to clear up something else. With her gaze lowered, she went on: “You should know, though, that nothing bad happened. He only gave me one kiss. I just want you to know that I didn’t—”

  He didn’t allow her to torture herself any longer. He reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I know that better than anyone,” he told her pointedly, and smiled.

  The blood rose to her cheeks again as she remembered the first night he had taken her in his arms. He took her in them again now and kissed the top of her head. Afterward, he left her alone and got up. Smaragda followed him with her eyes as he went to the window and stood there looking thoughtfully at the sky.

  “What are you thinking, my Fotis?”

  “Tonight was difficult for me. I won’t lie; at first, I was anxious about the way you reacted to that man—you were almost trembling. Later, when they left, you went back to being the Smaragda I know so well. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Fotis, I swear to you that was the first time I’ve seen him since all those years ago.”

  Her husband came and knelt before her, making her embarrassed.

  “Listen carefully, Smaragda. I said I know you well, and I meant it. I’m not scared that you still have something in your heart for him.”

  “Truly?” The word escaped her, and she bit her lip, provoking a little smile from him.

  “Yes, my love. And if you aren’t sure of yourself, I am. My dearest, how can a girlish dream, two glances, and a kiss compare to what we’re living now. I am your husband and I love you; that much you know. And I know you love me too. More than you realize. But know this too: I wouldn’t put my hand in the fire for him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That, as a man, I understood from the first moment. That man still has his eye on you.”

  “Fotis, what you’re saying is not right.”

  “But it’s the truth, Smaragda. I saw how he was looking at you! And he didn’t take his eyes off you the whole time he was at the party, the wretch. That’s why his wife dragged him out.”

  For a long moment, Smaragda was stunned, rooted in place, but then she jumped up and ran to embrace her husband.

  “I don’t care about him, Fotis! I swear! And I would never do anything to dirty the name you gave me.”

  He put his arms around her. “I know, Smaragda. I’d put my hand in the fire only for you. But please understand—we can’t have any contact with that family.”

  “Of course, why would we? Can we forget about it now, my husband? Can we put it behind us? I feel better for having told you.”

  Fotis looked at her gazing at him in the moonlight. He raised his hands and placed them on her face. His gaze met hers, and however much he searched the depths of her eyes, he found nothing but her love for him. He bent and kissed his wife. Her body pressed itself against his, telling him what he wanted to hear. He lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. Words of love, kisses, and heavy breathing filled the room. The moon hid tactfully behind the passing clouds.

  That evening was not discussed again by the couple. Knowing what he knew now, Fotis took care to accept invitations only when he was sure there would not be another unfortunate meeting. He had faith in his wife, but not in the man. However certain he was of Smaragda’s love, he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with another man who still wanted her. From the first minute of their encounter with Simeon, he could smell that masculine desire, and there was no reason to put temptation in Smaragda’s way.

  Despite all his precautions, a month later, they couldn’t avoid it. Mr. Stathopoulos and his wife had organized a large party with official invitations, and it was impossible for the Ververis couple not to attend. Smaragda had a special dress made for the occasion, and as always, their entrance caused a stir. Both were radiant. The large salon was full of lights and people, and some couples were already dancing to the rhythms of a small orchestra. Despite the large number of guests, after five minutes, the Ververises became aware of the presence of Simeon and his wife at almost the same moment the other couple spotted them. With relief, Simeon saw his wife’s annoyed gaze pass over them and continue examining the other people in the room. On the other side, however, it wasn’t the same. Fotis clenched his fists when he noticed Simeon gazing at Smaragda hopefully. He took his wife by the arm, and they headed for the other end of the room.

  Later on, Smaragda couldn’t remember how it all started. How did she find herself alone? Where was Fotis? But none of that mattered. The result was the same. It was as if Simeon had been watching for an opportunity to pounce. As soon as Fotis stepped away, and as she was about to approach some women she knew, the other man intercepted her. Smaragda’s palms felt damp. She looked around guiltily, but no one was looking at them.

  “Let me pass!” she ordered, but he didn’t move an inch.

  “I want to speak to you.”

  “I have to want it too!”

  “Smaragda, I want to tell you—I want to let you know that, for me, nothing has changed!”

  “Mr. Kouyoumdzis, you insult me. I am married and so are you,” she told him, trying to remain calm so as not to give any excuse for comment if someone had noticed them.

  “But I loved you, and you loved me too before we married.”

  “Yes, before. You changed your mind and took someone else, and so did I. What do you want now?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you! I didn’t change my mind. But my father—”

  Her patience was exhausted. She looked at him with eyes that shot sparks.

  “Very well. Let’s forget about politeness if that’s the way you want it! You were a coward, Simeon, and your behavior now demonstrates that again. Enough! You filled me with vows and promises, you made me believe you, and then you bent your head and obeyed your father’s wishes. Bravo! That’s what a good son does. But not a man! And since I have a man now, I’m telling you not to bother me again!”

  “But I still love you!”

  “And what do you want to do about it? Eh? Do you want for us to carry on where we left off? Aren’t you ashamed to stand in front of me and say such things? And if you feel bad about the way you treated me, that you didn’t have the courage to write me two words of explanation, to save me finding out from someone else that you were getting married, that’s none of my concern. I love my husband. And you know what else? I’m sorry for that wife of yours, that you respect her so little that you’d come speak to me like this. Now, step aside and let me pass!”

  She was ready to push him out of the way, not caring who saw, but suddenly, Roza appeared.

  “What are you doing, talking to her?” she asked him, struggling not to shout and attract everyone’s attention. “A
nd as for you, aren’t you ashamed, a married woman? Does your husband know that you’re trying to ensnare my husband? Of course, what can you expect from a—”

  Fotis appeared, smiling. Smaragda saw the darkness in his eyes.

  “Mrs. Kouyoumdzis, I’d advise you not to complete that sentence,” he said through clenched teeth. He turned to Simeon. “As for you, if you approach my wife again, I’ll break your nose, no matter where we are. Now, take your wife and leave, before everyone here realizes what’s going on. And from now on, stay out of our way!”

  Roza, furious, went to say something, but Simeon grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her off to say good-bye to their hosts, who didn’t understand what had gone on and wondered at the speedy departure. A few guests who’d been closer to the quarrel informed them that some tension had developed between the couples, but they didn’t know any details. Mr. and Mrs. Stathopoulos would continue to be puzzled.

  As soon as Smaragda was alone with her husband, she looked at him boldly, and it was her look that brought a smile to his lips. His beautiful wife had nothing to hide.

  “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I can’t believe that just happened!”

  “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “What can I say? He appeared in front of me, the wretch, to tell me he still loves me! The nerve! If we’d been somewhere else, I would have slapped his face. Imagine, right here! And then his wife came to insult me—me! Instead of taking her husband away.” Smaragda’s anger grew now that the initial surprise had left her. Her eyes were flashing; she almost forgot where she was. “And she, the—I won’t say it—she nearly flew at me. Such shameless people! And to think that I once—”

  “Smaragda, enough, my sweet! Someone could hear you,” he gently interrupted her.

  As if woken from a trance, Smaragda raised her head, but now her eyes were sad. “It’s awful,” she said softly. “In my mind, I pictured him differently. I wanted to keep the image of the boy I knew. Proud. Now he hasn’t left me anything.”

  Fotis hugged her, smiling. If he lived for a hundred years, Fotis thought, he would never understand women, the crazy paths their minds could take. He didn’t tell her that if he had lost her then, he might have felt like Simeon. Deep down, he understood the man.