The Gold Letter

by Lena Manta

  “But how did you end up alone in Greece?”

  “That’s another story, and it’s already getting late.”

  As if waking from a deep sleep, Melpo looked at the darkness that had descended outside.

  “True, but I can’t leave your side. Not tonight, anyway. I won’t leave you alone after all the things you’ve remembered.”

  “I stay here. Not leave madam,” Karim reminded her, sounding slightly offended.

  “Melpo, I didn’t wait for today to remember. I carry this around every day.”

  “It’s not the same,” she retorted. “It’s one thing to bottle something up inside, another to have it pour out and drown you!”

  “What about your husband?”

  “Let him sleep at his sister’s! Tonight, you’re going to put me up here.”

  “But no more talking,” I made clear.

  “No, I can’t bear any more,” she agreed sadly.

  “And I will cook,” Karim announced.

  “You always assume I’m hungry,” I told him. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes, but the other madam? You will let her go hungry? Shame on you!” he said in English, provoking me.

  I smiled at his shrewdness.

  “Actually, I’m going to cook!” Melpo declared. “I need to do something. Spaghetti is just what the doctor ordered.”

  I followed her obediently into the kitchen and sat watching my mother’s cousin and my ward sharing my care. My mouth was so bitter and my throat was so dry that I doubted I could eat at all. I felt strangely empty. Like a burden has been shared, I thought. For so many years, I had buried everything, and in a few hours, I had revealed it all to these wonderful, unexpected new friends. I had never stopped to wonder why I’d taken Karim in so quickly. Tonight, though, when I remembered Yannos and Savina, I realized I’d been trying to repay their kindness.

  The hot plate of spaghetti that landed in front of me made my stomach stir strangely. In the end, I ate with such gusto that even Karim was impressed.

  “Tomorrow, though, will you tell me what happened to my grandmother and her family?” I asked Melpo, swallowing the last mouthful.

  “Of course,” she answered, smiling. “We’ll go to bed early, and tomorrow, first thing, we’ll open the album of your life. I promise.”

  Despite fearing insomnia, I slept deeply. Melpo lay down beside me; she didn’t want to leave me for a moment, but when I woke up, no one was there. Enticing smells drifted up from the kitchen. I smiled and got up. I looked at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, I felt like a twenty-year-old whose only concern was what to wear on that hot July morning. I took a bath and tied my hair up with a ribbon. I skipped downstairs and stopped short, admiring their achievements. Toast, omelets, hot croissants, and a delicious fruit tart awaited.

  “Who’s going to eat all that?” I asked.

  “Good morning, is what people say,” Melpo scolded, then gave me a kiss on the cheek. “We’re all going to eat it together, sweetheart!”

  It was one of the most wonderful breakfasts of my life. Melpo kept us laughing with endless stories about her family. She had two grown children: Alkis and Petros. They were both married, and one was about to make her a grandmother.

  She was the first to rise after we’d drunk our coffee.

  “And now come, and we’ll finish our story, because today I’m going home, little one,” she declared.

  I obeyed eagerly. “On one condition. I want to meet my cousins,” I told her. “Can we all get together tomorrow?”

  Melpo agreed. And in the little office, we opened one last album.

  CHAPTER 11

  VERVERIS FAMILY

  Athens, 1948

  On the boat to Greece, once she had overcome the initial shock of leaving her birthplace and separating from her mother and sister, Smaragda recovered her energy. Her life had taught her not to cry for lost paradises, but to create new ones. However, when they arrived at their destination, she discovered that paradise was already waiting for her.

  Alekos Raizis had a sister in Pangrati who was away, and she’d offered them her house until their own was ready. Smaragda saw with surprise that there were even servants waiting for them when they arrived at Mrs. Sekeris’s small palace.

  “Goodness, husband, who is this woman? A princess?” she asked.

  “How should I know, Smaragda?” Fotis answered. “When Alekos told me we could stay at his sister’s, I wasn’t expecting such luxury.”

  They all woke refreshed the next day, curious to finally see the apartment where they would be living. A lot of things had to be done so they could move as quickly as possible and not overtax the hospitality of Mrs. Sekeris and her husband. Smaragda realized that she didn’t have to worry about anything. Breakfast was served in the dining room, and it was the first time, after two decades of marriage, that she hadn’t made her husband his first coffee of the morning.

  The biggest surprise came a few hours later as they crossed the threshold of their apartment building in Kolonaki. Smaragda’s jaw dropped when she saw the foyer with its shining marble and the plaster decorations that adorned the walls.

  “Where are we, my pasha?” she asked with a dry mouth. “What sort of palace is this? Is it ours?”

  “No, Smaragda. This is the lobby. All the tenants come through here. Our apartment is on the third floor.”

  They went up first, with the children behind them, looking without a word at all the wonderful things around them. But nobody could suppress a cry of admiration when they opened their door. The polished wood of the floors and the huge, bright living room left them speechless. Smaragda nearly fainted from joy when she entered the kitchen with its marble countertops and cupboards. In Constantinople, her kitchen was dark. This one shone with the light pouring through the ample window. Full of pride, her eyes caressed her future kingdom, and then she took her husband’s hand and struggled to speak.

  “Thank you,” she said, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

  The scene was interrupted by Nestor, who rushed in excitedly.

  “Papa, Mama, come and look at what else the house has!”

  They followed, and when Smaragda saw the bathroom, with its large white marble tub and modern fixtures, she had to lean against the wall so she wouldn’t fall down.

  “What’s this?” she exclaimed. “Blessed Virgin!”

  Fotis didn’t spare any expense in furnishing their house. The kitchen, his wife’s kingdom, had a new stove, shining pots and pans, and a new icebox that made Smaragda cry when she saw it. The dark wooden box even had a big tank in the upper part and a little tap so they could have cold water. In the middle there were shelves for food, and at the bottom was another tap for the melted water to run out.

  “Goodness, my pasha! These things cost a fortune!”

  “You deserve it, my lady!” Fotis told her. Seeing her eyes light up made him feel happy too.

  They all rolled up their sleeves to clean their house and make it comfortable. Smaragda worked tirelessly and sang like a canary, and beside her, Fotis was proud. Nestor and Chrysafenia exchanged glances full of understanding. Their parents seemed transformed, and that night, Chrysafenia said to her brother, “How I envy them! After so many years together, the love in their eyes brings tears to mine.”

  “Your time will come,” he said, and hugged her affectionately.

  On the boat, the two of them had talked about what happened. There, traveling between sea and sky, they could open their hearts to each other. Nestor didn’t hide how much her actions had hurt him, while Chrysafenia patiently tried to make her brother understand that unfortunate love so he wouldn’t go on hating Vassilis. After so long, she had accepted the fact that Vassilis too was a victim of circumstances. She admitted that, whatever happened in the future, a part of her heart would never stop loving him. For the first time, Nestor began to wonder about love and its power. He himself had remained, until then, unharmed by its arrows and influence.

  T
here were only two things in the apartment building Smaragda had an issue with, and she didn’t get over them for a long time. One was, naturally, the elevator, which she refused to get into, however much her husband and children tried to persuade her.

  “You won’t get me into a box until my time comes!” she declared and continued to climb the marble stairs each day.

  The second problem was the balcony. From the first time they went out to admire the view, Smaragda clung to her husband.

  “That’s enough now, let’s go inside!” she barked, dragging them in.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” asked Nestor. “Don’t you see how beautiful it is? With the breeze on your face? Anyway, what are you afraid of? There’s a railing—”

  “Railing smailing! What if you get dizzy and fall? They’ll have to scoop you up with a teaspoon! My house is just fine; I open my window and get plenty of air. And let me tell you: if I want to go outside, I’ll go downstairs to the street and take a walk.”

  Nobody insisted because everyone knew Smaragda didn’t change her mind easily. The trouble came when she had to clean the balcony. She went out pale; she came back pale. At last, Chrysafenia took over the job, sparing her mother.

  When everything was ready, the family moved into the large apartment. On the first floor, Fotis discovered a smaller apartment available and decided to make it his office. Alekos Raizis from Constantinople worked magic there too, and very soon, his friend again acquired patients, most of them from the upper crust of postwar Athens. Their life assumed its usual rhythm, only Nestor decided not to continue his medical studies, however much his father tried to persuade him. The young man had decided to become a pharmacist. And although Fotis was very unhappy at first, as he got used to his new homeland and talked to people there, he realized that his son was wise to choose such a lucrative profession.

  The year 1949 found the family in high spirits. They celebrated New Year’s for the first time in Greece, satisfied on all counts. They’d even begun to make their first friends. At first, people had laughed at the strange dialect of Greek spoken by the beautiful woman from Constantinople, but very soon, Smaragda’s smile and courtesy won her respect. Every afternoon she came downstairs to collect the half block of ice for her icebox. She was friendly with the iceman, and despite the complaints of some of the other women in the neighborhood, he made a habit of delivering ice to her first. And she always kept a little piece of homemade dessert for him. Her cooking became famous, since when she turned on her oven, the whole apartment building smelled fragrant. One day in the lobby, a neighbor asked what she was cooking that made all the noses in the building twitch. Smiling happily, Smaragda didn’t just tell her about her spiced meatballs, but invited her in to try them. Before long, she became the secret cooking advisor for many women in the neighborhood, making numerous ignorant husbands happy, as their wives’ cooking was now full of exotic smells and tastes.

  Smaragda looked twenty years old again. She and her daughter walked all over Athens, and they never tired of the freedom they enjoyed. The shop windows made Smaragda gawk like a child. She enjoyed everything, and Chrysafenia was drawn along with her. Day by day, the girl left behind her sadness about her lost love. New experiences penetrated her mind and spirit, making the image of Vassilis fade slowly but steadily. And yet, there were moments when she still yearned to feel him close to her. Then she would open her little box, read his words, and wear the gold letter. The feel of the shining metal on her skin evoked the memory of his kisses, and her eyes would fill with nostalgic tears.

  For his part, Fotis began to go down to Syntagma Square and to frequent Zavoritis Café, at the intersection of Ermou and Nikis. The owner had recently renovated a luxurious tearoom, and Fotis would take Smaragda and his daughter there for cake. At other times, they liked to sit at Zacharatos’s, where the specialty was called a “submarine”—a large spoon of mastic dipped in a glass of cold water. Chrysafenia was crazy about them, whereas Smaragda had discovered Coca-Cola and enjoyed one every Sunday. She had a weakness for sweets, and nearly every day, Fotis brought her an ION almond-chocolate bar in exchange for a gentle kiss.

  The first time they went to the movies and heard actors speaking Greek, it was like a dream. The film, Madam Sousou with Marika Nezer and Vasilis Logothetidis, was the first of dozens that followed.

  The letters Smaragda sent to her family in Constantinople kept getting longer as she described every detail of their new life and begged her parents to think seriously about coming to visit. But it seemed there was always a reason they had to put it off. Fotis also corresponded regularly with the friend who had helped them so much. He learned that Alekos’s sister and her husband would be returning to Athens in mid-January, and decided the least they could do was to invite them over for dinner as thanks for lending their house.

  Lizeta Sekeris and her husband, Kleanthis, accepted with pleasure, and when the day came all of them sat together in the large dining room. Lizeta seemed very pleased with everything and praised the hostess’s cooking. But what everyone noticed the most was how she couldn’t keep her eyes off Chrysafenia. She spoke to her at length, asking about her interests and wanting to hear her impression of Athens.

  The evening ended with the Ververises promising to accept the Sekeris family’s invitation to a party in honor of Kleanthis’s youngest brother, who was returning from America. Pericles Sekeris had just turned thirty, and he was a very talented civil engineer. The couple had no children of their own, so they doted on Pericles.

  That evening, when the Sekerises returned home, Kleanthis looked inquiringly at his wife.

  “Do I dare to ask,” he began with a smile, “what you have in your clever mind?”

  Lizeta let her hair down and began brushing her thick curls.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she replied.

  “Very well then, I’ll explain it to you,” he answered her seriously. “The whole evening, you scarcely paid attention to anyone but Miss Ververis. It was obvious that you were finding out all you could about the girl.”

  “What’s so strange about that? Or didn’t her beauty make an impression on you? Did you see those eyes? Like melted gold! What’s more, she’s polite, charming.”

  “You don’t have to enumerate her qualities,” her husband interrupted her. “You’re not matchmaking for her. Not to me, at least . . .”

  “OK, fine! It crossed my mind. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t think about it too!” She pouted and went on brushing her hair irritably.

  Her husband went up to her, took the brush out of her hand, and rested it on his wife’s vanity table. They exchanged a look in the mirror, and then he kissed her gently on the crown of the head.

  “I admit it. That the young lady is just right for our Pericles.”

  “Then why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

  “Because you and I know that my brother didn’t go to America of his own accord. We sent him there to break up that unsuitable relationship.”

  “That was three years ago!”

  “So? How do you know Pericles won’t fall right back into the arms of the beautiful cabaret star?”

  “No way will she be waiting for him, the slut! She no doubt latched on to some rich man the day after he left.”

  “Lizeta, how can you talk like that?” her husband reprimanded her.

  “Why? What did I say? Our Pericles made a mistake, and he admitted it. Last year, when he came to visit, did you sense that he was angry with us? Or maybe you thought he was still longing for her?”

  “The truth is, no.”

  “You see?” his wife said triumphantly. “I know what I’m doing, Kleanthis. As soon as he sees her, I’m sure your brother will be impressed. What a girl! And just what he needs. To settle down and occupy himself with his work. Since the war, Athens needs his talent more than ever. Don’t you see all the building going on around us?”

  “My sweet female Machiavelli!” her husband teased. “I won�
�t put any obstacles in your way—you know that. As for my brother, he doesn’t stand a chance against you!”

  A week later, Pericles Sekeris returned. He’d left as a young man in love, angry that no one accepted his feelings for the beautiful, redheaded Liana, who danced and displayed her charms. Now, he was a different person. Mature and charming, calm and settled. Three years of “exile” had done him good. Alone in a foreign country, he could think clearly. Without the allure of Liana to cloud his judgment, he could understand his family’s objections. They realized before he did that what he thought of as a great love was only desire; the distance and new experiences that he was offered broadened his mind. In America, he saw remarkable sights, made friends, and attended a lot of seminars in his field, but he missed his homeland. He corresponded regularly with Kleanthis and Lizeta. For him, they were like another set of parents, and—more than that—they were friends.

  He appeared at their house the day after his return and was lost in their hugs and kisses. He felt like a boat entering its harbor. As if he hadn’t been away for a single day. His parents’ home was suffocating, but his brother’s was different. And as soon as the initial flurry had settled, and Lizeta had persuaded him a little, he shared his feelings.

  “It’s not that Mother and Father have said anything directly, but I see it in their eyes. I went out to see some friends, and they looked at me as if they thought I would end up at Liana’s house. How can I persuade them that story is over? Even yesterday, when I arrived, they looked at me strangely. As if they were wondering if their home was the first stop, or if I’d already been to hers. They’ve gone a little bit crazy. I don’t know how I’m going to get used to living there again.”