The Gold Letter

by Lena Manta

  “That’s very difficult,” Chrysafenia admitted.

  “But what does your husband think? That these clowns will be in charge for the next few centuries? The people will rise up, and the despots’ friends will pay right along with them.”

  “Lizeta, are you a leftist?” asked Yvonne, shocked. “I can’t bear the junta either, but . . .”

  “Do you have to be a leftist to detest some half-crazy types who’ve overrun us by force?” Lizeta responded indignantly.

  “Certainly not, but it’s only the leftists who criticize them aloud. Be careful, Lizeta. Don’t get into trouble,” Chrysafenia warned her, with Yvonne nodding in agreement.

  The discussion ended there because a skirmish broke out upstairs between Hecuba and young Smaragda, and it took their mother’s intervention to stop it. When Chrysafenia returned to her friends, she was frowning.

  “What happened?” asked Lizeta.

  “The same thing every day!” Chrysafenia burst out. “This daughter of mine has grown up, but she hasn’t developed any brains. I can’t understand the hatred she has for the little one. She’s my child, but I tremble at the thought that, once she finishes school, she’ll be at home all day!”

  “Doesn’t she want to go to college?” Yvonne asked.

  “She doesn’t want to hear about studying. Her father told her she must, but she won’t budge.”

  “So, try to marry her off,” Lizeta advised.

  “Yes, tomorrow if possible!” Chrysafenia said ironically. “But she doesn’t want to hear about marriage either. What will I do with her? She’s only interested in making life difficult for her sister. And the little one is so quiet and sweet. She doesn’t hold any grudge against her sister, but the situation makes me ill. Whatever Smaragda has, Hecuba takes. And whenever any of us lets slip some good words about Smaragda, I see Hecuba turn yellow with hatred.”

  Nothing had changed as the children had grown up, and it wounded their mother deeply, making her wonder what she herself might have done wrong. Hecuba would turn eighteen soon, and although she wasn’t physically ugly, her expression and constant complaints made her unattractive. The next child, Fotini, was pleasant, but she seemed to be lacking in volition, while fifteen-year-old Stelios was a calm child with a weakness for his mother and his youngest sister. But the joy of the household was fourteen-year-old Smaragda. She had inherited all her mother’s beauty, especially her eyes, which were like melted gold. She always had a smile or a song on her lips, and she paid no attention to her older sister’s scorn. She had accepted the fact that Hecuba was like that and avoided arguing with her, even when the girl stole things that belonged to her, from a piece of chocolate to a scarf or a jacket. The little spear-carrier for the four children was Yvonne and Nestor’s daughter, Melpo. She was twelve, and she clung to sweet Smaragda. As she grew up, Melpo never hesitated to take on Hecuba, defending her beloved cousin as much as she could.

  On New Year’s Day, Pericles broke open the lucky pomegranate at the front door with pride. Everything was going well for him. Despite his wife’s objections, his business had doubled thanks to his friendship with the officers. Signs bearing his name were everywhere, on the best new buildings, and his accounts at the bank grew fatter and fatter. In addition, his son had announced that, as soon as he finished school, he would take the entrance exams for the polytechnic school so as to continue his father’s business. Fotini, who had finished school with excellent grades, would continue to study piano, which was what she liked best, while Smaragda decided she wanted to be a teacher.

  The only black spot in his life was his eldest child. Hecuba seemed not to care about anything. She didn’t want to study and refused any suggestion of marriage. Her staying at home caused a lot of friction with her mother, who watched her daughter doing absolutely nothing. Only when Smaragda returned from school did she liven up, eager to create problems for the younger child. Every time Smaragda brought a friend home, the older sister forced her way into the room and listened pointedly to their conversation. In the end, there was always a fight—even Smaragda’s patience had its limits. Once, as soon as she had gone into the room with her cousin, Melpo turned the key loudly and locked the door. When the two girls came out later, Hecuba grabbed them both by the hair, and there was a great commotion.

  One afternoon, at the beginning of March 1971, a huge fight broke out in Pericles’s house. Smaragda and Melpo had been invited to visit a friend for her birthday. Hecuba was furious that she wasn’t invited and insisted on accompanying the two younger girls to the party.

  “You weren’t invited,” said Smaragda for the umpteenth time. “Why would you even want to come?”

  Instead of answering, Hecuba gave her young sister a hard slap, just at the moment when their mother came into the room.

  “Hecuba,” Chrysafenia exclaimed, approaching the girl, “what sort of behavior is that? Say sorry to your sister immediately!”

  “That’ll be the day!” she answered cheekily. “It’s her fault.”

  “Mama, please talk to Hecuba. She’s being crazy. She keeps insisting on coming to the party even though no one invited her. What does she have to do with my friends? Nobody there wants her.”

  In her fury, Hecuba shoved her mother away and flew at her sister. Chrysafenia was thrown to the floor and hit her head on the wardrobe. Pericles ran in to see what was going on, shocked to see his wife on the floor. He helped her up, then turned to his daughters.

  “How did your mother fall?” he asked, and his voice shook with anger. “Hecuba!”

  “I didn’t mean to, Papa! It was—”

  She didn’t manage to finish her sentence. Pericles’s hand came down forcefully on her cheek. It was the first time he had hit anyone, and the mother and sisters froze.

  “I’ll never forgive you for that!” he said, and with every word it was as if he hit her again. “How dare you raise your hand to your mother? It’s the first and the last time. The next time, I’ll finish you off!”

  “She only meant to hit me, Papa,” Smaragda interjected.

  “Smaragda, don’t make excuses for her!” her father shouted, and turned to the guilty girl again. “And who gave you permission to hit your sister? Who do you think you are, Hecuba? Pull yourself together before we have more serious trouble! And now apologize, because I’m ready to hit you again!”

  In a voice that was nearly inaudible, the girl was forced to apologize not only to her mother but also to her sister before she was allowed to leave the room. Pericles and his wife left the room immediately while Smaragda, with a heavy heart, began to get ready for the party. Before she left, she knocked on Hecuba’s door. When she opened it, she found her sister crying inconsolably. She wanted to go up to her, to try and make up, but Hecuba curled around on her bed like a snake and, with eyes scarlet from weeping, looked at her sister with so much hatred that Smaragda was rooted to the spot.

  “I hate you more than anything in my life,” she hissed. “The slap I got from Father was because of you—remember that! Now get out of my sight, and I hope you never return.”

  Smaragda hung her head. She didn’t want to admit that the game with her sister had been lost, not now, but years ago. She couldn’t understand the hatred she saw imprinted on the face of a being who shared the same blood.

  “Are you crazy?” Melpo said when they met up. “Hecuba’s been a mean-spirited old maid from the day she was born! Don’t pay attention to her.”

  “But she’s my sister,” the girl complained.

  “And Abel had Cain for a brother! Did that stop the murder?”

  Smaragda smiled and looked lovingly at her cousin, who was dragging her by the hand into the house where the party was being held. She crossed the threshold without suspecting that a few yards away, in the room full of young boys and girls, her intended was waiting.

  Time stopped, and the room full of people disappeared when she saw him sipping his drink a little ways from the others; it seemed as if he was wait
ing for her. From the first moment her eyes passed over him, she was captivated. This young stranger drew her to him like a magnet. Her friend ran to greet the two cousins and introduce them to the guests they didn’t know. They reached him, and he stood up. He was very tall, and Smaragda had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Blushing, she said hello and realized, full of joy, that he’d noticed her too. Help came unexpectedly. Another girl arrived just then, and the young hostess ran to welcome her, while some of Melpo’s other friends dragged her away. They remained standing, facing each other. Around them young people shouted and laughed, while far away, Smaragda could hear music from a gramophone.

  “Would you like to sit?” she heard him say and obediently took a place nearby, but not next to him.

  From that moment, it was as if no one else existed. He asked questions, and Smaragda answered, and when the music grew louder, he moved closer so he could hear her. Smaragda didn’t have much to tell him about her life, although the young man seemed to want to find out every detail about her, even the most trivial.

  “Won’t you tell me anything about yourself?” she dared to ask him at one point. “I only know your first name.”

  “That’s unforgivable!” he said happily. “My name is Simos Kouyoumdzis. My family are all goldsmiths.”

  Smaragda didn’t sleep that night. Lying in her bed, she relived again and again every moment she had spent with him, having already been cross-examined by Melpo. Her cousin spent that night at their house, and as soon as they’d closed the door to Smaragda’s room, she began to bombard her with questions.

  “Oof!” Smaragda protested at one point. “I’ve told you everything. What else do you want to know?”

  “Will you see him again? Tell me and I swear I won’t ask you anything else!”

  “He asked me to meet him in the National Garden tomorrow the afternoon.”

  “Holy Virgin! And how will you go? What will you say to your parents?”

  “You told me you wouldn’t ask me anything else, and now you’ve asked me two questions.”

  “They’re very important, though. Tell them you’re going to the movies with Kiki,” the girl suggested.

  “What if they ask us what movie we’re seeing?”

  “Sheesh! Are you going to let that get in your way? Tell them you’re going to see Lieutenant Natasha again.”

  Nobody questioned her choice. The film was a hit, and some people had seen it two or three times. Permission was given without too many questions, and Smaragda, her heart beating so loudly she thought it would burst out of her chest, ran to meet Simos. She found him waiting with a rose in his hand. Her heart stopped at that moment, in that hour they spent together, walking and talking about everything and nothing. It seemed so natural when he bent to kiss her, and she responded eagerly. She knew that she was completely in love.

  Stolen meetings, secret kisses—they floated on a cloud. Melpo was the only person who knew everything, every detail, and she sighed, hoping that she too would soon experience a love as romantic as her cousin’s. She noticed how Smaragda glowed, the permanent smile giving her an almost angelic look.

  But as fate would have it, her smile would fade, as her family’s fortune took a turn. Everything began when Melpo suddenly fainted. The doctors were clear: there was no hope for the fifteen-year-old. Everyone froze. The only person who never accepted it was her father. Nestor turned the world upside down until he discovered a Swiss doctor who had performed miracles in similar cases. He took his wife and daughter, and they left Greece. Chrysafenia was immensely grateful to Pericles, who, as soon as he found out about it, used all his contacts to get the papers they needed to travel immediately.

  Smaragda was left without her beloved cousin, and the agony she felt about her fate brought her even closer to Simos, who did everything he could to give her courage.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said again and again, crying in his arms.

  “Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he whispered. “You’ll see—everything will go well, and Melpo will come back to us strong and healthy. I asked about this doctor. If anyone can cure her, it’s him, Smaragda. Don’t lose your courage! Melpo will come back to us.”

  He kissed away her tears and held her tightly. And Smaragda nestled into his arms and took strength from him and from the stolen hours they spent together, sometimes in the National Garden, and sometimes on long outings to Kifissia. Simos drove; his car had become the nest that held them safely inside, protecting from prying eyes a love that grew stronger every day. They began to make plans for their future. Following the family tradition, he planned to expand the business and open another store in Patission, with his family’s blessing; they were proud to have an heir worthy of the Kouyoumdzis name. Smaragda had decided she would take the exams to become a teacher, and the two pictured their life together in beautiful colors.

  CHAPTER 14

  Kypseli, 2016

  “What do you mean, that’s all you know?” I said in horror.

  “Didn’t I tell you I went to Switzerland? When I left, your mother was happy and in love.”

  “Yes, but to end up married to my father, she must not have stayed with Simos. Do you think that the families got in the way for a third time?”

  “I don’t know. I never heard a word from anyone.”

  “Just imagine, though. Three generations of women fell in love with a Kouyoumdzis man and didn’t manage to marry him. What sort of curse is that? And to think that, to separate my grandmother from Vassilis, they were forced to uproot themselves from Constantinople. And yet their children found each other in Athens!”

  “My girl, sometimes you meet your fate on the road you took to avoid it.”

  “And now? How will I find out what happened to my mother? Why did she separate from Simos, and more importantly, why did she marry a monster?”

  Neither of us had an answer, and right then, the doorbell rang.

  “If it’s Aunt Hecuba again, I’ll curse her even worse this time!” I declared.

  Irritated, I ran and pressed the buzzer for the front door, but when I stood at the top of the stairs, I saw not my aunt but a man who looked like Saint Nicholas! Tall, with a small paunch, snowy-white hair worn long like his mustache, and a neatly kept beard. He reached the top of the stairs where I was waiting for him, wheezing but smiling politely as the saint might be expected to. He looked at me kindly from behind his glasses, his sweet brown eyes crowned by white eyebrows.

  “Mrs. Fenia Karapanos?” His voice was in perfect harmony with the man I took him for—deep and cultivated.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Paschalis Leontiadis . . . I’m Melpo’s husband.”

  A cry of pleasure escaped me, and only my age prevented me from falling into his arms to welcome him. I confined myself to squeezing his hand and taking him into the living room where Melpo was waiting, not at all surprised.

  “Right on time!” she said to him cheerfully.

  “You knew he was coming?”

  “I asked him to. I sent a text message. Since you wanted to hear the rest of the story, I thought it should happen gradually. So, this is your uncle Paschalis.”

  We sat in the small office, and in a little while, I called Karim in. I explained to the newcomer about my young Syrian friend, and Paschalis grinned.

  “It runs in the family,” he declared.

  “What my husband means,” Melpo intervened, “is that you, like I, have a tendency to collect abandoned souls.”

  Karim seemed to like my uncle and aunt, and he offered us his famous coffee. The whole time we were enjoying it, speaking of things large and small, I had the opportunity to observe the couple opposite me. So well matched and so close. Still flirting, with love in their eyes—the warmth between them seemed to envelop me too.

  “So?” Paschalis asked at one point. “What happened with the story? Did she tell you everything?”

  “I shared all I knew,” Melpo admitted. “Unfortunately, I don’t know t
he most important part that concerns her mother.”

  “Right. As soon as your cousin met Simos, you got sick and left.”

  “I see you’re well informed,” I teased him.

  “Indeed! Melpo has told me the whole story in as much detail as she has you. I won’t hide the fact that, to please her, I tried to milk some information from my father-in-law, Nestor, but I was met with a wall of silence.”

  “But why, for God’s sake?” I objected. “Is the secret they were hiding so great? What happened? Why did my mother marry Renos?”

  I noticed the glance between the couple, as Melpo appeared to communicate something to her husband.

  I lit a cigarette in the silence that followed. The album was in front of me on the table. My eyes ran over the faces I knew now from Melpo’s stories. Nestor and Yvonne with Melpo as a baby, and beside them, Grandmother Chrysafenia with my grandfather and their children and—I sat up and looked harder at the photograph.

  “Melpo!” I said, a little louder than necessary, and the woman opposite me jumped.

  “What’s the matter, dear?”

  “Look!” My finger pointed to a woman she had told me nothing about. “Do you know her?” I asked. “Who is she?”

  Melpo approached and put on her glasses to see better. Her face lit up.

  “That’s Kali!”

  “Who?”

  “Kali was her name. She was with them almost from the first day of Pericles’s marriage to your grandmother. She came from a village near Ioannina, took a position with them as a young girl, and stayed to the end. When everyone left your grandfather by himself, she stayed to look after him. She never married.”

  “And where is she now?”

  “How should I know?”

  “We have to find out, Melpo. She must know everything, especially what happened to my mother.”

  “You’re right,” my aunt agreed with enthusiasm. “But where would we find her?”

  “How old would she be now?”

  “Nearly eighty.”