The Gold Letter

by Lena Manta

  “I want to know what you’re thinking,” she told her husband.

  Pericles didn’t hurry to answer her. First he poured himself a drink and lit a cigarette. He looked at her through the cloud of smoke that came between them, then sat in his favorite armchair.

  “If you were in my place, what would you think?”

  “At this moment, the only thing I want is for Smaragda to marry, given the situation,” she answered in a steady voice. “It’s probable that the young man didn’t stop at hugs and kisses. She must marry!”

  “And you’ll get to see your great love again,” he said ironically.

  Chrysafenia went and sat opposite him. She crossed her arms and met his gaze calmly. “Pericles, you know how old I am?”

  “What’s that got to do with it? You’re forty-one.”

  “Correct. And when I met and fell in love with Vassilis, I was just seventeen. Since then, twenty whole years have passed, as well as a marriage and four children. Do you understand how silly what you’re saying sounds? What do you imagine, then? That, as the bride’s mother, my only concern would be falling into the arms of her father-in-law?”

  The scene she described was vivid, and indeed, it seemed silly to him too. He took a big gulp of his drink before he looked at her again. “I didn’t say that,” he said, somewhat mollified.

  “Thank God!” Chrysafenia exclaimed. “You’ve come back to your senses.”

  “Admit, though, that you were upset when you heard who the young man was.”

  “Did I deny it? However you look at it, that the women of my family have insisted on falling in love with Kouyoumdzis men is a little strange. It’s some kind of destiny. What can I say?” Chrysafenia concluded, frowning now.

  “So you know my next question: What’s going to happen now? Because destiny, as you called it, hasn’t allowed these two families to unite. When that—what’s his name? Ah, yes, Simos—when he speaks to his parents, and tells them who he’s in love with, do you really think they’ll accept?”

  “Unlikely, given that his grandmother Roza is still alive, from what I gather.”

  “And how do you know that?” asked Pericles, suspiciously.

  Chrysafenia huffed impatiently. “Oh, Pericles! I’ve known for years that Vassilis was in Greece. Since he built the jewelry store on Ermou Street. I’ve never even gone past the store. I didn’t want to run into him. It wouldn’t have been right. But your sister-in-law Lizeta is a customer, and without knowing anything, she told me about them because she really likes them—both Vassilis and his wife, Lefkothea.”

  “His wife?”

  “Yes, Pericles. He didn’t make Simos by himself! The man is married with three sons. Lizeta has met his mother, Roza, too. And it’s Roza who turned the world upside down so I wouldn’t marry Vassilis. But there’s something else you don’t know.”

  His eyes filled with horror.

  “You’re on the wrong track again,” she chided. “What you don’t know because I didn’t want to tell you is that my mother loved Vassilis’s father and they wanted to marry, but his parents rejected her. Three generations, Pericles!”

  “It’s not possible! Do you mean to tell me that my mother-in-law—”

  “Yes. Do you understand now? Three generations, Pericles! Three!”

  Silence fell between the couple for a while. Pericles needed another drink, and after the first sip, he murmured, “Unbelievable!”

  “Perhaps now you can understand why I was so shocked before and why I’m anxious now. This union isn’t lucky for us. What are they going to say when they hear who their son wants to marry?”

  After the encounter outside the apartment building, Simos didn’t go straight home. He needed to walk and to put his thoughts in order. He loved Smaragda without a doubt, and what he’d told her father was true. He wanted to marry her, despite his young age. However, the papers for his military service had arrived. He would have to serve in the army, and that duty would keep him far away for two whole years. With the help of his father and his contacts, he’d managed to delay it for a while, but he couldn’t put it off indefinitely.

  It was dark when he returned home, and the family had just sat down for their usual evening meal. They may have left Constantinople years ago, but they observed its ethics and customs faithfully. It was as if his parents, when they left, had packed the city in their hearts and taken it with them. As soon as they’d arrived in Athens, they opened the box that held their lost homeland and built it again unchanged. He took his seat, apologizing for his lateness, and tried to show he was eating while his thoughts turned to all the obstacles he had to overcome. He heard his family exchanging the news of the day, but their voices reached him as if from a distance. He was in a hurry to shut himself in his room, to think in peace, to make his decision, but more importantly, to figure out how to speak to his father.

  A shy knock on the door came a few minutes after he had finally gone to his room. When he opened the door, his grandmother appeared, and as always, without asking him, she came confidently into his room. Taking him by the hand, she sat down beside him on his bed.

  “What’s the matter with my treasure tonight?” she asked, and her hand stroked his hair affectionately. “Why so unhappy?”

  He looked at her tenderly and smiled. His grandmother never hid the fact that her firstborn grandchild was her weakness. Not that she deprived his brothers of her affection, but everyone understood that the relationship between Roza and Simos was different.

  “Won’t you tell me?” she insisted. “You tell me everything. And for you to keep your mouth shut—it must be a big love affair. Am I right?”

  “Are you ever wrong?” Simos teased.

  “Are you making fun of your grandmother? Shame on you,” she said, pretending to be angry. “Enough now, tell me what happened! You’ve been in the clouds for so long, but it seems as if something went wrong tonight.”

  Simos looked at his grandmother and sighed. “Yes, Grandmother. I’m in love with a girl.”

  “Then what were you doing giving me a terrible fright?” she scolded him. “Why are you like this? Is there anything more beautiful than love?”

  “You don’t understand, Grandmother. She’s not just any girl; she’s the one I want to marry!”

  “Wait a minute, my boy,” she said, raising her voice. “You’re still very young.”

  “And she’s even younger. But today her father caught us.”

  “Where did he catch you?” She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. “Did you interfere with the girl? How young?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “A minor!”

  “But I wasn’t deceiving her, Grandmother. I want to marry her. And I told her father.”

  “Wait, young pasha. Let’s get a few things straight, because you’ve told me everything upside down. You love a girl, and in fact, you want her to be your wife.”

  Simos smiled at his grandmother’s roundabout way of saying things.

  “Now,” she said to him sharply, “pull yourself together and tell me what happened. So, the father caught you in the act. How and where?”

  He explained what had happened, and with every word, his grandmother became more agitated until she finally jumped up.

  “Ah, you little scoundrel!” she burst out at last and began pacing the room. “Did we teach you to behave like that? Taking a girl to an apartment and getting up to no good. Aren’t there any brothels in this town for you to go to? Do you know what a crime you’ve committed? What harm did the girl do to you for you to shame her?”

  “Please, not so loud,” Simos complained. “You want me to trust you, and now you’re going to announce it to the whole house.”

  His grandmother sat down again beside him. “OK. I won’t shout. And since you’re going to marry her—”

  “You see?”

  “Then why are you so upset? You love her and you’ll marry her—the end!”

  “Because I have to do my milit
ary service for two years. How can I tell Father I’m getting married?”

  “That, my boy, you should have thought about a little earlier,” she said, surprising him. “But the way things happened, there’s no other course but marriage. If you’d respected the girl, we could have given our approval, and you could have been engaged and married as soon as you finished with the army.”

  “But am I supposed to marry her before I go and leave her with her parents?”

  “Who told you such a thing? You’ll marry her and bring her to your parents until you come back. That’s the way things are done. Now tell me, boy, is she beautiful?”

  His expression sweetened at the memory of his beloved, his lips were about to smile again, and his grandmother started laughing.

  “Aha! Mush! You flirt! Eh, a strapping young man like you—would you choose an ugly one?”

  “Why are you making fun of me?” Simos asked angrily.

  “I’m joking, silly boy who plays the tough guy. So, tell me, what’s her name?”

  “Smaragda. And Grandma, you must know them. Her mother is from Constantinople.”

  From his first words, Roza’s face began to freeze, and by his last it had turned to stone.

  “What’s her mother’s name?”

  “Chrysafenia Sekeris.”

  Roza felt her whole body go numb.

  “Her grandfather is also from Constantinople,” Simos went on blithely. “His name is Fotis Ververis, and he’s a doctor,” Simos concluded enthusiastically.

  He stopped speaking, and the heavy silence that fell surprised him. He looked at his grandmother, who was staring into space.

  “Grandma? What’s the matter?” he asked, putting his arms around her shoulders and shaking her lightly.

  “Kismet” was all she said.

  “But do you know the family or not?”

  “Very well, yes.”

  “Aren’t they good people?” When the woman didn’t answer, he became irritated. He stood up. “Now who’s frightening whom? Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “Sit down, my dear, and listen to a story you need to hear,” she answered with a heavy sigh.

  Simos obeyed, and in a short time he had learned a truth that seemed like a fairy tale. Finally, he too was motionless, almost turned to stone as his grandmother had been a little while before.

  “Do you understand now?” she said to him gently.

  “So that’s why her father said I could speak to my parents, but whether they would come and ask for her was another matter.”

  “That’s why,” Roza admitted.

  “And what happens now, Grandma?” Simos asked, trying to recover. “From what I understand, nothing really tragic has gone on between the two families. Why should the past stand in the way of our love? It’s strange, sure, but the fact that it’s the third time history has repeated says something. The time has come to put an end to meaningless differences. Isn’t it?”

  Silence.

  Anxious, he asked for reassurance: “Do you think Father will have objections? Or you?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  Smaragda got up late that day and, feeling irritable, took it out on her husband, who seemed slow to drink his coffee and leave. Fotis Ververis, at seventy-three, still practiced his profession tirelessly. For years he had worked at a private clinic, and in the afternoons he could always be found there.

  “All right, my dear, finish, and off you go to work!” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.

  “Hold on, for God’s sake!” he objected. “Are you taking that coffee from under my nose? What sort of rush is this so early in the morning?”

  “It’s nearly noon, husband. How on earth did I sleep so late? I have so many things to do. The holidays are coming, the house needs a thorough cleaning, the curtains need washing—how will I manage?”

  “Sweetheart, don’t you have Marikaki to help you?”

  “Now you’ll really annoy me, Fotis. She should be working while the housewife sleeps? Off with you now, my dear, and go with the Virgin’s prayer so I can do my work. You’ll see what I have for you to eat at lunchtime.”

  She nearly pushed him out of the house, making the sign of the cross behind his back. She rolled up her sleeves, but didn’t manage to start work before the doorbell rang again.

  “Ah, Fotis!” she muttered. “What have you forgotten this time?”

  But the words became lodged in her throat. Before her stood not her husband, but Roza.

  “Hello, Smaragda,” she said calmly, dispelling any suspicion that she was a ghost.

  “What are you doing here?” Smaragda asked.

  “Do I have to tell you on the doorstep? Won’t you let me into your house?”

  “I still haven’t forgotten the last time I let you in! Have you come to insult me again after all these years?”

  The visitor took a step forward to make it clear that she would come in anyway. Smaragda was forced to stand aside. Roza went into the living room and sat down in an armchair.

  “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” Smaragda said sarcastically.

  “Sit down too, Smaragda. You and I have something to talk about.”

  “I don’t know if we have anything to say to each other after so many years. Have you come to tell me how much poison you’ll throw at us again? Wasn’t it enough that you forced my whole family to leave our country?”

  “Whatever you say, you are right,” Roza admitted calmly, and Smaragda sat up, disturbed by the reaction.

  “Is that all? Roza, are you all right? I want to curse you, and you give me the right?”

  “A lot of things have happened since we quarreled,” Roza went on sadly. “I lost my husband, as you know.”

  “Yes, I heard about that, and I was very sorry. And it doesn’t matter what you say to me, you should know I wept when I heard he had died.”

  “I believe it. And I understand.”

  Smaragda shook her head in confusion. “I feel like I’ve gone mad. I tell you I wept for Simeon, and you sit calmly and look at me as if you were my friend!”

  “Smaragda, I didn’t come here to talk about the past. That’s lost, as is our city and many of our people.”

  “So what do we have to talk about?” the woman wondered, but another thought came into her mind, and she burst out: “Don’t tell me there’s something going on between my daughter and your son! I’ll fall like a log at your feet!”

  “Mercy, woman!” Roza scolded her. “Are you unhinged?”

  “No, but I’m close!”

  “It’s not your daughter and my son who are involved. It’s my grandson and your Smaragda!”

  The two women regarded each other. Roza calm, and opposite her a volcano ready to explode. Yet just as the fire began, it ended, leaving Smaragda breathless. The only thing she could do was cross herself.

  “Lord Almighty,” she added, her voice almost inaudible.

  “That’s what I said when I heard it from my grandson.”

  “And you marched right to my house to upset me!” Smaragda said, her voice rising again.

  “Is that what you think? I came to tell you that I have no objection to this wedding taking place. And I’ll speak to my son to prepare him. It’s not a small thing. Years and ages may have passed since then, but it’ll be a little hard for him to have a woman he once wanted to marry as an in-law.”

  “Roza, are you in your right mind?” Smaragda asked.

  The other woman smiled bitterly. “Now I am; then I wasn’t. I spent my life beside a man I loved with a heart full of poison because he never loved me as much as he loved you. And when our children fell in love, it wasn’t the mother who spoke but the wronged woman—my mistake. I had so much evil in me that I set about persecuting you. I wanted to drive you far away. In those days, if I could have driven you from the face of the earth, even that wouldn’t have been enough.”

  “And how did the miracle happen?”

  “Before Simeon died, he told
me I was wrong. He loved me, but it took him a long time to understand that, and afterward he was ashamed to tell me. We wasted a whole lifetime, Smaragda. And I was to blame then, but I won’t make the same mistake now. That’s why I came. For us to become friends and close the old accounts. I’m telling you I’ll do anything to make this marriage happen. It’s our families’ destiny.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “On Simeon’s soul!”

  They looked at each other again, and simultaneously, they leaned toward each other and found themselves holding hands. Fotis found them like this when he came in. He had forgotten some X-rays and come back to collect them, but he froze when he saw the scene in front of him.

  “Have I lived to see this?”

  Like naughty schoolgirls, they jumped up and looked at him. Smaragda was the first to speak.

  “Come, Fotis, she’s here for a good reason today, our . . . in-law.” She saw him looking at her as if she was crazy.

  “Don’t speak, pasha, and we’ll tell you everything,” she said, leading him toward the visitor.

  Chrysafenia woke up with a bad headache, and the atmosphere in the house made it worse. Her oldest daughter wouldn’t come out of her room, and the youngest left for school with her eyes scarlet from crying, accompanied, on Pericles’s orders, by Kali. Stelios and Fotini were surprised, but they didn’t say anything. For the first time after so many years, Chrysafenia thought about going to see Vassilis, not about their own love, but about their children’s. Fear held her back. If her husband were to find out she had made such a move, he would certainly react badly, and it would hurt her daughter’s chances. In addition, Vassilis must have heard what had happened from his son and made his own decision. Roza was her biggest fear, then and now. She had an ominous feeling, and her headache threatened to dissolve her skull. Her mother’s visit took her by surprise—and even more surprising was what she had to say. Every word was a bolt out of the blue, and Chrysafenia’s brain was not ready to take it all in.

  “And now, my grown-up girl,” Smaragda finally said, “roll up your sleeves—we have a wedding!”

  “Mother, are you sure? Roza said things like that to you?”