Philemon and Baucis Plundering didn’t touch our made of sticks hut dark blue river that encircled us didn’t make a dent in the conflagration of the city we laid our limbs onto the covers of the sun cared by the sob of our hands born in idolatry and grace If we got whipped by the spring windstorm it was because the winters opened and shut around us like Symplegades our unspoken hour bloomed among the cypresses we gazed the trees that with no tie nor watch listened to the flow of their sap stretching their fingers with selfless supplication and when the gods arrived we welcomed them because we imagined people like them not being lucky to ponder on the uncounted discretion we didn’t think of death as our Fate we who have known our forgetfulness Now our silence a roof over the nakedness of time
“What do you mean by that?” “Look, it doesn’t have your name on it.” She had the sensation of the floor moving away from her and decided to run for the door while her dignity was still intact. Back in her cabin tears overwhelmed her. You give me hope. She missed Volodya more than ever. She sat on the bed and smoothed the crumpled paper, studying it, trying to understand what Chopyk had meant. True, it was not addressed to her but had been sent in care of Natasha Kuchkov as tour guide. A number followed—presumably that represented the bureaucratic Intourist agency’s official designation for the tour. If it had not been intended for her, then who? Did he really send it? Volodya was a very common name—and there was no last name. So how did Natasha know whom to check? And how did Natasha know the telegram was meant for her? Her class that afternoon was conducted in a pall of discomfort. Most of the students had overheard the dispute in the dining room without knowing exactly what had transpired. She thought of having Paul lead the class instead of her but she couldn’t find him anywhere. The mood stayed with her through the formal dinner that evening, well into the hour of entertainment—several of the students had learned Russian poems or ditties and were amusing the Americans by reciting the translations—and it lasted on into the evening. As she lay awake, she began to have doubts about her behaviour. Maybe Chopyk was only being a good guy, after all—meddlesome but showing genuine concern. Maybe Volodya was a dead loss. After some agonizing, she realized that Volodya must know Natasha. Of course. He must have known her when he had worked for Intourist. She had even said she was from Leningrad. They would have been colleagues. That would explain a lot. So maybe Natasha had known about Volodya and her all along. Could he have wanted Natasha to see the telegram—maybe to let her know that he was attempting to leave the country? Could it be that Natasha was helping? As Jennifer rolled on to her back in the cabin berth she felt the increased pressure from Volodya as if it were some live thing pressing on her chest. What a day! Even the strange comment from Hank in the hallway that morning. It all fit into the stew. She fervently hoped that sleep would give her some respite from her muddled thoughts.
Eteocles in grade two and Nicolas in grade four. It doesn’t take them long to gang up with other kids, but because they are newcomers, some of the other children start picking on Eteocles, choosing him because he is the smaller of the two. Sometimes they push him against a wall or block from going down the stairs before others. Sometimes they try to intimidate him with threats. This goes on until Nicolas discovers what is happening, and after he finds out who the ringleader is, he rewards him with a few good punches on the stomach and head. These make the third grader start howling, and Nicolas ends up in the principal’s office and is suspended from school for two days. It is his first suspension, but more will follow as the days and years go by. Within only a couple of weeks, the two brothers have done all their exploration of the immediate area, made new friends in the neighborhood, and become familiar with all the surroundings. They like their new neighbourhood, but especially the water pump they call touloumpa. Eteocles loves to work its lever and draw water from the depths of the earth. He loves the freshness of the cool well water and with some practice gets good at working the lever with one arm while drinking the refreshing water out of the palm of his other hand. Another favorite spot is by the two big trees about a hundred meters from their house where all the boys and girls of the neighborhood play their favorite characters, Tarzan and Jane, Gaour, and Tatambou, and all the other heroes, the detectives, the resistance fighters during the German occupation, all the daring characters they know so well from their comic books. Every Sunday afternoon their parents take the boys down to the promenade by the Gulf of Salonica where they walk from west to east, usually stopping near the White Tower where their dad buys them ice cream during the hot summer days or roasted chestnuts during the cold days of autumn and winter. This is the only entertainment they can afford, but the boys love it every time, even if the scenery is always the same and the long walk tires them out especially on the uphill walk back to their suburb of Sikies. Today, like any other Sunday, after they attend mass at the local church and have their noon meal at home, their mom tells them …
Manolis Aligizakis 