Читать книгу Melina Breaking Free - Dimitra Mantheakis - Страница 6

Dina and Paulina had agreed that as soon as they ate lunch and finished their homework they would meet in the square. They had heard that Syngelides, the merchant, had acquired a new stock of attractive dresses with elasticized puffed sleeves and thick wasp-nest patterned busts in white, pink and pistachio. The two girls would not, of course, buy one; they only wanted to see and admire them. Looking at the dresses they would lose themselves in the fantasy that they owned them, that the dresses were tight against their skin and were lifted outwards from their legs by stiff petticoats. Since they could not satisfy their desire to own them, at least their eyes would feast on the wonderful colours and the sophistication of the metropolis displayed in their modern design.

At five o’clock in the afternoon they met and, hand in hand, started out for the square. Sofia’s parents hadn’t woken yet from their afternoon siesta and Paulina's mother, the nurse, after a quick midday meal left in a hurry because she had to administer an injection to a patient outside town. When the girls stopped at the emporium they fixed their eyes on the shop window. The three mannequins wearing the dresses were stunningly beautiful and looked so alive that one almost expected them, from moment to moment, to walk through the glass and cross the street. Exclamations of admiration came from the girls' lips; they could not stop looking, and looking again, to choose the colour that suited each one of them.

They stood transfixed for a long time, noting every detail of the dresses, from the hem to the necklines with the elaborate ruffles. Then, silent, and deeply disappointed by the reality that the dresses would never be theirs, they started on their way back home. The cafes were full of men drinking their afternoon coffee, playing gin-rummy and poker. Many of them were sitting outside, despite the bitter cold while the noise of bone dice on backgammon boards inside echoed off the vaulted café roofs. At the other end of the square Paulina saw her mother, Vaggelio, passing by. “My mother, my mother!” she said to Dina, pulling her along in order to catch up. The two girls had gone just a few steps further as Vaggelio was passing in front of the establishment called HOPE, the café that had the most customers at that hour, when a gaggle of men sprang up from their chairs and lined themselves outside the door.

“What happened, Vaggelio? Was it sweet, was it sweet?!” shouted a taxi driver. “Screwing in the middle of the day! You certainly go for it, don’t you!” said the kiosk owner, and one after another the men followed suit with similar comments directed at the nurse. There was a frisson of banter; in seconds even those who were not in on the secret had been made aware of her achievements on previous afternoons. Vaggelio did not have a patient who needed an injection. She had a rendezvous at the grove below the chapel of St Fanourios for a tryst with Stelios, the boatman, a strong two meter-tall youth. Vaggelio was on fire, rushing to be held in Stelios’ embrace, to draw life from the vitality of his youth, to become one with his male presence. A widow from the age of twenty three, she had never managed for even a moment to harness the flame in her body whose insistence to couple with a male hadn’t given her a moment’s rest. Whenever she found a partner to quench her insatiable ardor nothing could stop her, she could hardly see in front of her, blinded as she was by desire. How many times had she switched partners, unconcerned with whether her lover-stud climaxed once, or a dozen times! Men interested her only from their waist down and by how much stamina they exhibited during their coupling. She didn’t want a steady companion because she was quickly bored and demanded new material to enter her voracious, insatiable vagina. Additionally, a permanent liaison, with its restrictions, would cause complications.

Gossip about her was rife in the provincial town but she had sealed her ears. She did not care that she had become the area’s laughing stock. Snide remarks and derision in the cafes were minor annoyances to her. She didn’t even think about the effect of her behaviour on her children, who, at least in the case of her eldest daughter Paulina, who was old enough to hear and to understand the insinuations or the direct comments of their fellow townsfolk such as “Your mother certainly knows how to fuck, doesn’t she?” or “Ask her, when will it be our turn?!” made the girl bow her head, blushing with shame and anger at the crudeness of the comments. The unconscionable speakers made statements that from time to time were excessively rude, never taking into account that Paulina was not even twelve years old yet. Today Vaggelio had gone beyond her usual bounds and met Stelios at the isolated grove, assuming that no one would be around as it was the heart of winter. It was enough for her to wait for nightfall to have the dark as her ally and shield, but her need for sex today was so great that she felt her thighs scorching her. She thought she would die if a man didn’t enter her as soon as possible. When she met Stelios it was with difficulty that she gave him even a kiss. Her hands immediately seized his private parts and violently unbuttoned his trousers. Stelios grabbed her by her hair and threw her down onto the wet ground. He lifted up her blouse to let her full breasts spill out. He pushed his head between them, sucking on her nipples and cupping their roundness. Then, impatiently, he freed the gate to his erotic paradise from her panties and with his penis fully erect, he pushed it into her. A loud cry broke out of Vaggelio’s lips and her body stuck to him like a limpet, fervently following the rhythm of his movements. In spite of the biting cold her forehead was dripping with sweat, brought on by her sexual excitement. Each deep thrust made her cries even louder, bringing her ever closer to a climax. And when her orgasm convulsed her she felt as if a bolt of lightning had been released inside her, and instead of ashes, it left, as it ebbed, a slaking of her desire, a soothing retreating sensation of sweetness. Stelios climaxed with a groan and whispered “You are mine, you are my woman!” But Vaggelio didn’t even hear him. Then he lay down resting on his elbow next to her with his hands fondling her breasts which had tipped sideways. Absorbed by the whirlwind of their passion they had not noticed two intruders in the nearby thick bushes who were watching the heaven-sent spectacle, a sight that was so exciting for them that their hands tried to give themselves relief, initially by stroking their fully erect members, and then by movements that were in rhythm with those of the two stuck-together lovers’ bodies. When self-gratification had brought release from their fired-up state they pulled up their trousers and impertinently appeared next to the couple lying on the ground, saying “To your health!” and hurried away before Stelios had a chance to stand up and give them a good hiding.

“Oh, My God!” Vaggelio said as soon as she saw the village witnesses, clumsily trying to cover her nakedness. “They’ll make a laughing stock of us in the village.”

Stelios replied “It’s a pity I didn’t manage to catch those two bastards. I would have fixed them in no time! But what is done is done.”

Vaggelio thought for a few moments about what would follow and then stoically accepted the situation. It wasn’t as if this would be the first time that everyone would have been gossiping about her and that her amorous activities would be the talking point in all of the town cafes. Coming to terms with the state of affairs she turned and started to stroke Stelios’ crotch to excite him so he could take her on another journey to a sensual place that had become the very reason for her existence.

When Vaggelio was done with her sexual activities with Stelios, sated, she started homeward. The only thing that bothered her was that to go home she would have to cross the square. She knew that at this moment the cafes were all full and that the voyeurs would already have broadcast the news to the others, leaving out of course, their own reaction to the spectacle they had witnessed.

“We caught Stelios on top of Vaggelio in the Ayios Fanouris’ wood!” They said, hurrying to let everyone present in on the stirring details.

The news travelled like fire in a tinder dry forest. And just wait until the evening when all of those present would be back home for dinner and would let their wives know about the incident! It would be then that the whole village would be abuzz. The women would stigmatize, for the umpteenth time, the immoral behavior of Vaggelio, saying “the woman has no shame and makes her children objects of ridicule! Let the Lord protect us from females like that!”

The truth is that if the village had other equally skilful nurses like Vaggelio the housewives wouldn’t have let her past their front doors. But she had such a light hand coupled with the depth of her nursing experience and knowledge, that the old, the children and the sick all needed her skills! Two or three housewives who tried to replace her with other nurses deeply regretted it when they saw the replacements’ lack of expertise and rough bedside manners when dealing with the family member who was ill. Her eagerness, her infinite patience with bad-tempered patients and her gentle manner towards all those who were ill, as well as her immediate response to any call for help, whether by day or night, made her irreplaceable. They may have scorned her and been “ashamed on her behalf” as they liked to say in their conversations, but in their hour of need they always called for Vaggelio, diluting, of necessity, their scorn and contempt for her.

Paulina and Dina had arrived at the front of the cafes and didn’t miss a word of the mockery and vulgar remarks coming from the café clientele directed at Vaggelio. Paulina was so agitated that her heart almost stopped. Her cheeks, from shame, became awash in a deep crimson colour and tears brimmed in her eyes. She wanted the pavement to split open up and swallow her up to save her from the public humiliation; she craved to be the victim of a sudden heart attack and drop down dead to stop the filth that she was hearing, dirt that her own mother had put in the tormentors’ mouths with her unbridled behaviour. Her wishes weren’t realised. Her mother was now in front of her with the men cat-calling and mocking her and Paulina felt herself overflowing with hate. Hate for her mother and hate for her unrelenting village compatriots. Vaggelio, beaming, as if she had not heard a word of what her fellow villagers were saying, said to the young girls. “Where to my girls? Out for a walk?”

Dina replied, “Yes!” Paulina, with her eyes overflowing, cast a bitter look at her mother, a look containing a world of accusation, and, skirting her, she ran off to hide at home, leaving the two others to stare after her. With an embarrassed “Goodbye” Dina walked away and Vaggelio started on her way home. When she arrived she saw Paulina sobbing loudly on the settee. She put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Paulina turned from her and pushed it away in disgust.

“Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t you touch me!” shrieked the young girl. “You made a fool of me with your filthy actions! I don’t want to know you! I’m ashamed to have you for a mother!”

Vaggelio did not react to Paulina’s violent outburst. “Let her talk! She’s still young!” she said to herself. “When she grows up, she will understand what nature is!” Vaggelio identified her own insatiable passion with the desires of other people, considering that everyone felt the same pressing demands of the flesh that she did but that the others were hypocritical, concealing their true nature from others with a mask of righteousness and abundant insincerity. The use of their own body was their God-given right Vaggelio felt regarding her own expressions of passion. To have sex was for her a completely natural function since she was in the prime of her life and was deaf to criticism, to mockery, to contempt and the unending gossip around her. She knew that she could not tame her body that regularly rebelled, demanding to instantly couple with a male, no matter what difficulty lay before her to achieve this.

“Let them look at their own mess!” she muttered whenever a new piece of gossip was making the rounds and the village was buzzing about her. “If I opened my mouth, many of these “respectable” homes would be wrecked” she said to herself. The only thing that bothered her was that her children were growing up and were reacting intensely to the bitter gossip, but she had no way to calm them and to make them accept her way of life. On the other hand she had no intention of curbing her sexual activities because they were far beyond her control. Men were the beginning and end of everything in her life, a panacea for the uncontrollable desires that, when they took over, made her sick with longing.

Dina, Paulina’s friend, returned home, her melancholy mood reflected in her eyes. She felt infinite pity after observing her friend’s bitterness during the episode in the square despite not having quite understood what all the fuss was about and why the men were saying rude words to Paulina’s mother, Vaggelio. “What did she do to them to make them so nasty to her?” the girl wondered. “Did she kill their fathers or mothers?”

Much as she searched in her mind she couldn’t find an answer that justified the virulence of the public attack against Vaggelio. Her mother, seeing Dina’s dark mood, asked her, “What happened Dina to upset you? Didn’t you like the dresses in the shops, or was it that we can’t afford to buy one. You know we don’t have money for extras, my child.”

“No, no!” the young girl replied. “There’s nothing wrong. I didn’t even think of buying the dress. It’s just that I am tired and I realised just now that I haven’t drawn the map of Magnesia Province for class, and I am too tired to do it!”

Under no circumstances would Dina embarrass her friend by describing to her mother the unfortunate incident in the square. There was also the risk that her mother would get angry and not allow Dina to go out in public with her fellow student. She, however, was very attached to Paulina and did not want to be deprived of her companionship. Dina rushed to her desk and sat down to draw, trying to put out of her mind the events that had shaken her up that afternoon.

Mary, the chemist’s daughter, went by her father’s pharmacy to meet him and accompany him home. She always enjoyed this mid-day walk in his company because they had the opportunity to talk, despite his telling her off often for things that she got up to because of her restless nature which was diametrically opposed to the impression given by her innocent and reserved facial expression. In spite of the fact that she had been smacked often whenever she had gone beyond the limits of “proper behavior” she bore him no malice. She knew that it was her fault and that her parents had to discipline her. When she became stubborn and words had no effect her tongue became as sharp as a razor, as her mother would observe, since the young girl would frequently talk back, and then a slap or two would be enough to bring her to order, until the next time, and the next.

The chemist’s household was a happy one. Penelope, the mother, was an able housewife and a good wife and parent. Additionally she was very presentable, a brunette with a gentle and sweet beauty. The lives of the family ticked by like the workings of a well wound-up clock. If Mary, her eldest daughter, were less unruly and did not upset her so often with a rebellious nature which refused to willingly succumb to her parents’, or others’, every orders, things would have been quieter at home because there wouldn’t be any conflicts. But, you see, neither advice nor physical punishment seemed enough to restrain Mary, who, whenever she set her mind on something, would turn the world upside down to do it - like the other day when she had slipped out of the house and went alone to a fair at a neighbouring village, 5 kilometers from their own town. The family had spent hours looking for her. Everyone was out in search of her. It was well after dark when someone who knew Mary saw her wandering about, admiring the goods on sale at the stalls, and hurried to inform her father. She got the beating of her life, but never once said the word “Sorry”. She had done what she wanted and the consequences had been expected, but were of no importance to her.

Urania, entering the hall of the old two-storey house where she lived, flared her nostrils inquisitively two or three times as she always did when she returned from school to identify from its smell the food her mother had cooked. Today her nose picked up the aroma of freshly-fried fish. She smacked her lips in pleasure and ran up the stairs, two steps at a time. She rushed into the kitchen. The large table had already been laid and her three siblings were in their chairs, snatching at fried potatoes piled on a dish in front of them. The sight of a mound of tantalizing freshly-cooked red mullet with their crisply fried crust tickled her appetite, and, of course, the presence of the essential wild greens and freshly home baked bread supplemented and completed the fare on the family table.

Maria, Urania’s mother, with her talent for organization and budget management skills succeeded in feeding her family and paying domestic bills, in spite of her high school headmaster-husband, Yannis Ioannides’ small salary. This was no mean achievement, taking into consideration that there were six mouths to be fed, beyond other needs for food, school supplies, essential house cleaning goods and whatever else a family needed in order to merely manage. The only help the small family budget had was from the family olive grove and vegetable garden which Maria, with her talented hands, planted and tended herself. No money to hire a field hand! She spent an hour or two every day working in the cultivated field securing the family’s annual olive oil supply and abundant provisions of fresh fruit and vegetables.

Maria’s appearance was usually reserved and strict. Her smile rarely reached her eyes and there was always a shadow deep inside them. It was the result of a dark secret that for years she had concealed far inside herself and was not about to confide to anyone, ever. She remembered, as if it were just yesterday, that night on the island of Aegina. She was engaged to marry Yannis in two months time. In August she had gone with her parents to Aegina to see her bedridden grandmother, Maria, before marrying Yannis and moving with him to the provincial town where her fiancé had been assigned to a post, and she wanted to stay for a short while with the old woman. She didn’t know whether she would be able to visit her later because of how difficult it was to travel in those days, as well as not knowing what the conditions would be for her as a married woman. Three days later her parents left but she stayed on until the end of the week to look after her grandmother until the woman who took care of the old lady came back from an unscheduled trip to the town of Lamia where her eldest daughter had just given premature birth to her first child.

It was a warm and pleasant August evening. Her grandmother had dropped off to sleep and Maria went out for a walk to get some fresh air and relax from the fatigue of the day. It was a pity to go to bed and not to take in the magic of the full moon, the cool breeze coming in from the sea, and the sensation of her bare feet sinking into the sand as she walked along the beach. The scent of jasmine and the night flower bush coming from her grandmother’s garden just twenty meters from the shore filled her nostrils. She walked slowly along the beach and sat on a tall rock absorbing the incomparable beauty of the landscape around her; a setting gilded by the rays of the full moon that ploughed a shiny path across the dark water, as far into the distance as she could see.

She was enjoying the sensation of having the whole bay to herself and of being mistress of this corner of paradise. But she was wrong. She was not alone. There was another claimant to the dark kingdom with its silver highlights. A few meters away the glow of a cigarette intermittently lit up and went out. When Maria noticed the presence of the unwelcome intruder into her world she jumped up in fright. The man realized that his presence had startled the woman and shouted out to her, “Don’t be afraid. I came here, like you, to take in the magic of the evening!”

He approached her and introduced himself.

“Demosthenes Andreopoulos, civil engineer. I am from Salonika and I am in charge of supervising public works on the island.” He stretched out his hand and Maria felt herself obliged to give him hers, more from embarrassment than from any desire to do so.

“Maria Iakovou. I’m staying with my grandmother at that small house you can see there.”

They shook hands firmly, examining one another with curiosity. He was tall, athletic in build, with strong masculine features, thick brown hair, with a piercing look that seemed to look onto her soul. She, slim and dark-complexioned, with almond eyes like those of a gypsy, almost as tall as he, had a full mouth and an upturned nose that gave her face a mischievous look.

“A good-looking girl,” thought Demosthenes to himself.

“Manly and good looking!” Maria noted silently.

They sat down a little further along on a flat outcropping of rocks by the beach and started talking as if they had known each other for years. Was it the magic of the night, was it that they were all alone in the isolated dream-like cove, was it the concurrence of a fateful encounter that opened their hearts and loosened their tongues making them confide their deepest personal secrets without any inhibitions? Neither of them could say. Maria told him that she was about to enter into an arranged marriage with Yannis, who was a very nice man, and Demosthenes told her that he was married and had two children. He had married Martha when they were fellow students at university and he got her pregnant. His conscience had not allowed him to abandon her or to demand she have an abortion. Neither option was acceptable at the time owing to the then prevailing social attitudes. He did his duty, without having those feelings that, according to him, were necessary, and on which a proper marriage should be built - physical attraction and a deep love that would last for a lifetime. He respected Martha, adored his children, but he totally lacked the excitement of feeling that his wife was a part of his body and soul.

Demosthenes felt the physical presence of Maria invading every cell of his body. He felt a flush that made him dizzy and, needing to explain its disturbing effects on him, he justified his reaction, attributing it to the temptation of the night, to the salt scent of the sea, to relief at being finally able to confess the truth regarding his marriage about which he had spoken now for the first time in ten years, and moreover, to a woman who was a total stranger to him. A stranger? Why then did he feel her so close to him, so warm, so attractive to the very depths of his being? And Maria in her turn could not understand why she kept snatching glances of admiration at his profile, why could she herself feel the swelling of his well-exercised chest each time he drew on his cigarette without her facing him? She was too innocent and inexperienced to understand the age-old primordial workings of nature that now made her body and heart begin to respond to secret commands.

At some moment Demosthenes’ hand accidentally touched hers in the dark. An electric-like impulse passed through his body into Maria, in a split second, like lightning. Neither of them pulled away. They turned towards one another, looked into each others’ eyes, and their lips met in a kiss. Their breathing became deeper and after the first kiss there was another and another. Without saying a word Demosthenes picked her up from the rock and put her down on the sand. His hand slid onto her breast, to her stomach, and then he lifted her dress over her head. Impatiently he pulled at her underwear and started to stroke her naked body. She shuddered with each caress. It was the first time that she had not wanted to resist a man’s advances. She begged him not to stop exploring her body with his hard mouth. In a little while his hands pushed her legs apart and his strong member entered her. Maria let out a cry that for a moment restrained Demosthenes, but she immediately pulled him forcefully on top of her, urging him to continue. Their bodies, united, moved in a wild wavelike rhythm while their groans could be heard above the splashing of the waves. Demosthenes, lost in ecstasy, tried to hold back his climax which was about to erupt, waiting until Maria had reached her peak. He felt her vagina squeezing him, squeezing him, followed by a loud moan signaling satisfaction at her release. Demosthenes let loose his desire inside her with such force that it almost made him faint. Then he lay down next to her, clasping her tightly to his chest.

When he got his breath back he lit a cigarette and stroking her hair he whispered, “Did I hurt you Maria? It was your first time, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Demosthenes, it was my first time and it was wonderful!” she replied, kissing him on his neck. A little later Maria, without any reserve, stroked his penis until it became as hard as steel. He re-entered her, triumphantly, and their bodies were soon flooded by supreme satisfaction.

Dawn was breaking when exhausted from their all-night embraces and with their bodies soaked in sweat, despite the morning chill, they pulled themselves apart. Naked as they were, they went into the water to wash off the damp residue of their night of love. Wet and trembling from the cold of the dawn air they put on their clothes, hugged, and kissed each other goodbye. There was no need for any elucidation at that moment. The adventure was about to end with the coming appearance of the first rays of the sun that in a little while would dissolve the magic of the evening. For the passion that had given them such satisfaction there was no tomorrow. They would each follow a private path back to their responsibilities and obligations.

Demosthenes watched Maria walking away until she disappeared behind the wooden garden gate of her house. He felt a tightening in his heart and a bitter taste in his mouth. He had unexpectedly stumbled on the Ultimate, and he had lost it, without having the right to pursue his claim. With a deep sigh he started on his way back with his mind and soul stamped with the image of Maria who had become his wife, his ideal and inestimable companion, for just one night.

Back at her grandmother’s house, Maria, lying fully clothed on her bed, brought back to mind, again and again, every moment, every word, and every movement of the dreamlike night. She pinched herself to make sure she was awake, that it wasn’t an illusion, that everything that had happened was real. It didn’t bother her that she had given herself so easily to a stranger, offering him her virginity. If she had a hundred virginities she would have sacrificed them for the indescribable fulfillment she had experienced. Neither did she think about her fiancé, Yannis, nor about his reaction when in two months time he would probably discover that someone else had reaped the fruit of her harvest. Respecting her innocence and her virginal shyness, all Yannis had enjoyed until then were some kisses and a few embraces. At this very moment, no external circumstance, no social restraint could spoil the pleasure springing from the echo of her happiness and the relaxation she felt in her body, sated as it was with love.

A shadow would be cast over the memory of that strange evening the next month when Maria returned to Athens and vainly waited for her period. The strong and uncontrollable passion in Aegina had borne fruit. The odd thing was that the thought of an abortion never entered her mind, even for a moment. Her bizarre stubbornness carried the risk of exposing her. She started desperately looking for solutions beyond the only logical one, an abortion. She decided to confide in her cousin, Myrto, the “fast” one of the family who kept others’ secrets safer than if they were in a bank vault. Myrto, so full of charm and coquetterie and the joy of life, didn’t give a hoot about the constant criticism from her family circle that often stigmatized her “unbridled”, as they called it, behaviour, and her frequent switches of sexual partners that made her relatives bow their heads in shame for the lost lamb of their clan. Good-natured Myrto had solutions for all of their amorous entanglements. When she found out about Maria’s doings she advised her cousin to keep the baby, and since she was about to get married, to present the child as Yanni’s. Maria was horrified when she first heard the proposal. She did not want to deceive her fiancé, but, word after word, Myrto convinced her that there was no other way. “Nobody,” she said, again and again, “can be hurt by things they do not know.”

She repeated it so many times that Maria succumbed to her advice.

Maria married Yannis and seven months later she gave birth to her “premature” daughter, Urania. Myrto had fixed the problem with the obstetrician convincing him that with his collusion he was saving a potential victim from the wrath of her relatives who would severely punish Maria who had strayed from the narrow path. Yannis did not for a moment have any doubts about his premature daughter, on the contrary, he concentrated all his love and devotion on the two women in his life. The arrival of a second daughter, and later the birth of twin sons completed his circle of happiness. Maria was an exemplary mother and wife and ran her household with perfect order and discipline. No one ever learned her secret and no one would learn it in the future. Only at night when she felt the lukewarm embraces of Yannis did her mind travel to that enchanted August evening brimming over with sexual passion and her body sought that urge, that intoxicating sense of excitement that was now only a distant and priceless memory. She knew she would never again experience such sexual tension, never would her body seek with an almost obsessive desire to have a male enter and pull her apart as Demosthenes had done then. On the one hand she was lucky because Yannis did not notice, or pretend he did not notice, that someone else had beaten him to the looting of her vaginal passage, and Maria was grateful for his discretion.

When her schoolmates left Melina at her doorstep she entered the dilapidated two room house where the six members of her family lived. Her mother, on her knees, was brushing the wooden floorboards with ochre. Despite the freezing February cold, beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. Each time she stretched her hands forward to spread the mixture on the planks “Ohhh…Ohhh” sounds came from her lips, but that which made the girl’s heart tighten was the expression of sorrow in her mother’s eyes. The endurance of a lifetime of tribulation was focused in that look, or was it despair? How many times had Melina not seen that same expression when watching her mother examine the three kitchen cupboards, looking for something to cook for her family on those days when her father’s wage had not entered the family purse because no one had hired his cart? The pitiable woman tried to dilute the trachana or the rice soup to make it suffice for all the mouths she had to feed. Melina observed her mother time and time again when with her back bent she washed the family’s clothes on the washboard out in the yard in the severe cold in the middle of winter or in the scorching heat of summer, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, with caustic ash powder until her hands were on the verge of bleeding.

They never opened up their house on a feast day nor did a visitor ever cross their threshold. They didn’t have the money to buy the essentials for those occasions. And Melina was envious then, during festive days, to see the illuminated houses of others with people coming and going, music pouring out of open windows, and her smelling the tantalizing aromas of food that made her stomach gurgle in protest at her deprivation. Melina, out of pride, never accepted invitations, knowing that she could not reciprocate. She cried to herself from time to time and on other occasions became furious at her family’s wretchedness, hurling anathema at their poverty and realizing that her grandmother’s constant solace “let us be happy that we have our health!” sounded empty to her ears, and was anything but consoling.

“Is there an illness worse than poverty?” wondered the young girl. “Is there worse torture that an empty stomach, the overcoat you don’t own, frozen hands and feet when the winter brazier dies out because there is no more coal? Money is the cure, the only cure! Without it you are nothing and others see you as nothing!”

Many similar thoughts found a nest in Melina’s mind, as if she was a grown-up woman, and they verged on becoming an obsession. The worry and humiliation with which she watched her family suffering like Christ on the Cross, but without hope for the future, was killing her. She preferred not to have been born because she could not put up with this daily anguish from as far back as she could remember. She couldn’t bear seeing her underweight siblings getting up from meals with their stomachs still half empty, and young Melina pursed her lips, promising herself she would put her life in order one day at any cost.

Mary entered her house and threw her satchel onto a chair. Her mother was spreading the green baize material over the table in the living room. “Are they going to play cards again?” wondered the girl. She was fed up twice a week hearing the knocking of knuckles on the card table and smelling stifling cigarette smoke coming through cracks in her bedroom door. Her mother Penelope, like so many of her compatriots, had acquired a card-playing habit. Wherever they looked for her, one could be sure of finding her at one or another poker or rummy table. She had long ago got over the stage of playing an innocent game of biriba and had entered very deep waters. Penelope could hardly wait for her daily family obligations to be over with, to be free to play cards either at home or at a house of a friend with the same passion.

She was a good-looking woman who took particular care of her appearance and took full advantage of the dollars sent without fail every month by her sister from overseas. Penelope felt no remorse at parting with some of this at the green felt covered table since her sister was unmarried and the money that she made from her business was more than enough for her. Penelope wasn’t doing anyone any harm by wanting to enjoy herself a little. Provincial life was so boring and the days were so much one like the other without her beloved pastime!

Menelaos, her doting husband, had a permanent weak spot for her. He went to great lengths to justify this need of hers since Penelope didn’t have the opportunity to let off steam by enjoying herself at nightclubs as she had in Athens from where he had brought her to this isolated province when he had opened his pharmacy. The whole family put up with their mother’s vice because she had been given the go-ahead by the father, the head of the family, despite the secret disapproval of the children who knew the futility of expressing any objection. Neither of their parents would take any notice.