Free The Buses and Other Short Stories by Dora Drivas-Avramis

fruit,
mana
caressed the soaked baskets. I reached out and offered her a fig, my sister Georgia, a cluster of grapes and young Penelope, a pear.
Mana
thanked us for the earth’s gifts and said, “Greece’s fruits, my children, are scarce but delicious! Especially here in the southern part of the Peloponnese peninsula where I believe the incomparable brilliant sun and the winter’s rainfall yield the tastiest crops. Where else could you taste such sweet grapes, which have been intrinsically linked to Greece since the time of Homer? Where else could you find pears with this rosy down, figs with such a compact flesh, or the scorned cactus pears with their unique flavour between a cantaloupe and a banana?”
    Mana
smiled, hugged us again and continued, “The more humans toil and water the earth with their sweat, the more they are presented with the sweetest crops.” Two black ants on the sun-baked earth struggled as they dragged a black raisin to their nest, repeatedly stopped, turned sideways and around all the obstacles, but never lost sight of their destination. “Take a good look, my children and learn to enjoy all that is beautiful around you, because everything is all one miracle, one fleeting miracle which fades by the time we realize it.”
    II
    After we lighted some candles and kissed the icons in St. Nicholas, in my mind we left the building and welcomed the luminous sunshine, as it was now streaming through the gaps of the passing dark clouds. Everything glittered. A kindly warmth enveloped us and we could distinguish even the tiniest pebble on the red dusty road. The shadows of the olive trees adorned the thirsty earth and I couldn’t get enough of the light and the ethereal colour of the clear sky. An urge to sing possessed me and made the three-kilometre trek back to our house a thrill. At the base of the mountain, which commended a grand view of the valley below and the blinding glare of the sea further out, sat our small whitewashed house.
    That we were to take off our wet and dirty clothes, wash up, rest awhile and do some homework before supper were the litany of instructions from
mana
, way before we entered our house. In her velvety voice, she implored us to take care, and she never had to repeat her commands. When my sisters disappeared into their room, and I was about to part the embroidered curtain, which divided our tiny kitchen and our humble living room, someone tapped the front door.
Mana
walked towards it and I slipped in the kitchen.
    â€œTasos! Welcome,” she whispered and then lowered her head. She then led him to the round table with the laced tablecloth in the centre of our living room. Multi-coloured flowers in a vase had been placed in the centre, a small detail on
mana’s
part, but one which tastefully transformed the modest room.
    â€œGood afternoon, Maria and forgive me for coming at this time when you probably want to rest…”
    â€œOh, no, there’s plenty for me to do, but…”
    â€œAre you alone? I have to talk to you.”
Mana
must have gestured to him that we were upstairs because
Kyrio
Tasos continued to talk in a low tone, almost inaudible. At first I hesitated, but curiosity overcame me and I turned to my side, and parted the curtain slightly to be within earshot.
    â€œPlease listen to me, Maria. You know that I’ve made more money in America than I need for myself. It’s impossible for me to see you struggling to raise three children on your own…”
    â€œTasos…”
    â€œNo, no, let me continue, you know that I’ve always loved you. When you married Demitri, I couldn’t bear it and immigrated to America. Now I’ve come back because my feelings for you have not changed. If you don’t love me, accept me for your children’s sake. They need a father, and I promise to do everything possible for their future. They’ll attend the best schools and I’ll love them