Free Orthokostá by Thanassis Valtinos Page B

don’t remember who. There was a girl from Loutráki. Named Evridíki Yerolymátou. We’d become friends, and we’re still friends. She was with her sister Moíra. I think she was the one who verified it. And they separated us. They took me to the sick ward. There I was, all alone, afraid they would kill Eléni. And Eléni afraid for
my
life. We’d meet on the stairs, hug each other, and start crying. At any rate. A few days later they came to get me. They took me to the station to leave for Trípolis. I arrive in Corinth. There I run into the Yiannoúlis brothers. Yiánnis and Yiórgos. By chance. Where are you going, Christina? Well, here’s the story. To Trípolis. Don’t go to Trípolis because the other side will haul you in again. Go to Athens. I was in Corinth now. I say, I have no money. Yiánnis went and got me a ticket, he sent me back. Don’t go down to Trípolis, they’ll put you in jail again. I arrived in Athens, I went to some relatives. On Notará Street, near the museum. Yiánnis, my cousin Christina Támbaris’s husband, came and got me from there. We went to Kifisiá. Márkos was there in Kifisiá.He tells me, The Germans have capitulated. And Eléni’s getting out on Wednesday. Is this true? Yes, it’s true. What’s happening in Trípolis? I’ve been in touch, everyone’s fine, we survived. That put my mind at rest. I went and lay down. They gave me some bedding and I slept. I didn’t get up for a week. They’d come and check to see if I was breathing. Come have something to eat. I don’t want to. And I’d fall back asleep.

Chapter 12
    Her father would get himself drunk in Kastrí. The priest. He’d slipped into a drinker’s apathetic state. And he’d neglected his family. But my aunt had discussed this with the old man, and she’d put him in charge of their affairs. She’d handed things over to him carte blanche. That all happened in 1925, maybe 1926. I can barely remember it. That’s when Stylianós came from Chicago. Stylianós Kalamáris. He was from Karátoula too. Hard times. People were suffering. Wheat shortages, large families, lots of mouths to feed. People didn’t have enough of anything, not bread, not oil. Not even wine. Anyone in America was considered to be in the promised land. Should anyone show up from over there, everyone wanted him for a son-in-law. So Stylianós arrived. Someone would approach him, someone else would wine and dine him. He was short and fat, or rather he wasn’t all that short. But he looked short because he was fat. Big belly, no neck at all, his head stuck on his shoulders. The old man started working on him too. Diplomatically. I have a girl for you too, he tells him. From a good family. She’s my niece. Pretty, upstanding, good housewife. But I’m not sure she’ll be interested in you. There was a purpose to all this now. To this manipulative preamble. To lower his hopes as a possible suitor. He talked him up good; in the end he had his way. They arranged for him to come to the house so they could meet each other. His niece was notified accordingly. The old man’s second niece. She came to the house, they pulled out a bolt of cloth. Cloth they used to weave on the loom. They unrolled it to cut a blouse for my mother. That was the pretext. After a while the prospective bridegroomshowed up. He came in, said good day, they said good day too. An unusual hour for the old man to be there. The whole thing was a setup. Let me introduce you to my niece. The niece was bending over a plane-smoothed wooden chest to measure the cloth. She didn’t suspect anything. Today she must be eighty or older. Iríni. She came here last summer. Stylianós isn’t alive now. She was plump, heavy. With white hair. But as a young woman she was pretty. At any rate she was thin, and nimble. So let us introduce