Three Summers Page 18

  But then something odd happened; he ran after me when I was leaving and just at the point where the potato fields end and the road with the blackberry bushes begins he told me that if I wanted to see the sky with a telescope I could come Sunday night. He didn’t accompany me home the way he accompanied Mrs. Parigori though.

  And it was only Monday.

  On Tuesday morning clouds gathered, in the afternoon they cleared; on Wednesday they gathered again and it rained; on Thursday it was sunny. These were difficult days. I wandered around indecisive, feeling lost. When I passed the kitchen to go down to the garden I would stand and absentmindedly watch Rodia’s hands peeling potatoes. I would sit down in a chair, get up, go over and cut a branch of vervain, come back . . .“The wandering Jew,” said Rodia, and I shivered all over. David was exactly like his grandfather, the Zionist, except for his nose. And one other thing, he wasn’t about to go dig in Palestine. Since he was Christian he would never set out on a new crusade.

  Last year at this time I felt so free. I ran around hitting the bushes with my stick, and my friends were the heroes of the books I had read. Now even if I called his name, Alyosha wouldn’t come. In front of me and wherever I looked I saw David’s eyes, black and shiny witch eyes. I saw them in the meadow, on the surrounding mountains, even in my plate when I ate. And if on Sunday night he looked me straight in the eyes and said “jump out of the window,” I’d have no other choice. I was very scared that Sunday would be my last day alive. I waited with secret longing though. And with the awe appropriate for someone about to die.

  That’s why I washed my hair and wore a white dress and started on my way calmly after such an anxious week. Without letting anyone know, of course. At home everyone had gone to sleep. Aunt Theresa snored a bit when I peeked in her door to listen. From the garden I could see the light on at Maria’s house. The baby must’ve woken up.

  The night was beautiful and so calm it made your heart ache. I felt a dog licking my legs. “Shhh . . . Yangoulas,” I whispered, “shhh. Down boy, go home.” And I don’t know why, but instead of thinking of Mavroukos, my mind turned to Dick, even though all I could remember about him was that he had one black ear and one white one. I wondered about how calm I felt. Maybe I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. I must wake up, go to David’s, and look at the sky with the telescope.

  There was no moon, and the sky was full of stars. Each star was a world. It made me crazy thinking about it, thinking about all that motion around the sun, and that human beings had seen it all and studied it. Amalia would of course say that all that was nonsense since we hadn’t yet managed to make life on our own planet bearable for everyone. Some day I’ll have to sit down and think about what Amalia says.

  And what if David had forgotten what he’d said? Or what if he’d said it as a joke?

  How I wanted to go back, take off my clothes, and fall into bed. In my room I knew how the light slipped through the shutters and played on the opposite wall each morning and how high the ceiling was and what cracks there were, cracks that looked like faces and a thousand other things.

  But I had already reached the road with the blackberry bushes. A small light shone in the observatory window. The rest of the house was dark. David was waiting for me at the end of the field. He was smoking. I smiled sort of stupidly. I had thrown a light yellow jacket over my shoulders, covering my white dress. I didn’t know whether I should leave it on or take it off. He also smiled sort of stupidly, and he didn’t know whether he should let me wear it or help me take it off. He acted awkwardly.

  “I’ll leave it on.”

  Then we greeted each other and he asked me to sit next to him at the edge of the field.

  “We’ve got plenty of time,” he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the light that was shining in the observatory.

  And right afterwards he let his hand fall with that familiar gesture that concealed such a tender hopelessness.

  “David,” I started to say.

  Oh, how I loved him at that moment.

  “What’s been going on with you recently?” he asked, turning abruptly toward me.

  “What do you think is going on with me?”

  “How should I know? You’re the one who should know.”

  I grew silent.

  “You’re not going to tell me, Katerina?”

  I wanted to speak, to tell him about Mrs. Parigori, the sunless dining room, to tell him everything. Though, what right, David could then say, what right did I have telling him not to go for walks with Mrs. Parigori? So I clenched my teeth shut and said nothing. I stretched my neck taller and lifted my eyes, staring far away.

  “You are so stubborn,” David whispered, and after one more puff he threw his cigarette on the road.

  It stayed lit for a minute or two and then went out. That’s when I said, “And you, what’s the matter with you, David?”

  It seemed as if he were trying to find my eyes in the dark. As if he touched my hand, a little, just slightly.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “I’m almost eighteen.”

  “I’m twenty-six,” he said.

  “Is Ruth asleep?” I suddenly asked.

  “No, she’s in Athens since yesterday.”

  “Ah . . .”

  I was alone with David. In this deserted field, by a deserted house, in a deserted world. David and I. It frightened me a bit. What if he really did ask me to jump from the window of the observatory?

  “It’s time,” I heard him say.

  I got up. He took my hand to help me over the rough spots. My jacket slipped from my shoulders. How annoying.

  “You are indecisive,” said David, and he laughed a little.

  “Why? How can you tell?”

  “You can’t decide whether or not to leave your jacket on.”

  He laughed again.

  It was true. That is, it was always hard for me to make a decision. But when I did . . .

  “Yes, I’m indecisive,” I agreed. “And do you want to know something else?”

  We had arrived at the bottom of the spiral staircase.

  “I don’t like these kind of stairs. They make me dizzy. I don’t like swings either.”

  I lifted up my head to look. The spiral staircase wound round and round.

  “You’ll see how nice it is up there,” said David.

  It was a round room, without any corners. It had four rectangular windows that faced east, west, north, and south. Instead of a roof it had a heavy metal dome. When we came in it smelled a bit stuffy. Under the lamp a book was open to page four hundred and twenty. Farther off there were other books piled up. I also saw the telescope and other instruments that seemed related to the telescope.

  “So this is my own house,” said David, and his voice seemed to be hiding some emotion.

  I then thought of my secret hiding spot and all the time I had spent there. But I couldn’t say anything about it. How could I talk about the shade and the sound of the leaves and how the birds were not afraid to come near me? Some had red and blue feathers, others were black with white bellies. How did anyone decide to travel around the world? I am already so nostalgic for the places and things that I see every day. I sighed. David said, “You’ll get hot. Let me open the ceiling.”

  And before I understood what he was saying, he turned off the light and I heard a noise like thunder, and in a single motion the metal dome slid open. I lifted my eyes and saw the sky. And around me the walls, smooth and round, so there was no beginning or end. It was something I couldn’t have expected. Nor could I have known that at the exact same moment David would embrace me and kiss me. On the lips. A sweet anxiousness made it impossible to talk. I was sure I’d never speak again. I thought I’d never walk again, think again. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that that sweet anxiousness shouldn’t go away, shouldn’t ever go away. I felt again for David’s lips. And when he held me tightly in his arms like in a cage, I thought, The hour of death h
as come, Katerina. The death that you waited for with such secret longing. Instead he decided to show me the sky with the telescope.

  And when we had seen how amazing the universe was and how much grander it was than the earth, David asked me whether or not I wanted to wear my jacket. We went down the stairs though it was still early.

  “I’d like to walk home alone,” I said when we got to the road with the blackberries and he had started to accompany me—like he did with Mrs. Parigori. “I’ll come again, though. I really liked it, David.”

  •

  I wanted to laugh, to sing, to cry, to shout—I don’t know. The wind was blowing. It took me and swayed me this way and that like a reed. In the dark I could make out the darker shapes of the trees. And I was one of those dark shapes, too, and the trees were looking at me. Dark blood was running in my veins, I could feel it, the taste of David’s kiss was still on my lips, the sweet anxiousness was a part of me forever. Whirr . . . Whirr . . . how the wind blew. My God, I could almost fly. I untied the ribbon in my hair so that it blew freely. It hummed like the pines. I was ready to dance with the wood fairies.

  They were waiting for me at the clearing, and when I felt the rhythm it was difficult for me to separate myself from them.

  I woke up just before dawn, and was surprised to find that I had fallen asleep in the woods. I still remembered though. I touched my lips with my fingertips, I touched them thoughtfully . . . My face was still misty like everything around me.

  I think I fell asleep again for a minute or two or half an hour. When I opened my eyes again I got up abruptly; around me the ground was covered in lavender. The sun was just coming up. The marble of Pendeli and the lavender were the same color.

  In the woods everything was waking up and trembling. I stretched my arms and took a deep breath. And everywhere there was lavender. I leapt carefully so I wouldn’t step on it. In the olive grove everything was different. There was a stillness, a calm, a uniformity that deserved respect. The ground was bare and red and there was hardly any shade.

  And now, the uphill part of Elia Avenue. I took big steps. For me uphill was a game. There were times when I preferred it to the level road. Maria had told me this part tired her out.

  The more I walked, the faster I went. It was late. They mustn’t know I was out. I was hungry. The goats were already grazing here and there, and the hens were pecking for worms. I heard Kalomoira’s pig scream as if it were drowning. It was hungry, too. Water was running in the big stream, and the smell of mint was everywhere. The reeds near there had shot up, and recently at their tips silver-golden puffballs had blossomed. When the wind blew, the puffballs made a raspy, pleasant sound, which accompanied the sad sound reeds make when they sway. What color would the sea be now? Right now the shutters of the island houses would be opening, letting the sea breeze in, the pebbles would be shining, the gulls would be fishing in little groups.

  I would have to climb over the fence and slip inside. And just as I was passing furtively by the kitchen, in that final moment, I saw Rodia suddenly appear, and I blushed, and turned green.

  “And what are you doing up so early?” Rodia asked.

  “I heard Mother Kapatos calling her children.”

  I ran up the stairs and finally got to my room. And when I saw my bed all neat and tidy, I felt very strange. As if my bed were a person whom I had betrayed. I put my forehead on the white sheets. “David only kissed me,” I whispered. And as I was looking out at the meadow it suddenly struck me that he hadn’t said “I love you,” as one would expect under such circumstances.

  In the garden I met Infanta.

  “Where were you last night?” she asked without looking at me.

  Silence.

  “I knocked on your door and when you didn’t answer I opened it and found your room empty.”

  “What time?” I said provocatively.

  “After midnight.”

  Silence.

  “I wanted to ask you something . . .”

  She looked into the distance.

  “And it was as if I had asked you and you were giving me your answer. By not being there, you gave me your answer, you see? Perhaps . . .”

  She stood up straight and her eyes became slits.

  “I don’t know though, I still don’t know.”

  And after a while, “Did David kiss you?”

  “Yes, he kissed me.”

  We were in the pavilion. I was lying on the bench and my eyes were half-closed. I was annoyed. I got up and looked at her.

  “So what if he did?” I shouted. “Why shouldn’t he kiss me? I’m almost eighteen years old.”

  “I’m nineteen,” she said distractedly.

  She leaned her head on the pine.

  “It’s as if something stops me, Katerina,” she said.

  I felt a lump in my throat. I got up laughing.

  “Let’s go to the fig trees,” I said.

  At the very top there were still some figs. They were very sweet. I broke some off for Rodia as well. I knew that she liked them even if she was always saying how little taste they had: “Now figs in Ikaria!”

  When I spilled them onto the kitchen table, Rodia looked at me suspiciously.

  “Something’s up with you,” she whispered. “Your eyes are sparkling.”

  “Oh Rodia, my dear Rodoula,” I said, “I was up all night dancing with the wood fairies.”

  I grabbed her by the waist and made her dance around with me.

  “Now you leave me alone,” she said sternly. “I see you’ve begun telling stories again like you did when you were small.”

  THE THIRD SUMMER

  I. MAY AND JUNE

  FATHER and Uncle Agisilaos can now do whatever they please. Forget to eat or eat too much. Go out with a jacket that is missing all its buttons. They no longer have anyone to look after them. Grandmother died this winter. I remember it was raining hard on the day of the funeral and I was cold to the bone. Father was very sad but he didn’t cry or say anything; neither did Uncle Agisilaos. At one point they exchanged a look; it was full of the uncertainty and hopelessness of children who have been left orphans.

  It was morning when I learned. I burst into tears. Infanta and Maria arrived and we all cried together until the afternoon.

  The funny thing is that Marios lost his grandmother around the same time. Poor Mrs. Montelandi suffered, it appears, for years from a disease that slowly ate away at her. Mrs. Parigori wore black, which, as everyone said, suited her.

  But David was not there to see. He was in England. He left two Sundays after he kissed me. As for Nikitas, he was in Athens where he was studying hard in his first year at the Polytechnic. He wanted to become an engineer. But he would be back soon now that winter was over.

  Infanta wanted a new dress. We went together to Athens to shop. She chose a blue-green one to match her eyes and I, a bright red one with flecks of white that looked exactly like the strewn seeds of a pomegranate in the sun.

  That day, though, I had a plan. I had thought of it the night before, and then I couldn’t sleep.

  I told it to Infanta after we bought our dresses.

  “Shall we go see Father?”

  “Where? At the bank?”

  “Yes. At the bank.”

  In the meantime the plan had lost some of its magic. I hesitated to talk about it. It all seemed kind of silly now. But I couldn’t change my mind now. And since it would only get more difficult if I let time pass, as soon as we had greeted Father and sat down, I said very seriously, “Listen, Father, you should get married. We don’t have any objections.”

  He looked at me, and his look had an ineffable sweetness about it. I looked at him, too. Surely we would never forget this moment.

  “A signature, please.”

  An employee was standing in front of his desk. Father took the piece of paper, read it carefully, stamped it, and then signed. Infanta was surprised by this, and she looked uncomfortable in her seat.

  The employee
left, but the magical moment had passed. We couldn’t think of anything to say. I took some blotting paper and began to cut it into tiny pieces.

  “We wanted you to know that it’s fine with us. That’s why we came. Isn’t that right, Infanta?”

  “Yes, of course,” she whispered

  “Maria doesn’t have any objections either.”

  Father seemed to smile.

  “Not objections—what I mean is that we don’t mind. Of course we’re in no position to have objections.”

  He seemed pleased.

  “I had wanted to tell you, but this makes it easier. Katerina and I are planning to get married this summer.”

  Her name was Katerina. Now there was something I couldn’t have imagined.

  “You both have the same name,” said Father, and he pretended to read another piece of paper.

  I left relieved. I whistled softly as I walked down the street. Of course, as with every plan that materializes, what actually happened bore little resemblance to what I had planned. I had imagined something grander, I’m not exactly sure what. But Father looked pleased, that was the main thing.

  And each of us returned with our packet. Mother said, though, that as we’d only just taken off our mourning clothes for Grandmother we could at least have chosen slightly less bright colors. She didn’t understand how blue the sky was after the winter, how red the earth, how green the trees.

  The countryside was covered in wildflowers. There were times when I looked at them and thought of David and other times when I looked at them and didn’t. His face—the way it would sometimes vanish completely from my memory, and I would desperately try to recall it—made me anxious. I would run over to Ruth’s and beg her to show me the photograph of her father. But his crooked nose spoiled the effect. David’s was so straight. He hadn’t written me all winter. He said he didn’t know how to write letters, and besides he was totally consumed with his Ph.D. Only his father in the letters he sent Ruth would say, “David sends greetings to everyone,” and once or twice, “David sends greetings to everyone and Katerina.”