The Lace Tablecloth

by Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis

‘Some women don’t know how lucky they are. They find a good man, with a government job; month-in, month-out, the salary comes. What more do they want? They have the lot. Woe be us who are keeping our houses clean, taking care of our husbands and children, tending the animals, working out in the fields,’ one of them said.

  ‘True. True. That’s how we are. But the foreigners think only of themselves and don’t give a damn about their husbands and children!’ reasoned another.

  The church bell didn’t toll for Agatha’s funeral, and no notices were stuck on trees or posts. That was because Agatha had killed herself. She couldn’t have a church service, and couldn’t be buried inside the cemetery. Her husband and two of his colleagues dug a hole outside the cemetery fence and buried her there. That was what the women at Tasia’s community water tap — far from Agatha’s neighbourhood — were saying.

  ‘The worst punishment for the worst crime,’ stated Voula.

  ‘That’s how it is. The worst crime in God’s eyes is suicide. Who do you think you are to decide when to end your life? That’s God’s decision. He gives you life. He takes it away when your time is up,’ agreed Katina.

  ‘And of all the ways she’d chosen to die! She burnt all her insides with hydrochloric acid!’ added Maria.

  ‘Her neighbours say that for two days in a row she was bellowing like a wild beast. She lived through hell till she died,’ Roula volunteered.

  ‘That’s life. You pay for everything down here, in this life,’ reasoned Katina.

  ‘Is it possible we’re being mean and unfair to her? Maybe she was sick.’

  Stavroula tried to understand.

  ‘What nonsense! She was lazy, spoiled and self-centred. She was pampered all her life and when things got a bit tough she killed herself. That’s not how one copes with life. Definitely not,’ commented Roula.

  It wasn’t headline news in the newspapers, but a new scandal kept tongues flying. Irini and Tasos, two high school students, were caught in a wheat field making love. And by whom, if you please? By the teacher of religion, the most puritanical of all the teachers who had no tolerance at all for any contact between boys and girls, not even between brothers and sisters. In his zeal to impose discipline, he would pull the plaits of the girls if they didn’t have their hair tied back in a bun. And at his insistence, girls had to wear long bloomers with the elastic in the leg under the knees in gymnastics. Girls ought to be demure and humble; demure and humble was his constant utterance.

  He had taken his dog for a walk out in the fields and come across this vile act. Well! Who has seen God’s face and wasn’t struck by a thunderbolt! He got wild, furious. Such a disgrace was unbelievable! Unheard of! Such vulgarity! Such decadence! Such obscenity! The school had the utmost responsibility to punish the offenders severely and without any leniency or pity. The school had a responsibility to prevent society from becoming Sodom and Gomora.

  Irini was two years younger that Tasia. Without delay she was expelled from school. This unspeakable act had gone on for some time because she was at least four months pregnant. Tasos, who was in Tasia’s class, was also suspended for a month. In addition, he wasn’t allowed to be out alone after sunset except with his parents or his older brother who was married, a proper family man.

  After two weeks Tasos left to continue his studies in Salonica. He was from a well-to-do family, and his parents weren’t going to let any slut jeopardise his future. Gossip of course flew around.

  ‘And the baby?’ asked someone.

  ‘The baby what?’

  ‘Well, isn’t it their grandchild?’

  ‘Don’t be silly! Grandchild and pink elephants! Who knows how many she has been with, with her pretty face and coquettishness.’

  ‘Now, why do you speak with such spite? Do you know the girl? She was a naive and innocent young girl who fell in love and got into trouble.’

  ‘Well, just show me some more such innocent girls! Listen to me. She knew very well what she was doing. She wanted to dupe him into marrying her and almost succeeded.’

  Winter came early that year. Snow fell during the night, covering everything: the broken fences, the roof tiles and the rusted corrugated iron over the sheep pen, and turned the miserable neighbourhood into a pristine landscape. Soon the snow melted and changed to muddy water, and the freezing night wind that bellowed non-stop turned it into hard and slippery ice.

  The days were short, grey and depressing. On returning from school Tasia had to light the petrol lamp so she could find her way around. She couldn’t be bothered doing anything: didn’t want to cook, didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to wash. She was getting by with whatever she could find under her nose. She was going to school unprepared, most of the time not knowing the program for the day. She had lost weight and looked sick.

  As soon as she was back from school, she’d very often throw her schoolbag on the table, take off her shoes without untying them, and get into bed fully dressed, pulling the covers over her. She would fall into a deep sleep, wake a bit later on, sweaty with a dry mouth, headache and the itch and pain of chilblains in her hands and feet driving her crazy. Her fingers would be so swollen from the chilblains she couldn’t bend them to hold the pencil. She’d scratch them with fury, turn over and fall asleep again. When finally she felt hungry she’d search in the dark for a piece of bread, grab a handful of olives and return to bed to eat, spitting the pips on the floor. Then she would stretch her hand to pick up the small pitcher from the floor next to her bed, bring it to her mouth and take a few gulps of water from the small hole on the handle — if it wasn’t frozen. Only then she’d realise she was still dressed. She’d take off her coat, the uniform that cut into her, leave them on the floor, and return to bed, and remain awake all night fighting with the bedclothes and scratching her chilblains.

  She wasn’t well and she knew it. For hours she would sit still staring at the wall opposite with no thoughts whatsoever. When it was time to get up she had to put in an enormous effort to stand and dress. Her world was immersed in a perpetual fog, obscuring the sun and erasing the colours. Strange, incoherent and unrelated ideas were spinning through her brain, creating shame and guilt in her: shame because she was born a girl, shame for all the badness and pettiness she was harbouring inside her and shame for her urge to be indifferent to all human suffering, degradation, humiliation, the baseness marring the face of the whole planet.

  This way or that, time marched on. The days got longer, the snow melted and the birds began to build their nests. A faint ray of hope started to break through the fog. The guerrilla war was over.

  Concerned about her health, Tasia’s father encouraged her to come and spend the weekend in the village to see her mother and brother. The situation had improved markedly. The last refugees of the civil war had returned to their homes. The farmers were out cultivating their fields; the shepherds were returning from the pastures carrying newborn lambs in their arms.

  ‘The government has sent us two new teachers and a midwife trained in Athens to convince us that all is good,’ her father informed her.

  Tasia hadn’t been home for almost six months, and the moment she entered their yard, she felt as if a sharp knife cut through the grey veil draped over her, allowing her to emerge from her deep, lethargic fog. Her depression that had kept her captive and inactive for over two months was lifting. Even so, the uncertainty and the pain of loneliness over this time had remained dormant, and now came back to haunt her. But more importantly now, how was she to prepare for the end-of-year final graduation exams crucial to her future prospects?

  It was the first time Tasia was really afraid she’d fail. She couldn’t recall what had taken place in the classroom during the past months so there was a great gap in her knowledge. A lot of time had been wasted and she needed to start studying diligently. She couldn’t allow the effort, the hardship and the expenses of the past six years go to waste. She had a duty to herself but also to her parents to do the best she could and graduate wi
th the best possible marks.

  The subjects she needed to revise for the exams were numerous: modern Greek, ancient Greek, Latin, philosophy, mathematics, physics, chemistry, history, religion, biology, cosmology, physical education. Those subjects, as the schoolmaster had stressed, formed the body of the tree of education and the foundation of every educated person, regardless of pursuing further studies. According to the headmaster ‘higher education makes you a scientist, a professional, a businessman, but not necessarily an educated person with a refined appreciation of life’.

  Despite her panic when she realised how far behind she was, Tasia worked very hard so when she delivered her last written paper she knew she had done the best she could under the circumstances. All that remained was to collect her things and return to the village to await the results.

  Prior to returning she thought it prudent to search for a job, any job, and in the meantime to find out how she could become a teacher. At the water tap she had heard some women saying Mr Andreas was searching for two women to work three days a week in his poultry farm, plucking chickens he was selling to the local butchers and the restaurants. No other jobs seemed to be available as the few shops were all family businesses which gave work to the members of the family. Unemployment was the biggest scourge of society at that time and there were no jobs for boys, let alone girls.

  The idea of plucking dead chickens made her sick to the stomach. In any case, she discussed it with Maria, the only neighbour Tasia trusted and had now and then turned to for advice.

  ‘Forget it,’ Maria advised her. ‘This man is so rightist and cantankerous I’m sure he’ll ask for a certificate stating your social convictions before he gives you a job to pluck his chickens.’

  ‘What do you mean? What is this certificate and where do you get it?’ Tasia asked, mystified.

  ‘Well, didn’t they explain that to you at school? This certificate is essential to getting a job in the public service or to study. Without it you have no future. All doors are shut. Even if you are a scientist or a professor, you can’t get a job without that certificate. You get it from the police. And if you want my advice, you should go straight to the police station and ask for one. As for Mr. Andreas, forget it. He is not only a fascist and a miser, but he is also a philanderer.’

  She felt confused and disappointed after leaving Maria. She had been confronted with something new. She had never heard about the certificate of social convictions. The fact it was more essential than a high school certificate was puzzling. What was it all about? What did they mean by social convictions? Because the only convictions she had and could speak about without hesitation, was her unfaltering love and respect for her mother Greece.

  She was enchanted by the intellect of the ancient Greeks, about their independent spirit that created the principle of democracy, the thirst of each Greek for freedom: responsible life but without limitations and restrictions, something Tasia hadn’t experienced till now, despite the fact she had imposed most of the restrictions on herself. She knew — like so many of the national heroes — she was ready to give even her life to defend the freedom of her country. However, she was intrigued to know how strangers like the police would know about several of her other personal convictions better that she and issued certificates to that effect.

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly how it is, my girl,’ said the senior police officer sitting behind his big desk. ‘Without that certificate your prospects for further studies or for getting a job, particularly in the public service, are non-existent. If you are over eighteen, this certificate and your identity card are essential. Fill out these two forms and bring them here, together with two photos. You’ll collect them in a month’s time and, from then on you must always carry your identity card with you.’

  She was at a new crossroad. She had sat her exams and was hoping for a reasonable result. Besides, even if she had to re-sit one or two subjects, her presence in Ptolemais was no longer required. As Maria had warned her, Mr. Andreas was likely to ask her to produce that certificate even for the privilege of plucking chickens. The police had informed her she couldn’t get it earlier than in a month’s time when the results of the exam would be out and from then on she’d have to work out what to do next. For the time being she’d have to pack up her things, vacate her rented room and go back to the village.

  The six years she had spent in Ptolemais were hard and lonely, and most of her memories sad and unpleasant. Despite this, the last time she cast her eyes around her now empty room, she felt sad. There was a chill inside her, a void in her heart, as if a part of her body was cut off and missing. As she returned the key to her landlady, she became aware that only at that particular moment she saw her as she really was: a small hunched-up old lady, alone and withdrawn from people and life, a ghost of what she might have being when she was Tasia’s age.

  She thought it strange that while they had lived under the same roof for six years, she hardly knew anything about her. Like solitary wild beasts they avoided each other, running to hide inside their individual holes and shutting their doors to people and life. The few times they were forced to be together under the most difficult of circumstances sitting as they were in the viscous mud of the cellar when the guerrillas first attacked Ptolemais, the old woman had shown she was capable of enormous warmth and compassion. But immediately afterwards, she had left in a hurry to disappear again into her room, as if she were embarrassed or afraid her vulnerability may be exposed.

  Who knows what she had been through in her life? What whirlwind had lifted her from somewhere and deposited her in that muddy town? Did she ever have a family? A husband? Children? Alas, why had Tasia not had the courage to get closer to her when there was time, to get to know her better, to take care of her? Now it was far too late. However, as she put the key into her landlady’s hand, automatically the two of them fell into each other’s arms, kissing each other as the tears streamed down their faces.

  ‘You must drop in to see me any time you are in Ptolemais; you must,’ the old lady said with affection.

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ Tasia promised tenderly and with total honesty.

  The vast horizon she had faced for the first time six years ago was no more. It had shrunk to become oppressive and narrow. A black cloud muffled the blue of the sky and the magic of the scenery. The stillness of the midday heat heralded the downpour ready to break. The mass of the huge mountain in front of her constricted her breathing.

  Her father walked next to her pulling the loaded mules and she thought he had shrivelled, become shorter. His eyes had lost their glow and looked faded, deep wrinkles around them and all over his sullen and tired-looking face. His clothes were worn-out and shabby, as were his shoes: full of holes. This honest and hardworking man, uncomplaining and with enormous courage had provided for her and the whole family but now he almost looked an old man. In a period of only six years he had grown old and had shrunk.

  Is that how quickly a human being gets old? Is that how short life is? If that were the case then she must hurry; she must do something for her family, her society, herself: add a small grain to the sand of eternity.

  Her mother had aged also. That beautiful, tall and slim Pontisa with the pained face and the sad eyes who seemed to tower over her only a few years back had become very short all of a sudden and now only came up to Tasia’s shoulder. The house also seemed smaller. It was no longer possible for her to fit into the window sill where she used to spend most of her time as a child. Only her brother had grown bigger and was almost as tall as she was. But he was made from different stuff. He was a difficult and restless child and had no interest in school or work. One day she caught him smoking behind the hayshed. It was hard for her to figure out if the changes she could see all around were real or were simply reflecting her own changes.

  Life at home was the same as always. Her parents had usually very little to say to their children or to each other. Each one of her parents was shut in a world of his own that excluded the othe
r. All around the neighbourhood she could hear people’s voices rising and falling, something that never happened in her own house. It was as if her parents were foreigners: not of the same boisterous and noisy substance as all the other Greeks.

  Her mother continued to be extremely busy as if work were her only purpose in life, the only way to prove and justify her existence. Her father no longer went to the Cafenion. Late in the afternoon he’d sit on the bench outside the small oven hut, rest his back against the wall and twirl his cigarette very slowly and carefully, as if it were of utmost importance.

  Her parents knew Tasia was waiting for the results of her final exams but they avoided making any comment about it. Was it perhaps because they knew the difficulties she had faced over the year and were pessimistic about the results? Or was it because they didn’t want to upset her and make her feel uncomfortable? They didn’t even ask her what she would like to do in the future, as if that had nothing to do with them. That was why Tasia kept quiet although questions and doubts raged inside her unrestrained such that she couldn’t decide what was true and what was false. Not that she was afraid. Not at all. It was just that she avoided acknowledging the great void inside her that grew bigger each day while time passed with depressing slowness.

  N

  ow that she was permanently living in the village, Tasia decided to go to the water tap when there was no one around. It was usually on a Sunday morning when most were attending church service that she felt free to come and go as many times as needed to fill up all the water containers in the house. If she saw someone coming, she’d take her pots and walk away, even if they were half-full.

  One Sunday morning at the water tap Tasia met Olga for the first time. The young woman came to wash her hands and her red face. A strange woman, Tasia thought as she saw her approaching. She was slightly taller than Tasia and wore a printed cotton dress and sandals. She had beautiful blue-green eyes and blond, curly hair tied back with a ribbon. Tasia estimated she might have been four or five years older than her. The two women looked at each other with great curiosity.