by Lena Manta
“Yes . . .”
They stood looking at one another. It began to rain but it meant nothing to them. The heavy drops were what they needed to quell the fire that was burning their whole beings. Without speaking, they returned to their cars and Angelos followed Melissanthi to her house.
They crossed the front step, dripping.
“I’m really afraid we’ll catch a bad cold,” she called cheerfully and hurried to change her clothes.
A few minutes later they were both sitting in front of a roaring fire, wearing bathrobes and sipping brandy. The wood crackled with a tender sound as it burned, while the rain lashed the windows. Although the storm felt somewhat like an annoying and unwelcome visitor, at the same time its song caressed the ears of the two lovers, like musical accompaniment to their conversation. Angelos listened delightedly as Melissanthi told him stories about her childhood by Mount Olympus. He was enchanted by her description of the tall chestnuts and plane trees that shaded the place and never tired of hearing about her childhood scandals and the house by the river. They laughed a lot at the adventures of Angelos while he was studying abroad. He didn’t hide from her his romantic entanglements. He also told her about his childhood, about his parents, whatever there was to tell about himself. They didn’t talk about the two of them, or their future, nor did they touch each other. Morning found them still sitting by the fire that they’d fed all night and which was still filling the house with a sweet warmth.
The sun refused to emerge that day, which may be why they failed to realize that dawn had broken, shut up as they were in the warm house with the curtains drawn. They only understood that the night had passed when Melissanthi’s eye fell on the clock above the fireplace.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.
“No! And I’m content not to.”
“It’s six o’clock in the morning, Angelos!”
“And . . . you want me to leave and you’re telling me tactfully?”
“Certainly not! But I do want some coffee,” she answered smiling. “And to be honest, I’m hungry!”
They ate their breakfast and then went back to the fireplace with two cups of coffee. Angelos threw more wood on the fire, sat down on the woolen rug, and stared for a while at the graceful dance of the flames. He turned and looked at her face and the calm that had spread over her features, then leaned over and planted a kiss beside her lips. Melissanthi turned toward him, and their lips met. They both knew that from here on there was no turning back. Hungry for one another, they quickly shed their clothes. Their passion burned with such intensity, it was as if their bodies envied the fire beside them. It was the beginning, and contrary to every law, they knew that what they felt right now would never end. It would inevitably overwhelm them, their souls and bodies defenseless to its demanding power.
They stayed for three days and three nights in that house stamped by their love. For three days and three nights, they gave and took the nectar of their souls and bodies. They tasted its sweetness, they immersed themselves in its sacred perfume, and they were born again from it. Whatever fate had in store for their future, nothing would rob them of these days they had shared. Nothing and nobody could come between them except for God. Only He, the Ultimate Judge.
Melissanthi returned home to Apostolos with a heavy heart. She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek and wondered at herself that she could still look him in the eye after everything she’d done in the last three days. That evening, when they were eating, she watched her husband carefully and observed that he looked older than ever. The few white hairs he had when she met him had taken over his whole head. There were bags under his dull eyes and his face had lost its former brightness. Even his posture had changed. Apostolos, who had always looked so proud and erect, had begun to stoop and shrink. She almost felt sorry for him, but wondered at the same time why he had changed so much. She remembered her grandfather who, when he was the same age, looked so much younger and more vigorous. Even a short time before she married, she remembered him walking quickly, his body straight as a candle, climbing the mountain like a teenager and running here and there all day without getting tired. Why couldn’t Apostolos’s legs carry him like that now?
“Are you feeling all right?” she suddenly asked her husband.
He looked at her in surprise. “What put that into your head?” he said.
“I don’t know, you look tired . . .” Melissanthi murmured, already regretting her question.
“There’s been a lot of work to do at the factory lately. Maybe that’s why.”
“Apostolos, you must take more care of yourself! You’re not—” She cut herself off, conscious of what she was about to say.
“Why did you stop? Because you would have said that I’m not young anymore? It’s the truth, my dear, and I know it better than you do,” Apostolos answered calmly.
“I didn’t want to make you feel bad,” Melissanthi whispered regretfully. It wasn’t enough that she had deceived him; she had to hurt him on top of it.
“You didn’t make me feel bad. The only thing that makes me feel bad is that I deprive you of some pleasures that other young women like you have,” he reassured her tenderly.
At that moment Melissanthi jumped up from her chair, her eyes full of tears, and embraced him. “Don’t ever say that again!” she shouted. “I’m perfectly fine. You haven’t deprived me of anything; you’ve never deprived me of anything.”
“I deprived you of . . . a child.”
Melissanthi looked at him intently. Never, in all the years of their marriage, had Apostolos touched on that subject. “What are you saying?” she responded in a voice that trembled.
“We’ve never discussed it, but . . .”
“And it was a good thing that we never discussed it. There wasn’t anything that we could do about it,” she said quickly, wanting to end the conversation there.
The night, in the quiet of her room, Melissanthi thought about her husband’s remarks. She couldn’t understand what had provoked Apostolos to bring up the subject of children, especially now. Before long, though, the conversation faded from her mind and her thoughts flew unhindered to Angelos and the wonderful days they’d spent together. They’d agreed they would avoid their social circle, so they wouldn’t find themselves together at parties. They would be completely discreet, completely careful. Melissanthi was absolutely firm on that subject. Angelos respected her wishes and only accepted an invitation when Melissanthi informed him that she had declined it.
The house in Lagonisi, hidden in the wilderness, far from inquisitive eyes, was the ideal place for them to meet. Apostolos hadn’t set foot in the place in years and showed no desire to go there now. The little villa had become Melissanthi’s regular refuge. More and more often she left Apostolos and set out in her car for Lagonisi. In summer, the region was a delight, but they had to be even more discreet. There were more people about, and although the villa was isolated, it was more likely that someone would observe that there were two cars parked there, so Angelos left his car some distance away and walked to the house. There, with the curtains drawn, they indulged completely in one another.
Whenever they planned a trip to the villa, Melissanthi couldn’t wait to abandon herself to Angelos’s arms. If their departure was delayed by his work, she thought she’d go mad with desire. Every fiber of her body wanted him; his absence pained her and she paced around the house in Kypseli like a lion in its cage, full of irritability. But all that passed as soon as Angelos telephoned her to say they could leave. She would drive as if she were being pursued, and the miles seemed endless until she finally arrived and could surrender herself to their unquenchable passion.
Christos looked around him in surprise. Apostolos had invited him to dinner and he’d assumed they’d be joined by his friend’s wife.
“Isn’t Melissanthi here?” he asked.
“Melissanthi’s in Lagonisi.”
“Again?”
“What do you mean by ‘
again,’ old friend?”
“During the last month she must not have spent even three days with you. Whenever I ask you how she is, you tell me she’s in Lagonisi.”
“And where would you like her to be in August? All of Athens is away.”
“Yes, but you’re here. I’m sorry, it’s not for me to say, I know, but why don’t the two of you go somewhere together?”
“You know why. The state of my health won’t allow me to go on long trips. As for Lagonisi, Melissanthi may like it, but I get unbearably bored there. Still, I can’t stop her from going. When it comes down to it, I can’t offer her anything better. Leave it, my friend. I didn’t expect to end up like this, but . . . just leave Melissanthi alone. Under the present circumstances she’s trying to enjoy herself. With dignity. She’s a young girl shut up in a cage for life with an old man!”
“Hey! Not so old.”
“Not in years, but my physical situation gets worse and worse.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning . . . nothing. That’s just why it’s better for her to leave.”
Meanwhile, in Lagonisi, Melissanthi and Angelos were having their first argument.
“What are you saying?” she shouted at him irritably. “We made it clear at the beginning! I’m never going to abandon Apostolos! Why are you putting me in such a difficult position now?”
“I love you, Melissanthi. I can’t manage without you.”
“You don’t have to live without me. You have me.”
“Yes, but how often?”
“Whenever we can. You’re the one who has a job, you’re the one who’s always delaying our coming here. Why are you complaining?”
“Because I want to have you with me every day, every hour, every minute. I want us to get married, to have a family.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Melissanthi, my parents are putting pressure on me to marry, and I don’t blame them. I have a job, I earn plenty of money—they’re right to want to see me with a woman at my side.”
“And what do you think would happen? Do you think your parents will jump for joy when you present them with someone else’s wife?”
“It wouldn’t bother them.”
“If you think that, you’re naive! If I divorce Apostolos to marry you, everyone will curse us. Don’t you understand?”
“No, I don’t want to understand it. In the end, they’ll talk; they’ll talk, and they’ll get over it and leave us in peace!”
“Angelos, try to understand. Apostolos is my husband. I don’t want to hurt him when he’s been nothing but good to me, always. He offered me everything.”
“But I can offer you everything too. In fact, I can offer a lot more than an old, tired husband can. And money—if that’s the issue, I promise you won’t do without anything.”
“You shouldn’t have said that! What do you think I am? A calculating woman whose only interest is a man’s wealth?”
The shock on her face brought him to his senses. The next moment he was kneeling in front of her, begging for forgiveness.
“I don’t know what I’m saying anymore,” he said. “I’m sorry, my love! I’m terribly sorry. I love you, Melissanthi. I’m like a madman when you’re not beside me!”
“If you ever speak to me like that again,” she warned him coldly, “it’s over. From the first day I made it clear to you that Apostolos has given me everything. I feel for him, and I’ll never abandon him. It’s bad that I’m with you but that’s because . . . you’re something I can’t control. Don’t make me regret that too.”
“No! Never regret what we feel for each other. You’re my life, Melissanthi. Don’t blame me for struggling like this!”
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you more,” she whispered. “I love you too, you know that, but I can’t become yours in the way you want. I am yours in the only way I can be: with my body and soul.”
She demonstrated this to him soon after. They made love with the urgency of two people who can only possess one another during stolen moments. But Melissanthi knew that the preceding quarrel would be their last. For some time, she’d been able to see the end of the alley they were walking along. Angelos was just thirty-three years old and both handsome and successful. It was only a matter of time before the pressure from his parents to marry would be too great. There was also his own need to consider, to have a woman beside him on a permanent basis, a woman for good and bad times, a woman to give him children. She had been with Angelos for a year and she didn’t see how it could continue much longer.
And then came the remorse—tormenting, fierce, and merciless. It hadn’t bothered her throughout their entire affair, but now she felt it in full force. It was wrong, what she’d done to all those around her. First of all, she had deceived her husband in a shameful way. He slept peacefully, ignorant of the fact that the house he’d bought to please her had been transformed into her love nest. She’d left him alone for endless days, when perhaps he needed her but never told her out of guilt for imposing such a restricted life on her. Next in the chain of remorse was Angelos. There the fates dug their sharp nails into the depths of her soul. What right did she have to keep him in a relationship that didn’t lead anywhere? What right did she have to deny him the life he deserved? His parents were completely right. He should have a family, and as long as she imprisoned him in her embrace, he wouldn’t have one. She had no illusions. Angelos loved her and was ready to make any sacrifice for her, but if she really adored him, shouldn’t she set him free? Perhaps he would suffer in the beginning, but afterward he’d find his way.
In an effort to put an end to her story with Angelos, Melissanthi asked Apostolos to take her on a long trip. She would leave Angelos a letter explaining to him that it was all over and asking him to respect her decision. It would be easier that way, because if she had to face him, she might not be able to go through with it. It was Apostolos, however, who ruined the plan.
“What you’re asking me can’t happen, Melissanthi!” he shouted.
“Why? It’s been years since we’ve been abroad,” she complained. “Anyway, I’m not asking you to go somewhere you don’t like. I thought we’d spend a month in Paris, and right after that, if we’re in the mood, we could go to London! And then we’ve never been to Spain, and there’s always Italy.”
“First of all, it’s impossible for me to be away from my work for so long. You’re talking about at least a three-month trip.”
“OK, if not three months, then what about at least two?”
“It’s not happening, Melissanthi. I can’t leave.”
“But why? You used to go on trips all the time and you enjoyed them.”
“It was different then. However much I want to please you I can’t do it . . . unless . . .” Apostolos broke off.
Melissanthi looked at him in surprise. “Unless what? If you can only go for a shorter time, that doesn’t bother me. Just tell me yes. I really need to get away for a little while. Please, Apostolos.”
“Why don’t you go by yourself?” he asked.
“By myself?” Melissanthi was nearly speechless.
“Yes, go to Paris—you enjoy it—and stay as long as you like. You speak French, you know how to get around by yourself from the times we’ve gone there together. Where’s the problem?”
“But . . . alone?”
“Why not? When you disappear for weeks in Lagonisi, do you have friends there? I don’t go with you.”
“But Lagonisi is one thing, Paris is another.”
“That’s silly! Just because I can’t come with you, I see no reason why you have to sit like a prisoner with me. You’ll go, you’ll have a change of view, you’ll shop, and I hope by Christmas you’ll have come back.”
“Have you gone crazy, Apostolos? It’s only October.”
“I know what I’m saying. Paris is like that. You won’t even notice the time pass. And if you do, well, you mentioned wanting to go to London as well.”
“Oh no.
Since you won’t come with me, I’ll only go to Paris. In a month, at the most, I’ll be back.”
The letter she would leave for Angelos troubled her a lot. Hand and mind didn’t work together, and she wrote versions and threw them away until there was a heap of crumpled paper on the floor beside her. She’d run out of time. The next day she was leaving. Everything was ready; her suitcases were even by the door. She had to figure out how to say good-bye to him, in a way that would make him understand that their separation was final.
On the way to the airport, she had the taxi stop by Angelos’s office, where she slid the white envelope under the door. He would find her letter in a few hours, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. By then, she would have taken off for the City of Light, where she’d find a way to face the darkness that would envelop her from now on. As the airplane took off, Melissanthi felt her heart ache, knowing that when she returned, loneliness would be waiting for her again. The dull house in Kypseli and her empty life. She had already decided that as soon as she got home, she would sell the house in Lagonisi. It would be impossible to go back there, where every corner held the memory of a love that had the misfortune to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Paris greeted her with rain and a dull atmosphere that weighed down her spirits even more. She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the name of a hotel that wasn’t as large as the one she and Apostolos used to stay in, but had a better view of the Seine. Her first order of business when she got to her room, despite the rain, was to open the door onto the balcony and rest her gaze on the great river. Once again, she’d sought refuge beside a river, just like when she was a child. Back then, she would let its green currents carry all her cares far away. Then she would go back home feeling lighter. If only this moment were so simple. It had been a month since she’d sent even a card to her mother. Theodora was capable of figuring out that something wasn’t going well in her daughter’s life, even from a conventional letter. Besides, Melissanthi didn’t want to write lies, and naturally she couldn’t tell the truth.