by Lena Manta
“Home, to your village.”
“Where did you get that idea? My home isn’t really the village, it’s that river. And it would probably drown me, if I didn’t jump in to drown myself. Right now my home would only manage to wound me, not to save me.”
Two years had passed, years that seemed endless. That morning Polyxeni looked at herself in the mirror. She was in her early thirties, but her face looked much younger. Still, she was tired of everything. She was tired of trying to stay at the top, she was tired of the films, the theater, the publicity—everything. The actress had begun to withdraw. She said no more often than yes to new roles. As television had made its appearance, the theaters had begun to decline. She’d been offered the lead in a television show that paid very well, but she didn’t have any desire to do it. Even Martha failed to recognize her. Stathis watched her transformation and was also puzzled. The only person who was pleased was Vassiliki because the more often her beloved aunt said no to new work, the more time she spent with her.
When Polyxeni finally accepted a television role, she did it for one simple reason: she had nothing else to fill up her day. The shooting was in the morning when Vassiliki was at school and Martha had her own things to do, so she was alone.
The show was a success. Polyxeni was a hit playing a dynamic lawyer who tried the most difficult cases. Television antennas, which slowly began to fill the flat roofs of houses like trees with strange branches, indicated that this new medium had a future. From infancy it would grow up fast. At first it would be a companion, but there was a danger of it becoming a tyrant. The romantic followers of the cinema undervalued it, but the more farsighted decided to conquer it forcefully and become themselves the creators of its success. In the beginning they followed what they had seen before, then they progressed with determination and imagination to realize their own creations. Xenia followed the progress of the new medium unconsciously rather than with real interest, but it worshipped and glorified her. Almost everyone in the street recognized her and often they would speak to her with a familiarity that embarrassed her. She had come into their houses; she was their person. She wasn’t distant, like she had been on the screen or on the stage. Rather, she came to their homes once a week.
It was wrong. Everything could have gone so well but fate had her evil schemes and decided to intervene in human lives. She chose at random who to put in her sights and didn’t care if she had any past dealings with the person. In her bad mood, she didn’t understand that she was destroying others that she shouldn’t harm.
That night, Polyxeni had happily accepted to stay with Vassiliki while Stathis and Martha went out. It wasn’t the first time she had done it. It was summer. She had no performances because during the last years, she had taken a vacation every summer, and the shooting of the television show had finally finished, although they were talking about continuing it the next season. She hadn’t decided yet whether she would accept the offer. She wanted to change her life; still, she couldn’t see how to manage it. That night, though, she was particularly happy. She would be with Vassiliki. They would play Monopoly, which they both loved with a passion, and although they’d stay up late against Martha’s orders, they would pretend to be asleep as soon as they heard the car, just like they did every time.
But things didn’t turn out like that. Vassiliki was so tired she fell asleep, but the couple didn’t come home, even though it was late. At first Polyxeni didn’t worry. She put the child to bed and sat down to study her part for the play she would be in that fall. But when the clock struck three, she really began to worry. By four o’clock she was pacing the room, not knowing what to do. The sound of the telephone made her catch her breath. She had always been afraid of the sound of the telephone at night. She lifted the receiver without knowing that the nightmare was beginning at that very moment for herself and for the beloved little girl who was sleeping unaware in her bed.
Faulty brakes were the cause, they told her. A truck whose brakes weren’t working when the driver saw Stathis’s car. The couple met their death instantly in the tangle of crumpled metal. Polyxeni felt as if lightning had struck every cell of her body; she thought she would go mad. The child, who didn’t know she’d never see her parents alive again, had nobody else in the world. There were only some distant relatives on Martha’s side and on Stathis’s. Polyxeni put down the phone without making a sound. Tears started streaming from her eyes without her being aware of it. Her head was buzzing. She raised both hands and squeezed her head in an effort to hold her brain in its place. Her gaze fell on the bottle of whiskey but she immediately closed her eyes. It had been years since she’d had a drink. No . . . she didn’t have the right. She had to remain sober, she had a lot to think about and even more to do, and she was alone. That scared her. How would she manage? She collapsed into an armchair and tried to put her thoughts in some order. Where should she start and in what direction should she go?
Even years later, Polyxeni had difficulty remembering exactly what followed. A gigantic effort was required on her part to get through the greatest storm of her life. She had to stand on her feet at the very moment when all she wanted to do was curl up and cry for her dearest friends, the people who’d been her support. But she didn’t have either the right or the luxury of doing it. Vassiliki was the great victim of the tragedy and the one who suffered most, even though Polyxeni struggled to prop her up. The girl’s brain seemed to stop when she found out what had happened, and after the cry she let out, no sound passed her lips again. The doctor who attended to her diagnosed severe shock and Polyxeni nearly lost her wits. Apart from keeping Vassiliki out of an orphanage, she now had to worry about the child’s health.
Fate, however, had changed her mood. Perhaps she regretted the harm she had done. Stathis’s best friend, one of the biggest lawyers in Athens, became the protector and guardian angel of Vassiliki and Polyxeni. He quietly arranged everything. Polyxeni adopted the child and would oversee and disburse the parents’ fortune until the girl came of age. There were rumors about the will, which turned up as if by magic, and decreed that things would go just like that. Only the lawyer knew the truth. Stathis, who’d once helped him to study and achieve his career, had been the brother he never had and now he could repay him.
As Vassiliki’s muteness continued, Polyxeni called the best doctors for the child, and all advised her that the situation required patience. They didn’t add “love” because that already poured from the eyes of the famous actress. She canceled everything. She would devote herself to the child, who was hers from now on. The news that Xenia Olympiou was withdrawing completely from the scene exploded like a bomb.
After that, that house became hell again. The telephone never stopped ringing. The reporters waited outside for a statement, and even ordinary people turned up to speak to her. The decision was made quickly, and with the help of the same friend of Stathis, Polyxeni and Vassiliki left for a long trip. Holding each other’s hands, they went everywhere. Strangers among strangers, they slept in each other’s arms and tried together to heal the wounds that had so unexpectedly opened.
It took three months for Vassiliki to open her mouth. When she did, she said the only word she needed to say: “Mama.”
Polyxeni felt the ground slip from under her feet and she embraced the child with all her heart. From then on, progress was rapid. From the moment Vassiliki began to talk she didn’t stop. The two of them had long conversations, often until late at night. At first, they spoke of the two people they loved only hesitantly and painfully, and then they began to talk constantly about them, since it was the only way they could keep them close. They went back to Athens, knowing that more pain awaited them there; the house was still overflowing with the deceased couple’s presence. Polyxeni didn’t dare suggest to Vassiliki that they go to live in her house instead, because she was afraid the child would feel she was being separated from the place where she had grown up. She enrolled the girl in school again and tried to organize their li
fe in whatever way she could.
A year later, though, things had not improved. Neither she nor Vassiliki were happy. They hid it from each other, in an attempt to give courage to one another, but this just made the situation even harder. Vassiliki had lost all interest in school. She had no friends and always looked unhappy. Seeing this, Polyxeni didn’t know what to do. It had been two years since she’d withdrawn from the scene, but she was still getting offers, which she rejected without a second thought. The very idea of returning to her work was repugnant to her. She no longer recognized herself, but she liked this new Polyxeni who she had become. Relieved of all the “musts” of her work, she had calmed down. Life had taken on new dimensions in her mind. Now she was capable of being happy with little things, simple things, everyday things, while the continuous preoccupation with herself had been replaced by her care of Vassiliki.
The day Polyxeni found Vassiliki crying secretly in her room, she decided she must have an honest conversation with her. She went up to the girl and hugged her, while the child tried, however she could, to hide her tears.
“It’s not bad to cry,” Polyxeni said softly. “Crying often saves our minds and it certainly lightens our spirits.”
“Mama,” Vassiliki whispered. That’s what she continued to call her after that first time. “I don’t want to make you sad. You’ve done so much for me.”
“Not even half of what you’ve done for me. And you don’t make me sad because you cry. I cry too, now and then, because I miss them and I’ll always miss them. People like your mother and father are never forgotten. I loved them very much and sometimes I think the nightmare will end and they’ll come back to us and never leave again.”
“Mama, I don’t want to stay here,” the child said softly as if she were talking to herself.
“Are you telling me the truth?” Polyxeni asked. “I feel the same myself, but I didn’t want to take you away from the house you’d grown up in.”
“It’s not the same without them, though, and it’s not only the house. It’s the whole city. When we were away abroad it was better. I could breathe. Here it’s as if something is weighing my heart down.”
“Do you want us to leave?”
“More than anything!”
“And where will we go? Abroad again?”
“No, no. I like Greece, but Athens . . .”
Polyxeni opened her arms and embraced her treasure. In a low voice, full of nostalgia that even surprised herself, she began to talk to Vassiliki about a village that stood under the shadow of a mountain where the gods once lived. She told her about the tall trees and the steep gorges. She described the white lakes between the rocks where the goddess Aphrodite used to bathe, the water mills that gave life to the region, and the air that smelled of burning wood and earth. Finally, hesitantly, she dared to speak of a house embraced by two old chestnut trees and a river that ran quietly and listened to her confessions when she was a child. For her daughter’s sake, she brought every memory to life and then realized that she herself was no longer in pain. Like an old remedy of her grandmother’s, these memories had soothed the wound, and when she stopped speaking, she smiled.
“Mama,” the child said shyly. “It sounds so beautiful. And you . . . I’ve never seen you look so happy, so peaceful. Let’s go and stay there! Do you want to?”
Polyxeni look into Vassiliki’s eyes. “I want to,” she answered.
The time had come for her to make peace with the past. For the longed-for peace to return to her soul. No, the years she had lived were not wasted. Without them she would never have understood what she wanted in life. She would never have become the person she was now. She’d made mistakes, endless mistakes that filled her soul with bitterness, mistakes that had even dirtied her hands with blood, but now she knew what she must do. She would go back; she would throw the past into the river and she’d never see it again. The river would carry everything away, and she and her daughter would begin a new life beside people who loved her despite her mistakes.
Back, then . . .
To the house by the river.
MAGDALINI
Everything was enormous in this country—the buildings, the roads, the distances. A crowd of people traveled on the buses, more people than Magdalini had ever seen. The shops had windows with all sorts of treasures in them, and there were thousands of cars. Her aunt’s house in Chicago was also enormous: two stories with a well-kept garden and a fountain in the entrance that made a big impression on her because she had never seen anything like it. The interior of the house left her with her mouth gaping. Modern furniture, thick carpets, pictures on the walls, and big windows with heavy curtains.
She followed her aunt up the wide staircase, dazzled as she looked around her, but at the sight of her room she let out a small cry. The bed was very big, but despite that, it hardly disturbed the enormous space. There was also a bookcase and a small desk, and some small chairs to sit in.
“What’s this?” she dared to ask.
“Your room.”
“Do you call a whole house a room here?” Magdalini wondered, stroking the dark wood of the desk in delight.
Her aunt came and embraced her. “Magdalini dear, I know everything will seem strange to you, but you’ll get used to it. I want you to feel at home!”
“It’s a little difficult, Aunt. Everything’s so different.”
“I understand, but I’m sure that in a little while you’ll feel like you’ve lived here all your life. Do you miss your home? I want you to tell me the truth.”
“Since we left so much has happened, and I’ve seen even more, so I haven’t had time to think at all about the village or my mother. But I keep thinking I’ll go back and when I imagine it, I see her standing beside me.”
Theodora was very far away, though, and at times Magdalini felt her absence very strongly. Anna’s husband, Peter, came home late in the afternoon to meet his niece. Magdalini examined him with interest. His hair was gray and cut short. He wasn’t very tall, his expression was friendly, and he had a pleasant manner. His clothes were expensive, which impressed Magdalini. He welcomed her, drawing on his nearly forgotten Greek, but most of the time he spoke to his wife in his own language, which Anna translated continuously for her niece.
The first evening she lay down on the soft bed, Magdalini had difficulty sleeping. Her brain could barely hold everything that had happened in the last few days. There would be challenges ahead, the first of which seemed insurmountable to her: the language. She would have to learn it as fast as possible or she wouldn’t be able to learn anything else, or even study physics.
Anna, however, was prepared. The next day, at breakfast, she spoke to her husband before Magdalini came downstairs.
“You didn’t tell me how my niece seemed to you,” she began as soon as she’d had her first mouthful of coffee.
Peter looked at her good humoredly. “She’s certainly very beautiful, and she seems like a good girl. Are you happy to have her here with you?”
“Very. I feel as if I have a purpose. Does that make sense?”
“Completely. If there’s anything I’m sorry about, it’s that we weren’t able to have children. So let’s say that God remembered us and sent us the child . . . Magdalini?” He tried to pronounce her name and smiled. “I’m really afraid that the first thing we’ll have to do is change her name. It’s a little difficult for us.”
“That’s the least of it. We’ll find something simple. The most important thing is for her to learn the language. She wants to study, Peter. That’s why she’s here.”
“But of course! Whatever she wants. I even know a teacher. I’ll call him today. In the meantime, show her around. Go shopping together—surely she’ll need clothes. Go and enjoy yourselves together. Make her love Chicago—that’ll make it easier for her.”
A little while later, after Peter had left for work, Magdalini came downstairs and found her aunt sitting at the table reading the newspaper. She couldn’t believe her
eyes when she saw how much there was for breakfast.
“Good morning!” Anna welcomed her. “I hope you slept well and got over your tiredness. Sit down and have some breakfast.”
“Do you have all this for breakfast?” asked Magdalini. “In the village, we just have a glass of milk and a slice of bread and cheese, and nothing else.”
“Yes, I remember something like that. But it’s different here. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“And what do you eat in the middle of the day, Aunt? Because if the breakfast is like this, I can only imagine the lunch.”
“Ah, at lunchtime we eat something light—a salad, or a sandwich.”
“What’s a sandwich?”
“Two slices of bread with cheese, ham, some sort of dressing . . .” Anna noticed her niece’s sad expression and smiled. The girl didn’t understand anything yet, and it obviously upset her. “My dear, be a little patient and you’ll learn everything.”
“First I have to learn the language, Aunt. When you talk to my uncle, I don’t understand anything. How can I go out? How will I study?”
“Don’t hurry and everything will happen. I spoke to Peter already and he’ll send us a good teacher so you can learn the language. As for our way of life and our customs, you’ll need some time for that too.”
The changes in Magdalini’s life were sweeping. New experiences came to her like sudden downpours, altering everything she knew. Anna never left her side, standing beside her with tenderness and real love. Like a mother teaching her child its first steps, she took her by the hand and taught her to walk in her new life. The first change was in her appearance. Her aunt spent a small fortune dressing her in the season’s latest fashions for young girls. In the beginning Magdalini tried to persuade her aunt not to buy all the clothes, shoes, handbags, overcoats, but her protests fell on deaf ears. Before she had been there a month, nothing distinguished her from the American girls she saw on the street.