A Life In A Moment

by Livos, Stefanos

  Again, we didn’t allow the spark exhaust itself. We looked at each other, silent and embarrassed.

  «I just remembered an extract from an Oscar Wilde poem:

  Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

  By each let this be heard,

  Some do it with a bitter look,

  Some with a flattering word,

  The coward does it with a kiss,

  The brave man with a sword.»

  Ellie knitted her eyebrows and smiled. «You’re calling us cowards?»

  No. It wasn’t that. I didn’t know what had come over me, but when I would repeat one of those lines a few years later, I would see it. It was something like a premonition rising to the surface too early.

  4

  Natalia was the first and only person to learn about what happened that day; and she was elated to see us together.

  A few days later, we gathered all together at the house by the sea. Ellie and I were a couple, yet we tried — somehow successfully — to hide it from Michalis and Thanos, while allowing the former to flaunt his prowess before Ellie.

  Thanos had brought his brand new camera. It was his father’s gift to him; he wanted his son to stay focused.

  «Come on, everybody. Say cheese!» he said and stood up.

  He placed his camera on the table, pushed some buttons and joined us. The click would soon immortalise Thanos’ funny grimace, Natalia’s laughter at him, Michalis looking at Ellie, who was looking at me, while I was the only one looking direct into the lens.

  When I saw the photo in print, some years later, I would be struck by the irony it was tinged with...

  5

  Three years passed. We had grown up, like fruit that had ripened and was ready to fall from the tree of life. Yet, we didn’t quite fall; we held on for dear life. Only in this way would we manage to be the pick of the bunch.

  All of us had finished school, except Natalia, who was in her last year. Thanos had decided to follow in his father’s footsteps. He had begun attending courses at a private college, while in the evenings he spent time in the photographic lab, putting theory into practice. Going back on his promises, Michalis stayed in Greece and went to our town’s Polytechnic School to study Mechanical Engineering.

  Ellie had been admitted to the School of Philosophy, as she’d always wanted. We were still going steady, much to our surprise. We still had a great time after three years. However, the relationship hadn’t been consummated, as Ellie was too scared to make the next move; yet, I knew this was soon to come.

  As for me, the two things I had jotted down for my future plans were to move to the house by the sea and open up a bookshop. That’s what I had set my heart on. This way, I would turn my money to good account, as well as reinvest the knowledge I had acquired through reading books. Of course, I hadn’t made any effort to find a place to rent or go through the rigmarole of bureaucracy. I was still expecting my coming-of-age, four days before Christmas.

  One morning, in early December, my aunt summoned me to the kitchen. «Can you fetch the ornaments from the storeroom? Your uncle’s nipped out to get a Christmas tree.»

  I eagerly took the keys, ascended the stairs, unlocked the door and found myself before my aunt’s great sin. A room cluttered with dozens of boxes, useless objects, decrepit old things, sheets of paper scattered all over the place — all gathering dust, one-finger thick.

  Hmm, I should have asked her where they are.

  I made my way through the clutter, trying to find a clue leading to the right box. On the verge of giving up, I stood at the door and looked at the shelves again. Something caught my eye.

  It was a small box made of dark, polished wood. Unlike the rest of the items in the room, this was not covered in dust. Curious about its contents, I opened it without a second thought. Inside it, I found four photos and a chequebook.

  I examined the photos. In the first one, there were two young women. I would have sworn one of them was Aunt Urania in her youth, but I couldn’t recognise the other one. In the second photo was the unfamiliar woman again, dressed in a wedding gown, while a red-haired man in a black suit stood beside her. In the third photo, the previous couple featured with a baby seated on the man’s lap. In the last one, I saw the little family again, but this time with a different baby — cradled on the woman’s lap this time — and a young boy standing next to the man.

  I somehow sensed those people were familiar to me, though I had never seen them. An uncanny thought crossed my mind, while a second one was deeply ingrained.

  I grabbed the box and ran towards the kitchen. At the very sight of it, my aunt’s look changed.

  «Who are these people, Aunt?» I asked her sternly.

  She was about to speak, but I butted in:

  «They’re my parents, right?»

  She was dismayed by the look on my face. She had never before seen me so disgruntled; I hadn’t been myself, either. I didn’t wait for an answer. Probably because I already knew. With no apparent reason, I ran away with the box in my hands. I wanted to be at the house by the sea, in the twinkling of an eye if I could, to hide the tears that were trickling down my cheeks.

  On my way out, I bumped into Ellie. Her initial smile faded away at the sight of my teary eyes. I didn’t even speak to her; I just looked at her and walked towards my bike, while she was calling out my name. I didn’t want her to see my tears.

  A few minutes later, pedalling as hard as I could, despite the freezing cold that cut me to the marrow, I reached my shelter. I ran up to the attic and lay on the bed. With each minute, I felt better. I opened up the box and looked at the fourth photo again — the one depicting the family that were so familiar to me.

  My own family.

  I focused on the younger child. It was me in my mother’s embrace. Even now I can recollect the strange feeling I felt staring at that photo. Next to me stood a tall red-haired boy. I never once thought I could have siblings. On my left was my father. A fierce-looking ginger man, standing next to my mother — a beautiful woman with long, black hair.

  How pretty she is, I thought, but my thought stuck on the verb.

  Is? Was?

  I took a look at the chequebook. Opening it, I turned to the last page. I was amazed at the vast amount that had been deposited. There was far more money than I needed to set up a bookshop. Where did my aunt get all this money from every month?

  I shot to my feet, and to the window, where I looked at the lighthouse. I had to fill it in on my life. But it was still daytime. Even if it heard me, it couldn’t answer with its three flashes, as it did at night.

  I kept silent. I turned my eyes to the sea, which looked like a sheet of blue cardboard, unwavering and motionless. I made boats out of the thoughts that besieged me and threw them into the sea, in hopes of making waves, giving it some tension. Only in this way could the sea feel my disorderly heart.

  What could their names be? What kind of people were they? What became of them? I looked upon these questions like islands and peninsulas, with my thoughts like boats sailing around them, not knowing where to anchor. Until I learnt the truth, until the secret emerging from the dark was laid bare, those boats could only anchor far offshore.

  6

  «Vassilis, wake up», I heard a voice say.

  I tried to open my eyes, but in vain. My siesta always sunk me into inertia.

  «Mum was worried and she sent me here to check if you’re alright», Natalia explained.

  When I managed to open my eyes, I looked at her and hugged her tightly, like I had long been marooned in the attic and Natalia was my rescuer. Without saying a word, I turned to the bedside table. The box was still there.

  So, it was not a dream.

  I took out the photo featuring the four members of my family and showed it to her. «This is my family, Natalia. This couple are your aunt and uncle, the baby is me and the boy next to me is my brother. Your cousin.»

  She held the photo and looked at it in the same way I did for the
first time.

  «How beautiful your mother is!»

  I looked at her and wondered aloud:

  «Is? Or was?»

  «I don’t know, Vassilis. My mum wanted to speak to you first, so we better get going. It’s time for you to learn the truth.»

  It was already dark when we got home. My aunt was waiting in the living room. «Vassilis, my boy, I was so worried!» she cried and gave me a hug.

  I was not alone in that embrace. She also made space for her remorse at keeping the secret for so long.

  «I’ll tell you the whole story...»

  She held the box and went to the kitchen. I followed suit. I knew this conversation was ours alone.

  «Please, my boy, close the door.»

  She sat at the table, waiting for me to sit opposite her. She opened the box, took out its contents and placed everything in order on the table. She first chose the photo of my parents just after their wedding.

  «These two, as you’ve already realised, are your parents. Your mother, Penelope, and your father, Robert. I don’t know if you’ve already guessed by his looks... He was not Greek. He was English.»

  I was shocked, not because of his nationality or because I myself was half-English. It was the tense of the verb she had used.

  Was.

  Without stopping, she took the next photo and continued her story — or rather, mine.

  «I’m sure you’ve already figured this out as well... This baby is your brother, Pavlos, a few months after his birth», she said showing me the photo.

  She then took the one with all four of us. She lingered over it without speaking.

  «Aunt…»

  «Yes», she said and coughed. «Here, my boy, all of you are together, one month after you were born. Pavlos is thirteen.»

  I discerned emotion and nostalgia in her voice. Probably some pain, as well. It didn’t take much to understand what had become of my folks. But I wanted to ask, simply because I wanted to clear all doubts. I still held out hope. «So, what happened to them?»

  «Don’t rush, Vassilis. We’ll start from the beginning and slowly come to that», she replied.

  I knew the story would be long. What else could it be?

  «Well, your parents met here — while your father was on holiday, thirty years ago — and they fell in love. Although your grandpa dreaded the prospect of his daughter following Robert to England, he eventually gave his consent for their marriage.»

  »A year later, Pavlos was born and after two years — when your grandpa died —, your mother, Robert and I took over the restaurant. I hadn’t met your uncle, yet.»

  »At first, things were great. It was an easier, happier time. After eleven years, though, when I married your uncle, things got tough. We couldn’t live on the money we made from the restaurant. Your father pressed Penelope to move to England. He wanted to go back to his homeland, and the fact that here we were in dire straits was one of the reasons. He used to tell her that their savings were enough to set up a business there, but she was adamant. I’m not leaving my life here! But when the worst came to the worst, she agreed. It was then that she fell pregnant with you.»

  She dithered for a while, as if she was trying to figure out how to continue her story. Finally, she took a deep breath and carried on:

  «Look, Vassilis, my dear. I don’t know how this may sound to you but... I guess you have to know the truth. When your father learnt about her pregnancy, he asked her to have an abortion. He didn’t want a second child — I don’t know why. Penelope refused, but Robert gave her two options: she would either give birth to you and then give you away for adoption, or they would get a divorce and he would go back to England on his own. I never really understood why he reacted like that. Well, your mother had previously confided in me about his never wanting a second child, but... I didn’t expect him to be so negative and absolute.»

  »Penelope didn’t want to give you away or destroy her family. So, since we didn’t have a child at the time, we suggested keeping you and bringing you up. Robert agreed and so it happened.»

  »Ten months later, your parents and your brother boarded a plane to London. Only God, she and I knew how much it hurt her. She would never forgive Robert for what he had done to her.»

  »Your father meant no harm, but he was extremely selfish. That’s why he never admitted to actually regretting his decision to leave you behind. Of course, we all knew he thought about you all the time. Your mother once found him sitting in the dark, holding a copy of this photo.»

  »Anyway, once in England, they managed to open a pub with their savings and his parents’ aid. Fortunately, their pub did just fine from the very beginning. They could live a comfortable life, like we did here.»

  »A year later, I gave birth to Natalia. Upon hearing this, your mother suggested they take you back. Natalia’s birth was the ideal excuse for doing what she always wanted. Your father, though, remained unyielding. Why he did this is beyond me. Even now, when I look back on those days, I still cannot find an explanation. However, he offered to send money to cover your expenses, but we wouldn’t accept that. You were our child, just like Natalia. I never discriminated between you, mark my words. However, since your parents insisted, we came up with the idea of a bank account. They would send the money and we would save up for you.»

  »When Natalia was born, the restaurant was bringing in sufficient cash, just like your parents’ pub. My sister would call me every day to ask after you. She never managed to get you out of her head. She knew what you ate, what games you played, who your friends were, what school subjects you liked and which poem you would recite at every school concert. She knew you as well as I did.»

  »Some years later, I received a telegram saying she wanted to come to Greece to see you. You had just turned five, while Pavlos must have been around eighteen. She had left you a newborn and now you were about to start school.»

  »She wanted me to introduce her as Aunt Penelope. I can only begin to imagine how much it hurt being unable to put things right and correct the mistakes of the past. I remember once, when you asked me in front of her where your mother was, she burst into tears and kept saying that she would never forgive herself for what she had done. She stayed for six days. Kissing you goodbye, she wept...»

  Emotion overwhelmed Aunt Urania. Her eyes spilled over with tears. At the other end of the table, I felt like someone had robbed me of my feelings, as if they had sprung loose a trapdoor. I was neither happy nor sad. I felt neither pain nor compassion. I felt nothing. I was only waiting to hear the last part of the story.

  Wiping off her tears, Aunt Urania remained silent for a moment, then continued:

  «The next day, I received a telegram from London. It was from Pavlos, who said he needed help because his parents had...», she sighed, «...a car accident. On their way back from the airport, they jumped the traffic lights at a train junction and...», there was another sigh, «...they couldn’t get away in time to avoid the train.»

  »Without a second thought, I hurriedly packed my things and fled to England, not knowing when I’d be back. I don’t know if you can recall that, but I was away for three weeks. Your father was killed on the spot, but your mother wouldn’t let go, as if the hope of seeing you again kept her alive. In the end, she didn’t make it.»

  I felt nothing, hearing those words. Perhaps later on I would feel guilty for my apathy, but at that moment, I couldn’t feel anything. I only wanted to hear the end of the story.

  «Their funeral was the most painful experience in my life. Pavlos was devastated. It wasn’t only the pain; it was the responsibilities he had now to shoulder, all by himself — at eighteen. He needed to run the pub and, apart from this, he promised to maintain sending money for you. I refused, but he insisted.»

  »I stayed with him for two weeks to help him adjust to this new reality. However hard I tried to convince him to leave everything behind and join us in Greece, he would not listen. He was determined to stand on his own two feet
. There was a streak of heroic charisma in him from Penelope, and a measure of selfish stubbornness from Robert.»

  »Ever since, we’ve never lost touch. I’ve been to London several times, but I feel I haven’t offered him what he deserves. I have that on my conscience.»

  »Every month, he sends money that goes straight into your bank account. He loves you very much — you should know that — and always asks after you», she said, smiling with sympathy, as she touched my hand. «You have a brother, Vassilis. He lives in London... And for thirteen years he’s been waiting to see you.»

  All this was a strange and surreal tale. Stripped of any witches, dragons, evil stepmothers or heroes. All it featured were truths I had to get used to. I was the seed of a couple that no longer existed; I had been abandoned in limbo; and, above all, a brother, the one and only link to the life I had never lived.

  My aunt’s story answered some questions: the bank account, the mysterious trips she had always made for culinary art exhibitions, and that enigmatic smile whenever I asked her about my family. With hindsight, it was never a sympathetic smile. It was a smile of patience.

  Everything was so tangled up in my mind, that I couldn’t imagine how long it would take to unravel the thread of this story.

  I had grown up as a stranger. Estranged. Alone. Yet, a few thousand miles away was my brother. That’s what counted the most, my brother Pavlos. We were, more or less, in the same boat. We had each other, but for different reasons we had grown up all by ourselves, for so long. He was thirty-one. I was coming of age and he was just heading into the fourth decade of his life.

  I went to the kitchen to find my aunt. «Can you ask Pavlos to join us at Christmas? I want to meet him.»

  She didn’t answer. She smiled. It was a new kind of smile. I preferred this one.