The Gold Letter

by Lena Manta

  “Where were you?” he asked simply.

  “I went for a walk to, um, get some air,” he answered, knowing how silly his excuse sounded.

  “In the middle of the night? Did it occur to you that, apart from the fact that it’s improper, it’s also dangerous? How long has this been going on?”

  “Not long,” Vassilis admitted, searching his mind for the best way to face this new situation. This wasn’t his mother in front of him but his father.

  “Are you going to brothels?”

  “What are you saying, Father? Of course not!” he answered hurriedly, red in the face.

  “That would be more logical than walks for a man your age! And if you weren’t at such disreputable places, where were you? And be careful; we’re talking man-to-man now! I want a straight answer.”

  He took a deep breath. The time had come to do battle. He hadn’t expected it so soon, but perhaps it was better. The secrecy would be over. He looked boldly at his father.

  “I’m in love with a girl,” he said in one breath.

  Simeon smiled at him now. “I’d suspected something with all your absentmindedness. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Because I didn’t know how you would take it.”

  “But what girl would meet you at such an hour?”

  “I go to her house.”

  “And doesn’t she have parents?” Simeon squinted suspiciously at his son.

  “Don’t get ideas in your head, Father. She sneaks out of her room like I do. She opens the front door, and we sit for a while on the steps of her house.” He hesitated for a moment. “Father, I want you to know that I love the girl and I will marry her. I wanted to tell you earlier, but her household is in mourning, and it’s not the right time to ask them.”

  “Wait, slow down,” Simeon said, soberly now. “First of all, who is she? You’re still very young for marriage.”

  “Age has nothing to do with it, Father! Tonight I gave her a gold necklace, and I told her it was a token of our engagement.”

  “What gold necklace?”

  “I found a design in the drawer of the desk. The one in the workshop.”

  Simeon was beginning to have difficulty breathing.

  His son continued blithely: “A small gold envelope. I don’t know who designed it, but when I saw it, it was as if the piece was made for her . . . I worked hard and kept it a secret from you and grandfather, and today it was ready. Chrysafenia is my life, Father.”

  The room began to spin with this coup de grâce. That name. It couldn’t be a coincidence; it was rare, as her mother was rare. Simeon had to support himself on the back of the armchair that was in front of him.

  “Are you saying that the girl you love is the daughter of Fotis Ververis?”

  He had neither received an answer nor objected before the door opened wide, and a furious Roza fell on Vassilis howling. She managed to give him two slaps and would have continued to hit him if the young man hadn’t grabbed her hands to protect himself. Roza had woken up, and not seeing Simeon beside her, she had gotten up to look for him and heard voices from her son’s room. She had listened at the door and heard everything. But when she’d heard the name that was a red flag to her, she rushed in. Now she howled and cursed while her husband pulled her away from Vassilis. Her shouts had woken the whole household, and they gathered in Vassilis’s room.

  “Now we have a quorum!” Vassilis observed with a nervous laugh.

  “Will someone tell us what’s going on here?” his grandfather demanded.

  His wife intervened. “It’s not possible with so many people in the boy’s room. Let’s go down to the living room so that we can talk like human beings.”

  “More talking is all we need!” Roza screeched.

  “Daughter-in-law,” the woman said, “we need to understand what’s happened. Such goings-on in the middle of the night!”

  It was the grandfather who waved everyone downstairs. They switched on the lights and took their places. Vassilis remained standing, motionless as a condemned man in front of a firing squad. Simeon hurried to fill a glass with brandy and swallowed it in one gulp. That suspicious pain near his heart had returned. From far away, it seemed like he heard fate laughing.

  “And now, tell us what happened,” the older man commanded.

  It was Roza who opened her mouth, full of bile.

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Your grandson went and got mixed up with that slut, the daughter of Ververis. Tonight he told his father, and even said he was going to marry her! He made her a necklace, the fool!”

  A sinkhole opened in the middle of the living room. Only the two youngest members of the family didn’t understand why the fact that their brother loved a girl had provoked such tumult. After all, the doctor’s family was a good and wealthy one. The children remained silent, while around them the objections had just begun.

  “And?” asked the grandfather now.

  “What more can I tell you? It’s not—”

  “Not you! Him.” The grandfather now turned his fire on his grandson.

  “My mother told you everything,” Vassilis said, seriously. “I love Chrysafenia Ververis, and I want to marry her. You may not like her parents, but that has nothing to do with us.”

  Vassilis was horrified to watch both his grandfather and his mother turn on his father.

  “You see what you’ve done?” his wife asked spitefully. “When I said he shouldn’t go over there, you ignored me, and look where that got us! And don’t say you’re sorry. You’re enjoying this, but you won’t win—neither you nor her. That wedding will happen over my dead body!”

  “Simeon!” his father shouted. “Do you hear what your wife is saying to you? I’m saying the same thing. That family didn’t come in the door then, and they won’t come in the window now!”

  Vassilis gaped at them all as if he were dealing with crazy people.

  “Just a moment,” he said. “What’s going on here? What are you all talking about? What happened with Chrysafenia’s family? What has her mother done to you?”

  “Your father can tell you if he dares!”

  “Truly, though, Roza, what has she done to you?” Simeon asked, and his voice was a calm, discordant note in the charged atmosphere.

  “You’re asking me, on top of everything? In front of the children? Ask me when we are alone, and I’ll tell you! I’ve had to hold it inside me all these years!”

  Simeon turned to the two younger children. “Aristos, Penelope, this conversation isn’t for you. Go to your room.”

  The siblings looked at each other unhappily, but they certainly didn’t want to draw fire on themselves by objecting. They just hoped everyone would keep talking loudly so that they could listen from the top of the staircase.

  “Out with it, Roza,” Simeon said to her as soon as the children had left.

  “Here? We’re not alone.”

  “Yes, but what we have to say is everyone’s business now. And if you don’t want to talk, I will. Vassilis deserves to know.”

  He turned to his son, who was looking at him with wide eyes. This wasn’t at all like his quiet father.

  “So, my son, once upon a time . . . ,” Simeon began under the shocked gaze of his family, “when I was very young, I met and fell in love with a girl. She was my life, my breath; I woke up and went to sleep thinking of her. Like you, I promised to marry her, but when I told my father, he wouldn’t let me. You see, he wanted your mother as my bride. However much I insisted, he didn’t yield. He had given his word to your other grandfather, and I had to respect that so as not to shame my family.”

  “But how could you forget the woman you loved?” his son asked, and when he saw his father’s face flush, he answered his own question: “You didn’t forget her.”

  “It was for her that I designed the gold letter, only I never managed to make it.”

  Now Vassilis’s eyes nearly jumped from his head. “That was your design I found in the office?”r />
  “Yes, and you found it and gave it to the girl you love. The Turks have a word: kismet, destiny. The girl I loved is Smaragda Ververis, the mother of your Chrysafenia!”

  The bomb his father had thrown hit Vassilis right in the chest. He opened and closed his eyes rapidly in an effort to believe what he was hearing.

  Now Simeon turned to his wife. “And since all the cards are on the table, why so much rage? Why such hatred for a woman who never harmed you? After all, you won. You married me, and after all those promises I made her, I abandoned poor Smaragda without saying a word!”

  “I’ll tell you, since you understand yourself so well!” Roza shouted. “Why did you marry me but never love me? I gave you three children, but you never looked at me the way you looked at her that night we saw them. Do you remember? You melted, and I froze. You lay down every night in our bed, but if you remembered there was another living person there, it was only a body to satisfy your appetites. And every day, I froze more and more until I became like a body without a soul! I have been miserable with you, Simeon, like every woman who knows that her husband loves somebody else. Don’t ask me what that woman did to me! She sucked you dry! She didn’t leave anything for me. I hate her more than I’ve hated anyone in my life, and if I could, I’d have torn her to pieces! But even then, you’d have loved her. That’s why, as long as I live”—she turned to her son now—“this marriage will not happen! And you can cry and plead all you like. Neither she nor her daughter will set foot in this house!”

  Roza was about to storm out, having said her piece, but a sound stopped her. She turned to find her husband had fainted on the floor. Frightened, she ran to him. She knelt and tried to bring him around. Simeon moaned faintly.

  “He’s alive!” she shouted. “Run, Vassilis! A doctor. Quickly!”

  Vassilis ran as if demons were chasing him. Fortunately, their doctor lived nearby. Behind him, pandemonium reigned as Roza and his grandparents tried to revive Simeon with no success. His heart had broken.

  The days that followed were dark ones for the family of Simeon Kouyoumdzis, as his illness turned out to be very serious. According to the doctor’s opinion, his heart was very weak, and they would have to be careful if they wanted him with them for many more years. The doctor prescribed rest and, above all, calm.

  Vassilis could never forget his mother’s words that evening while they were waiting for the doctor to examine his father.

  “Make no mistake!” she hissed. “Your father will die tonight, and you’ll be the cause. So many girls in the city, and you had to find her!”

  “But it wasn’t Father who had a problem with it; it was you!” Vassilis responded.

  His grandfather grabbed him forcefully by the arm.

  “That’s enough!” he said to the boy angrily. “You’re not going to kill us all so you can live with your great love! This story is finished, and her name won’t be mentioned again in this house! If it weren’t for her, your parents wouldn’t have quarreled and your father would be fine. Since you’re becoming a man, you had better learn that a man respects the name of his parents. Nobody consents to this relationship. So, will you go against us?”

  Vassilis lowered his head. Now his own heart hurt. He felt it bleed as all the obstacles appeared in front of him. If I were just a little bit older, he kept thinking. Then, the doctor came out to speak to them, and with his every word, Vassilis felt himself sinking deeper. The following days, he said, would be critical for the patient, who was perhaps the only ally Vassilis had in his love. But Simeon was too weak to support him now. Besides, he himself needed to support this tranquil, quiet figure who was his father, now lying deathly pale, with his heart weak and broken. Not only now, but all these years.

  CHAPTER 9

  VERVERIS FAMILY

  Constantinople, 1947

  It worried everyone when Vassilis stopped coming to the Ververis home. Even Smaragda. Nobody had said anything to him; he hadn’t met with her daughter—she was convinced of that, and yet he didn’t come. Three days passed before their curiosity was satisfied. Except that Smaragda would have preferred that nothing of what happened, happened.

  It was almost Christmas. The New Year of 1947 would arrive in a heartbeat, and she still hadn’t finished cleaning the house. Although she had a servant girl to help with other chores, ironing was her work—she didn’t trust anyone else, and now the lace of the bedclothes needed starching, as did the curtains, but she kept putting it off. Fotis wasn’t at all well. Some sort of cold had been bothering him, despite all the hot drinks and orange juice that she’d used to keep the doctor on his feet while everyone else in Constantinople was sick and needed his services. That morning, she had sent him off as always, but he felt hot to her.

  “Fotis, dear, perhaps you shouldn’t go out?” she asked him anxiously. “The way you are feeling, you’ll do more harm than good.”

  “All my patients are in the same situation,” he replied good-humoredly. “Whether they caught it from me or I from them. But there are two visits I can’t avoid. I’ll probably come home after that to lie down.”

  Behind his back, she crossed herself, as she did with her children. Nestor was now a medical student, and her Chrysafenia was finishing school without having decided what she wanted to do afterward. Smaragda closed the door and drew the jacket she was wearing more tightly around her.

  “This isn’t cold; it’s poison!” she said to herself.

  She hadn’t finished her coffee when there was a knock at her door. She thought it might be Fotis, regretting his decision not to stay in bed, and she sent the servant to open it. She came out smiling to greet her husband, but her smile froze on her lips. In front of her, dressed in the latest fashion, was Mrs. Roza Kouyoumdzis.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Come in.”

  She waved her servant off, which surprised the young Armenian girl—she’d expected to be sent for drinks and food. This wasn’t at all like her mistress.

  Roza gave a disparaging look around her and made a small move toward the interior of the room.

  “Sit down!” Smaragda said with icy politeness.

  “I didn’t come for a visit,” answered the other woman drily, “so don’t put on the ladylike airs with me. I know you aren’t one!”

  “I don’t accept insults, especially in my own home. Say what you have to and leave!”

  “If you think you can get out of this so easily, you’re wrong!”

  “What do you want, Mrs. Kouyoumdzis, and why have you come to my house so early?”

  “Playing the innocent, eh? I know everything now. And I’ve come to tell you to put your schemes out of your mind! My son’s not for the likes of you and that daughter of yours!”

  Smaragda looked at her blankly, as a storm broke out in her head. So, the young man had spoken to his parents, and the result was exactly as she had expected.

  “First of all, I only found out about this a few days ago,” she responded. “I don’t like it either.”

  “Oh, give it a rest,” Roza said. “Who do you think you’re fooling? Me? No, you’re the fool. My husband left you because he realized you had your eye on his money, so you set your daughter up to become Mrs. Kouyoumdzis and steal our fortune instead!”

  “What are you saying?” Smaragda asked, shocked by the spite and craziness of the woman standing opposite her. “We both know it’s not like that. Simeon and I were young and in love. And if it weren’t for his father, we would have married. But all that happened a long time ago. You married him. You had three children, and now, because of some quirk of fate, our children have fallen in love. My daughter doesn’t need your money!”

  “Do you really think I’d believe you? Listen to me: Call her off. Tell her to leave my son in peace, or else something terrible will happen and it’ll be your fault. As soon as my husband found out, he collapsed. The doctor said we mustn’t have any trouble; he has to be calm. That’s why I came here to tell you to back off. As long as I’m aliv
e, this marriage won’t happen, so call your daughter off!”

  Roza spun on her heel and almost bumped into Fotis, who had returned unheard. She screwed up her face and nearly spat her words at him: “May you enjoy them both, mother and daughter!”

  Roza stormed out, and Fotis and Smaragda remained alone, staring at each other. Smaragda said the first thing that came into her mind, which was numb with shock: “You’re back.”

  “Is that all you have to say to me?” her husband asked, taking a step toward her. “What was that? What’s happening in my house?”

  Smaragda was suddenly exhausted. She collapsed on the couch. Fotis put down his bag, took off his coat and hat, and sat opposite her.

  “Are you going to tell me?” he insisted.

  “Wait, my bey, until I recover a little. Can’t you see what a state I’m in? She upset me; may she fall on hard times, the crow!”

  “Yes, but by the time you recover, I’ll probably collapse. What was she saying about our daughter?”

  “Fotis, dear,” Smaragda explained sheepishly. “I want to tell you something, but I want you to keep calm, my pasha.”

  “Wife, I don’t even like the way you’re beginning.”

  “Be patient, my husband, because it gets worse!”

  Smaragda kept getting stuck as she tried to explain to her husband what she herself had learned a few days earlier. The more she said, the more she saw her husband grow red in the face. Finally, she ran to bring him a cognac to calm him down. With trembling hands, Fotis lit a cigarette and smoked it without speaking. Smaragda was silent and crossed her hands in her apron, waiting for his verdict. But he still didn’t speak.

  “Fotis,” she begged him, “won’t you say anything?”

  “Like what, woman?” he finally said, his tone full of bitterness. “I don’t want to ask you, but I must. Do you swear to me that you didn’t know anything?”