The Gold Letter

by Lena Manta

  The performance of Mary Aroni, who played Stella Violanti, was very moving. Chrysafenia felt her eyes dampen a number of times, and at the end, tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she applauded enthusiastically. Pericles offered her his handkerchief, and she looked at him, full of gratitude. At that moment, the man felt something strange, something that drew his eyes into her damp ones. They looked like melted gold, those eyes. And when Chrysafenia wiped her tears, he glanced secretly at the handkerchief she’d returned to him to see if specks of gold had stayed behind in its white folds.

  They came out of the theater and began to walk. Instead of Stadiou Street, Pericles preferred to go via Omonia Square, where the cafés were buzzing with life.

  “Can I treat you to something sweet?” he asked the girl.

  “Isn’t it late?”

  “Come on, this is Athens! Don’t you see how many people are enjoying the evening?” he said, and led her to a café-bar.

  They sat at a quiet table, facing each other, and ordered. Chrysafenia looked around her at men and women who were talking and laughing, although she raised her eyebrows at some young women who were smoking.

  “Don’t you approve?” Pericles asked.

  “It seems strange to me. In Constantinople, women smoked too—but not respectable women,” she said, blushing deeply.

  “I saw that the play affected you very deeply,” said Pericles, changing the subject, and he watched the girl’s face grow sad.

  “But it was so miserable. She loved someone who wasn’t worth it, and then he died. Fortunately, she never learned what a fake he was.”

  “Those things happen. We often give our heart without considering if the person we fall in love with is worthy of it. Fortunately for some of us, we make our discovery before we ruin our life. Even before we waste a lot of years,” he said to her sweetly.

  “You speak as if you know . . .” Her look was inquisitive. “What did they tell you about me?”

  “About you? I was speaking about myself, Chrysi.”

  “That’s not my name,” she replied.

  “But that’s what I’d like to call you! Does it bother you?”

  “No. I’m just not used to it. What were you saying about yourself?”

  “Years ago, I met a girl. I thought she was my great love. I believed that without her I’d die, and I wanted to marry her. But they didn’t let me.”

  “Why? Didn’t she have a dowry?”

  “My parents didn’t get that far. It was enough that she worked in a cabaret.”

  The girl’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Are you telling me the truth?” she asked, and then a smile spread on her lips.

  “I expected all sorts of reactions, but not for you to smile!” he scolded her.

  “But Pericles—you? You got mixed up with a girl like that, and you expected them to give their permission for you to marry her? Those things just don’t happen!”

  “But I loved her. I was crazy about her. I chased after her for a whole year.”

  “And after that? What happened?” she wanted to know.

  “They sent me away.”

  “That explains America.”

  “Yes. My father had a cousin there, and they packed me off.”

  “Yes, but you weren’t a child. How did they overcome your desire to stay?”

  “Are you joking? My mother collapsed, ready to die, my father nearly beat me, and then there was Lizeta and Kleanthis. They were patient, and over the course of endless discussions, they persuaded me to leave. I love them and respect them very much. I agreed to go, because it was only temporary.”

  “And then temporary became three years?”

  “Away from her . . . influence, I realized that I’d made a mistake. Passion is one thing, love is another. And you?”

  “What about me?” asked Chrysafenia, and her expression became cautious.

  “Were you ever in love?”

  She looked around. Suddenly, all the people and smoke felt suffocating. She asked if they could leave, and he hurried to accommodate her. He paid, and together they walked out into the freezing Athens night. They turned on Stadiou Street and began walking toward Syntagma without speaking.

  “Forgive me,” he said.

  “Why should you need forgiveness?”

  “Because I’ve made you sad with my tactlessness. I shouldn’t have asked such a question.”

  Then, without any preamble, Chrysafenia told him the brief history of her relationship with Vassilis and its unhappy ending—although she left out the part about her mother and Simeon. She claimed not to know the reason for his family’s antipathy.

  They stopped walking, and Pericles sought her eyes.

  “And now? Do you still love him?” he asked. He could see that she was struggling to answer him.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t think Vassilis will ever leave my heart, but as my mother keeps saying, there’s no use crying over a lost paradise. We can make a new one.” She met his gaze with confidence.

  His hand rose instinctively and stroked her cheek. A streetlamp bathed her face in pale light, making her look as if she were entirely made of gold. Without thinking, he bent and kissed her. Her soft lips met his shyly, and that gave him the courage to put his arms around her and extend the kiss. She pulled away first, full of shame.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in embarrassment.

  “That’s the second time you’ve apologized tonight,” she said, with a note of admonition in her voice.

  “Yes, it’s becoming a habit. First I make you unhappy, then I—”

  “You didn’t make me unhappy,” she interrupted quickly. “I just don’t understand why you kissed me.”

  “Because I felt the need to. Because you’re very beautiful, Chrysi.”

  “And whatever girl you like, you kiss them?”

  “No. Only if she’s like you and is made of pure gold. And now, let me ask you something. Do you think the two of us could . . . make our own paradise?”

  She didn’t answer him immediately. First, she examined his whole face and especially his eyes, which were looking at her pleadingly. Then she nodded in agreement. This time, Pericles embraced her with more confidence and covered her lips decisively. He kissed her without hurrying and felt very satisfied when she trembled in his arms. A rowdy group that passed by shouting and laughing brought them to their senses, and they pulled apart with embarrassment. Pericles took her arm, and they walked on, but all the way back, he found opportunities to hug and kiss her. Almost drunk with joy, he left her at her door. He wanted to come up, but Chrysafenia stopped him.

  “But why? What will your parents say if I leave you at the front door?” he complained.

  “I’ll make up some explanation. It’s just that I’d feel very strange if we were all together right after what happened between us.”

  “All right. But when will I see you again?”

  “Come tomorrow to see my brother, and we’ll arrange something,” she promised and ran up the marble stairs.

  She arrived panting at their apartment door.

  “Isn’t that awful box working?” her mother asked.

  “I was afraid, Mama, to get into the elevator so late,” she lied, “and to have it get stuck in the middle of the night. What would I have done?”

  “Why didn’t Pericles come with you?” her father asked, frowning.

  “I didn’t let him. I thought you’d already be in bed, and I told him to leave.”

  “Bah!” Smaragda exclaimed. “Do you think we’d go to sleep before our girl came home? You are a bit late.”

  “It’s like when we go out with Nestor. We always go for dessert after the theater.”

  “Was the play good?” her mother asked, and Chrysafenia sat down to tell them about it.

  It took a whole hour for her to get away from her parents and shut herself in her room. She ran to the window and pulled open the curtains. The moon, half-hidden in the clouds, seemed to be watching her. She
drew away from its inquiring eye and lay down on her bed fully dressed. Her mind returned to the events of her evening, and she touched her lips, which had, for the first time since Vassilis, accepted kisses from a man. Her cheeks caught fire. She felt ashamed, but she had to admit that Pericles had put her in a state. In the dark, she found her box and opened it. She moved the other letters aside and touched the one made of gold. She took it in her hands, and it felt different. Something tender warmed her, but it had the smell of a girl about it. Tonight, in Pericles’s arms, she’d felt like a woman.

  Nestor looked at his friend, who was standing in front of him looking sheepish. Without beating around the bush, he asked, “What happened with my sister last night?”

  “Didn’t I tell you that, if something changed, you would be the first to know?”

  “So, did it change? You went to the theater and worked your magic?”

  “Nestor, don’t tease me, please!” he admonished his friend. “I haven’t slept all night. Your sister is a wonderful girl.”

  “And you only just realized that last night?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that it was different!”

  “Explain it to me,” Nestor said, suddenly serious.

  “That’s why I came. To tell you. I’ll speak to my parents this very day.”

  Chrysafenia came shyly into the room, already blushing.

  “Come on in!” Nestor called. “You’re right on time. Pericles here tells me you had a lovely time last night!”

  “What did you tell him?” the girl asked nervously, turning to Pericles.

  “You’re talking to me now,” Nestor said sharply, playing the angry brother. “Aren’t you ashamed? I leave the two of you alone once, and what’s the result?”

  “But we—” Chrysafenia tried to speak, but a knot blocked her throat, and she dissolved in tears.

  Pericles hurried to put his arms around Chrysafenia. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  Nestor came up to separate them.

  “Can you two quit it before Mama comes in and we find ourselves in a mess?” he asked, and then turned to his sister and gave her a hug.

  “Oh, come on, I’m not really angry. Anyway, Pericles told me that he’s come to ask for you.”

  Chrysafenia stopped crying and asked, her eyes on Pericles, “Is he telling the truth?”

  “Of course! What did you think? That I was some dishonorable fellow?”

  A smile appeared on her face, and she broke away from her brother to throw herself back into Pericles’s arms, laughing happily.

  “Enough, you two!” Nestor objected. “What if someone comes in and sees? We still haven’t gotten you engaged . . .”

  They separated guiltily, like naughty children.

  “Someone had better tell our parents,” Chrysafenia said.

  “If you’re talking about mine, they’ll find out today. And tomorrow we’ll come back here.”

  “Good heavens! And Mama and Papa?” the girl asked nervously. “Who’ll tell them?”

  “You,” Nestor answered her.

  “I’m embarrassed. You tell them!”

  “What nonsense, you two!” Pericles asked. “In any case, I’m leaving. I’ll go to Lizeta and my brother’s first, and then straight to my parents. Sweetheart, make sure you’ve told your folks by tonight so they can be prepared. We don’t want to surprise them!”

  Her gave her a quick kiss and disappeared, leaving the siblings alone together. Nestor gave her a hug.

  “Is this what you want, sister?” he asked her affectionately. “Do you think you can be happy with him?”

  “I think so. Pericles is a good man. I’ve been watching him for a long time, and I saw a lot of things I liked, but I didn’t dare to hope. After what happened in Constantinople with Vassilis, and the fact that he was a friend of yours too, I was ashamed.”

  “For you to say his name without crying, does that mean you’ve forgotten him?”

  “You don’t forget your first love, Nestor, isn’t that what they say? But it’s over, and there’s no point looking back. Isn’t that what Mama says?”

  “Yes, you’re right. Let’s go and tell them now.”

  The two of them went into the living room, where their parents were drinking their coffee, oblivious to what had happened. As soon as she saw her still-recovering son was out of bed, Smaragda jumped up and hurried to bring him a blanket, but he didn’t let her.

  “Sit down, Mama. We want to talk to you. I’m fine now.”

  “But son, only yesterday you were burning up with fever!”

  “Sit down, Smaragda!” Fotis interrupted her, seeing the expression on the children’s faces and realizing that something serious had happened. “Go ahead, Nestor, we’re listening.”

  “My sister asked me to speak on her behalf.”

  “What’s happened? You’re upsetting me! Tell me so I know what more I have to bear!” Smaragda began fanning herself with the newspaper her husband had left on a table.

  “Be quiet, my good woman, so we can find out!” Fotis demanded impatiently.

  “Don’t worry, Mama, it’s good news!” Nestor explained. “Won’t you let me tell you properly? Tomorrow evening, Pericles’s parents will come to ask for our Chrysafenia. He told me himself.”

  “And how would he know?” Smaragda objected, so upset she didn’t understand.

  “Has the news unhinged you, woman?” Fotis said indignantly, and his look brought her back to herself.

  “Ah! Pericles!” she cried, and then, “My treasure!” And with tears in her eyes, she stood up to embrace her daughter.

  Fotis approached, and when his wife stood back, he looked his daughter in the eyes. “Are you certain, my girl?” he asked seriously. “Do you want him?”

  “Yes, Papa—if you agree.”

  She lost herself in her father’s embrace, calm now. Finally, she could leave the past and the pain it had caused her behind. After so long, she could look her parents in the eye without being ashamed of what she had unwillingly provoked. With her marriage, she would close the open accounts of the past and look optimistically toward the future. Like her mother, she might have been unlucky in her first love, but she would make her own paradise. The Kouyoumdzis family could no longer harm them.

  The wedding of Chrysafenia Ververis and Pericles Sekeris took place on the eve of the May Day holiday of 1949, a week after Easter. All of Athens’s high society was invited, and Smaragda’s only sorrow was that no one from her family came, however much she begged her mother and sister to make the journey. They didn’t want to tell her the truth and poison her joy. Unexpectedly, Anargyros Kantardzis had breathed his last one evening on the doorstep of his house. Smaragda found out after the wedding and cried bitterly for the father she wasn’t able to say good-bye to. Fotis suggested she make a trip to Constantinople to see her family, and though Smaragda thought seriously about it, she didn’t manage to go. Two months after her wedding, Chrysafenia announced she was pregnant, and nothing could have separated Smaragda from her daughter at such a time. She had to be near her every moment if possible. She measured the days and weeks in her mind while her hands stroked her daughter’s ever-rounder belly or knitted the baby’s clothes. Constantinople receded further and further in her mind.

  CHAPTER 12

  KOUYOUMDZIS FAMILY

  Constantinople, 1949

  Roza looked at her husband and, once again, pursed her lips discontentedly.

  “You’re still not going to say anything to him? Aren’t you going to advise him?”

  “And what do you want me to tell him, exactly?”

  “Simeon, don’t act so calm—I know you’ve had it with our son’s behavior!”

  “Oh, so you remembered that he’s also my son. But what am I saying—when you want something, you remember just fine.”

  “Is this the time to be quarreling?”

  He looked at his wife, surprised to hear her speak reasonably and sensibly. Perhaps she finally unders
tood how serious the situation was.

  “I’ve spoken to him, Roza,” he admitted grimly, “and not once but many times. Sometimes gently, sometimes angrily. It’s made no difference.”

  The two parents fell silent, their eyes lowered. Vassilis had changed suddenly. After the affair with Chrysafenia, they no longer recognized him. In a single night, their quiet, invariably polite son had been transformed. He’d started to frequent shady dives. He would come home drunk at dawn, and he’d lost interest in the work he had loved so much.

  “Yes, but we have to do something,” Roza said again. “I’m afraid for him, Simeon.”

  “Me too. Besides, he’s spending money like a madman. The other day, he took something from the shop.”

  “What did he take?” she asked.

  “A diamond piece—very expensive.”

  “And what did he do with it? Did he sell it?”

  “He told me it was a present for a girlfriend of his. I was angry with him—I called him a thief.”

  “Simeon!” Roza sat up, shaken.

  “Why? Wasn’t it theft?”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “You won’t believe it. He looked me right in the eye and then reached out his hand and took a bracelet. Do you know what the wretch said to me? ‘Put that on my tab too, then! I’m taking it in front of you so you can’t call me a thief again!’ Can you imagine?”

  “He spoke to you that way?” Roza said in horror.

  “Just like I said. Totally without respect. I cursed him, I called him a son of a bitch, and he laughed in my face and left. I was so furious I saw stars! How I held on to myself and didn’t grab him by the neck, only God knows. Good thing my father wasn’t there, or he’d have had a stroke!”

  “What shall we do, Simeon? What’s happened to our Vassilis?”

  “Do you still not understand?” her husband asked bitterly. “He’s punishing us. We stood in the way of his love.”

  “And I’d do the same again!” she said.

  “So stop asking me the reason for our son’s behavior!” he said. “You know; you caused it.”