Read Online The Messenger of Athens: A Novel by Anne Zouroudi - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Zouroudi
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They laid the coffin on the cloth-draped trestle table, and at the lectern, Pappa Philippas turned the page of the calf-bound book.
Truly all things are vanity, life is but a shadow and a dream, and vainly do humans trouble themselves, as the Scripture says: when we have gained the world, then we shall dwell in the grave, where kings and beggars are the same; therefore, O Christ God, give rest to those who have passed over, as you love mankind
.
S ix years ago, Theo had been married in this church. He remembered his wedding day as if it had happened to someone else, someone he had known well but had lost touch with and could picture only vaguely. He could replay pieces of the day like a home movie, cutting from scene to scene without continuity. A good day, his bestday, a glorious warm day of early summer. He remembered his brother stumbling into the bedroom they had shared in the small hours before the wedding, Takis stinking of cigarettes and beer, giving Theo sex tips before falling asleep in his clothes. He remembered sitting with his mother at the kitchen table, very early in the morning; he had watched the sun rise. She had made his coffee exactly how he liked it, not too sweet, and had placed his cigarettes and lighter in a clean ashtray before him. He remembered the hiss of the gas in the little stove his mother used only for coffee, and the dropping note of the coffee’s singing in the pot as it came to a boil. He remembered an emotion he was unable to put a name to—regret, perhaps—and had held her hand, and said his thanks, and his mother had begun to weep. He remembered the dish of sea urchins Uncle Janis had brought him at lunch to bring power to his loins, and how all his relatives had crowded around to watch him eat them, ensuring the male prowess of the family would not be compromised. He remembered how loud the bouzoukis had sounded in the small house as they picked out the old songs, the old men’s favorites, and how the old men had sung along, raunchy songs of lust, sad songs of love gone wrong, romantic songs of port-bound sailors far from home longing for the smile of mother. He remembered his first sight of Elpida in her wedding dress, what a princess she was, so beautiful, wonderful in white, smiling shyly on her father’s arm. At that moment he had fallen in love with her, for that day at least, so when the time came to make their vows, he had been able to believe in the words he was saying. He remembered thatafter the ceremony, when he and Elpida were two minutes married, tied together forever by the silk ribbons of their orange-blossom crowns, as the congregation pelted them with sugared almonds, a nut caught him right in the eye; it had hurt so much he had wanted to cry, but knew that to do so, to cry on one’s wedding day, could bring only the worst of bad luck. He remembered dancing for his bride in his shirt sleeves, hot from cheap Metaxa and red wine, with his friends crouched in a circle at his feet, clapping the rhythm for him. He had danced with her; he had danced with every woman in the place. He remembered the plates of food put before him—soft-boiled octopus, grilled lamb, roast chicken, olives marinated in herbs and salted fish, fried courgettes with garlic sauce, a rich stew of aubergines, tiny sea snails in their shells—and how he had eaten nothing, because he had felt his life was beginning at last; he had no time to waste eating.
And he remembered being, finally, alone and naked with Elpida. She had wanted to please him, but had no clear idea of what was expected of her. When she had seen the size of his member, she had been afraid, and penetration had been difficult, and very painful for her. She had cried, afraid that she had failed him and that he would send her back to her mother’s house in disgrace; embarrassed and unhappy, they had fallen asleep, two strangers left alone to make the best of it.
She was standing here, next to him, and when he glanced at her she
Truly all things are vanity, life is but a shadow and a dream, and vainly do humans trouble themselves, as the Scripture says: when we have gained the world, then we shall dwell in the grave, where kings and beggars are the same; therefore, O Christ God, give rest to those who have passed over, as you love mankind
.
S ix years ago, Theo had been married in this church. He remembered his wedding day as if it had happened to someone else, someone he had known well but had lost touch with and could picture only vaguely. He could replay pieces of the day like a home movie, cutting from scene to scene without continuity. A good day, his bestday, a glorious warm day of early summer. He remembered his brother stumbling into the bedroom they had shared in the small hours before the wedding, Takis stinking of cigarettes and beer, giving Theo sex tips before falling asleep in his clothes. He remembered sitting with his mother at the kitchen table, very early in the morning; he had watched the sun rise. She had made his coffee exactly how he liked it, not too sweet, and had placed his cigarettes and lighter in a clean ashtray before him. He remembered the hiss of the gas in the little stove his mother used only for coffee, and the dropping note of the coffee’s singing in the pot as it came to a boil. He remembered an emotion he was unable to put a name to—regret, perhaps—and had held her hand, and said his thanks, and his mother had begun to weep. He remembered the dish of sea urchins Uncle Janis had brought him at lunch to bring power to his loins, and how all his relatives had crowded around to watch him eat them, ensuring the male prowess of the family would not be compromised. He remembered how loud the bouzoukis had sounded in the small house as they picked out the old songs, the old men’s favorites, and how the old men had sung along, raunchy songs of lust, sad songs of love gone wrong, romantic songs of port-bound sailors far from home longing for the smile of mother. He remembered his first sight of Elpida in her wedding dress, what a princess she was, so beautiful, wonderful in white, smiling shyly on her father’s arm. At that moment he had fallen in love with her, for that day at least, so when the time came to make their vows, he had been able to believe in the words he was saying. He remembered thatafter the ceremony, when he and Elpida were two minutes married, tied together forever by the silk ribbons of their orange-blossom crowns, as the congregation pelted them with sugared almonds, a nut caught him right in the eye; it had hurt so much he had wanted to cry, but knew that to do so, to cry on one’s wedding day, could bring only the worst of bad luck. He remembered dancing for his bride in his shirt sleeves, hot from cheap Metaxa and red wine, with his friends crouched in a circle at his feet, clapping the rhythm for him. He had danced with her; he had danced with every woman in the place. He remembered the plates of food put before him—soft-boiled octopus, grilled lamb, roast chicken, olives marinated in herbs and salted fish, fried courgettes with garlic sauce, a rich stew of aubergines, tiny sea snails in their shells—and how he had eaten nothing, because he had felt his life was beginning at last; he had no time to waste eating.
And he remembered being, finally, alone and naked with Elpida. She had wanted to please him, but had no clear idea of what was expected of her. When she had seen the size of his member, she had been afraid, and penetration had been difficult, and very painful for her. She had cried, afraid that she had failed him and that he would send her back to her mother’s house in disgrace; embarrassed and unhappy, they had fallen asleep, two strangers left alone to make the best of it.
She was standing here, next to him, and when he glanced at her she
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