making the best of it. We have our own courtyard and by next spring we should have a herb garden, if you can bring me some seeds. There are roses already in bloom on our doorstep and soon there’ll be hollyhocks out too. It’s not bad really.’ Giorgis was relieved to hear such words. Eleni now produced a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and gave it to him.
‘Is it for the girls?’ enquired Giorgis.
‘No, it’s not,’ she said apologetically. ‘I thought it might be too early for that, but I’ll have a letter for them next time you come. This is a list of things we need for the house.’
Giorgis noted the use of ‘we’ and a pang of envy hit him. Once, ‘we’ had included Anna, Maria and himself, he reflected. Then a bitter thought of which he was almost instantly ashamed came into his head: now ‘we’ meant the hated child who had taken Eleni away from them. The ‘we’ of his family no longer existed. It had been split asunder and redefined, its rock solidity replaced by such fragility he hardly dared contemplate it. Giorgis was finding it hard to believe that God had not deserted them all. One moment he had been the head of a household; the next he was just a man with two daughters. The two states were as far apart as different planets.
It was time for Giorgis to go. The girls would be back from school soon and he wanted to be there for their return.
‘I shall be across again soon,’ he promised. ‘And I’ll bring everything you’ve asked for.’
‘Let’s agree on something,’ said Eleni. ‘Shall we not say goodbye? There’s no real sense in the word.’
‘You’re right,’ responded Giorgis. ‘We’ll have no goodbyes. ’
They smiled and simultaneously turned away from each other, Eleni towards the shadowy entrance in the high Venetian wall and Giorgis to his boat. Neither looked back.
On his next visit, Eleni had written a letter for Giorgis to take back for the girls, but the moment her father held out the envelope, Anna’s impatience got the better of her and, as she tried to snatch it out of his hands, it was ripped in two.
‘But that letter’s for both of us!’ protested Maria. ‘I want to read it too!’
By now Anna was at the front door.
‘I don’t care. I’m the oldest and I get to look at it first!’ and with that she turned on her heels and ran off down the street, leaving Maria weeping tears of frustration and anger.
A few hundred yards from their home was a little alleyway that ran between two houses, and this was where Anna, crouched in the shadows and, holding the two halves together, read her mother’s first letter:
Dear Anna and Maria,
I wonder how you both are? I hope you are being good and kind and working hard at school. Your father tells me that his first attempts at cooking were not very successful but I am sure he will get better at it and that soon he will know the difference between a cucumber and a courgette! I hope it won’t be long before you are helping him in the kitchen too, but meanwhile be patient with him while he is learning.
Let me tell you about Spinalonga. I am living in a small, tumbledown house in the main street with one room downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs, rather like at home. It is quite dark but I am planning to whitewash the walls, and once I have put my pictures up and displayed my pieces of china I think it will look quite pretty. Dimitri likes having his own room - he has always had to share so it is quite a novelty for him.
I have a new friend. Her name is Elpida and she is the wife of the man who is in charge of the government of Spinalonga. They are both very kind people and we have had a few meals at their home, which is the biggest and the grandest on the whole island. It has chandeliers and every table and every chair has some kind of lace draped across it. Anna especially would love it.
I have already planted some
‘Is it for the girls?’ enquired Giorgis.
‘No, it’s not,’ she said apologetically. ‘I thought it might be too early for that, but I’ll have a letter for them next time you come. This is a list of things we need for the house.’
Giorgis noted the use of ‘we’ and a pang of envy hit him. Once, ‘we’ had included Anna, Maria and himself, he reflected. Then a bitter thought of which he was almost instantly ashamed came into his head: now ‘we’ meant the hated child who had taken Eleni away from them. The ‘we’ of his family no longer existed. It had been split asunder and redefined, its rock solidity replaced by such fragility he hardly dared contemplate it. Giorgis was finding it hard to believe that God had not deserted them all. One moment he had been the head of a household; the next he was just a man with two daughters. The two states were as far apart as different planets.
It was time for Giorgis to go. The girls would be back from school soon and he wanted to be there for their return.
‘I shall be across again soon,’ he promised. ‘And I’ll bring everything you’ve asked for.’
‘Let’s agree on something,’ said Eleni. ‘Shall we not say goodbye? There’s no real sense in the word.’
‘You’re right,’ responded Giorgis. ‘We’ll have no goodbyes. ’
They smiled and simultaneously turned away from each other, Eleni towards the shadowy entrance in the high Venetian wall and Giorgis to his boat. Neither looked back.
On his next visit, Eleni had written a letter for Giorgis to take back for the girls, but the moment her father held out the envelope, Anna’s impatience got the better of her and, as she tried to snatch it out of his hands, it was ripped in two.
‘But that letter’s for both of us!’ protested Maria. ‘I want to read it too!’
By now Anna was at the front door.
‘I don’t care. I’m the oldest and I get to look at it first!’ and with that she turned on her heels and ran off down the street, leaving Maria weeping tears of frustration and anger.
A few hundred yards from their home was a little alleyway that ran between two houses, and this was where Anna, crouched in the shadows and, holding the two halves together, read her mother’s first letter:
Dear Anna and Maria,
I wonder how you both are? I hope you are being good and kind and working hard at school. Your father tells me that his first attempts at cooking were not very successful but I am sure he will get better at it and that soon he will know the difference between a cucumber and a courgette! I hope it won’t be long before you are helping him in the kitchen too, but meanwhile be patient with him while he is learning.
Let me tell you about Spinalonga. I am living in a small, tumbledown house in the main street with one room downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs, rather like at home. It is quite dark but I am planning to whitewash the walls, and once I have put my pictures up and displayed my pieces of china I think it will look quite pretty. Dimitri likes having his own room - he has always had to share so it is quite a novelty for him.
I have a new friend. Her name is Elpida and she is the wife of the man who is in charge of the government of Spinalonga. They are both very kind people and we have had a few meals at their home, which is the biggest and the grandest on the whole island. It has chandeliers and every table and every chair has some kind of lace draped across it. Anna especially would love it.
I have already planted some
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