|
LOVE
AND PASSION
(Title
of the original: ΕΡΩΣ
– ΗΡΩΣ)
By
Alexander Papadiamantis (1851 - 1911)*
(Rendered
in English by Vassilis C. Militsis)
The
boat was moored at the seaside, its cable tied out on a rock near the
beach of Cheimadio
(Winter Pasture), a little further off the Small Quay of the Piazza,
under the rocky precipice of the Upper Neighborhood.
The
young sailor, Georgie, Bourbena’s son, lying on the prow, swathed
in a rough blanket, still and wistful, his eyes sparkling in the
darkness resembled the dragon of the fairy tales, because he slept
with open eyes.
Neither
moan nor breath exited his mouth. His chest did not heave, as if he
only breathed in, living only with internal verve.
It
was long past midnight. A few lights gleamed faintly from the small
windows of the houses, around and near the seaside. The sea, serene,
seemed also to be sleeping, and only along the waterside, its
phosphorescent surf sadly splashed, gurgled and lapped the shore as
though the sea itself were snoring. The boat swayed lightly as in
soft motherly dandling. The phosphorescence of the waters was
reflected in the sparkle of the sailor’s eye. His gaze was riveted,
fixed intently on a house, not far away, above the cliffs. The window
shutters were open but through the closed glass panes a brilliant
light shone. One could often discern moving shadows, vanishing
images, faces and phantoms. The young sailor looked on greedily
without making a sound and without even breathing.
He
then heard a lot of bustle and sundry sounds, and while fitfully
slumbering and dreaming, tossing and turning in his sleep, from time
to time he heard fiddles, lutes and various musical instruments
playing for long intervals with short pauses. He also felt the
rhythmic thump of dancing feet and listened to songs and bouts of joy
and gaiety. And all this seemed to him incoherent and unintelligible
and it sounded in his ears as an inarticulate drone. For him, there
was no singing, no music, and no voice that could express what he
endured.
He
was told on the previous evening by the skipper of the boat, Captain
Konstanti Sigourantsa:
Tomorrow,
very early, God willing, we’re having a fare. We have to ferry
them across. (He pointed to the quarter over on the cliff and then
with a wave of his hand to the west). So, keep your mind on it.
Who
are we going to ferry across? Asked the young sailor.
I
don’t know what time we’ll be through, repeated the captain
pointing a persisting finger at the neighborhood. They might rouse
us very early, before first light. So, be alert.
Who
are those to rouse us? Georgie asked again.
You’d
better lie down in the boat. Now if you want to go over and sleep at
your old mother’s, you’ve got to be up and about before dawn,
before the star of the day rises. Allegedly, the bride is too
bashful – you know – to be put on the boat and leave the village
at high noon. So, keep an eye open.
Which
bride? Asked Georgie gaping.
However,
Sigourantsas walked away not deigning to answer.
The
young sailor was not aware of all the news and the goings-on of the
village. He sailed twice a week, on short fares, sometimes lasting
for two months or a little longer. The boat skipper, Captain
Konstanti, described these trips with adverbs: sometimes there, now
across, backside, inside, onwards and sometimes downwards. Once,
favoring a landsman, he deigned to explain what he meant by these.
There
signified
the villages, across
stood for Griponissi,
backside
was Kechrea, inside
meant Stylida, onwards
showed
the course to Salonica and downwards
to Piraeus.
Sigourantsas
had made many voyages before he qualified as captain of this shallop.
He became a sea dog and seeped in salt water. He obtained two or
three luggers of his own, went bankrupt or shipwrecked with all
three, so now he was a skipper only in name. This boat, called
Eleoussa
(Merciful Holy Virgin), belonged to Georgie Bourba. The latter
acquired the vessel, not by inheritance, nor did it come into his
possession by underhand means, nor as a bargain, but by toiling hard.
Since he was a small lad, he labored like a slave. He used to wander
around in breeches, its legs perennially tucked up to his knees, and
a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, holding a hook and
a pole. He had almost turned into a blacksmith in order to have this
gear made, as for weeks and months in a row he begged Gialadritsas,
the shipyard’s blacksmith to make him the hook, providing the iron
himself stolen from the shell of a schooner lying derelict on the
beach. In vain did he get the smith to do his bidding. Finally, after
numerous endeavors, one Sunday morning, he succeeded in finding the
blacksmith sober and persuaded him to forge the iron, while he worked
at the bellows himself, and thus he was able to acquire the hook.
Since then he went about the seaside, from place to place, hook in
hand, splashing in the sea thigh or groin deep, hunting octopuses,
delving for shells and worms to be used for baits, worked as a
deckhand on all passenger and fishing boats, beginning thus to hoard
some money. At twenty he had already come by this boat with the sweat
of his brow.
However,
the secretary of the port authority refused to give him the necessary
passage permit or the skipper’s license saying that he was still
too young to sail a vessel, and believing he might have spent most
his savings at the dockyard, he suggested he hire a skipper to
undertake some fares so that he could have some money.
On
the other hand, Sigourantsas was prone to giving orders and treated
Georgie as a deckhand, or, as it were, an apprentice that was to be
protected and counseled. The youngster put up with him provisionally,
hoping that he could soon possess the
required shipping qualifications in
order to get his license.
Already
yesterday, being Saturday, they returned from their last fare, and
this evening on Sunday, the skipper was giving Georgie those
imperfect items of information along with the vague instructions that
he had better sleep the night on the boat, as they had a fare and
might sail off very early in the morning, since “the
bride was too shy to embark in full daylight”.
But who is the bride?
He
was not cognizant of the village events. He was a seafarer, not a
landsman. But he was dutiful.
When
dusk fell, he ate the frugal meal with his mother, old widow
Bourbena, and the two small children of his married sister.
Thereafter, he got up, donned his sailor’s clothes, lit the small
lantern, said “good night”, and asked for her mother’s
blessing, saying that he was to sleep on the boat as they had a fare
early on the morrow.
The
old woman remarked why he should sleep on the boat instead of at
home, but, as he did not know her reasons of asking, he paid no
attention, nor did he suspect anything. He insisted on sleeping on
the boat, and left the house.
He
headed to the cliff of the Upper Neighborhood, walked down with a
steady step, reached the seaside, pulled at the boat cable and leapt
unto the boat. He hung the lantern on an oarlock, inside the boat,
groped under the prow, took out a cape, a rough blanket and a pillow,
took off his shirt, spread them down on the prow, crossed himself
three times looking due east and lay down on the makeshift bed.
He
dropped off to sleep thinking of the skipper’s, Captain
Konstanti’s, cryptic words. After a long interval, he was roused
wide awake by a violent jolt. What was it?
Rifle
reports, trumpet blasts were heard. Brilliant lights and gaiety were
evident from across. Then slumber again, dreams, wakefulness,
incubus, baleful nightmares. Then again, melodious notes from fiddles
and lutes were heard. Whence? They came from across, above the
precipice, upon the sheer cliff where a small house stood. Its
windows were ablaze, the premises full of life and bustle, which
interrupted the monotonous whispers of the night. What was happening?
It
appeared that a family was joyously celebrating. Perhaps there was a
wedding feast.
When
he spied the house and recognized it, the young man felt an
indescribable anguish tearing his very heart to pieces.
So,
was Archonto getting married? Was she perhaps the person Sigourantsas
spoke about? Was she the bride?
He
had heard the previous days that her mother was negotiating her
marriage to a well-to-do landsman from beyond the Twenty-four
Villages.
Where the heck did she find him?
Were
there not, seemingly, suitable aspiring bridegrooms in this
beautiful, coastal village? And couldn’t Georgie be, among all the
suitors, an acceptable bridegroom, either? Why was her mother in such
a hurry? How could Georgie suspect that it was this beautiful damsel
Sigourantsas spoke about? But how indeed could he? There were also
other would-be brides. So, why did she have to be the one?
Nevertheless,
behold, there seemed to be a wedding feast going on there.
In
all likelihood, there was a wedding. Perhaps an impoverished cousin
of hers was getting married at Archonto’s mother’s house,
available for the occasion. No, he could not believe that it was
Archonto who was given in marriage.
Archonto
was too young to be married. She was almost the same age as he, one
year his younger; nineteen only. He had known her since they were
kids. They played together. She with her dolls, her mock babies and
her trousseau, and he with his toy boats and his fishing lines.
She
made believe she was in-laws with a couple of other girls, they
married their dolls and they warbled to each other like swallows:
Ah,
dear sis, don’t you think it’s high time we brought the baklava
(a kind of sweetmeat) in to treat the guests? Oh, look, sis, how
proud the bride looks. See the line with her trousseau. Bride and
groom, a nice couple, sis.
Georgie
from outside the courtyard was listening to their whispers and the
girly antics, and peeped through the chinks of the garden gate,
barred from inside, so that he could be kept off by the ruthless and
vain, but also tender, coquettish creatures. On other occasions,
Archonto juggled in front of him with an orange, humming at the same
time “apple up – orange down”, while he gaped at her, and felt
a strong impulse to grab the orange with his teeth, as it was rising
to his height and descending to the lovely white little hand of the
frolicsome lass.
And
at some other times, they both played cat’s
cradle
with a red piece of string, which was artfully changed by the hand of
the little girl now into a handsaw, now into a boat, now into a
table, now into a skein or into a loom. And again they played give
me light.
She joined the tips of her fingers, and he, placing a finger at the
bottom of her fingers, would ask: “give me light”, whereto she
replied: “come a little higher”. Her hands stood for a house and
the joined fingers for a staircase. She seduced thus his finger to
reach the top step of her fingers, whence came the dog, which lay in
ambush inside her palms. Therefore, when his finger was at the top of
the stairs, she grabbed it, bit at it and chased him, mimicking the
dog: “rough, rough!” Oh, innocent games! It is a pity not to be
still a child to go on playing!
And
now her mother was marrying her off and wanted to turn her into a
housewife. In fact, he heard it whispered across the neighborhood the
other day, but her mother was so secretive and sly that, however
insistently the womenfolk of the neighborhood probed her, she would
not divulge her secret.
Rumors,
sis. There is still time. My daughter has got all the time. It’s
the older maidens’ turn to get married. Barbayannis’s Katerinio,
for instance, and Kallina’s Mario or Hadjiyoryena’s Vasso, first
things first. My Archonto has just begun to embroider her trousseau.
Many
who heard her expostulate in this way believed her, but her next door
female neighbors were suspicious and distrustful, but they had no
indication or proof. The only exception was Daltoyannis – seemingly
a simpleminded fellow, who went about the neighborhoods carrying to
the households jugs of water, which he sold for a penny each – had
some remarks to make in order to dissolve all their suspicions.
Don’t
listen to her, she is just talking. She is proud of her would-be
son-in-law, who is a well-to-do householder. She is talking like
that in order to ward off the evil eye of those maidens who are
still single. Don’t you see her that she can’t help smiling out
of joy?
However,
Georgie did not happen to hear Daltoyianni’s conclusions, because
he was a child of the sea, and not like those who liked to dawdle at
the seaside market. And one of those idlers the other day hurried to
congratulate him on the coming Archonto’s wedding; otherwise
Georgie would be in blissful ignorance. His mother was also a
secretive woman, but in a different way, as she did not want her son
to marry so soon. On the other hand, she was glad deep inside that
Archonto was getting married.
On
Thursday the youngster sailed on his last trip. On Friday the old
woman was informed that the betrothal was secretly performed, so
would the wedding, most likely the following Sunday. Bourbena was
glad hoping that her son, in all likelihood, would not be returning
before Monday, therefore, he would not be present at the wedding. She
suspected, felt and almost knew that Georgie harbored a sort of puppy
love for Archonto.
Unfortunately,
however, the task of the trip was sooner carried out and the weather
was favorable, therefore the boat returned on Saturday, late at night
and the old woman was beginning to feel afraid. Georgie had not heard
anything save the impending betrothal. The marriage documents were
deferred until Sunday evening. The wedding service would be held at a
late hour, around midnight. Georgie had no idea of all these things.
When
the young man announced that they would have a fare on Monday
morning, the old woman asked where and whom they would give passage
to. Georgie replied that his skipper only knew but did not say and,
after all, Georgie merely did not care. Moreover, the old woman did
not logically suspect that the passage had anything to do with the
wedding.
It
was rumored that the bride would dwell at the groom’s village, in
his homestead, but it was presumed that some days would pass before
they moved in. however, old Marouditsa, Archonto’s mother, was
seemingly in a hurry to have her daughter dispatched over to the
other side of the island, as she had hurried to force the wedding,
once and for all.
But,
which bride did Sigourantsas, the skipper, ostensibly mean when he
said she felt
ashamed to be a ‘boat woman’ in full daylight?
Which
bride?
His
old mother had urged him to stay and sleep at home. She pondered if
Georgie in his sleep heard noises and bouts of joy – Archonto’s
mother’s house was next to hers – she would console him and lead
his thoughts astray. After all she would have him near her, in fact
before her own eyes.
Georgie
however wished to go and sleep in his boat, not because he obeyed his
skipper’s orders, but because he preferred sleeping there. His
mother was already too old to rock him in his cradle, let alone in
her arms. His foster mother, the sea, still lulled him with her surf.
She had also a cradle and a bosom, in fact many such. For his real
mother he was already a grown up son. For the foster mother, the
spacious one, the beloved, watery and unfaithful mother, he was still
her dear little child.
The
old woman did not insist on deterring him. She herself only feigned
knowledge about the sea – though she knew only afflictions and
distress from it – and remarked the mooring by the cliff was not
very safe and suggested he row the boat across the cliffs,
southwards, to the Cave
or
the Slabs.
She did so for her son to be away from the district as well as from
the house where the wedding merriment was taking place. Georgie
calmed her down and took his leave.
The
old mother’s affection was anxiously centered on such thoughts
whereas old Marouditsa, Archonto’s mother, did not have the
slightest idea or suspicion; besides, less did she care whether
Georgie, Bourbena’s son, was in love with her daughter, Archonto.
Had she also known her daughter reciprocated his feelings, little
would she have minded. What is the idea? Maidens ought not to fall in
love. Their duty was only to obey their parents. “My
father shall concern himself with my marriage.”
(Euripides.Andromache. 987ff, transl. David
Kovacs).
As all the old womenfolk, Marouditsa fully agreed with Euripides,
even though she did not have the honor of knowing him.
No,
girls should never fall in love. But when Georgie heard in his sleep
the two rifle reports – for, since the loop
(the wedding wreath) was put on the couple’s heads, there was no
longer any need for secrecy. And the danger of getting the evil eye
of the bride’s girlfriends was averted. As it is generally known,
the girls who put the evil eye on the bride are her enemies; that is
why the ritual of betrothal was being performed secretly, at the
demand of the sly old hags, so that no outsider could know anything.
In addition, Marouditsa had seen to fortifying both her daughter’s
and her son-in-law’s bosoms with two small gold bound bibles. The
two shots were fired at the moment of the wedding crowning, just
after the betrothal rite, to seal the event. And it was at this
moment when Georgie heard the shots and the blasts and was roused
with a jolt terrified and thinking that it was a bad dream. But he
was not fully awake.
The
young man was in state of semi-consciousness without realizing what
was truly going on. He appeared to see, as in a dream, there upon the
cliff, at the brow of the precipice, a house suddenly washed in
light. Then he fell into a very deep sleep. But in his sleep he had a
sweet, melodious dream; he had the feeling that he was being carried,
as it were, on wings of musical notes, on feathers of a harmonious
and melodic breeze. After a long time, he woke up.
Now
he could clearly hear fiddles, lutes and other instruments. What was
happening? He looked at the cliff. The house was in truth ablaze with
light, and that was Marouditsa’s home. So Archonto was getting
married? Was that why Sigourantsas had told him the
bride was bashful?
Which bride?
He
had also heard of a betrothal. They might have provisionally engaged
her to the groom so as to “usher” him to the bride’s home, as
it was the custom. Then the groom is a red-carpet,
recognized as a member of the family. Since the groom is beyond the
Twenty-four
Villages,
a well-off householder, they wanted to “usher” him to their home
in pomp. Georgie thought the groom would leave for his home on the
morrow, so the wedding would be put off for months. That was all.
He
was trying to rationalize in order to find a small consolation, to
catch at the straw of a desperate, though fallible, hope. The wedding
would take long. In the meantime, he would have plenty of means to
put into action in order to thwart the engagement. He was even
capable of going to extremes and kidnap Archonto, which was a just
thing to do, because he believed that she was being married off to a
stranger by force. But he was only entertaining wishful thinking.
But
such illumination, such gaiety, such bustle was only for the
so-called “ushering”? Could he believe it?
Then
those words of Sigourantsas’ came to his mind again: “They might
rouse us very early to embark the bride. So, be alert”.
So
was it true? Was a wedding being performed up there? Was Archonto
finally being married?
Oh,
Luck and Providence! Oh, tendentious human volitions, Ahithophel’s counsels!
(2
Samuel 15:31).
What
should he think? What can he say? How can he utter a word? He felt
according to the lyrics of a song: to
turn his torments into a song. Go and tell your mother to give
another birth. No! Damnation on your mother!
Now
why is he sleeping? And why is he vigilant? Why is he lying down? Why
did neither moan nor breath exit his mouth? Why was his vacant eye
riveted in that direction and he only lives a somnambulistic inner
life? What is he thinking about? But need he think? No, he must act.
Get up on his feet, jump, run, fly. Climb up the cliff, step by step,
up the narrow, cobbled alleys, arrive there, dash and storm in, wreak
havoc upon them all, mess them up and lay his hand on the bride, who
is standing still, bedecked and flaunting. He will tell her: “Hey,
you come here!” Then he will grab her, hoist her on his shoulders,
take her down the stairs and then vanish together. Those present will
be petrified, thinking him mad, then they will come to, run after him
– the old woman will pull at her hair, rush, storm upon him to
scratch him with her black nails. The rest of the guests, the best
man and relatives will attack him with fists, sticks, bottles –
empty or half-full – even with the broomstick or whatever else will
find handy. The kidnapper will be pushing the bride forward with one
arm, and with the other he will be tackling them all! And the
bridegroom – dressed up in his baize breeches and velvet vest, his
silk sash around his waist and his sleek fez on his head – will
make haste after them to split them apart … No, he will probably
faint and fall down behind the door … and the women, screaming,
will rush over and try to bring him around … so there will be a
diversion … and Georgie will be pushing the girl towards the cliff,
down near his boat, and with his fists and elbows, bruised and bloody
all over, wild and foaming at the mouth will try to retaliate the
blows of the madding crowd.
Forward!
Take courage and resolve. Get up! Won’t you budge at last?
On
the previous evening, Sigourantsas, the skipper, went to bed early.
As he had slept his fill, he woke up at two o’ clock in the
morning.
He
rubbed his eye, yawned, grunted, sprinkled some water on his eyes,
donned his cape and came down.
He
headed to the scene of joy, the house where there was the wedding.
He
was not invited, far from it, but he was the skipper of Georgie’s
boat and was paid the fare to pass the newly-weds on the other side.
The bride had no house for a dowry. Her mother gave her only her
trousseau, consisting of a few cotton dresses, a couple of brass
vessels, half a dozen or so teaspoons, a pair of pillow-cases, three
bed-sheets, a washing tub and a weather cock. She also signed a
marriage pledge for five hundred drachmas in cash, which was not
clear when she was going to pay – if she ever deigned to – and
thereby married them off.
The
fact that the bride had no dotal house meant that she was not to
reside in her native village. The bridegroom, it was rumored, had
many other houses in his village apart from his own home. His land
property was not insignificant, either. He was a respectable
householder and land owner.
It
was decided, right after the wedding service, at dawn, the wedding
couple to board the boat, accompanied by the bride’s old mother,
and be ferried across to Platania,
near Sipiada
promontory, and thence to the groom’s village and his estate.
The
old woman wished complete secrecy. She did not want to be the object
of the village gossip, and, moreover, wanted to lull common
curiosity. She did not like to hear comments on the why and how old
Marouditsa married off her daughter sending her to a far place,
expatriated her and boarding her on the boat in full daylight. In
addition, if the bride happened to possess fine trousseau and stood
preening as she was boarding: she wanted to avoid such occasions.
Therefore, on Sunday afternoon, they had agreed with Sigourantsas,
the skipper, to get a passage on Georgie’s boat very early in the
morning. That is why Captain Sigourantsas took the liberty to visit
the revelry uninvited at two in the morning. He had thought advisable
to sleep his fill early, since he was to take a fare, and in the
darkest of the night, about the second crow of the chanticleer, to
get up and go to the house of gaiety uninvited.
It
would suffice to say:
Hey,
howdy? The best of happiness and prosperity to the couple. It’s
almost daybreak. Pleiades is at its zenith. The sun is soon coming
up. We’d better get starting off. As the wind is off-shore now, in
the morning we’ll have easily reached the other side, before the
sun ascends significantly higher. Again, to your prosperity, to your
health! To a happy life of the couple! May they be lucky and beget
good and healthy sons!
And
then for three or four hours he would help himself freely to the
treats and drinks, as if he were a wedding guest himself, reminding
only from time to time:
Events
occurred as follows: it was April, some days after Easter, already
the fourth hour after midnight, at twilight. One could hear the
twitter of birds in the trees about the seashore. The dawn was
breaking rosy across the east above the mountain top, and a fragrance
was wafted in the air by the roses of the surrounding gardens – the
roses, which were initially created by God without thorns. Now if one
wants to pluck one, one must needs prick one’s fingers. And again,
if the rose is too high to reach, in vain does one stretch out,
merely to bleed one’s fingers or even break a leg.
As
it is already mentioned it was four o’clock before dawn, and no one
would budge from the house. Finally, old Marouditsa, who was looking
forward to embarking as early as possible, lifted two bundles of
clothing, which she had prepared earlier, and consulting
Sigourantsas, gave them to two nephews to carry them down to the
beach.
The
boat is over there, the skipper said, pointing his finger through
the window. Georgie is sleeping in it. Let the boys call to him so
as to hand him the things, and whatever else you have, you can send
them over. I can also carry something as I am going down. Again, my
best wishes for a best and prosperous life to the newly-weds! Be all
happy!
Shall
Georgie get up, run and grab her from them? Her old mother will tear
him up with her nails. However, he will squeeze her throat and choke
her. The guests will attack with fists, bottles and clubs. He will
push them back with an oarlock, or a stave or a cable, all these
handy in his shallop. The womenfolk will start screaming and the
bridegroom will try to calm them down, because he is a peaceful
fellow and a sensible householder.
But
he did not get up. He did not run. He ran out of time. His long
nightmare failed him.
The
two boys climbed down to the foot of the cliff, carrying the two
bundles of clothing. There were initially two lanterns hanging in the
balcony of the house. A third one was added now outside the courtyard
gate to shine the way for the people who began carrying the items of
baggage. The crescent of a moon, white and shining, had before long
risen, and now paled in the red and blue glimmer of twilight. The
dawn’s rosy hues loomed like gules high up on the horizon,
primeval, unreachable rose blooms, like the fiery archangel’s sword
at the gate of light!
The
two boys called to Georgie, who in the meantime had already got up.
Uncle,
the skipper says you should put these clothes in the boat.
He
also says my auntie Marouditsa told him to tell you to secure them
in a safe place so they can’t get wet by the sea.
Put
them, he says, under the prow tidily.
He
says take good care of them.
At
that time from the height of the cliff Sigourantsas’ stentorian
voice was heard:
He
had exited the yard gate, and was seen out, breaking away from the
crowd of guests; he was still being treated to drinks.
After
a while, he was slowly climbing down the cliff slope, still shouting
on the way:
It
was no more a lie, it was the plain truth. Georgie with Sigourantsas
were sailing now in his boat. He was sailing ferrying Archonto, her
mother and her son-in-law at the time of dawn. He was carrying them
to Sipiada
promontory, to the groom’s village, to his home and estate.
And
again, he mused, it might have been a dream; who could be certain? An
eldritch, wicked and horrible dream he was having wide awake. He
closed his eyes but still he kept having it.
The
dawn was shedding her roses and Archonto’s cheeks were growing red
or was she blushing at the sight of Georgie? He was pale, languishing
and inert.
The
dawn roses were not enough to make him flush up. He rowed
mechanically as if his arms were made of wood. Wood glued to wood.
Only
once did he turn to look at Archonto. That look was the last focused
beam of his soul, whereupon she lowered her eyes in a fixed gaze.
They
cast off, stood out to sea, and drifted away.
His
thoughts were all muddled. Was he a brave hero no more? He had missed
his chance to storm the house and grab the damsel using his fists and
teeth and nails. The old hag could not possibly tear him with her
blackened nails. He
could even squeeze her neck and choke her to death. He saw the groom
and likened him to a vulture that came from afar to prey upon his
budgie, his turtledove.
He
felt like opening his shirt, spitting into his palms and saying to
the groom:
He
also felt to ostensibly congratulate the old hag – pretending that
she was the bride – on her choice, for the groom seemed as old as
to be her daughter’s father.
He
also felt like congratulating the young girl, who after long years
allegedly succeeded in fostering a second father.
Then
he occurred to him to suggest to the bridegroom:
The
groom would chuckle at the youngster’s madness. Of course, he was
loath to come into contact with the water. He was a landsman and he
would sink down like a plumb sound. He was a respectable landholder
with his houses and estate.
The
off-shore breeze was growing into a strong wind, which was becoming
stronger yet. It was already daylight and the burning sun was about
to rise. The roses from the bride’s cheeks would vanish and the
paleness of his face would override his sun-bronzed complexion,
acquired since childhood.
The
wind was intensifying. They had not seen to putting on ballast. Who
could have remembered it? Georgie did not mind. Sigourantsas was also
an old salt. The bridegroom however had no notion of such matters. He
was a landsman with his land and property.
The
wind went on blowing now full blast. Could it not become strong
enough so that with a gust it would tip the boat over?
Just
a weak gust, a slight awkward handling of Sigourantsas at the tiller,
a small carelessness of Georgie at the sail was enough for the deed.
And
then everybody and everything would be overboard, adrift in the
waves. The bridegroom would go down to the bottom like a stone. He
was a man of the land, unused to the sea. Let Sigourantsas salvage
old Marouditsa. Georgie, swimming like a fish, would rescue Archonto.
“Only you shall I save, my angel”.
Just
a gust, only a slight one, and it could easily be done. What was
needed? One error of steering on Sigourantsas’ part and a sail full
of too much wind was enough to capsize the boat. On the other hand,
it was all up to Georgie alone.
He
could stretch the sail with his hand and he could take off the boat’s
plug using his foot. The boat had a hole plugged at the side of its
keel. This was an invention of Georgie’s, who still retained some
childhood propensities concerning his sea habits. Like the little
kids who pretend to sink their toy shallops and then swim to the
shore, he still sank his boat so that it could be waterlogged and he
could enjoy a swim.
With
only a kick, or even with the push of a toe, he could unceremoniously
dispatch three souls to the hereafter, that is, the groom, his
mother-in-law and the bride, providing he did not wish to rescue the
latter.
The
skipper, though heavy-set, he could swim and somehow pull through.
They were less than a mile from the shore. The groom would go like
lead straight to the bottom with all his houses, or rather without
them, without his lands and property. As for old Marouditsa, short
was her span of life, one way or the other. That is why she married
her daughter off and made her a lady. He would see – perhaps with
Archonto herself – to her memorial service and kollyva.
Forward!
Take heart! Courage! But no, he should not sink the boat by taking
off the plug. This was a dastardly act and, moreover, hideous.
Besides, the dispatch to the next world was not so safe.
Many
non-swimmers were saved and many skillful swimmers perished after
their vessel had been capsized.
No.
He would not sink the boat; he would cause it to overturn.
He
would enjoy watching a delightful spectacle: Sigourantsas would swim
away like a seal, disengaging himself from the bridegroom’s grip
and getting rid of his mother-in-law. The old vixen would hardly have
the time to cross herself for the last time, her agonizing voice
drowning deep down in the waters.
(The
following day at the village, the priests would chant her funeral
service urging the bystanders to pray for her soul. And for forty
days in turn, all the devout grannies of the village would abstain
from consuming fish as they would have touched the drowned one).
But
now he would get hold of Archonto’s arm or of her underarms or even
better of her waist. Then he would be floating and swimming with her.
Let for once the bitter and salty sea turn sweet for him.
He
would be skimming the water like a dolphin, would be blowing and
spewing the water like a whale and projecting his arm like a
swordfish. He was fantasizing that he was swimming moving only his
right arm while tightly embracing the young girl with his left. He
was holding her in such a position that her head was above the water
so she could breathe with her graceful mouth. “Don’t be afraid,
my love!” And little by little, fathom by fathom, he was moving
reaching dry land. “Now, we’re almost there, my sweetheart”. No
accident was bound to happen. The entire world would be saved. “Are
you faint, my heart? Everything’s in order now. Has anybody
drowned? No, as long as you’re saved”. Oh, they would fall on the
beach exhausted, half-drowned, dripping sea. But they would be
created anew, two new beings. They would be a new Adam and Eve, their
sea-wet garments clinging tightly to their bodies, appearing almost
nude.
“There’s
a cave over in that cliff. Go there, my dearest, to change”. And
the girl, if she still had the strength, would look at him puzzled.
To change with what? “Dry, and I’ll bring you forest tree leaves,
my love, to cover yourself”.
Now
the question is: “Did he make the boat capsize? Did the passengers
drown? Did he rescue the girl?”
We
need no telesthaesia or telepathy to elicit our readers’ votes
mentally and instantaneously. Nor do we have before us a holy temple
of parliament, but a shrine of wisdom. Every author is supposed to
uphold the common sense and the average sentiment of his readers. No,
he did not capsize the boat. He did not become the agent for people
to drown. He almost did, but he shunned the temptation.
For
he suddenly had a vision; he saw his mother, Bourbena’s shimmering
phantom, hover in the air. She was pulling at her hair and crying:
“Woe, my son! My son!” she said. “What are you about to do?”
He
crossed his heart under his shirt without being seen. He called to
mind a short prayer, which his mother taught him when he was a little
child, but had forgotten it since. He repeated three times Lord
Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Then
he thought: “Let the poor creature go and live with her husband!
Health and happiness to her!”
He
vanquished his passion, felt mollified and elated, wept and was
proved a hero in his love – a pure, forbearing and charitable; in
short, Christian love.
Biography
Alexandros
Papadiamantis has been a great figure of modern Greek literature. He
was born on the island of Skiathos, in the North Aegean Sea, on 4th
March 1851. He and his four sisters were left alone in life and in
very straight means. He somehow manages to finish primary and
secondary education. Afterwards he matriculates in the Philosophy
School of Athens University, from which he never graduated. While in
Athens he earns his meager living giving private lessons to students.
In his first university years he succeeded in learning English and
French by self-study. During these years a cousin of his, Alexandros
Moraitidis, another literary figure, who later became a monk, brought
him in touch with the literary and journalistic circles of the time,
and so Papadiamantis saw his works being published by the journals
Rabagas,
Neologos and
Do
Not Get Lost
as well as by the Athens dailies
Efimeris
and Acropolis.
Therefore, he now begins a career as a journalist and translator,
being at the same time a prolific novelist and short story writer.
However, his soul pines for his native island and his sisters. He
finds it difficult to adapt to the life of Athens, and, moreover, he
is inflicted with rheumatism in the hands, not being able to continue
his job as a journalist. Having no financial means, he returns to his
native island of Skiathos to die on 3rd
January 1911.
Works:
Novels
Novellas
Vardianos and
Second-Quality Fish (1893)
The Murderess (1903)
Rosy Beaches
(1908)
Christos Milionis
(1885)
He also wrote 137
short stories and 14 poems
Translations of
his works:
In English
The Boundless Garden
(Denis Harvey, Publisher), 2007 (διηγήματα),ISBN
978960712023-6, ISBN
9789607120212
Tales from a Greek Island,
μετάφραση
E. Constantinides (1987)
The Murderess,
μετάφραση
P. Levi (1983)
Alexandros Papadiamandis: Fey
Folk − A tale from Skiathos,
εκδ.
«Αιώρα»
The Murderess, (Denise Harvey,
Publisher), 2007, ISBN
978-960-7120-23-6, ISBN
978-960-7120-21-2
Around the Lagoon, tr. P.
Mackridge, (Denise Harvey, Publisher),2014, ISBN
978-960-7120-33-5
|
