THE HOMESICK WIFE
(The Greek original:
Ἡ
Νοσταλγός)
Alexandros Papadiamantis - Wikipedia
Translated by Vassilis C. Militsis
The moon, being
on its third day on the wane, rose behind the mountain peak, and she, dressed
in white, began moaning and singing passionately:
“I wish I would get into a boat right now, and methinks we would reach
over there!” and pointed beyond the harbor.
Mathios did
not perhaps notice that she had turned the conversation in the plural at the
end of her wish. However, on the spur of the moment, he replied:
“I can cast
off the boat… shall we try? What do you think?” he, too, turned his speech into
the plural. Unthinkingly, as though he wanted to test his muscles, he commenced
shoving the small boat into the water. The young man stood by the seaside,
where successive weak breakers blown by a light breeze broke upon the beach and
were absorbed by the sand, which was not satiated by the continuous briny soaking
– an eternal, monotonous play.
The young
woman stood on the balcony of the house, rented by her fifty-three year-old
husband at the seaside, within and without the sea, during the flow blown by
the southerly wind and the retreating ebb caused by the northerly wind. The
skiff lay both on land and swayed on the water, its prow buried in the sand,
and its stern stirred by the waves – a light, prim, sharp-prowed craft,
accommodating four to five people.
A local,
large schooner, with her cargo still in the hold, had dropped anchor and was
expecting a fair wind to sail off at the end of her fare. The captain had been
resting at his house delighting in his wife and children for three successive
nights; the crew, all local residents, had been frequenting the pubs in turn to
compensate during these three nights the inevitable continence of weeks and
even months. The deck boy, not being local, had remained the sole watchman of
the ship, her rigging and cargo, and the sole deck boy’s guardian was the ship’s
dog.
But on that
evening, the deck boy, a tall eighteen year-old youth, pretending to be a
full-fledged seaman sine the emolument, had tarried at a taproom way off
the seaside market place street, consoling himself as a stranger in exile.
He had left
the ship’s launch half dragged on the beach, its prow buried in the sand, its
stern swaying in the sea, and its two oars lying on the stern. Those oars were
so light that even a boy could handle in utter joy flaunting his strength,
multiplied by the transient softness of the waves, like an affectionate mother
to her pampered infant, which has made a plaything of her with its exacting
whimpers. Those oars, like a gull’s wings, all white, could row the skiff to
the beach, as the wings of the sea fowl lead it to the cave of the wave-beaten
cliff.
Mathios put
both hands onto the prow, braced himself planting his feet into the sand,
pushed with all his strength and the light skiff yielded and splashed into the
water. He nearly lost control of the boat, which obeyed his forceful push,
because he did not foresee to grab the prow rope. However, at the same time, he
got rid of his light sandals, sparing no time to tuck up his trouser-legs, thus
soaking them up to his knees, and caught the boat by the prow in time. He
pulled it to an improvised pier. However, the woman had disappeared from the
balcony, but after a while she emerged from the northern corner of the house
and descended the path towards the seashore wearing a large, white sleeveless
shirt, shining in the moon-light.
Perceiving
her, the youth had a feeling both of joy and fear. She acted on the spur of the
moment. She never hoped that she was able to do such a thing. Disinclined to
express her inmost thoughts, she only said:
“Let it be;
let’s row around the harbor in the moonlight.” After a while she added:
“I’d like to
know what I’ll feel like when I embark onto the other side…”
When she
said the other side, she meant her birthplace. Behind the first green
hill, wherefrom the moon had risen, looming gloomy at night, but dark brown
under the moonlight, soared a high mountain, the peak of which was according to
seasons snow-capped or bald and rocky. That was where her home, her birth place
was. She moaned yearning for it as
though an entire ocean separated her therefrom, whereas her native home was
only twelve miles away; and the low ridge of the green hill did not suffice to
hide the fringe of the white mountain during the day. And she felt homesick as
if she had missed it for long years though she had come to that neighboring
island only a few weeks before.
However, she
innocently put her white, soft hand on the shoulder of the youth, who shivered
at the touch, and she boarded the little boat.
He followed
her and getting hold of one of the oars he started awkwardly to cast off. But
instead of drawing off the pier, he pushed the skiff to the left and thus it
sidled away and hit lightly against a rock of the pier.
“What are
you doing? We’ll break a boat that doesn’t belong to us,” she said.
The incident
made her think more somberly and added:
“Won’t they
look for the boat? Won’t they need it? I wonder who it belongs to.”
“Since we’ll
just row around the harbor,” replied the young man, “I don’t believe they’ll
look for it, whoever it belongs to.”
*
* *
* *
He took his
seat at the oars and started rowing. Sitting at the prow, the woman basked in
the pale moonlight, which limned her graceful contours of her face with silver
dust. The youth cast timid glances at her. He was not a seaman, but he could
row as he was reared near the sea. In the middle of the year he dropped out of
school in the island capital, not accepting the penalty inflicted on him after
a quarrel with one of his teachers, whom he deemed too illiterate.
He was only
eighteen, but he seemed to be nineteen or twenty with his dense curly beard and
moustache.
After
expressing her apprehension about the search of the boat by the owner, the
young woman went on thinking:
“The owner
will be looking for his boat and Uncle-Monachakis for his Lalio.”
The youth
smiled. Uncle-Monachakis was Lalio’s husband. Lalio was the woman in the
boat.
*
* *
* *
At that
moment a loud barking was heard from the deck of the ship. It was the dog of
the schooner, to which the boat belonged. It had sprung onto the prow
figurehead; at first it growled and wagged its tail recognizing the boat. But
when the boat drew nearer and of the two passengers had not recognized either
the deck boy or any other of the crew, it began to howl and rage.
The
ex-student luffed before the wind giving the ship a wide berth; but the more
the dog saw the boat drawing away, the more it raged.
“What’s come
over him and it doesn’t shut up?” Lalio asked anxiously.
“It seems to
have recognized the boat,” he replied.
“So this
boat belongs to that ship?”
“Seemingly,”
the youth answered sadly foreseeing that this chance for a romantic outing must
of necessity be aborted. Lalio, however, clapped her hands like a recalcitrant
child finding pleasure in what it is not allowed to do.
“Then I’m
glad,” she said; “let the dog bark after its boat and I don’t care if I’m
missed at home…”
The young
man took the liberty to ask: “Where was Master Monachakis when you came down
from the house?”
“He’s always
spending his time at the coffee-house,” she answered; “he won’t budge from
there till midnight and leaves me alone at home…” she was about to weep but she
got a grip on herself.
The youth
kept on rowing. After a while they almost reached the eastern mouth of the
harbor, whence one could have a view of the other side, covering the horizon,
the long island, on which, at times snow-capped, and at other times bare and
bald, the high mountain soared. When they reached the promontory that on that
side makes up one of the two shoes of the harbor’s mouth – which was also
circled by two or three islets – the young woman fixed her eyes to the end of
the horizon, as if she wanted to peer farther and more and more sharply or as
far as the pale moonlight permitted.
“Let’s go a
little farther on so I can see over there and then we can come back,” she said
with a sigh.
The youth
dared ask her:
“What’s that
song you used to sing once?”
“What song
are you talking about?”
“That song
about sails, helm and the mountains beyond,” faltered the young man.
“Oh, that
one!” whereupon she commenced singing in a tender, soft and passionate melody:
When shall we set sail with me at the helm,
And I can look at the mountains beyond
For my homesickness doth me whelm?
She repeated
the couplet twice and thrice – a familiar melody to her.
“Look, now
you can see the mountains beyond,” said Mathios; “only, instead of sails, we
have oars; we have no sails.”
The young
woman heaved another sigh.
“Is it
already time we went back?” asked the youth in a sad tone. He felt the words
sear his mouth.
“Let’s stay
a little longer,” said Lalio. “The shadows of those islands don’t let me see
through distinctly. All I can see is Mount Dirfys*.”
“Dirfys is
on the inside,” said the youth pointing to Euboea, the large island to the
south.
“We
call Dirfys the high mountain of my birthplace,” rejoined Lalio and pointed to
the east and resumed her song anew:
When shall we set sail with me at the helm,
And I can look at the mountains beyond
For my homesickness doth me whelm?
The youth
breathed deeply as though he heaved a sigh, too.
“Oh! I’m
forgetting I’ve nearly made you worn out at the oars,” said Lalio. I’ve really
gone mad. Your poor arms and hands are not cut out for rowing, Master Mathios.”
The young
man protested: “Oh, no! I’m not tired. The oars are kind of light; how can such
oars as light as feathers wear me out?”
Lalio
insisted on taking one of the two oars, and bending down a little she began to
shake the oar lock with her white hands so as to move it closer to the prow.
But the young man resisted and their met hands in a warm touch.
“Do you
believe that my hands are tender?” Mathios complained discreetly.
“Then, let’s
set sail, as the song says,” suggested the young woman playfully.
“We have no
sail,” said the youth and unwittingly looked at her snow-white shirt.
Lalio
laughed and leaned on the prow anew.
*
* *
* *
They had
already reached the mouth of the harbor, and were between the precipitous
promontory – seemingly created in the aftermath of an earthquake or a flood,
which had abruptly broken the regular continuity of the mountain – and the
islets that barred the harbor on the southeastern quarter. The moon was
steadily ascending on the firmament and outshining the weak light of the last
modest stars, which, nevertheless unseen, shone timidly in the corners of the
sky. The sea rippled in the light breeze blowing like a relic of the wind,
which had roughed the waters in the morning. It was a warm May night, and the
soft breeze made it cooler as it blew to the mouth of the harbor from the open
sea. Two massive shapes, without revealing their details in the gloom, silvered
and lustered dimly by the wan moonlight, loomed in the distance, one in the
east and the other in the west; they were the two neighboring islands. The
moonlit night exerted a mystic charm. The little boat floated close to one of
the islets, on which luminous and dark points alternated – cliffs reflecting
the moonlight, dark bushes lightly rustling in the nocturnal breeze, and
caverns beaten by the surf, where one could surmise the existence of sea fowl
and could hear the agonized flutter of wild dove frightened by the splashing of
the oars of the approaching skiff. Due northeast, on a slope twinkling lights
could be discerned showing the place where during the day there were the white cottages
of a village high above the sea.
Amidst the
general harmony of the moonlit sea, the waves splashed and roared against a
hollow, cavernous, small cliff next to the islet, setting up a singular
orchestra that created more cacophony than the beating of rough seas on every
nook, bay, reef or beach.
Impulsively
Mathios lifted the oars and held them on the gunwale for a long time. He stayed
still like a white sea bird, gracefully bowing on the waters, hovering over it
for a few moments, one wing up and the other down, before swooping and
snatching into the air the flapping fish. He was overwhelmed by unuttered
fascination. Lalio also experienced a unique attraction when their eyes met.
“Shall we
set sail?” repeated the young woman. Seemingly, she kept reflecting on it once
she had said it; and she said it in a naive and unaffected way as if she
construed what they both had in mind.
“Let’s do
it,” Mathios unconsciously replied.
And as he
had no idea how they could sail, he did not ask how. Lalio, however, saved him
the trouble to look for a means to sail. She stood up, bent down gracefully,
and in quick movements, removed her white, voluminous shirt and handed it to
Mathios.
“Make the
mast ready,” she said.
Surprised,
gleeful and spellbound, the youth took one oar and set it in a vertical
position upon the thwart he was sitting, and made it fast on it with the bow
rope. He then took the other oar and used it as a boom tying it horizontally
from the bow link. Afterwards he took the snow white loose shirt, still warm
from her body, and fixed it on the boom as a sail.
Lalio
remained in her shin-short petticoat and her socks, through which one could
figure out her elegantly shaped legs, still whiter. Her lily neck was
insufficiently covered by her purple, silk scarf; she timidly sat at the prow,
seeming shorter than she actually was but graceful. The breeze started blowing
more strongly, unfurling the impromptu sail and the light boat coursed before
the wind.
*
* *
* *
They did not
talk about returning to the harbor; what for? It was already evident that they
were sailing to the ‘mountains beyond.’
Mathios took
his seat discreetly on the other side of the prow, not very close to her, so
that he might not make her feel self-conscious.
At that
moment he recalled a song of an Ionian poet, which he had repeatedly sung in
all his romances of yore: ‘wake up, my sweetheart…’ and then he remembered the
couplet: ‘only the wan moon…’ as well the next one:
Farewell meadows, springs of cold water,
Sweet dawns and birds, farewell forever.
Such verses
crossed his mind, but he decided it was not the importune place and time to
sing them. On the contrary, he deemed Lalio’s favorite song fitter for the
occasion:
When shall we set sail with me at the helm,
And I can look at the mountains beyond
For my homesickness doth me whelm?
*
* *
* *
He had taken a seat neither too far nor to
close to her, so that he could look at her at his ease, though he could not
smell the odor of her warm body and feel the ambience of her breath. He longed
to look at her, particularly after he had grown dizzy looking at the sea.
Then the
young man took off his coat and begged her to put it on so that she could keep
warm against the chill; for as the night advanced, a cool breeze started
blowing from the mountains. She declined accepting the garment, claiming she
was not feeling cold at all, nay, she felt very warm.
Mathios no
longer insisted, and began to reflect on her life, what he knew of it, as the
young woman had associated with his family during her short stay on the island.
She was not in her early youth though she still preserved almost all her maiden
dew. Neither was she newly-wed to Master Monachakis. She was now twenty-five
years old and had married five years before. It was Master Monachakis’ second
marriage after he had buried his first wife and married off his daughter, one
year older than Lalio. It seemed to him that he was also becoming twenty years
younger by marrying this twenty year-old-maiden. But as long as he had been
transferred away from his birth place as a governmental fiscal servant, Lalio
had an easy life. She would stay with her parents, loath to follow him in his
‘gypsy’ wanderings throughout the country, at the whims of the government,
which launched him like an old boat, hither and thither.
Ah! No
favorable wind blew for tender flowers there and she would have blighted in a
month if foul hands dared to transplant her. The pot was made of alabaster, the
plant was fragile and the flower gave off a delicate perfume unfit for coarse
nostrils. But when at last Master Monachakis, after many efforts, succeeded in
being transferred to his native island, he persuaded his father-in-law, who
highly esteemed him among his peers, to send Lalio to him so as they can both
be in mensa et toro. Weeping, Lalio bade farewell to her half-sister,
for whom she felt sisterly love,[the latter being in confinement after her
recent childbirth, no longer apprehensive of a potential half-brother, uncle to
her baby] and boarding the ship, sailed over to the neighboring island.
Upon her
arrival Monachakis treated his friends to a sumptuous feast, but from the
following day on, he ceased to accept guests at home; which was not strange as,
most of the time, he was at work or at the coffee-house. He used to light his
long pipe, which eternally burned resting along his blue breeches. He was a gay
man, always garrulous and chuckled noisily; his cheeks were as red as his high
scarlet fez, which he wore slightly tilted towards his right ear by a small
fold with its long and braided tassel lying upon his shoulder.
Two weeks had passed and whenever she was not asleep
when he returned home at midnight, Lalio never ceased grumbling and demanding
that he send her back to her birthplace. She claimed she could not live away
from her parents. And in fact, right from the first days of her ‘exile’, her
heart yearned for her native island, she had lost her appetite for food and her
face had gone pale. But Uncle-Monachakis was very firm with her. He made her
understand that it was not proper to go back to her island so soon, once she
had come to live with him. He propounded the long theory that a wife ought to
be wherever her husband was, or else the purpose of a Christian marriage would
be void. According to the most orthodox tenets, a marriage does not only aim to
the propagation of humankind, but also to the wisdom of both spouses, or else –
he said – childlessness alone would be a sound ground for divorce. He also
added that for the propagation of humanity natural marriage, which is different
from the religious or civil one, sufficed. And he profusely quoted from the
Bible: ‘This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.’ [Genesis 2:23] and ‘What therefore God hath joined
together, let not man put asunder.’ [Matthew 19:6] and ‘…and the head of the
woman is the man…’ [1 Corinthians 11:3]. She choked her sobs amid her palms and
her two braids and with the ends of her kerchief mopped the traces of her
tears.
*
* *
* *
The youth, as a neighbor, had been aware of what was
going on and secretly fell in love with her. The grace of her lithe stature was
not diminished by the lack of her shirt. The curly hair, which adorned her
sensual brow, was natural. The glow of her deep-set black eyes was smoldering
under her pride eyebrows and her purple lips stood out pink upon the
unblemished hue of her cheeks, which would lightly blush at the slightest
exertion or emotion. But the subtle and calm glimmer of her eyes set fire to
the young man’s heart. He could not help falling in love with her. When she
often came out in the balcony, she would momentarily cast distraught and dreamy
glances at him. Then she turned away her eyes and would gaze eastward at the mountains
beyond. Then on that evening, at the moonrise, while her husband was out,
she saw the young man standing at the seashore. He issued from his house after
supper to enjoy the sea breeze.
Seeing her on the balcony, Mathios greeted her, and
after exchanging a few words, on the spur of the moment and unintended she
unexpectedly suggested that short boat outing, which was to end up to this
strange sailing. The young woman seemed to lead a life as in a dream. Suddenly,
from time to time she would wake up from her long dream and appeared to recover
the sense of the real world; but after a short while she would relapse into her
torpor and sink even more deeply into her favorite dream.
It was already midnight and both the sea and the land
breeze had gradually drifted the light rudderless vessel in a rather northern
direction, right across the twinkling lights, which appeared closer now, of the
village high above the sea. They had approached an isolated rocky islet, called
Aspronisos (White Island), by the northeastern coast, which acted both as a
prison of a few rabbits, abandoned there by the islanders, and as a palace of
sea gulls and diverse sea fowl.
Only then did Mathios get hold of the one oar and used
it as a rudder trying to turn the bow to the right towards the easternmost
point of the opposite shore, called Trachili (Neck). Before that, he had taken
down the improvised sail and mast and given the shirt back to Lalio, who had
started shivering, though he did not want to acknowledge the fact. The young
man realized that he could not manage the boat with this improvised rudder, as
the undercurrent was pushing them away, and he was compelled to sit on the
thwart and row the boat anew.
But the sea nymphs of the nocturnal breeze started
blowing more from the land than from the sea in the channel between the two
islands, and they rather favored Lalio. No sooner had they drawn away a few
fathoms from Aspronisos, than there emerged a large cockboat sailing in great
speed in the direction of Trachili.
Lalio was startled. The young man turned his head to
see. All of a sudden he stopped rowing and was indecisive about what to do.
“Come on, be quick!” whispered Lalio as though she was
afraid of being heard; “Behind Aspronisos, go back behind!”
The young man began to row as quickly as he could.
Fortunately they were in the shadow of the shore, which concealed the moon, and
thus they hid behind the islet.
“What do you think all this is about?” Lalio asked
anxiously.
“They must certainly be looking for us,” replied the
young man.
“Have they come out after us?”
“They’re looking for us, undoubtedly.”
“And what’s this big boat?”
“That’s a cockboat with many oars and moves quickly.”
“So they would’ve caught us if we’d been there in
front?”
“They’ve set course to Trachili; if we’d been still
there, they would’ve overtaken us.”
“So, we did the right thing to come over here?”
“We’ve drifted here against our efforts; you see, the
undercurrents.”
“The undercurrents can do what’s right!” said Lalio.
She believed at that moment that there is a mind in the inanimate things, which
in turn are in a god’s supervision.
“And now what shall we do?” asked Mathios, feeling
deep inside that he was helpless without the assistance of some benign sea
nymph. And then he realized that the petticoat rule has been in power since the
creation of the world.
“And now,” replied Lalio succinctly as if she had
anticipated the whole issue, “we’ll wait for half an hour, and unless they
suspect we’re here, and come to look for us, we’ll disembark at Saint Nicholas,
you know, as they’re heading to Trachili. From there, we can walk up to Platana
– the village high up – in half an hour. And then, at the first light, after a
three hour walk we’ll arrive at the big village, my birthplace. If only I could
set foot on that holy soil, even for once! If they get wind and come for us,
then we row to Xanemo on the double, where we’ll drag the boat onto the beach
and walk back on land to our village.
“Where have you been, Lalio?”
“I’ve been out on a boat ride, Uncle Monachakis, and
here, I’m back.”
On saying that she laughed by herself. But as the
youth was still anxious, she added: “Only if they could not catch us! I don’t
care what people will say; I don’t really give a dime! We’re not guilty of
anything – let it be that way – and let the fools rave against us!”
The youth bent over and kissed the tips of her
fingers.
Then she said sharply.
“If I wanted to have a lover, it would be wise to stay
with Uncle-Monachakis; and to support my claim is that I have decided to go
back to my parents. My parents wouldn’t have been able to stand by me in case I’d
done such a thing; only Uncle-Monachakis would have stood by me – and much to
that effect.
The youth’s heart was torn apart by jealousy as if
stabbed by a sharp knife. He imagined that she must most certainly have a lover
in her native village; that’s why she was hurrying back to her birthplace. She
had attempted this odd boat ride! And then what did he stand for in this case –
a bridgehead perhaps to make two lovers meet? Oh, Grim Reaper of underworld
love passions!
Oh, a conflagration was gutting his insides! And he
felt all the instincts of the tragic hero roaring and raging in his heart at
that moment! (Oh, how could he change this romance into a drama, if only the
literary conscience of the author permitted it! Imagine, dear reader, the
cockboat pursuing the two fugitives in the light skiff – Mathios evading it by
a miraculous rowing only to discover at the last moment that the Homesick Wife
had a lover over at her island, and therefore he would rip her heart with a
dagger or sink the skiff drowning both of them in the sea! Finally after
careful search the cockboat would find the two corpses in the bottom of the
sea, under the moonlight! What wonder of romanticism and a profusion of tears!)
However he got a grip on himself and fixing his eyes
on the young woman, he simply asked:
“And was there perhaps somebody who was in love with
you at your village before marrying Master Monachakis?”
“And a host of them, in fact! But the problem is this:
men love girls but as flowers; they just smell them once and then either they
pluck off their petals or let them blight. You see, I wasn’t a rich match so
that I could be loved and get married in pomp. Nor could I be eloped and get
secretly married and afterwards could my husband extort dowry from my parents…
That’s why none was found but Uncle-Monachakis to ask me from my parents, just
as well!”
And then in whisper she recited two lyrics of the folk
song:
My parents married me off
Without my own consent…
“Then why are you leaving Master Monachakis?” asked
the young man referring to the conclusion of her speech.
“I’m not leaving him; I’m just going back to my
parents… If Uncle-Monachakis should look me up, he’ll be welcome! He knows very
well that I will never stain his honor. He also knows that I can’t live in
exile, away from my village.”
The young man was not soothed. He suspected that the
woman was a sly one and he had been tricked by her. He asked her sharply:
“How come nobody has loved you truthfully?... One that
you’d wanted him, too; you might want him even now that you’re already
married?”
Lalio heaved a deep sigh:
“That’s true,” she replied. “To be frank with you
there was one who wanted to marry me, and so did I, but it’s six years now
since he was drowned in the Black Sea. The entire ship had gone down with all
hands. But for God’s sake, why do you insist on questioning me about it?”
*
* *
* *
The cockboat, which the two ‘runaways’ did not stop
spying, had drawn to a considerable distance heading to the east and, reaching
the furthermost point, it stopped suddenly for a few minutes. Mathios pointed
out the occurrence to his co-traveller.
“I know what’s all this about,” she said.
“What is it?” asked the young man.
“You’ll see soon.”
The youth fixed his eyes on her.
“Be patient and your curiosity will be satisfied.” She
said; “soon they’ll be heading to Trachili.”
“How do you know it? Are you a sorceress?”
“Indeed I am a sorceress!” she said in confidence.
Mathios was seized by a vague fear watching her
sparking glance.
At the same moment the cockboat turned definitely in
an eastern direction and resumed its course more swiftly.
Mathios let out an exclamation of admiration.
“That’s the way it is,” resumed Lalio. “I bet that
Uncle-Monachakis is in the cockboat.”
“So?” Mathios wondered.
“Those that row the boat think it’s proper to save the
exertion of a long search and decided to look around the islands in the hope to
find us hidden somewhere. Uncle-Monachakis, who knows well that I have no
business in the islands and all I want is to go to my native village, is
certain that I’ve headed directly to Trachili, and if he catches up with me
before I set foot on the small harbor of my island, he hopes to persuade me to
follow him back to your own village. That’s why he doesn’t want to waste his
time looking around the islands for fear I might escape him and make it to my
village. So he must have convinced those at the oars to push on ahead even if
they silently heap oaths upon him, most certainly. They can’t help it!”
“Well?”
“Now as soon as they draw out some distance, we’ll
pass on the other side. Let me have an oar.”
The young man brooked no objection and handed over the
oar to her sitting at the bow.
Some time passed, and the cockboat had bowed out so
far that appeared as a bobbing black spot on the horizon upon the spacious
silvery sea surface.
“And now let’s set to rowing!” Lalio gracefully
exclaimed.
*
* *
* *
The young woman had rightly guessed that Master
Monachakis was indeed in the cockboat. After the two ‘fugitives’ had boarded
the light boat, Master Monachakis was displeased to learn that his Lalio was no
longer at home. While he was sitting in the coffee-house, engaged in a lively
debate about politics and relishing his pipe, which eternally burned
resting his wide breeches, a ten year-old urchin, barefoot and wearing a
striped shirt and breeches, came in and said:
“Uncle, your woman has run away.” “Run away? Where’s
she gone?” the ‘virtuous’ man asked.
“I ain’t got no idea,” replied the lad.
“No idea, eh? And how come you know she’s gone?”
“Vassilis, Markina’s son, was at the beach and seed
‘em.”
“And who on earth is this Vassilis, Markina’s son?”
The lad said pointing to the door:
“He’s the one that’s standing outside, at the door.”
Master Monachakis and his earstwhile interlocutors
turned their eyes to the door. Another child,
around eight years of age, barefoot and bareheaded, the pants of his breeches
tucked up to the height of his shins and with wet feet, stood outside the door
half hidden behind the door jamb and the wall and looking with one eye inside
the coffee-house.
“Hey, you!” yelled at him Master Monachakis, “have you
seen my wife leave?”
“I seen ‘er,” answered the child.
“And where’s she off to?”
“How do I know?”
Master Monachakis stood up anxiously and with an angry
gesture he was about to shake the ashes of his pipe onto the ground.
The first child that was standing five feet away
frightened, and thinking he would receive a strike with the pipe, he bolted
out.
The second lad at the door disappeared behind the
wall.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Master Monachakis, “if you
tell the truth, I won’t spank you; so come here…tell me what you know…because…”
“The last word was the only one he uttered to show his
grief, his wrath and his shame.
“Well, uncle,” said the child by the door recovering
his courage. “Vassilis seed the boat your wife got in with Kalioras’ son and
headed for a ride to Daskalio. He called and showed me the boat out in the sea
but I didn’t see no people in it. We thought they’d be back soon; then we seed
they rowed beyond Punta and outter th’ harbor. We waited for ‘em to come back,
but they wouldn’t.”
“How long is it since you saw them?”
“Well, it’s been two hours; perhaps a bit over.”
“Why didn’t you come and tell me before?”
“But it’s not long – only an hour, even less than
that.”
Master Monachakis made another angry gesture in order
to put his pipe at the corner. The lad hurriedly fled out.
*
* *
* *
Meanwhile, Vassilis, Markina’s son, who had raced ahead
by three hundred steps with that alacrity children show to bring good or even
bad tidings so as to get a tip in the first case, and to gloat over the unease
of the one concerned, in the second case. He arrived panting at the house of
the schooner’s skipper and having stood under the balcony, whence he could see
the door open and the inside of the house brightly lit, he began shouting with
full the force of his lungs:
“Uncle, they’ve taken the ship’s boat!” Vassilis did
not have the courage to enter the coffee-house and bring the news to Master
Monachakis. And now, seeing that his comrade told him the news without being
spanked and, besides, being safe that the sturdy skipper’s cane could not reach
him from the balcony, he took heart and hurried to catch up with his comrade
and relish the scene.
Captain Kyriakos, who was still at the dining table,
not satiated with nibbling and tippling – as is the sailor’s habit when he’s
back at his hearth – prolonging and pondering on his rare pleasure, he stood up
and went out to the balcony.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“They’ve taken your boat.”
“Who has?”
“Mathios, Malamos’ son.”
“Who’s this Mathios, Malamos’ son?”
“Well, Kaliorina’s son; that’s his name.”
“And where’s he taking it?”
“There, outter harbor!”
“Is he alone?”
“He’s with a woman.”
“With a woman!” repeated Captain Kyriakos nonplussed;
“And who’s this woman?”
No response came from the child, who, for good
measure, protected himself under the balcony.
“And why haven’t you come to tell me before?”
exclaimed Captain Kyriakos.
The lad, however, vanished around the wall corner, and
all that was heard were running footfalls on the cobbled street.
“That devil’s son, the deck boy, has taken to
carousing somewhere and left the skiff for dead.”
Nevertheless, he sent for the deck boy and after
searching for him in vain around the market taprooms, he was found in an out of
the way tavern by-street.
*
* *
* *
The skipper asked two of his comrades, who were
resting at home, to borrow a boat so that they could go and board the schooner
and lower from the deck the six-oared cockboat. He did not seem to be concerned
about the eloped wife nor did he care about the stirring news; what he did care
about was his newly built, prim and steady skiff. He also ordered to recruit a
couple of ferrymen as oarsmen and hurry after the little boat.
Meanwhile, learning about the stolen skiff, Master
Monachakis, feeling sorrowful, went to the skipper’s house.
“Can you also go along in the cockboat?” asked him
Captain Kyriakos, who had finally found out who (according to the interpretation
the people attributed the occurrence) the eloped wife belonged to.
That was what Master Monachakis wished, too; to go
along on the cockboat. He was loath to stay behind in the village in
suspenseful expectation and he thought if he participated in the pursuit, he
would suffer less. He was fully convinced that Lalio was not capable of
staining his honor; but, on the other hand, he also had his misgivings. After
all, who can penetrate into the mysteries of a woman’s temperament? He was well
aware of her feeble and dreamy mood as well as her poignant homesickness. But
how can he make most people understand this? Woe to him who will fall in a pit
full of water, even if it is crystal clear. They will perhaps lend him a
helping hand, but they will most certainly hold him up to ridicule. However, he
was certain of Lalio’s fidelity as a husband can be certain of his wife. He has
always been a close friend of her family. Already in his thirties and without
ulterior motives or forecasting spirit, he used to kiss and pamper her on his
lap when she was a five-year old tot and treat her to sweetmeats. At that time
she would lisp his name ‘Unc Monakaki’, which she went on calling him ‘Uncle
Monachakis’ till the day she became his wife. She has watched her grow into a little
girl, adolescent and then into a woman. She has perused her like a book and
full well knew that, above all other women, she led a decent, though dreamy,
life.
Half an hour had elapsed until the two sailors in the
employment of Captain Kyriakos reluctantly left their houses. Another half hour
passed, too, until they could find a boat to row and board the schooner and
lower the cockboat to the sea. Still another half went by until they could
recruit from the shore ferrymen or fishermen whose boats were two or
three-oared and being too heavy were unfit for the pursuit. Therefore, a lot of
time had been wasted until they reached an agreement to sail off. Finally, they
all six boarded the cockboat – Master Monachakis being the seventh sat at the
rudder – and set off.
Rowing in tandem, they issued from the harbor. But
where could they find the small skiff? The sea, though garrulous as a woman,
she is also secretive never divulging her secrets. The harder one could try to
trace the imprints of alien kisses on the lips of his wife, the more impossible
it is to find the whereabouts of a small skiff on the spacious sea surface.
“Who knows?” Master Monachakis was meditating; “after all she was also a woman.
Love is seductive and youth is easily allured. Who knows if she has already
gone astray? Oh! He has rightly told her that she would be safe by him, for a
venerable husband stands for a father to a young wife, as well. She was also
certain that she would be safe by him even if she erred. But now even if she
were innocent a thousand times, people would condemn her; whereas being by him,
if she had gone astray, she would have been blameless in people’s eyes.
Woe! If the princess in the fairy tale were to be submitted in the ordeal of
standing target for arching, the arrow would touch only the tender finger tips
of one of her hands.
*
* *
* *
The little boat was floating in the open sea in the
passage between the two islands. The kind sea nymph brought a favorite
undercurrent under its keel and the propitious land breeze blew lightly against
its stern. The cool air invigorated the arms and shoulders of the young man and
tightened the soft muscles of the young woman. They both kept on rowing like
two experienced oarsmen; the light oars did not weary them, and thus they covered
more than the half of their course.
When the cockboat, whisking the waters like a mare
broken loose on a meadow, reached Trachili, only then did the sailors notice
the skiff.
“What is that over there?”
“It’s the boat!”
Master Monachakis turned his head.
“Ah! That’s it!”
“Who knows? I don’t believe it’s the boat,” said one
of the sailors wishing, if he could help it, to forego additional and very
boring hard work.
“That’s it, undoubtedly,” said another, who above all
wished the boat with the woman and her lover to be intercepted, as this sea
scene greatly excited his curiosity.
“That’s it!” ruled Master Monachakis; “let’s change
course after them, and let me luff…”
“Where’s it heading to?” asked one of the sailors.
“You see, they’ve picked out the shortest course
towards St. Nicholas while we’ve exhausted ourselves rowing at random.”
“Let’s turn back quickly, lads!” pleaded Master
Monachakis; “ahoy, I’m luffing!”
The six oarsmen had stopped rowing but the cockboat
moved on its momentum. Nonetheless, Master Monachakis kept yelling regretting
the wasted time.
“Ahoy, lads! Turn the bow towards them! Luff-a-lee,
cockboat!”
But no one heeded him. They had conferred in the
middle of the sea unresolved which course to follow. Some suggested moving on,
others again were of the opinion to turn north, where the skiff was moving;
finally, the majority opinion gained the upper hand. They were excited by the
expected titillating spectacle.
They turned the bow to port, and got hold of the oars
with new vigor, which the natural pride to win or the expectation of a singular
quarry conveyed to people.
However, the cockboat was three times more the
distance from the bay than the skiff. The cockboat had three times over the
power of the oars than the little boat, but at the same time its bulk was five
times more and its draught three times.
Mathios noticed in time the sudden turn of the
cockboat, which he pointed out to his companion.
“Look, they’re after us.”
“I dare them catch us!” exclaimed Lalio gaily. “It
seems to me they’re much farther than us.”
“They may be much farther, but they have more oars.”
“And we have more strength!” she said doubling her
fervor at rowing.
For more than an hour along the shore, while the pale
moon was calmly sailing westward and the second crow of the chanticleer was
being heard in the orchards of the farm houses in the hills and valleys, the
game of the dreadful, multi-tentacle octopus hunting down the fry, or of the
diving frolicsome dolphin going after the sea pike had been played.
The cockboat was speeding, steady and pompous, with
the rhythmic clatter of the oars in their forked iron locks and the strength of
a hideous shark. The skiff drifted on the waves like cork, with a light splash
as if the surf were kissing it, pushing on with its light, toyish oars the
waters, which in turn caressed it and ran along it, as a retinue of honor
preceding the royal coach. One could think that invisible Tritons retained it
upon the peaks of the waves so that it could not lose speed from its hull
draught.
*
* *
* *
However, it was evident that the cockboat gained on
the skiff. The two still ran, in fact, a great deal, but the cockboat seemed to
be drawing closer until the distance between the seashore and the skiff was at
last so short that while the cockboat was racing to catch up with them Mathios
managed to bring the boat forcibly on the shallows, in the sand.
“Always good speed!” Lalio shouted happily.
She stood up and saw the whitewashed wall of St.
Nicholas chapel shining in the moonlight; she crossed herself and jumped onto
the beach wetting her heels in the water.
Mathios jumped after her and tried dragging the boat
out of the water. The cockboat was but a score of fathoms from the bay.
The youth kept on trying to drag the boat onto the
sand in a hurry and then to accompany Lalio up to the village. He suspected
that the people on the cockboat would still pursue them on land, and
unknowingly he was happy of it. After Lalio’s confiding in him about her
drowned lover in the Black Sea, Mathios could not be set at rest and he was
tempted to believe that a woman, who had forgotten of her unfortunate lover and
married an old man, was also capable of leaving his old husband for another one
in her birthplace. But if they went after them on land, and she confided in
him, and they left for her village together, oh! Then his love would be
sanctified both on land and sea.
Suddenly, Master Monachakis, who stood in the
moonlight at the prow of the cockboat, was heard in the calmness of the night:
“Lalio!
Hey, Lalio!”
Lalio stood deep in thought, her head bent down, and
cried out:
“Yes, Uncle Monachakis!”
“Do you want to go to your parents, my pet? You’ll do
the right thing! Wait for me; I’ll come and take you to them. I don’t want you
to go alone and have a hard time on the way, my darling!”
“You’re most welcome, Uncle Monachakis!” Lalio
answered without having any scruples.
The young man stood shyly nearby looking at her
fearfully and not understanding.
“Goodbye, Mathios honey, go back on the cockboat,”
Lalio said in tones of frank emotion; “it’s a pity I’m older than you. If Uncle Monachakis died, I’d marry you.”
(1894)
* Dirfys is a mountain ridge in the island of Euboea. Its highest peak is 5718 feet.
