The House by the River

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2007 Lena Manta

  Translation copyright © 2017 Gail Holst-Warhaft

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Το σπίτι δίπλα στο ποτάμι by Psichogios Publications in Greece in 2007. Translated from Greek by Gail Holst-Warhaft. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2017.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542045896

  ISBN-10: 1542045894

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  THE FIRST YEARS

  MELISSANTHI

  JULIA

  ASPASIA

  POLYXENI

  MAGDALINI

  THE RETURN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  INTRODUCTION

  Silence. After the lightning lit up the landscape, nature waited for the thunder to shake it, to make its wildness felt. The thunder lagged, and the silence grew menacing. The moon remained hidden behind clouds. In the darkness, they had lost their fluffiness and looked like heavy, leaden curtains. The thunder finally clapped, straight from Mount Olympus, which ruled threateningly over the plain as if Zeus himself had sent it, just as he had once done.

  The house by the river shook lightly. The big chestnut trees framing it seemed to be trying to protect the house from a mysterious danger. Their branches caressed the roof gently, almost embracing it. The large garden with its beds full of vegetables spread out numbly, hoping that after such tension, it would finally start to rain. The rain still hadn’t come. The river was the only thing that had nothing to fear. It flowed lazily along, knowing that soon it would welcome not only the water the winter rains brought, but also the snow. Then it would come alive again and grow fierce, and it would travel eagerly to meet the sea and lose itself in its vastness. It had done this for centuries now. It knew its fate and wasn’t anxious about the future.

  A misty light from a kerosene lamp trembled at one of the windows. The man on the bed was bathed in sweat. He accepted the doctor’s ministrations, while beside his pillow stood his wife, lamp in hand, her face buried in her handkerchief. The whole room stank of unbearable rot. The doctor lowered a handkerchief from his own face.

  “Open the window, Kyria Theodora,” he whispered. “We’ll die in here!”

  The woman hurried to obey his order. She set the lamp on the bedside table, ran to the window, and flung it open. Cool air rushed into the room and she breathed it greedily. She peered outside, but it was completely dark. A flash of lightning lit up the landscape, and then everything plunged into darkness again. She knew every hill from where she stood, every stone, every tree. Although she knew that the thunder would come, when the ground shook, she was shocked and took a step back, as if her own body had been struck. She returned to her place beside her husband and the doctor. Despite the atmosphere inside, she had been revived by the night air; the smell of the nearly rotten leg seemed to cling to the furniture, even to the walls.

  “Gerasimos, I have to cut it off,” said the doctor in a harsh tone, looking at the bedridden man. “And tonight! I have everything I need.”

  “No!” groaned the man.

  “But it’s madness what you’re doing. You’ll die, do you understand? The infection has progressed rapidly; soon, it’ll be too late. As a doctor, I can’t let you delay any further.”

  The sick man reached up and grasped the other man by the lapel. For a man wasted with fever and illness, the strength of his grip seemed unnatural.

  “You have no rights over me,” he announced with effort. “I won’t live as a cripple.”

  “You prefer to die?”

  “A thousand times!”

  “And what about your children? Have you thought about them? About your wife? They need you, Gerasimos. And you . . . although you could be saved and offer them something, you prefer to die?”

  Gerasimos let go of the doctor’s lapel and fell back exhausted on his pillow. Believing that he’d come to his senses, the doctor bent over him.

  “You’re a reasonable man, Gerasimos. We’ll give you a wooden leg; you won’t stay a cripple. You’ll live a normal life beside your wife and children,” he explained calmly.

  “What sort of life is that, as half a man?”

  “Gerasimos, you don’t become half a man because you lose a leg. Let me go and get my instruments and we’ll get that leg taken care of right away.”

  “I told you no!”

  The doctor stood up, shaking his head helplessly, and turned to the woman.

  “Speak to him, Kyria Theodora. Or he’ll die!”

  “I know. But in all the years you’ve known us, have you ever seen my husband change his mind? Have you ever seen him take notice of any opinion except his own?”

  The woman bent her head submissively, and the doctor turned back to his patient.

  “Gerasimos, you must understand. It’s a matter of days. If I don’t cut it off tonight, you won’t live, do you hear me? I’ve been telling you for so long, I’ve begged you for so long, but tonight you have to make a decision! After this, there’s no going back!”

  “There was no going back from the time I stepped on that cursed nail and paid no attention to it. Go, Doctor! There’s nothing more for you to do here. I won’t change my mind! The leg will stay where it is and I’ll reach the next world with all my limbs in place. I won’t live as a half person.”

  “Come to your senses, Gerasimos! How important is a rotten leg? Your soul . . .”

  “My soul will be crippled if I lose this leg. Leave!”

  The doctor turned to Theodora, who signaled to him not to insist anymore, and he understood it was pointless. He fixed his gaze on Gerasimos, who looked at him, eyes burning with fever, full of stubbornness.

  “I’ve never known anyone like you, Gerasimos.”

  “That means you’ll remember me all your life. I’ll see you in the afterlife, Doctor! And if your travels bring you this way, come by and see how my wife and children are doing.”

  Gerasimos died a week later, leaving his wife behind alone and unprotected with five daughters to raise. He had just turned forty-six.

  THE FIRST YEARS

  Gerasimos met Theodora one summer in Pieria when she was just twelve years old and he was twenty-seven. Like all the girls her age in that era, Theodora picked cotton. Her family was poor and they needed every extra bit of income she could bring home to their small cottage with its seven mouths to feed.

  Gerasimos came from a good family. When he was born, no one would have imagined that he would be an only child, but his mother died giving birth to him and his father never remarried.

  Fortunately for the baby, an aunt was found to raise him, because his father, a hard man by nature, became even more severe after his wife died. The boy grew up quickly and became the handsomest, tallest fellow in the neighborhood. Many a young girl’s heart beat for him, but all he did was break their hearts. By the age of twenty-five his reputation with women had grown so terrible that mothers ushered their daughters indoors when he passed by.
The stories of his reckless, womanizing nature were legendary. One girl in a neighboring village was even rumored to have thrown herself off a cliff because of him.

  Tall, fair skinned, with broad shoulders and a body as straight as a cypress and eyes as green as the leaves on the trees, he could take his pick of whatever women caught his eye. He had grown used to hearing long, drawn-out sighs as he passed by, sighs that spoke of unfulfilled yearning, but he hadn’t yet chosen the one who would be the mistress of his life. So for as long as he remained single, the hopes of the girls rose, while the mothers’ hearts beat faster in case this “Satan” took a fancy to one of them.

  When she first met him, Theodora was an unattractive girl with two tight braids that hung on either side of her head. He made no impression on her. Gerasimos, on the other hand, seemed magnetized by the child’s glance and was surprised at himself when he found he couldn’t get her out of his head. He saw her a month later at a village festival with her brothers and her parents. This time her braids weren’t hanging down but wound in a crown around her head. Again his gaze was fixed on her.

  His friend Lefteris noticed and dug an elbow into his ribs. “Are you OK? Are we so short of girls that you’ve turned your attention to the youngsters?” he teased.

  Embarrassed, Gerasimos turned his head in another direction while out of the corner of his eye he continued to watch Theodora, who was absentmindedly staring at the people dancing. This girl had something that made her stand out. She held her head proudly, and her eyes had a dignity and seriousness that didn’t match her age. Gerasimos had made cautious inquiries about her family. They weren’t from these parts, but had come to the mainland from Syros three years earlier, hungry and in rags, to try to find a better life. The youngest of the children had been born a few months earlier, but everyone said that he was sickly and wouldn’t survive.

  Theodora’s baby brother confirmed the rumors. He died just a month after the festival and for the first time, Gerasimos set foot in a funeral service. His elderly aunt wondered why her nephew had wanted to come with her, but she didn’t say anything. Gerasimos was moved by the sight of the young, black-clad Theodora, her lips pressed tight to stop herself from crying as she accompanied her brother with dignity to his last resting place. That night, Gerasimos didn’t sleep at all. Theodora’s image tormented him, and at the same time he wondered what was wrong with him. What devil had cursed him with this obsession with this little kid?

  The next day he left for Katerini. He needed to escape. He drank, he partied, he stayed out all night, but the tiny figure in black continued to dominate his thoughts. He returned to the village to face another tragedy. This time, the girl’s family would bury two children together. Theodora’s two brothers had been playing and hadn’t noticed how far from home they’d gone. By the time they were ready to come back, night had fallen. They fell into a ravine and were found the next morning following an all-night search by the men of the village. No one was unmoved by the great tragedy that had hit the bereaved family.

  Gerasimos went to this funeral too. For the first time in his life, he felt his eyes well up with tears. Theodora walked beside her parents as if hypnotized and hugged the only sister she had left. Her eyes cried out a great why? but nobody appeared to pay her any special attention. Only Gerasimos—only he dared to approach her after the funeral. He stood beside her without speaking, not knowing what to say. Theodora raised her head and looked at him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her in an unsteady voice.

  “No,” she answered simply.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Nobody can. Only God could, but He didn’t want to.” She looked at him again and half closed her eyes. “I remember you. You have a big, beautiful horse.”

  “Yes,” answered Gerasimos and smiled. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to ride mine?”

  Without saying anything, she took his hand. Gerasimos felt a lump in his throat. At that moment he knew that the little girl in black was his destiny.

  It impressed everyone that Gerasimos and little Theodora had become inseparable, but no one was suspicious. Because of the difference in their ages, everyone naturally assumed that his preoccupation with the young girl sprung from sympathy for her losses. After all, he had persuaded his father to take her father on permanently in his work. But Theodora didn’t remain a child. She grew up rapidly, and at fifteen, she was tall and beautiful, with blond hair and black eyes. That’s when the villagers began to gossip, and Julia decided to speak to her daughter.

  She found her sitting in the backyard, gazing at the moon.

  “You can’t have what you’re looking at!” she told her ambiguously.

  But Theodora understood immediately where her mother was going.

  “Maybe not the moon, but Gerasimos isn’t the moon,” she answered calmly.

  “You’re right. He’s not the moon, he’s even worse. He’s the sun and he’ll burn you!”

  “If I’m going to be burned, I’d rather it be by the glorious sun rather than simple fire, Mother.”

  “So, tell me how you completely lost your mind, my girl. Do you even know what you’re saying?”

  “I love him, Mother.”

  Julia looked carefully at her daughter. “Has he laid a hand on you? I want to know.”

  “Never. He hasn’t even kissed me. He’s waiting till I’m grown up.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t know what’s happening to you, daughter. I’m afraid this story won’t end well.”

  Three years passed and nothing changed except Gerasimos’s love for Theodora, which only grew stronger. Every day she left her house to meet him in some deserted place. They had decided not to give the villagers an excuse to talk, so they made their public meetings less frequent. This calmed everyone down, and many people said that Gerasimos had finally tired of his game with the young girl and gone back to his old habits. Certainly, he often left for Katerini, and they all imagined there was some woman business going on.

  The day Theodora turned eighteen, Gerasimos was away from the village. Two days later, though, he came back and they met secretly near the river that ran beside his house. The time had come. Their plan was simple: They’d meet at the little chapel beyond the village. There, the priest, who Gerasimos had spoken to, would be waiting for them. Gerasimos’s friend Lefteris, who had a dual role to play in the wedding ceremony, would be there too. In keeping with tradition, he would exchange the crowns the couple would wear on their heads—placing Gerasimos’s crown on Theodora’s head, and vice versa—and he’d explain to their parents what had happened. Right after the ceremony, the couple would leave until the situation calmed down.

  At first Lefteris nearly went crazy when he heard what his friend had to say. “What’s that you’re saying? Are you mad? The girl’s too young.”

  “No she’s not. She’s a woman of eighteen.”

  “Yes, but you’re thirty-three already. The whole village will be on your tail!”

  “It doesn’t bother me. I’ve loved Theodora since she was a kid.”

  “You’re not making sense! Seriously, do you understand what you’re about to do?”

  “How can you ask me that? You, who were the first to understand what was happening to me?”

  “Damned if I understood you. I thought it was something innocent!”

  “Are you going to preach to me forever before you do what I asked you?”

  “Gerasimos, wait and think about it a little longer! It’s crazy what you’re planning to do. Stones and curses will follow you.”

  “Why, Lefteris? Is it a crime I’m committing? I’m marrying the girl I love, just like hundreds of others have done before me. And in the end none of it bothers me. Let them say what they like.”

  Lefteris didn’t manage to stop him. In any case, he didn’t have any other arguments.

  News of the wedding fell like fire from heaven on the village and l
ike a lightning bolt on their families. Julia fell down in a dead faint, and Theodora’s father hit his head against the wall until he cut it open and they had to call the doctor to bind it up. Gerasimos’s father was furious and, for better or for worse, he fired Theodora’s father on the spot. He even reached the point of saying he would disinherit his son. It was then that his sister, Gerasimos’s aunt Tasso, quietly stepped in. Only Gerasimos would know of her interference, but even if anyone else ever heard about it, they wouldn’t have believed it.

  This quiet woman had sacrificed her whole life to help raise her nephew and had never let anyone harm him, including his father. That evening, she waited until her brother was asleep and tiptoed into his room with their father’s knife in her hand. She rested the blade on her brother’s neck, so that when he startled up, it lightly grazed his throat.

  “Who is it?” he shouted, terrified. A second later he recognized his sister and looked at her in amazement.

  “Tasso, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?” he asked, and tried to sit up fully, but she pressed the knife harder against his throat and he kept still.

  “Don’t move or you’ll be in trouble!” she hissed wildly.

  “But—have you gone crazy? Do you want to kill me in cold blood?”

  “A father who never cared about his son except to disinherit him because he married a girl he loves doesn’t deserve to live!”

  “He’s my business. Why are you interfering?”

  “Me? How could I not? Who was it who raised Gerasimos and turned him into a fine young man? Who cried and who feels the most for him, if not me? I won’t let you harm him. Swear a solemn oath this instant that you won’t disinherit him. Otherwise I’ll slaughter you like a goat and he’ll inherit from you tomorrow. Speak!”

  She knew she’d won before she heard her brother’s reply, and she left his room as calmly as she had entered it.

  Far from all this, the two lovers were now free to enjoy a love that had been bottled up for so many years. They didn’t have time to concern themselves with the trouble they had left behind. Greedily they breathed each other in and dove into the sanctuary of the body and soul. A love stronger than all their past Platonic dreams had been awakened. Their happiness was boundless, their desire unquenchable, and their bodies tireless. They returned to the village three months later with their first child in Theodora’s belly. They had won and they knew it. Everyone opened their arms to them, and if Gerasimos’s father’s were really only half-open, it wasn’t important. The knife was always tucked in Tasso’s belt and her brother knew it. The two young people could begin their life.