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Ο ΜAριος και η κιθAρα

Χρήστος Π. Γιαννικόπουλος

Dead  Roses

Anne Floulis

Η ΑΠΑΓΩΓΗ ΤΗΣ ΕΛΕΝΗΣ

Χρήστος Γιαννικόπουλος

Η Κούκλα  της Dorothy

Κατίνα Α. Μπαλούκα

prisoner

Debbie Hartalidis

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Ο Μάριος και η κιθάρα

 

Στο στρατό θυμάμαι ένα συνάδελφο που έλεγε διάφορες ιστορίες για πολλούς χαρακτήρες.

Τις έλεγε τόσο καλά και με χιούμορ πολλές φορές, που μας διασκέδαζε αλλά και καμιά φορά μας προβλημάτιζε. Μια απ αυτές ήταν η ιστορία του Μάριου. Έλεγε κάπως έτσι:

Ο Μάριος ήταν καλό παιδί. Ήταν συμμαθητής μου, φίλος, αλλά τίποτε άλλο. λεν είχε επιτυχία σε τίποτα. Αγαπούσε όμως την επίδειξη, ήθελε, να δείξει ότι ήταν κι εκείνος κάτι/Ότι ήταν κάποιος που έπρεπε όλοι να τον προσέχουν. Τι να κάμει γι αυτό; Τούρθε μια ιδέα. Πήγε λοιπόν που λέτε κι αγόρασε μια κιθάρα. Από την ημέρα που την αγόρασε έφευγε κάθε μέρα από το τέρμα Πατησίων που έμενε και ποδαρόδρομο, έφθανε μέχρι το Ζάππειο με την κιθάρα κρεμασμένη στον ώμο του.

Έπινε στο Ζάππειο έναν καφέ και κατόπιν επιστροφή στο σπίτι του, πάλι ποδαρόδρομο.

Μια μέρα τον συναντώ στην Πανεπιστημίου.

- Γεια σον βρε Μάριε, τι γίνεται;

καιρό έχω να σε δω.

- Δόξα το θεό, μου αποκρίνεται κι εγώ χαίρομαι που σε βλέπω.

Είδα και την κιθάρα στον ώμο τον, απόρησα και τον ρώτησα.  

- Κιθάρα βλέπω. Παίζεις κιθάρα και δεν τόξερα;

Ο Μάριος κοίταξε γύρω του μήπως και μας προσέχει κανείς και μου είπε σχεδόν εμπιστευτικά:

- Όχι δεν ξέρω κιθάρα, ούτε και πρόκειται να μάθω ποτέ μου.

- Τότε γιατί την κουβαλάς;

Ο Μάριος κοίταξε γύρω τον πάλι και μον λέει:

- Εσύ είσαι φίλος και θα σου το πω το μυστικό μου. άκου λοιπόν. Ο κόσμος δεν ξέρει ποιος είμαι. Με θεωρεί ένα άσημο ανθρωπάκι, όπως και είμαι. Παίρνω λοιπόν κι εγώ την κιθάρα, περπατώ με ύφος και όλοι που με βλέπουν πιστεύουν ότι είμαι κάτι. ' ίσως μεγάλος μουσικός. Έτσι κυκλοφορώ και ικανοποιώ τη φιλοδοξία μου. Είμαι κάτι λέγω μέσα μου. Για κοίτα πώς το πιστεύουν οι άλλοι, άσχετα αν δεν το πιστεύω εγώ που δεν είμαι τίποτα.

Αυτά έλεγε ο συνάδελφος στο στρατό για το Μάρτιο και μένα μου γεννήθηκε η απορία. Πόσοι Μάριοι να υπάρχουν άραγε γύρω μας που είναι ό,τι δηλώνουν, όπως είπε και ο Τσαρούχης;

Χρήστος Π. Γιαννικόπουλος Σύδνευ




Dead  Roses **

 

My hopes, my dreams scattered. Everything I lived for scattered. What once was my heart, my soul, is

now gone. Gone are my days of love and laughter. My days of warmth and happiness are no more. To shut from the world, from its pain I wish. To grow old, in the lonely mountains and grieve till my days are done. 'Why?' is the only question I ask, but that same 'Why'" is all I am left with.

Is there an explanation? Is there a reason I don't know. Laying here on my bed, clutching violently at my pillow, I find myself asking that same unanswered question over and over. I look up to the infinite skies and hopelessly wonder. Knowing I will never hear a voice so warm and loving, so soothing I begin to sob, weep, cry and hysterically scream. I hurl and fling things across the room. Desperate and impatient I sulk, yearning for him to be back here, with me. For me never will the sun shine again. Never will the flowers blossom or the bees buzz. I am dead to everything, dead to everyone. My dark and agonised heart will never love again.

It was the darkest and saddest of days. I never thought it was possible to feel so much pain, hurt and anger. They actually thought that he had died instantly, so they left him there as he was, slumped on the road. That's where my anger comes into it. I can still picture the collision; my nightmare. It still haunts me like a dark black cloud hovering over me. Three months later, the accident still lingering reluctantly in my mind. They were in Harry's car in front of us and a motorcyclist had swerved in front of the car causing them to crash head on with the pole. Having been in the front seat and without a seat belt he went right through the windscreen, splitting his head against the pole from the frightful force.

At that moment I thought I had been dreaming. I had just seen my love fly through the windscreen and his body wrap around a pole. The girls were screaming and crying but I, dumbfounded walked over to the pole with my mouth wide open, my heart racing, ignoring all the commotion around me. I reached out to touch his face as he fell to the ground, sliding down the pole leaving a trail 

of blood. I didn't cry, I couldn't. I stood there in awe. His beautiful face lanced from the glass, eyes bloodshot, void and blank. Showing no emotion he laid there in silent agony. Bewildered, I remained and before I knew it the police, fire brigade and ambulance services were on the scene. There were screams of horror in the distance but whose I don't know. Where they mine? I don't know unrecognisable love. Blood was gushing from his head and dripping from the side of his mouth. He seemed to be in a trance. It was then that I realised it wasn't a dream, something awful had just happened. I grasped his hands and held them tight close to my heart, with tears streaming down my face I repeated "I love you, always. I love you".

Stretches were being pulled out from the ambulance assisting everyone but him. I was screaming for help, begging. One ambulance officer had a look at him, snorted and walked off. I didn't know what to think. He wasn't dead. I knew that because I felt his warm breath against my nect. I was full of confusion. Why had he walked off? Was this a normal routine for him? Was this a common scene every Saturday night?

I could feel his heart still beating faintly. I pleaded for him to hang in there. To think of all we had to do experience and live fore throughout our whole lifetime. That's when one of the policemen tried to get me away from him. He told me that talking to him was useless. He told me he was dead. I didn't believe him. I didn't want to believe him. "Things like this don't happen to me", I thought. "Only for other people". It took me for what seemed hours to convince the officers that he was still alive. One of the women ambulance officers checked for a pulse and to my reassurance found one. In great haste and with "panic" written all over the faces of the officer's, they moved him into the ambulance.

Technical equipment and machines were reading information in what seemed to be another language. Masks and tubes were stuck into his body. They were talking all this medical language and wouldn't tell me anything. Only to sit tight and not to worry. "Don't worry!" I yelled. How did they expect me not to worry. I felt the tension they created, I heard the unassuring tone in their voices. I couldn't bear to see him in this state. Was all this necessary? Was my love in such a bad condition? I wanted answers but I wasn't getting any. I could feel my stomach churning, but I held myself for his sake.

Bursting through the doors at the death smelling hospital, I was pushed aside from all the sudden interferances and found myself alone. Where had they taken him? All alone he was to cope. With no loving comfort. The hospital staff had kept us in the dark for almost three hours. That certainly didn't make things any better. He kept slipping in and out of consciousness. I was an emotional and physical wreck, his mother fainted almost five times and his father sat in a comer with a hat covering his face. Pacing the hospital ward I cried and cried and cried. The light in his eyes was beginning to fade.

It was almost four o'clock Sunday morning, three hours after the accident, my worst fear, when a small and fragile nurse walked into the cold waiting room full of sorrow with some news. As soon as I saw her, I jumped out of my chair, which I had worn away with my frustration and desperation. She allowed me to go and see him. He had regained consciousness.

It was the most terrorising thing to see. I tried so desperately hard to hold back my tears when I saw the puzzled and sorry look on his frightened face. He was conscious and could very slightly mumble some words. I placed my hand into his cold palm which he, with great effort tried to squeeze. At that I suddenly felt that all his pain was shared with me. I felt his pain and saw the strain on his face. His painful and sorrowful eyes stared straight into mine. 1 felt my heart sag and become heavy. He mumbled "I'm sorry". That was all it took to make me cry. I wanted to hear that voice once more. I burst out in tears and laid my head against him, uncontrollably sobbing. My legs became weak and shook like a newbom foal. He slowly put his hand on my head, I gently closed my eyes I told him it wasn't his fault but all he did was stare straight back into my eyes as I slowly raised my head. He was so innocent. He seemed lost and helpless, like a little child. He softly kissed my cheek and repeated: "I'm sorry." Stoking his hair I told him I loved him and I was waiting for him to get better so that we could go away, just the two of us. He smiled and softly but unwillingly shut his eyes.

He slipped out of consciousness again and I was told to leave the room as the buzzes sounded and a patrol of doctors flooded the room. I stumbled to the toilets looking into the eyes of a stranger who I soon recognised to be a reflection of myself. Dark rings surrounded my eyes. My face became pale and my cheeks were sunken. I was changing, physically and mentally. A sudden pain making me nab at my stomach came about. My stomach felt heavy and next thing I knew I was vomiting in the arms of his mother. My face was yellow, sweat was pouring down my face and I was frantically trembling, victimised of violent convulsions. I demanded they didn't call a doctor. I found myself soon after to be quietly holding a photo of my love, who at the time was in the next room in torment and unrest. A great welcoming smile covering his whole face in the photo made me feel better. Thinking of all our great times together, the love that we shared so strongly made me feel better. I knew  

things would all work out for the better. I was on a journey. One that will never be forgotten but remembered as the best years of my life. I drifted away, to the past, a time when everyone was well, happy and content. Looking down at my watch it was 7:30 Sunday morning I was drinking my seventh coffee in three hours, trying to stay awake awaiting the nurse to come in with him and tell me to get him home. To simply regain consciousness once again. Did it happen? No! At exactly 8:06 Sunday the 17th July was his last breath. The sharpest dagger had savagely sliced my heart, my black blood strained. Leaving not a single drop. Leaping onto the nearest chair I pulled out my hair and ferociously scratched at my face, with the strongest inner strength I threw tables and chairs. No sane man dared to approach me. I screeched and squacked not compromising with anyone. In my great grief and despair I ran out onto the road wanting to kill myself. Standing in the rain with my hands outstretched I screamed hysterically. Someone had just ripped my reason for living with their guilty bare hands. 1 slumped to the ground and wept. Someone had their hands stained with the blood of my love on their unworthy hands.

Staggering, I found my way to his bed where I saw his cold and distant body which once was full of life and happiness. The room was so cold and empty. I lay there holding his body crying. All I wanted to say couldn't be said. It was now too late to tell him all the things 1 wanted. He was gone.

He is now so far away from me. I long to be with him and one day I know I will. I await that day, the day 1 see him and feel his love and warmth once more. 1 know he's looking down on me now. I will never forget him, 111 love him for eternity. There will aways be that special spot in my heart for him, one that no one else will ever replace.

Anne Floulis

15 years old

Student at Oakleigh Greek Orthodox College Sts. Anargyroi

O Logos August 1999

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*

 

Η ΑΠΑΓΩΓΗ ΤΗΣ ΕΛΕΝΗΣ**

Θυμάμαι το χωριό μου, κάθε μέρα. Σε κάθε αντίθεση που βλέπω μ' αυτό. Τις χαρές και λύπες του. Τις ομορφιές και τις ασχήμιες του. Τα βουνά που το τριγυρίζουν με τα δάση τους. Τ' όμορφο φιδωτό ποτάμι, που περνά στα τελευταία σπίτια του.

Τις πέτρες του. Μα τι πέτρες! Νομίζεις πως ο θεός, κοσκινίζοντας τη θάλασσα, έριχνε εκεί τις πέτρες κι αλλού το χώμα! Τα πελασγικά τείχη που το περιζώνουν. Τους αρχαίους θησαυρούς του. Το ναό του Επικούρειου Απόλλωνος! Και τόσα άλλα...

θυμάμαι το πανηγύρι στον Άγιο Ηλία. Και να! Ζωηρή μου είναι ακόμη η παραμονή του πανηγυριού. Ο μπάρμπα-Σπύρος είχε φθάσει με το σαπτούρο του. Κι όλη η παρέα του. Ο μπάρμπα-θανάσης με το βιολάκι του, ο διαρκώς ερωτευμένος. Ο κυρ Νίκος με το λαγούτο του. Κι ο μπάρμπα-Γιώργης με το κλαρίνο του.

Τάστισαν τα όργανα στου Ντίνου το μαγαζί. Το κλαρίνο λαλούσε. Ντούμπου - ντούμπ ο μπάρμπα-Σπύρος τα μπαστουνάκια του στο σαπτούρο. Το κρασί χυνόταν στα ποτήρια. Το κέφι άρχισε. Το χωριό μαζευόταν. Οι λάμπες άναψαν. Φώτισε ο τόπος. Τα κορίτσια ντυμένα στα γιορτινά τους. Οι νέοι το ίδιο. Όλοι στο χωριό καλοντυμένοι. Κάνουν βόλτες, πέρα δώθε. Μπροστά στο μαγαζί.

Οι πιο μερακλήδες πιάστηκαν στο χορό. Όπα, θα το κάψουμε απόψε. Πετούσαν πενηντάρικα -κατοστάρικα στα όργανα. Κομπόδεμα γι' αυτή την μέρα. Να ζήσει ο πρώτος, φώναζε ο μπάρμπα-Σπύρος. Σηκωνόταν όρθιος. Το ίδιο και οι άλλοι στην ζύγια. Στης Αρκαδίας τον πλάτανο, Ελένη... τραγουδούσαν. Όπα!, φώναζε ο πρώτος του χορού. Και δόστου στα τσαλίμια! Φούρλες και πηδήματα στο τσάμικο. Τσαλιμάκια, ένα κοντά στ' άλλο. Εβούϊζε ο τόπος. Γεια σου βρε Γιώργη λεβέντη, φώναζαν στο Γιώργη που έσερνε το χορό, οι απέξω. Να ζήσουν τα  όργανα φώναζαν άλλοι. Να ζήσει ο πρώτος ξανά ο μπάρμπα Σπύρος. Και πέτα στη ζύγια κατοστάρικα ο Γιώργης...

Ξεφάντωμα. Χωριάτικο ελληνικό πανηγύρι. Γεμάτο ζωή, λεβεντιά, κέφι, αγάπη, έρωτα πλατωνικό, απλοχεριά αυτή τη μέρα. Μέρα σχόλη για όλους... Περασμένα μεσάνυχτα. Το κέφι συνεχιζόταν στον ίδιο ρυθμό. Να ζήσει ο πρώτος όλο φώναζε ο μπάρμπα-Σπύρος για να μαζεύει κατοστάρικα. Να ζήσει, φώναζαν οι απέξω...

Κι έκλεινε πονηρά και κρυφά το μάτι ο νιος στην καλή του. Του χαμογελούσε αυτή κοιτάζοντας αλλού. Μην τους πάρουν είδηση οι κουτσομπόλες...

Κι επάνω κει στο κέφι, στο χορό, στο τραγούδι, στο μεθύσι, ακούστηκαν ντουφεκιές. Φωνές, κακό, τρεχάματα...

Μαύρη συμφορά μου, τι να έγινε μωρήηη! Φώναξαν οι γυναίκες. Πού πέσαν τα ντουφέκια ρωτούσαν οι άνδρες... Τα όργανα σίγησαν. Ανακατοσούρα, κακό. Ποιος να μάλωσε; Κακό που μας βρήκε. Τα παιδιά πού είναι γυναίκα; Ρε Κώστα... Φωνές κι αντάρα. Πανικός. Οι χωροφύλακες τάχαν χαμένα. Φωνάζανε: Ησυχάστε, ακίνητοι όλοι Ποιος να ακούσει σ' αυτή τη κοσμοχαλασιά. Οι πρώτες ειδήσεις έφθασαν: Ο Νίκος του Γιάννη μωρή την πήρε. Τίποτε άλλο... Βρε ποια πήρε; λέγετε. Ρωτούσαν οι πιο ψύχραιμοι, Την Ελένη του Παναγιώτη έλεγαν άλλοι... Και ποιος ντουφεκάει; Ο πατέρας της, θα τους σκοτώσει... Την έκλεψε την ομορφονιά... Την μοναχοκόρη.

Έτσι γινόταν. Ο φτωχός έκλεβε του πλουσίου την κόρη. Να πάρει προίκα. Ή ο άσχημος την όμορφη. Ή ο νιος από παλιο-οικογένεια της μεγάλης οικογένειας την κόρη... Έτσι έλεγαν.

Ο Νίκος του Γιάννη, καλό, εργατικό, ήσυχο, τίμιο παλληκάρι. Μα φτωχό και από μικρή οικογένεια. Η Ελένη του Παναγιώτη, η πιο όμορφη στο χωριό. Από μεγάλη οικογένεια. Ο πατέρας της, πρώτος στο βίος. Μοναχοκόρη βλέπεις. Να πάρει το φτωχό; Τον παρακατιανό; Δεν της ταίριαζε!!!

Μα ο έρωτας δεν κοιτάζει αυτά. Η αγάπη, αγάπη. Ερωτευμένοι κι οι δυο τους. Βρήκαν την ευκαιρία. Την παραμονή το βράδυ του πανηγυριού. Όλο το χωριό θα είναι μαζεμένο στο μαγαζί. Εκεί στα όργανα. Οι συγγενείς, φίλοι, γνωστοί, κουμπάροι από τα γύρω χωριά. Φερμένοι για το πανηγύρι. Έτσι το βρήκαν σωστό. Και κλέφτηκαν. Πήραν τα βουνά. Κρύφτηκαν ώσπου να ησυχάσουν τα νεύρα. Να επέμβουν οι συγγενείς, φίλοι, κουμπάροι στον πατέρα της νύφης.

Να ειπεί το ναι. Να τους συγχωρήσει και να παντρευτούν.

Το θεωρούν κακό να την κλέψει ο άλλος και να μην την πάρει. Χάνει την τιμή, την υπόληψη η οικογένεια...

Αγύριστο κεφάλι ο γερο-Παναγιώτης. Αυτός να κάνει γαμπρό του τον γιο του ΓΙάννη; Δεν είμαστε καλά. Όχι στο όχι το πήγαινε. Όλοι επέμβηκαν. Ο παπάς, ο αστυνόμος, ο πρόεδρος, οι γεροντότεροι με παραδείγματα. Πού να ακούσει αυτός...

Μα ο Μεγακλής ο φίλος του, το ζήτησε. Να τους συγχωρέσει. Έ για χάρη του είπε το ναι.

Και την άλλη μέρα, ανήμερα τ' Άη Λιά, έτρεξαν οι δικοί του. Του γαμπρού. Τον βρήκαν στο λημέρι του. Κι έτσι διπλό πανηγύρι. Γάμος και πανηγύρι. Και τα όργανα ξανάπαιξαν.

Κι ο μπάρμπα-Σπύρος φώναζε τώρα: Να ζήσει ο γαμπρός. Να ζήσει η νύφη. Βροχή τα πεντακοσάρικα από τον μπάρμπα-Παναγιώτη. Τα σάλιωνε και του τα κολλούσε στο κούτελο. Κι η ζύγια σηκωνόταν και τραγουδούσε: Στης Αρκαδίας τον πλάτανο, Ελένη... Και ντούμπου - ντουμπ τα μπαστουνάκια του, ο μπάρμπα-Σπύρος, στο σαπτούρο...

Χρήστος Γιαννικόπουλος


HELLENIC WRITERS ASSOCIATION OF AUSTRALIA
O LOGOS AUGUST 1998


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3

Η Κούκλα  της Dorothy**

Λόγω της τάσης μου να επισκέφτομαι και να κάμω παρέα τους ηλικιωμένους μας, ένα πρωινό είχα την τύχη να επισκεφτώ την κυρία ΟοΓΟίΙιγ στο 5ου(ή Κοβά.

Ήταν φρεσκοχτενισμένη, κι αφού την καλημέρισα, τη ρώτησα σε τι μπορούσα να τη βοηθήσω.

- Έλα, μου λέει, Κατερίνα. Κάθισε κι έχω μια έκπληξη να σου κάνω.

Η κυρία ΟοΓοίΐΊγ καθόταν σε μια αναπηρική καρέκλα, άπλωσε το χέρι της και πήρε μια όμορφη κούκλα στην αγκαλιά της. Τη φίλησε, τη χάιδεψε και μου είπε με σιγουριά:

- Δεν είναι όμορφη; Πες μου, δεν είναι όμορφη η μικρή μου ΟοιοΙΙιγ;

Πράγματι, ήταν πολύ όμορφη η κούκλα της κυρίας ΟοΓοί^γ. Είχε ξανθιές μπούκλες, γαλανό μάτια, κόκκινη ζακέτα και κόκκινη καρό φούστα, όμορφο Σκοτσέζικο καπελάκι, κάλτσες κόκκινες, μαύρα παπούτσια με δυο κουμπιά στο πλάι.

Η κυρία ΟοιοΙίιγ μου διηγήθηκε πως, παρα-μονή των γενεθλίων της, είχε πάει με την κόρη της στο Οβπ(Γ6 Ρο3ϋ στο ΒβπίΙβίοΙι. Ενώ προ-χωρούσαν στο πεζοδρόμιο οι δυο τους, η κυρία Οοιο(1ιγ κοντοστάθηκε σε μια βιτρίνα που είχε όλο κούκλες. Η κόρη της κάποτε κατάλαβε πως η μητέρα της δεν την ακολουθεί και γύρισε πίσω, όπου τη βρήκε να θαυμάζει τις κούκλες.

- Μητέρα, της λέει, άντε έλα, αργήσαμε.

- Κόρη μου, της λέει η κυρία ΟοΓοΙήγ, κοίτα, κοίτα, η κούκλα της εξαδέλφης μου, στη Σκοτία. Ναι, ναι είμαι σίγουρη πως είν' αυτή. Κοίτα πώς με κοιτάζει; Αχ! Πόσο όμορφη που είσαι, μικρή μου ΟοΐΌΐίΊγ, είπε φεύγοντας από τη βιτρίνα, γεμάτη χαρά που συνάντησε μετά από μια ολόκληρη ζωή τη μικρή ΟοΐΌίήγ.

Πόσο λαχταρούσε να τη σφίξει στην αγκαλιά της!

Την επόμενη μέρα στα γενέθλια της, η κόρη της κυρίας ΟοΐΌίΗγ, της πήγε δώρο την κούκλα. Μα τι χαρά που ήρθε στο σπίτι της κυρίας ΟοΐΌίΙιγ! Ακόμα  και ο κύριος 33ΠΊ την αγάπησε και κάπου-κάπου κουνούσε την καρεκλίτσα της.

Η κυρία ΟοΐΌΐήγ την πήρε στην αγκαλιά, χάιδεψε τις μπούκλες της, τη φίλησε και δυο δάκρυα κύλησαν απ' τα μάτια της, πάνω στο πρόσωπο της κούκλας.

- Μικρή μου ΟοιοΙΙιγ, μην κλαις. Δεν θέλω να μου στενοχωριέσαι. Τώρα που ανταμώσαμε, εγώ σε περίμενα μια ολόκληρη ζωή, έστω και τώρα, δεν είναι αργά. Δεν μπορώ όμως να σου κάνω όλα τα χατίρια, γιατί γέρασα. Μόνο θα σου μιλάω για τα περασμένα, εκείνα τα αξέχαστα χρόνια, που ήμασταν μικρούλες στη Σκοτία, θυμάσαι; Σε κείνο το ποτάμι που σου "βγάλε η ξαδέρφη μου τα ρούχα να σε πλύνει κι εσύ της ξέφυγες και κολυμπούσες;

Ήρθες κοντά μου, σε πήρα, σε στέγνωσα, θυμάσαι μικρή ΟοΐΌΐΙιγ, πώς σ' έσφιξα στην αγκαλιά μου να μην κρυώνεις; Αλλά βλέπω τα ρούχα σου είναι ολοκαίνουρια, δεν άλλαξες καθόλου.

Την ξαναχάιδεψε πάλι και την έβαλε στην καρεκλίτσα της.

- Σ' ευχαριστώ κυρία Οοι-οϊιγ που μοιράστηκες μαζί μου αυτή τη χαρά, της είπα. Χάρηκα κι εγώ που έμαθα πως μετά από τόσα χρόνια, εκπληρώθηκε μια από τις επιθυμίες σου. Δυστυχώς όμως, τώρα θα πρέπει να πηγαίνω.

- Κι εγώ σ' ευχαριστώ για την υπομονή σου Κατερίνα μου, είπε, και να μη μας ξεχάσεις, θα σε περιμένουμε να ξαναπεράσεις.

Μετά από δεκαπέντε μέρες, ξαναπέρασα από την κυρία Οοιοίΐιγ. Μου άνοιξε ο κύριος 83ΠΊ. Με παρακάλεσε να περάσω στο σαλόνι. Η έκφραση του ήταν λυπημένη. Ακόμα και η κούκλα νόμισα πως φάνηκε θλιμμένη.

- Πού είναι η κυρία ΟοΐΌίήγ; ρώτησα χαμηλόφωνα.

- Μας άφησε μόνους. Εμένα και τη μικρή ΟοιοΙήγ είπε, κι άπλωσε το χέρι μηχανικά, κουνώντας την καρέκλα που καθόταν η κούκλα.

Ένα δάκρυ κύλησε απ' τα μάτια μου. Άπλωσα κι εγώ το χέρι, κούνησα την άδεια καρέκλα της κυρίας ΟοΐΌΐΐΊγ, χάιδεψα την κούκλα κι έφυγα με έναν κόμπο στο λαιμό, υπόσχοντας πως θα ξαναπεράσω.

Αν και πέρασε αρκετός καιρός από κείνη τη μέρα, όποτε αντικρίζω κούκλα, μου θυμίζεί την αγαπημένη μου κυρία ΟοιοΙήγ.

Κατίνα Α. Μπαλούκα
O Logos
September 2002



PRISONER**


Bang

The door to his cell slammed shut. The jailer muttered something under his breath and then gave a small burst of laughter, and so he could only imagine what tortures they would put him through. He slumped against the wall, wondering how it had happened. One minute there was no one, the next minute he was surrounded.

He could hear the sounds of the raging war, as far as he was from it. They would stay in his mind forever. The moans, the cries, the pain, the agony. He understood the suffering. Hadn't he himself gone through it? The pain of losing a brother, a friend. What he had once thought impossible had become a reality. His physical wounds had finally healer, but he still suffered. As long as he lived, he would suffer. He had to do something. Yet, what could he do? He was trapped in this miserable cell with no hope of ever escaping. The penalty of escaping would be death. He did not want to die.

He didn't want to be imprisoned in this deep, dark cell either. He wanted to be somewhere where he help his country, where he could do some good. The unforunate circumstances had stopped him from doing anything. That was what bothered him. The fact that he had to waste the valuable time he could have used to do something to help the people who most needed help. What would he tell his children? That he had sat in his cell, not bothering to help?

His fellow patriots were suffering. The situation demanded that he do something.

The silence of the atmospere and his conscience ate at him. Men, women and children had died because of this war. Many others suffered, either mentally, emotionally, physically or even spiritually. Yet their belief in the cause was still strong and so they persisted.

Most remained loyal and faithful. But many had betrayed their country. The main reasons were greed, hatred or loss of faith. It was hard to understand. Only the traitors, themselves, knew the reasons they were betraying the home they grew up in and the people they grew up with. He wanted his country to be free. Free from the rabages of war. Free from poverty and free to make its own decisions. Free, to be its own nation once more.


Then he heard footsteps down the corridor, coming closer to his cell. Three soldiers came. They tied his hands behind his back and steered him towards one of the rooms further along the corridor. When he looked into the room, he suddenly realised what it was. It was a torture chamber.

There was a long, wooden bench in the middle of the room with chains attached to it. Along one of the walls were the tools used to torture. He saw knives and needles, all sharp and glinting in the light that came from the lamp, which hung high on the wall. He could see blood' stains on the floor. Who knows how many of his countrymen had shed their blood in this room, how many had been murdered?

He could not help wondering when he was going to die, although the thought did make him feel that his wife and young daughters would be sitting comfortably in their own home worrying about him, not knowing what was happening.

Two of the soldiers then grabbed him as if he were an animal and chained him to the wooden bench.

"You will tell us what you know, if you know what is good for you," said one of the solders menacingly. His uniform was quite elaborate compared to the others, from this he, the prisoner, knew he was the highest ranked officer in the room.

"I don't know anything!" he exclaimed.

"We have ways of making you talk," the soldier continued, "if you tell us what you know, we might spare you, if you do not we will make sure that you will suffer the most terrible and painful death!'

Suddenly there was a commotion and a solder came bursting into the room. Not knowing what was being said amongst the solders, he lay where he was, not saying anything. One of the soldiers then unchained him and dragged him back to his cell.

He was surprised. Whatever that solder had said, obviously was very important for them to have reacted so quickly. They didn't have time to question him further or to start to torture him. Instead they had thrown him back in this cell without saying anything. It was very strange. They hadn't even left any soldiers to at least continue questioning him. Not that he was ungrateful.

Solders then started running through the corridor, on their way out. Then it was quiet again. He could not hear any voices or any other noise at all. He realised that he was now alone because, for some unknown reason all the solders had ran out not even bothering to look his way, as if they had forgotten all about him.

Now was his chance to escape, whilst everyone else was busy. Before he could do anything, there was a loud explosion. It did not sound like it was far from where he was. He quickly lowered himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms.

It was not a moment too soon, for then he heard another explosion. The sound was so loud that he realised that it must have hit the building. With the thought that he was going to die, his life flashed before his eyes.

Suddenly the noise died down and the cell was filled with light, for the first time since he had been here. He lifted his head, looking around in wonder. He rubbed his eyes in confusion when he saw the enormous hole in the wall. Amazed that the explosion had not injured him, he walked cautiously towards it, not knowing what to do. Should he escape, or would he be caught?

Looking through the hole, he saw no one coming and quickly ran towards the trees that he could see in the distance. Still no one followed him. He did not hear any shouts or anyone chasing him. Neither did he hear any gun shots. The circumstances seemed to get onely stranger as time went on.

When he reached the trees, he looked down at the place that he had been imprisoned in. What he saw, was destruction. Seeing nobody, he walked back to the camp of his hated enemies.

Walking around, he discovered that all the buildings now lay in ruins. Dead bodies covered the ground and there was blood everywhere. It was amazing that he was still alive and had not been injured in any way. It was For a long time he had seen them as his enemies, as evil. Now he realised that they were people like himself. Fighting for their country. They had not known what they were doing was wrong. They had only been obeying the orders, given by their leader.

Not paying attention to anything else but what he saw, he wandered through the ruined camp. That was how they found him. He didn't know if they were allies or enemies. His mind was blank, unwilling and unable to work after what had happened and what he had seen.

All he knew was that these people were solders, not only because of the way they were dressed, but the way that they behaved, as fully trained soldiers.

For three days they marched. He tried to communicate with these soldiers several times.

They did not say anything to him. Did they understand him? If they did, they showed no sign of it.

None of the surroundings that he saw were familiar to him. He recognised nothing. Just before sunset they would stop and set up camp for the evening. They gave him food and water. He ate the food hungrily. Proper food was something he had only dreamed about since his capture.

At sunrise each morning they would wake him, pack up their things and then continue walking. They travelled  

at a gruelling pace, he could hardly keep up with them at times but they were willing to wait for him when he fell behind.

Apart from this, they said and did nothing to show that they knew he was there. They did not tie him up or mistreat him. He did not feel like he was a prisoner. Yet he did not try to escape. It did not feel like any of this was real, he felt like it was all just a dream.

Finally, they reached the camp. Once again, he started trying to communicate with them.

Suddenly in the distance he saw a familiar figure. He called out to him, "Matthew, is that you?"

The man turned around and ran towards him, shouting with excitement, "John! What are you doing here? After you disappeared I thought I'd never see you again!"

Matthew said something to the soldiers whom then left. John looked at Matthew in amazement. Matthew and John had both served in the army, instantly becoming friends when they met. The fact that Matthew was here must definitely mean that these soldiers were allies.

John answered his friend, "Well you can ask those soldiers what brought me here, because I wouldn't have the faintest idea where I am or why I'm here!"

He then proceeded to tell him what had happened. How he had been caught by the enemy and imprisoned. About the way he had escaped and found everything destroyed and everyone dead.

"That must have been when we attacked their camp," said Matthew, "It was a miracle you survived, let alone weren't even injured. You're lucky our soldiers found you."

Whilst they had been talking, Matthew had walked with him towards a small building on the other side of the camp.

"This is where you'll be staying," Matthew said to John, "if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

With that Matthew left and John enetered his room. It was comfortably furnished and he sat down in one of the chairs. He still hadn't leamt anything of what had happened during the weeks that he had been imprisoned. Suddenly Matthew burst into the room. In his excitement he couldn't get the words off his mouth.

"It's over!" he exclaimed, "We've won the war!"

Debbie Hartalidis

15 years old

Student at Oakleigh Greek Orthodox College Sts. Anargyroi



 

 

 



 


 



 

 

 
 
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