VI
I finally interrupt the silent communication with “I am so sorry, so sorry”, don’t know how to put into words the cascade of emotions bubbling up inside my chest. I probably wouldn’t be able to do that either in Turkish or English, let alone Greek. I can only hope my eyes, my body, my posture, my hands are more telling than my lips. She understands, I read an expression on her face so soothing, almost trying to take care of me and my helplessness with lack of words rather than expecting to be taken care of.
She continues “and I have a daughter.” I feel the light of hope entering my heart, but what is that flat affect about? Still, I cheer up, at least she has one more child to hold onto. I say “kala, poli kala” chirping like a child, almost. “Premature joy”, I will discover in the next moment. She continues “but she doesn’t talk with me”. Oh my goodness, what kind of drama am I witnessing in this remote corner of earth? Here is a woman without a husband in the countryside of a probably harsh land, at least in some ways. She has not only lost her son but her daughter is also incommunicado. Should I continue asking? Is what she needs to talk, get it all off her chest, now that she has found interested caring ears? What if I do more harm than good with my limited language skills? Yet, how can I just sit there without saying anything? My 52 years of experience with people is screaming out loud that she wants to talk about something. That her heart is bursting with what she must have been holding in for who knows how long. I can’t help thinking the “science” of grieving may not have found its way to these parts of the world, yet. Around The Water, people die, their loved ones suffer quietly, silently and move on, carrying the burden of ignored grief throughout their lives to burst at moments like this, perhaps.
I am already overwhelmed with what I have heard. I put myself in her shoes thinking of losing my only child, my beloved daughter. That moment of entering her world is so painful, I can hardly bear being there. My limbic system has taken over cortex, the urge to help is so intense. This doctor the helper in me will never move aside at times like this even on vacation. I hear my voice pouring words that I haven’t planned to utter “Oh, I am so sorry, but why?” as if my Greek is adequate to understand the depth of such drama I know will unfold with this three letter word. “Why?” All of a sudden it opens a gateway to allow a flood of pain pour out. She is telling me an intense story that is thrown at me like a storm. I can tell there is frustration, longing, a bit of anger, a touch of judgment, but mostly desire to forgive and request for forgiveness. Unfortunately my grandmother did not use any of the words pouring out of her mouth. “Then katalaveno Lenea”, I don’t understand, I am sorry, my hand is on her knee. I am sure she reads the helplessness on my face. “Where is she Lenea?” “She lives in Chania.” Oh my, Chania, where my people came from, the one town other than Rethymno, I will definitely visit.
In fact, Sofia, my hostess, whom I will be meeting in 2 hours in Rethymnon and I will go to Chania tomorrow! I thought I was thinking that thought silently, apparently not. I realize I didn’t only think the thought but said it out loud with her “Aliphia?” meaning “for God’s sake, really?” I notice she says the word with the exact same accent as my grandmother’s. All of a sudden I miss my grandmother intensely and I wonder whether this longing for her is what keeps me glued to this place to this woman at this point. Of course Lenea, too, is a Critica, a Cretan woman just like my grandmother except that there is at least half a century between the two. As rational as I want to believe I am on many matters, there are times in life I believe something mystical exists in the universe that engulfs and leads us in a flow of things that we just let go. It is not necessarily that we drown in that flow or feel at a loss of control over things. Quite to the contrary, at times like this, I have always felt it is a smooth, tango-like flow in which I feel I have a part to dance in harmony with whatever else is flowing along with and around me. For some reason, I have the same feeling right this moment. My choosing this spot along the road among many vendors, putting up with Lenea’s initial anxious/rude attitude, feeling some tension in the air and wanting to stay to find out more, and here I am, I am dancing with Lenea in her drama and almost feel I have a mission here.
I can’t believe my ears when I hear my voice uttering “You give me your daughter’s name and cell phone, I will find her in Chania and talk with her.” How absurd, who am I, my goodness? I don’t even know why the daughter is in Chania, I don’t know what led to this interrupted relationship, I don’t know whether Lenea wants to talk to her, although I have a gut feeling that she does. Lenea’s face is nothing but a big smile now. Hold that smile Lenea, it is so becoming to you and it is so soothing in this chaos. Alas, she starts a long monologue again, from which I gather the daughter’s phone number is at home, she works at a pharmacy in Chania. Where does she live, Lenea doesn’t know. She hasn’t seen her daughter since the daughter left home. One more time the dark clouds settle down on her face, her eyes are almost glossy. Does she have any tears left, I wonder.
She takes me by the hand and leads me to the edge of the ravine pointing to the top of the hill on the other side of the ravine. My thoughts meander toward the days of my intense hiking and camping on the mountains to the east of The Water. I see the same khaki, purple, blue hue on the hills, boulders and beyond. I am so ready to leap forward and hike up to the top of the hill she is pointing to. This childish curiosity in me will never fade away... She helps me see a two story house within the olive and citrus orchards. I manage to say “Omorpho”, beautiful. It is indeed. How romantic it must be to live out in the nature (my cortex whispers, not forever, for a while maybe) waking up to the sound of birds only, being so close to the sky with your loved ones around. And that is the key word. All her loved ones are gone and the last one is attached to her with a barely visible thread, nothing else. Is she happy here? Can she be happy?
She turns to me with determined eyes and declares an unexpected, appalling plan: “You stay with me tonight at my house. There is no man in the house, I live alone. I prepare dinner for you. Tomorrow morning we go to Rethymno, meet your friend and go to Chania together. I take you to my daughter.” Lenea the manager! She must have managed her life all by herself for so long, creating a plan like this is no big deal for her. Wait a minute, though. She said all of this in Cretan, how did I understand it all? I can’t believe it. Something is happening to me in this land, unknown becomes known all too quickly, unimaginable becomes imaginable at an unexpected moment. What is most unimaginable is that the insane in me gives this crazy plan of Lenea’s a consideration, be it for a split second! In that split second I create a scenario on what may follow if I accept her invitation…
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