I
With her black kerchief drawn forward over her face to protect her
head from the sun, her back bent under a load of sticks, Mattina, Kyra
[1] Kanella's niece, came stumbling down from the road that leads
from the little spring, the "Vryssoula," through the pine trees,
over the bridge, past the old well, and into the village of Poros.
It was a big load for a little girl not much over eleven years old,
but her aunt was going to bake, the day after next, and wanted the
sticks to light her oven; so, as Mattina was leaving the island the
next day to go to Athens in the steamer, there would be no one to
get sticks for Kyra Kanella and bring them down to her.
It is true she had plenty of daughters of her own, but they did not
like carrying sticks on their backs, or walking so far to find them,
and Mattina did not mind. She liked being out on the hills and down
by the sea, more than anything else. Of course she liked it still
better when there was no heavy load of branches or thyme to carry,
but if she had had to choose between staying indoors or in the narrow
village streets, and being out with a load of sticks however big, she
would always have chosen the load. So when her aunt wanted her to go,
she never pulled a crooked face; besides it was only on the way back
that she had the burden to carry; going, she was free to run as she
liked among the trees, to see how far she could throw the pine cones,
to swing herself on the low branches, for everyone knows that pine
branches will carry almost any weight without breaking; and if her way
took her by the sea-shore, she could balance herself on the edge of
the big rocks, or kick off her clumsy shoes and let the water run over
her bare legs. Of course she was not yet old enough to wear stockings.
Sometimes, when she had no wood to fetch, she would take her little
brother Zacharia with her; but he was only two years old and as he soon
got tired of walking, it was not possible to carry him and the load of
sticks as well. When he had been quite tiny and had lain quiet in his
"naka," the leathern hammock-cradle that is slung over one shoulder,
it was easy to manage him, but he was too big now, so he stayed in
the house, on the other side of the dark arch, with their aunt and
all the cousins, or tumbled about the market square, and played with
the little kids which were tethered round the old marble fountain.
Mattina stopped a moment to wipe her forehead with the back of her
sleeve. It was only May and the hollows of the hills on the mainland
opposite were still filled with the blue morning shadows, but she
had just left the shady path, slippery with pine needles, for the
stony ledge along the hillside, and it was hot already. There was
not a ruffle on the water, even on the open sea beyond the strip
of the Narrow Beach which joined the wooded part of the island to
the village part. Mattina decided that she would put the child on
her back in the afternoon and carry him to a little crescent-shaped
beach of which she knew on the Monastery road,[2] and let him kick
his little legs in the water. Kyra Sophoula had told her that sea
water was good for him and would make his legs strong.
Who would take the trouble to carry him to the sea-shore when she was
away? And she was leaving him and the island and everyone she knew,
the next day!
This was how it happened.
More than a year ago her father had died of general paralysis,
which is what often happens to sponge-divers[3] when they stay too
long down in deep water. Her mother had been ill long before her
father had been brought home dying, from Tripoli in Barbary, and
after his death she got worse and worse, and had died just before
Easter. The only relations Mattina and little baby Zacharia had left
were an uncle, their mother's brother, who was a baker in Athens,
and Kyra Kanella here in Poros, the wife of old Yoryi the boatman;
and she was not really their aunt, but only their mother's cousin,
and had a great many children of her own.
Mattina and Zacharia really had another uncle too, a younger brother
of their father's, but he did not count; he had left for America on
an emigrant ship when he was quite a youth, and only wrote letters
home once or twice a year. Mattina remembered that when her father
was away with the sponge-divers, Kyr Vangheli, the schoolmaster,
would read these letters to her mother, and in them it was always
written that her uncle Petro was so pleased in America that he did
not mean to come back for many years.
So the two orphans had stayed with Kyra Kanella at first, because
there was nowhere else for them to stay, and now she was still going
to keep Zacharia; he was such a little one, and as she told Yoryi
her husband, what the babe ate, nobody could miss it; it was not
more than a sparrow would eat. But Mattina was different; Mattina
was a big strong girl of more than eleven years of age, and she was
going to Athens to be a servant. It had all been arranged some time
ago. Her mother had said to her:--
"When I am dead, you must go to Athens, and your uncle Anastasi there,
and his wife, who is a good woman, will find a house in which you
may serve and earn money. Afterwards when you can, you will come
back to Poros and take care of Zacharia; he is not a strong child;
how should he be, the unfortunate one! But you are a strong girl and
you must be a good sister and look after him."
She had said this the night before she died, when for a moment they
were alone in the house, and when her eyes looked so big.
There was a tiny bit of land which had belonged to the children's
father, and which was theirs now, but it had given nothing that year;
the crop of olives had been very poor indeed, the rains had come out
of season, and the wind had blown every single almond off the trees;
so that even the poor bits of clothes that Mattina was to take with
her to town in her bundle had been cut down from some old things of
her mother's, and Kyra Sophoula who was a neighbour, had taken them
to her house to stitch them.
By this time to-morrow, thought Mattina, who had got down to the
Narrow Beach and was passing before the open gates of the Naval
School,[4] it would be nearly time for the steamer to leave; her uncle
would take her in his boat and she would climb up the little ladder
at the side of the steamer up to the deck. She herself, she, Mattina,
would be one of those people whom she had so often watched from the
shore, one of those who were going away to strange parts, who were
leaving the island.
She stopped to shift her load of branches higher on her back, and a
sailor who was standing by the gates took a step forward and held it
up for her while she took a firmer grasp of the thin rope which kept
it together.
"God give you many years," she said to him, looking down. She did
not like speaking to strangers, but she remembered what her mother
always used to say to anyone who helped her, and since she was alone
now it was for her to say it.
The man laughed.
"The load is bigger than the maid who bears it," he said; then looking
down at her curiously, "Whose are you?"
"I am Aristoteli Dorri's."
"What does he do?"
"He was a sponge-diver, but he died last year."
"Bah! The unfortunate one! And you carry wood for your mother's
oven, eh?"
"My mother died also on the Thursday of the Great Week."[5]
"Bah! The poor child! Here!" he cried, as Mattina was starting off
again, "stop a moment!" and from the bottom of his pocket, he pulled
out a little twist of pink muslin into which were tied five or six
sugared almonds.
"Take these! They are from a christening, ... you can eat them on
the way."
Mattina had no pocket, but after she had thanked the sailor, she tied
the almonds into one corner of her kerchief, and trudged on.
When she reached the first houses of the village, she turned away
from the sea and began climbing up a steep little street, threading
her way between the small houses, disturbing flocks of gray and
white pigeons who fluttered up and settled on the ledges of the low
terraces, between pitchers of water and pots of sweet basil. She
stepped carefully over the ropes of tethered goats, passing by the
open doors of the big church, and stopping for a moment to admire a
length of pink and white cotton stuff which hung outside Kyr Nicola's
shop. If only, she thought, her new dress might have been made of
that! But the brown dress which her mother used to wear on holidays,
before her father died, was still quite good, and it would have been
a sin to waste it; Kyra Sophoula had said so. Moreover she had made
it too wide for Mattina, and with three tucks in it, so that it might
last her for some time to come.
Before one arrived at Yoryi's house, there was a whole street of low
broad steps which Mattina descended slowly one by one, for her back
was beginning to ache. When she reached the little blue-washed house
she dumped down her load of sticks beside the oven in the courtyard
with a great sigh of relief.
She found Zacharia whimpering before a half-eaten "koulouri"--a sort of
doughnut with a hole in the middle--which someone had amused himself
by tying to a nail in the wall, so that it dangled just out of reach
of the child's little arms.
"'Attina! 'Attina!" he cried as soon as he saw her; "My koulou'i! My
koulou'i!"
She broke the string violently, and thrust the half-eaten koulouri
into the child's outstretched hands, then turning angrily to three
big girls who were seated laughing, on the wooden steps leading to
the flat roof, she cried out:--
"What has the child done to you that you are forever tormenting him? A
bad year to you!"