Lakis Fourouklas's Blog, page 7

The Journey

Every day I feel like I'm embarking on a journey

to whom I don't know.

My life has never been simple nor

straightforward.

It is as if I'm living it in bits and pieces

just like in a dream

or rather dreams that spread through the nights

like dark angels

observing my vain battle for wholeness.

I know what I'm missing but

I don't know where to find it.

My thoughts come in fragments

they stop me from seeing the full picture

and then they don't come at all

and for a moment I feel a breath of happiness.

Am I cursed?

I've asked myself this question many times

but I don't believe in curses;

besides my life is no better and no worse

from the lives of those around me.

The only difference is that they don't live

in their heads.

So, what is it that I'm looking for?

I guess that would be a new path a

way out of my own being

the other.

Will I ever find it?

Will it lead me to a redemption that

I hardly need?

I know not but the journey needs to carry on

so that hope will remain undead in

my soul

a soul that aches for change.


The image is taken from here 

Don't Believe it's Love by Ana Zumani

I would never come to you, never, even though I know you're dying for me.

You've written that to me a thousand times, a thousand times I saw it in your macabre eyes.

In your eyes I saw how much you wanted me, but I had no reason to save you, none whatsoever.

I've abandoned you to your destiny, just likes thousands of men thousands of women they abandon to their own destiny.

But I finally came to you. The doctor told me that I had only one year left to live.

That's tragically too little for a woman that loves life so much.

All of a sudden I was able to see my whole being as it is and realized that only to you I'd like to give,

To give, to give, to give, like a fresh spring to the thirsty traveler.

Don't believe that this is Eros, or love, or something deeply personal.

It’s selfishness.

The pure selfishness of a dying organism wanting to become a memory in another.

Not to die for good, to vanish, to suddenly be erased, to be lost.

Today you've fully enjoyed the body that for years you longed for.

The more you enjoy me, the more you'll bring me back to life after my death, you'll rouse me.

You see, that will be my Resurrection, my Return.

Don't believe that this is love, I just want the most secure heart in which to go on living.

You are my monument, and that is all.

I've translated this from Greek. Image taken from here
 

Sea Lover

She was standing at the old pierstaring towards the sun's rise.The morning breeze was caressing her facethe waves that were rhythmically dancingbelow her feet were kissing her senses awake.In her whole life she may have never lovedanything more than the seamother, she used to call her -because it was a she.Her eyes were set on her forhours days yearsshe thought that she should have been borna fish to be constantly in her watersor at least a bird to gaze at her from above.A romantic? Yes, that she truly was.At a time when words had lost their meaningand people had misplaced the colorsshe kept looking towards the endless bluecapturing its salty pulses before closing her eyes and setting sailthrough oceans of dreamsskies of emotionsbreaths of freedom.
Image taken from here

Reloaded by Ron Earl Phillips, Jen Conley and Christopher L. Irvin (editors)

I love short stories, though I don’t get to read as many as I’d like to nowadays. People think that writing a novel is hard, but in my eyes writing a short story and getting everything right is even harder. With a novel you have the time and space to create a whole world and expand on it, whereas with a short story the limited space asks a lot of you, since if you don’t manage to get everything perfectly right you’ll fail.
The first question that comes to mind then is: ‘Did some of the authors here fail?’ Well, let’s say that some did a better job than others. However it would be amiss of me not to say that that is not something unexpected, since once you decide to host 25 authors under a single volume their differences are destined to emerge. On the other hand, especially when it comes to short stories, most of the time taste takes centre stage; what works for me doesn’t work for you and vice versa.
Regardless, I have to say that one way or another I really enjoyed reading this book, as I found bliss in variety. Whilst going through its many stories and meeting dozens of characters I felt like I was taking an interesting and at times funny ride into crime country; a country where everything can and does happen. Once there one meets lethal… hairdressers, dogfights, runaways, Bonnie and Clyde style bandits, hitmen and kidnappers of dead people, bagmen and enforcers.
Trying to choose a favourite story among those on offer in these pages was not an easy thing to do because, as I’ve already said, in the end it all boils down to personal taste. That though doesn’t mean I shouldn’t make a special mention to the ones I enjoyed the most, and those were “How to Clean a Gun” by Joe Clifford, ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation” by Nick Kolakowski and “What Goes Around” by Terence Butler, a kind of parody with echoes of tragedy, if that makes any sense.
The characters portrayed in the aforementioned stories remain with the readers for long, as they somehow manage to infiltrate their thoughts and stay put. The first is the story of a family whose only law is breaking the law, and its current and permanent victim is a young girl who tries desperately to escape the misery imposed by her mother. The second one talks about a company of young people who seem to have lost their way in the world and seek refuge and fame in crime. And the last is all about a bull of a man who’s desperately in love with a woman that hates his guts and is determined to kill him.
In almost every single one of these stories tragedy seems to await just around the corner. The heroes live in misery, in a world in which only the strong survive while the rest are doomed to vanish. And in most of the cases there’s no redemption to be found anywhere and no hope. People dream of happiness, yet they keep living in sorrow, and they dream of freedom, though none of them escapes their destiny.
If you like crime fiction you’ll surely enjoy this collection. It could be better, that is true, but as someone who’s read a lot of similar books in the past let me say that this is one of the best.
This review was published in Crime Factory magazine

Manto's Review by Ana Zumani

I tenderly exist yet nobody's trained me.No one asked me to bloom; this “Manto” a Manto has never been.People welcomed me, not just for the ecstasy of the moment.They went down to their knees to worship me,but I always wanted to look to the skies,at a teacher, who with a stern glance would berate me.Nobody went through the moves, got into the trouble-they just showered me with honors-since being on your knees and worship is easy,being on your feet and accompany is not,bowing your head is easy, keeping it high is not.I was looking for free people and I found addicts.They placed their hopes on me,a life's crumbling wall and soit wasn't long before that we came to becrushed under vanity's veil.
A poem I've translated from Greek

Love is Looking for a Sally by Maro Vlahaki

The night is dressed in black.Yet my gray dreams are alight.In a dreary chamber I am caged,a blue-painted lamp my only light,the lantern of expectation seems aged.
The caress is but a graze.The gaze a wound on parched bread.Spring is sleeping on sheets of ice,the years a knapsack hard to heaveand yet love is looking for a sally.
The day is dressed in white.My dreams the rays of the sun they chase,and on a blooming pomegranate tree they climb.As my senses there play and sweat,to the path of expectation they lead me.
The music is like a caress.A nightingale's song rings through the streams.The ivy's shiny green strings,my lost years together bind.And thus my love I take for a sally.
Translated from Greek by yours truly.Image taken by the man himself. 

Book Review: Choice Cuts by Joe Clifford

The stories in this collection now and again flirt with various genres though crime has the upper hand. “Choice Cuts” talks mostly about desperate people who lead desperate lives. Happiness is something that you see in the movies, and not that you read about in books, the author seems to think, and I guess that’s the reason why his heroes find themselves in trouble all the time.

Even though this is not your cliché ridden crime story collection, we do get to meet a lot of sad and deluded people within its pages; I say deluded because they really can’t tell what’s true or false and thus they believe what they want to believe, without stopping to think for a moment that things may not be as they seem. So, a cop kills a man thinking that it was the right thing to do, but that was a mistake; a couple of prisoners create the perfect plan to escape but their reasoning is clouded by mischief, exhaustion and hunger; and a man realizes that “…when it looks too good to be true, it usually is”.

I believe that the best thing about these stories, even though they do contain quite a few twists and turns, are their characters, all of whom seem to be living their personal hell on earth. Ray, in “Nix Verrida” is a veteran whose mind is playing tricks on him; how many and how big we don’t get to know until the end of the story. Jimmy is a writer who’s unable to write anything, while Kitty, his girlfriend is sick of him; his not drinking and not writing. Geiger and Donnie are squatters who have a plan to make it big. And last but not least there’s a man who thinks that Leonardo da Vinci is to blame for all his troubles.

“Is anyone in here psychologically sound?” one could ask. Well, the truth is that most of them are not, and that’s what makes their stories so interesting. It’s as if the author, by telling the reader everything about them, tries to make it clear that what happens to them could happen to anyone. All it takes is a major event, or even a minor one at a critical moment, to change somebody’s life forever.

If you’d ask me to choose a story to call a favourite, I really wouldn’t know which to pick; they’re all bleak, and they all talk about loss in one way or the other. “Rags to Riches” with its final twist took me by surprise; “Nix Verrida” made me feel a real sympathy for its hero; “A Matter of Trust” managed to put me into thoughts about the role destiny has to play in our lives; while “Chain Reaction” came to prove that it’s for the best if we don’t rush to jump into conclusions.

Choice Cuts is one of those rear books that have a lot of stories to tell, but in an almost relaxed, laidback way. The author doesn’t seem to try too hard to impress the reader with his writing, or even with his plots. His narratives are plain and simple, so they stick to the reader’s mind, and they make them feel some kind of connection with the heroes. And, I don’t know why but, this book also reminds me about the golden era of noir fiction; the times when the characters build the stories and not the words; when the dialogues were more vibrant and the heroes simple people, just like everyone else.

Joe Clifford did a great job bringing these heroes and their personal stories to life, so reading this collection proved to be a real joy.

First published in Crime Factory magazine

Evil and the Mask by Fuminori Nakamura review

 Evil and the Mask is one of those books that captivate the reader not so much with their plot and action but with the interactions between its heroes in a society that seems to be on the brink of destruction.
Most of the people in the west expect murder and mayhem and high-octane adventures when they read crime fiction. There’s a little bit of the above in this story, but not enough to thrill someone. Instead the author offers a story that talks about the cruelty of a father, the redemption of a son and a love affair that’s bound to go terribly wrong.
The said father, a ruthless businessman, tells his young son, Fumihiro that he’ll become a cancer, a personification of evil under his guidance, and the child feels that there’s darkness inside of him already. He hates his father and he’s determined to kill him one day and thus fulfill his prophecy. Until then though he must do his best to resist his authority and enjoy life a little. Enter Kaori, a young girl who’s adopted into the family, with whom Fumihiro grows up and inevitably falls in love with. He knows that his father will do everything to stop him from being happy, and later rather than sooner decides to take matters into his own hands. Will this pursue of happiness lead him to his doom or will it change his life once and for all for the better?
“Happiness is a fortress,” we read somewhere, and one can rest assured that apart perhaps from the worst of people in these pages, not many can enter it. Instead they keep wandering in the streets of the night, like people with fake faces and mistaken identities; people who have nothing to lose because their lives never really belonged to them.
Fuminori Nakamura, whose excellent previous novel The Thief I've read in one sitting, has his characters interact in peculiar ways. While they’re desperately trying to find their way in an ever changing world, they are held back by the ghosts of the past; while they need love, they thrive in pain; and while they fight hard to be good, they end up exactly the opposite.
As we follow these people we get to learn a lot of things, not only about modern Japan, but also about the loneliness that has become the plague of our times, and the cynicism that seems to drive a lot of people’s actions.
Perhaps this is one of those few special occasions when the title of a book describes perfectly its content. The evil is personified in two people in here; the mask in another two. The characters come alive because the author seemingly keeps his distance from them, and his story is captivating for the simple reason that most of the time things in life don’t turn out as we want them to.
Nakamura chose to narrate his story by moving back and forth in time, thus providing miniscule clues, from chapter to chapter, about how things are going to play out. And yet, because he’s a Japanese author and doesn’t have to abide by the rule of the happy ending, he manages to surprise the reader. You don’t have to be a fan of the genre to enjoy this tale; but even if you are, once you’re not looking for blockbuster fiction you’re bound to love it, as its not larger than life heroes and its simplicity win the day. As a conclusion I’d say that the crime is not so important here, since it only serves as the means that justify the end.
First published in Crime Factory magazine

One for My Baby by Barry Graham review

Sometimes it feels good to read a book just for laughs, and One for My Baby is one of those books that are not only fun to read but which can also prove the perfect antidote to boredom, while they can just as well offer some down time to someone who desperately needs it.

The characters in this neo-noir novella are quite interesting. They all seem to come from the past, a time of femme fatales and criminals that took everyday life as a stroll in the park of the outlaws. One could say that they are lovable in a way, but they are also cruel, headstrong, unfaithful but most of all in love with themselves.

It all begins with a robbery. Mark, a musician, robs a restaurant in Phoenix, Arizona, and as expected he finds himself in a big mess. But that doesn’t deter him from going to his cousin’s wedding. Casci, the cousin in question, is a mobster who has some cops on his payroll. And as being the latter’s cousin and a robber is not enough, Mark is also having an affair with a married woman.

Living a life like that more often than not leads to trouble and the more trouble the hero finds himself into, the more fun the reader has. The author approaches his story in a lighthearted manner that gives it a spark and which makes the reading experience all the more enjoyable. Even the secondary characters, like Mark’s partner in crime (whose name I cannot mention because it would be a spoiler), Joel the snitch and detective Rankin, they all have something to add in the storyline and the laughs.

If there’s one thing that I’ve enjoyed more than anything in this story is the way the characters interact with each other. It’s like no one can trust anyone else and like behind every word they utter or every action they take lies something else. Betrayals and double-crossings are hardly unusual in noir fiction, but the author seems to be having way too much fun plotting his heroes’ every move, high points and sudden falls, that in fact the book every now and then reads like a parody, and a good one at that.

You can devour this volume in one sitting and if you are a fan of noir fiction you’ll probably enjoy it just as much as I did. It may not remind you a lot of the masters of the past, but it will help you realize that the noir genre is still alive and well, and evolving by the day.

First published in Crime Factory magazine

Christmas Bliss

He had always been her confessor; a strange a thing to be, isn’t it? He was the confessor who loved her but never said so, her buddy, the man who was always there for her, in illness and in health, during her falls from grace and her stubborn efforts to climb back up the ladder of life again. He was there then, but never in between, not when it really mattered to him. He wanted to be her lover, her man, not just a shoulder to lean on. Life, he thought, had cheated him.

It keeps doing that actually, since now, years later he’s still alone. Not that he haven’t met any other women in his life, he had, a few; but not anyone like her. She, Maya, was the only one he ever wanted, really wanted. He wanted her for who she was, for her sweet insanity, for her little dramas, for her ups and downs, and for her smile, and her touch, for her ability to make him feel real in a world that he always felt he didn’t belong.
He’d known her since they were sixteen, the bittersweet high school years. She was one of those girls that carried a haunted look, as if there was just loneliness and sorrow in their eyes, and in their souls. Her eyes, so beautiful and so dark, reminded him of black wandering pearls, as they traversed time and again through the corridors of pessimism and despair. But yet, she was beautiful. Every time she smiled, something that didn’t happen so often, mind you, it looked and felt to him as if she was transformed, like she’d metamorphosize into somebody else, a bright young soul that could spread light and joy all around her; a light and a joy she didn’t even know that she carried inside.
It was that look, that rare smile, and even the way she moved, slowly like the mist on a summer morning by the beach, that made him like her. Marios felt enchanted by the very first moment he met her, and she liked him too, but no more than that. So the one was in love and the other was not. Same old story, one would say. But Marios would make sure that the story wouldn’t end in sadness and in pain. He’d keep his feelings under control, he would never let her know how his heart ached every time he saw her, how his body lusted for something that it could never have.
So they didn’t become lovers, they became friends, thus they still did have each other, for better or for worse. They’d spend a lot of time together, in the class and afterwards, taking some short trips at the weekends, if given the chance, sharing their thoughts, savoring their special moments.
Sooner or later though their school days came to an end and college time came knocking, in the blessed year 2000, the only millennium that any of them would get to see. She remained in Athens and got a job at a shop in Monastiraki, since her grades were not good enough to allow her to continue with her studies, and he moved to Thessaloniki where he enrolled at Aristotelio University to study architecture. However they never lost touch, the hundreds of miles of distance that separated them did not prove enough to keep them apart.She thought of him often, he thought of her more, and many times they would call each other in the middle of the night, to talk, and to listen, to fill the void that that separation had created in their everyday lives. I’m never happy, I’m never satisfied, she’d complain, and he would feel sorry for her. And he would think that, I can make you happy, but never say so. He lacked the courage, and he lacked the luck, as he used to say to one of his new friends.
As for him, he was content with his life, not happy, just content. He took things as they came, at his own pace, changed the things he could, had the serenity not to try to change the ones he couldn’t. Yet he missed her, badly. He missed her fleeting touches and her smile, he missed caressing her short black straight hair and embracing her almost transparent body. He told her that, often. I miss you Maya, he would say, I miss our moments.
And so did she, actually, but she would never say it. He was her buddy, her best friend, the man she always needed but could never have, because he valued him too much. She had some special feelings for him but she wasn’t sure if she could call them love; love,not friendly love. If she ever lost him she would never forgive herself. It is better this way, she thought, for both of us.
Was it though? If it was why then didn’t she ever have that feeling of wholeness that she felt when she was with him? Her body had met many men, her soul only one. The one-night stands were not something uncommon for her but the release they offered had hardly been enough; sooner rather than later she was hungry again, for affection and love, the things she couldn’t really have.
And then, she decided to pull her act together, to go steady. She met a decent guy, Nikos, and spent quite some time with him. He’d come to her place to make out and she’d go to his, they’d go out with friends, or by themselves, they’d enjoy some unique moments together, and yet, she felt kind of empty. Only when she talked with Marios on the phone she’d feel her heart fill with joy; only then the things she experienced before would gain substance. He gives me what I want, and even though he’s not here, he gets me.
That had always been her problem, nobody could get her, nobody but him. So after a few months Nikos would unavoidably hit the road, only to be replaced, not long after, by Giannis. Giannis was different; he was the man that every woman would like to be with. He had money, he was smart, he was tender, and he was clueless. I like him, a lot, but he’s stupid, she’d complain to Marios, he thinks I’m interested in his money, in his gifts. The fact is she couldn’t care less. She didn’t need many things, she was not interested in wealth and luxury, all she needed was somebody to love.
That affair lasted almost for two years. Giannis may have been clueless, as she thought, but he had a good heart, and he cared deeply for her. The thing was though that she never felt like she belonged in his world. The rich boy had rich friends, and when they went out they went to places that she didn’t like; places where she had to dress-up to enter; high society places. My wish is to live and die in my jeans, he once told him, and he laughed. Sweet boy, sweet little boy.
Marios knew everything about her, have heard all her stories, and told her time and again his honest opinions, or when the need arose, what she wanted to hear. He was always happy to talk to her, always eager to listen, and that didn’t make life easy for him. It made it much harder actually, since his girlfriends couldn’t really understand his connection with that woman. Cut the umbilical cord, one of them told him, cut it now. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Elena was the first girl that found her way into his life when he arrived in Thessaloniki. He met her at a little café by the beach that he used to visit regularly early in the afternoon, before the evening crowds would start flooding the scene. He was reading one of his books and taking notes, and she did the same. And then their heads rose, and their eyes met. They smiled to each for a fleeting moment and moved on with what they were doing. That happened two more times during the same week, but when their fourth meeting took place they’ve decided to talk. And they did. And they kept doing so for many hours.
He liked her, he really did. Maybe it was because she didn’t look like Maya at all. She had an average body, long blond hair, and eyes that sparkled in shades of green. And she was smiling, almost nonstop. He’d say to her, I’m sick of you, stop smiling now, and she would smile to him, and he would smile back. She was like sunshine, but he missed darkness.
He told Maya about her, and she said, I’m so glad for you, you deserve some happiness in your life; and she thought, she’s not you; I am you.
They’ve only spent six months together. She broke it off. You’re not here, she told him, and that was it. She’d read him. He was sorry to see her leave but at the same time he felt sure that she’d made the right call. He wasn’t there. He’d never be.
And then came Katerina; temperamental Katerina. Her ups and downs were so sudden that would always manage to take him by surprise. I’m a nutcase, she warned him, when they met. And so am I, he replayed, but time would prove that he was no match for her. She had fiery red hair, dark eyes that reminded him of Maya, and a body that could benefit greatly from a diet, but she didn’t care, and neither did he. Now, if I could put Elena and Katerina together and create a hybrid, it would be just like her, he thought; her.Katerina proved good to him, a teacher of sorts, she made him realize things about himself that he didn’t know, but he couldn’t really keep up with her. When I am with you I feel like I’m racing against time, he said, and proposed that they should take a break. Let’s get something straight, she replied, you’re not dumping me, I’m dumping you. And she did. After that, whenever he met her accidentally in the streets, at a café or a taverna, she would give him the finger, while Elena would give him a hug. I lead an interesting life, he’d think and smile to himself, interesting but lonely.
In the summer of 2003 theymet again, almost three years since the last time. He went down to Athens to visit his parents and some friends, going against his own policy that dictated that once you go to a place you stick to it until you move to a new one.
It was on a warm July morning that he visited her at her workplace at Monastiraki, a shop that targeted tourists who wanted to buy mementos from Athens. She didn’t see him coming. She was placing something on a shelf as he walked in and approached her from her blind side. Nice, he said, in English to tease her, and she, without turning back to face him, said, I’m coming. When she did turn she looked like she just suffered a stroke. She remained still for a moment, taking him in, realizing that it was indeed him, and then she run into his arms. They felt so good to be able to hug each other again, to encounter the same smooth smells from the past, to remember how it used to be. Their embrace lasted for long, and when they separated she heard her calling her boss, Andrea, I’m taking the day off, and I’m leaving now. And they took off.
They walked down the street without talking, just holding hands and staring at the things they could not see. They reached the end of the narrow lane and turned left, avoiding the cafeterias, and then right towards the Thission railway station. It was a bright day, and they wanted to walk, it was becoming a hot day, but they didn’t mind it a bit. All that mattered was the moment, nothing else.
They followed the tourist route, taking the so-called pedestrian road towards Acropolis; so-called because it was almost totally taken over by coffee tables and traversed almost nonstop by motorcycles and the occasional car. One of the laws of the land,thought Marios, turn a blind eye to everything, and smiled to himself. She caught that smile and asked him, what? He told her and she half-laughed. As if things were any different in Thessaloniki. They weren’t.
They’ve reached Acropolis and sat under its shadow gazing at the never-ending city and the ancient Agora just below them. They didn’t stay there for long though, as the first tourist buses have started arriving one after the other, and soon enough the place would be crowded.  So they walked downhill, this time towards Plaka, where they found a quiet little coffee shop and sat for a frappe; no milk, no sugar, for any of them. That place seemed to be bathed in the twilight even though it was still morning. The dark interior illuminated their thoughts in a way and that led them from silence to silence. They sat there for long, taking short sips from their frozen glasses, and studying each other’s eyes.You’ve changed, she said. And you haven’t, he replied.
He felt like she was hugging him with her eyes, and that’s one of the things that he mostly liked about her. When she looked at him like that she made him feel happy, and loved, she made him feel special.
This is what I like when I am with you, I mean here or anywhere, but not on the phone, when I am with you I don’t need to talk. She said that. And he agreed. He felt exactly the same. What’s the use of words when you have eyes?
When they left it wasn’t even noon. They had a lot of time to spend, the whole day. Piraeus?she asked and he shrugged. So Piraeus it was. They went back to Monastiraki and took the old slow moving train that had very little resemblance to the brand new Metro.
Piraeus was hot and bursting with life. Way too many tourists but also locals where boarding the ferries in search of the island that would host their summer dreams. They’ve decided to follow suit. But since they carried no luggage and had to find their way back during the same day, they decided to go to Aegina, one of the closest destinations.
They opted for one of the old slow moving boats rather than the Flying Dolphins that traveled the seas in lightening speeds, since they really wanted to enjoy the ride; the sea and the sun, and the seagulls that followed the path created by the boat on the waves.
I’ve missed you, he said, almost in a whisper, as if afraid that the words would fracture the magic. I didn’t, she said; you only miss what you cannot have, and I always have you in here—she pointed at her heart— you’re with me every step of the way.
The trip proved way too short for their taste and at the end they couldn’t call it a day, so they’ve decided to stay. She called her boss to say that she wasn’t going to work the next day either, and he called his parents to tell them that he wouldn’t return home for the night. They had enough money to get by, so they found a room, bought the things they needed, and when the night had finally come they decided to play it the tourist way, which meant going to a taverna for dinner and after that do the traditional bar-hopping.
Things went well, as far as the drinking, and the hugging, and the laughing were concerned, and just before dawn they found themselves sitting on the rocks by the sea. They were quiet most of the time, letting the alcohol slip out of their bodies, and allowing the memories of the distant past and of that very same day, flood their senses. They were happy. They didn’t say it but they felt it. Here, in his arms, is where I belong, she thought. And he thought the same.
As the sun started coming up they headed for their room. Their walking pace was deliberately slow, as if they were trying to postpone something that was destined to happen anyway. A light wind was blowing from the south, bathing them with the aroma of the morning sea, and awakening their senses. They wanted each other so much; they needed each other so much; and they both knew it.
Later rather than sooner they reached their tiny room. They entered quietly like expert burglars. They opened the window just a crack to let the sun breathe new life to the shadows in which, up to then, the place was enjoying a night’s rest.
There were not many things in there; just a couple of chairs, a dresser and a table, and the bed. They sat on the bed, and forced their bodies to get close to each other, to touch. She made the first move, a gentle caress of his hair. He responded by pulling her into his arms, in a hurry, as if she was about to escape and run away, leaving him behind. They kissed; gently at first, more passionately after, and then…
No, she said, breaking away from his embrace, we can’t do this; we can’t risk what he have for something that may never be. And, you’re right, he somewhat reluctantly replied, we can’t.
They lay down on the bed not touching at first, until she rolled into his embrace. We are crazy you know, she said. I know, he whispered softly into her right ear. They were crazy, for wanting each other and doing nothing about it, for needing each other, and allowing that need to keep them apart. What if I lose a friend?they both thought; then what?That was the million dollar question.
They remained there, wide awake for more than an hour, and then they got up, gathered their few belongings and headed for the port. They’d take the first boat out. She’d head home to sleep and he’d go to his parents’ house. They’d follow their own different paths yet again.
During the next couple of weeks they met time and again but never on their own. They went out with common friends, visited their old hangouts, they ate and they drank, they laughed in public and cried in the dark. And then he left.
She missed him, she missed him badly. I shouldn’t let him go, she thought, but on the other hand if they did end up together, even that wouldn’t have stopped him. He had two more years of studies at the university, so whether she liked it or not, he had to stay in Thessaloniki. On the other hand, she was kind of free. Her relationship with her parents was just as bad as always, and she didn’t have anyone in her life that she could call a friend; not a real one anyway. As for her job, she couldn’t care less. She didn’t love it nor hate it, it was just a way to make ends meet. I should follow him, she thought; you must follow him, she tried to convince herself, but she just couldn’t do it. What is it you’re afraid of, huh? What?
She knew the answer, nothing had changed, she was afraid that if she went after him she’d lose him for good, and she couldn’t afford that. Damn you Marios, she cursed. Damn you, for who you are. Damn you, for the love I feel for you.
She felt miserable. Smiling was never one of her strengths but when she did smile, in the past, she used to make the world more beautiful, more illuminated, in that brief moment of joy. Now she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t smile and she hardly laughed, and that only when she was watching a comedy at the cinema or elsewhere, and she rarely had a good night’s sleep. Damn you, Marios.
She loved him and she knew it; she always did. However as they were always friends she convinced herself that her love for him was lacking the erotic element. Where there’s no spark there’s no fire, she thought. But what if there was a spark but none of them saw it?
There was always something special going on between them, and he knew it, right from the beginning. He fell for her the moment he lay eyes on her, but he never brought himself to admit it. He just couldn’t do it. At first he was afraid of reflection, and then of losing her altogether. If he couldn’t be her lover, he could always be her friend. Something is better than nothing, he thought back then, but he knew that he was fooling himself, just like he did now. He was trying to forget her, to make her go away like a phantom of the night, to erase her image from his memory. But how could the mind ever forget what the body felt? He longed for her. He lusted for her. They should be together right now, but… Always that but… The distance, the friendship, the differences, the cheap excuses.
The truth is that they were not as different as he thought, actually they were quite similar. They wanted the same thing and they were afraid for it. Their bodies ordered go but their minds yelled stop. They were both at a dead end.
Before too long the summer was over, his studies began yet again, and then the autumn all of a sudden came to an end. During all that time they kept talking on the phone about their everyday lives, about stupid things and more serious ones, but never for the subject that mostly mattered to them. They thought that time would heal the wounds, as if it ever does. And then one night, he just couldn’t take it anymore, he said, I really miss you, I wish you were here. Silence ensued, a brief one, before she admitted that she missed him too. After a few awkward moments they hung up.
It was the middle of December and the weather was almost arctic cold in Thessaloniki, but the city, dressed here and there with the white cloak of snow, looked as beautiful as ever. Christmas was fast approaching and one could feel something different in the air, as if the people of the city were getting ready to change their common lives forever, to transform them from ordinary to extraordinary.
The truth is he never liked Christmas; he never liked any holiday when it came to that. It’s just people spending money they don’t have, he would say to anyone who asked him his thoughts about it. But there was something different about this Christmas, he could feel it in his soul, and his half-frozen bones, something...
He was walking in the cold streets of the night as his phone rang. It was her. Hello love, he said, teasing her. I’m here love, she said, not teasing him. She was at the train station, having just arrived from Athens. Stay there, I’m coming, he replied in a haste and hailed a cab. In ten long minutes he was there. A minute later he was holding her in his arms. What a surprise, he whispered. What a wonderful surprise!
She only carried a small backpack. He’d be surprised if she carried more, since she wasn’t that kind of traveler or that kind of woman when it came to that. She believed that too many belongings made life complicated.
Do you want to go straight to my room or into the city?he asked. We can take a cab if you like, he offered. Let’s walk,she said. And they walked, through the cold wind, and the light snowflakes, through the night traffic and the Christmas decorations, all the way to the pedestrian street that traversed the seafront.
There were not many people walking around at that time of night. It was almost midnight and the weather was cruel. But Thessaloniki is one of those places that never sleep, so it was more likely than not, that most of the young people of the city were indoors somewhere, eating or drinking, listening to music or playing one of the ever popular table games.
He asked her if she wanted to go somewhere like that, to sit, to talk and to drink, but she noddednowith a light movement of her head. And then she took his gloved hand into the equally gloved hers and said, let’s go and sit on that bench. Sit? On a bench? In the snow? We’ll freeze to death, he objected. At least we’ll die together, she said, without a smile.
So they went to the bench. It was just partly covered with snow since it was under a tree, so it wasn’t too bad. They sat closely together, giving warmth to each other. He wanted to ask her so many things but he didn’t. She wanted to tell him so many things but she wouldn’t. There’s no need to talk, she thought, our body language speaks volumes; we belong with each other.
The time was passing slowly like a silent drizzle, and fast like a furious hurricane. They were cold but they felt warm inside.
When she set off for this journey she wasn’t sure what to expect. What if he had a girlfriend he deliberately forgot to mention? What if he didn’t feel for her what she felt for him? What if her lust had led her into a trap that would only produce pain and destruction? But all her fears had no foundation whatsoever, as she realized the moment she set eyes on him. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, no question about it. What she was doing now was delaying the inevitable, savoring every moment until the final act.
She hated Christmas, just as much as he did, but she was certain that she was going to love this one. Let my Christmas miracle happen, she wished upon the hidden stars; let it happen. She squeezed his hand, and he turned his eyes from the dark sea towards her. They were shining and they were wet at the corners but she didn’t think that the cold was to blame for that. Let’s go, she said in a whisper and got up, and he instantly did.
Now she felt like she was in a hurry and if she knew how probably she’d lead the way to his house at the fastest possible pace. But his house was far. Do you want to take a cab?he offered again. No, absolutely not, she answered, I want to walk, and get to know our city better. Our city?
So they walked back for a while before changing direction. They reached Lefkos Pyrgos and they passed it, and then cut across the always busy Niki’s Avenue. Mitropoleos, Tsimiski and Egnatia Odos were to follow as they headed uphill, following Agia Sophia road towards Ano Poli. The city, as predicted was bursting with life. All the cafeterias and the bars were full, the tavernas busy as ever, and the Gyro and Crêpe shops were serving customers food at a furious pace.
Lovely, she said, just lovely. Everything looked beautiful to her that night; the crowds, the Christmas decorations, the sounds, the people, the light. It’s as if I’m in a dream, she thought, and it’s Christmas, she added as an afterthought and smiled to herself. I’m happy, she said, all of a sudden stopping him cold. I’m happy, she repeated the words, as if to make sure that he heard them; this is… I don’t know how to put it Marios, this is… Christmas bliss. She started laughing, right there, in the middle of the street. And so did he. She took him by surprise, and he loved her for it.
When they stopped laughing they went on with their quiet stroll towards his home. He opened the door to an old building and said with a playful smile, after you my lady. She mockingly bowed her head and entered. They climbed the stairs to the second floor.
His apartment was small but cozy. It consisted of a living room, a bedroom, a small kitchen and a tiny bathroom; almost Spartan, just the way she liked it. What more could one ask for? It didn’t take her long to explore it, and then she sat on the small couch. I need something to warm my blood, she declared. How about red wine, love? I’m sure you have a bottle hidden somewhere. More than one, he said and smiled, and hastened to fulfill her wish.
Thus there they sat; drinking wine, talking about the present and the past in small sentences, laughing every now and then, but never getting into details when it came to their everyday lives, since they knew all there was to know about each other already. And they didn’t talk about was the there and then; how come she was there, at that very moment, with him. They both knew the answer, of course they did, but for some reason they were no longer afraid about what tomorrow would bring. This is it, they thought, the moment of truth has arrived.
Their love making was tender at first, more intense later. They hungered for each but at the same time they were trying to savor every moment, to enjoy every kiss, and breath, and touch, as if it was their last. They went to sleep not long before dawn, and their sleep was peaceful, serene, for the first time since that trip to Aegina.
When he woke up a few minutes after noon he found her right where he left her, by his side; this time though she was leaning on an elbow and looking at him straight in the eyes, staring at his bare soul. He wanted to say something, to ask her what?but he didn’t. He was certain she’d soon say whatever she had to say. And she did. I’m moving here, she said, if that’s okay with you that is. I can’t stay away any longer. We’ve wasted too much time already, the fools. I’m willing to risk it if you are. So what do you say? As if his broad smile was not enough of an answer he immediately said, I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, or rather since I’ve met you. I always knew that you were the one and…She cut him short. Oh, just shut up and kiss me, you fool; my fool.
And so their love had finally blossomed, a few days before Christmas, in the heart of a fierce winter.
This is the first draft of the story.

The image was taken from here