A Greek Adventure

‘Mama, can I make you a model’, she asks. Then she smiles, and thinks at heart, who else baby… She wrote always to her father. Then the teacher. She wrote two amorous epistles to her teacher. Who was only five years above her. That was thirty-two years ago. But time is a fiction. It started with a tuition session. ‘Will you make it, come to my house. I will acquaint you to my brother. We will talk and also walk in the garden.By the weeds, we will sit and chit chat…’

Now you are here. You can perceive Greek panoramas. Those solid welkins. The Thessaly plains, the Pineios River, the sturdy mountains: The Pindus mountain range to the west. Mount Pelion to the east. Now no more aunt Nora evenings. She is quiet. She has a book. A rapiarium of her own.
Now she was all the hastily brooding over that crush, the teacher. Again,the skies, the wildernesses, all..In the monastery, she has come with another mate —
‘Imitation of Christ’- the book she kept and of course the well-cherished book of the pure black cover. We sin, sin often. Still, we want redemption. We want to look at the azure skies in the morning and say our thanks… In the craft her daughter was rowing, She is almost a replica of her mother. Only apparently. But she is more into the film world. At her age, she read books, many classics- Siddhartha, The Idiot, Exile and Kingdom, Now her daughter watches movies. They have a mini theatre on the yacht. Which has been the home for the last six months. She got the idea from Paris over the Seine. Watching those boats, and these people. What if life’s that way. Only too good to believe. She did not want to make anything permanent. According to her, there are two types of people, including writers and philosophers and businessmen. The one increases in the physical plane that everybody can comprehend, one house, two houses, three houses, cars, automobiles, shirts, pants, overcoats, shorts, dainties. bonnet.
That is the first category. Then there is the second category- adventurers of the body, mind and the soul. The great people on the planet who lived in this world and built up treasures that are permanent. Buddha, Jesus, Socrates, her father, who had three houses when he was youthful but died in a rented flat in 93. At ninety-three he had a muscular shank and young maidens, the servants of the family would make tease him, what is the use of this bulky body old papa, your wife is no more, come for a swing. And he will laugh and listen to Bach,’ The body is not for connubial affairs , It is for the adventure of the mind, soul, children ‘ and he tapped some on the shoulders and said,’Now you bring me coffee, also use less pül biberi’ [red pepper flakes] in the dish.Her brother in the other chamber chuckles amidst the piano session. In those eras, she was planning her next circuit to Greece with her sidekick. She thought about how as a young woman she sat by the Rethymno Lighthouse with him one evening and sipped orange juice. He was from a Venetian Harbor is filled with fishing boats and lined with tavernas…Now she must meet new souls and engage in the most valuable communication.
She took her journal up and scripted to her friend, Jason…, he approached me etc. As if she were narrating a new story of her friend. Now she does not need his material embraces, she has had many of them..She wants to caress his soul, how can one do that, she recollects his smiling face, the graceful beam on lips, he is a strict in his vows, he does not show the teeth when she saw last time.., She is different and she shows her full teeth which  the exact replica of her heart. Nothing to hide… All that is there is to give. Her teeth are not as uniform as such, but one can discern the efflorescence of her soul on the teeth. She was loving, she was happy, she had taken great undertakings and can live in any shelter in any swarm. She can live like a tramp and a diva, she had scattered her coins wisely. She is tough, physically, mentally, still, she understands the weeping of a distressed dame. She nearly hit a man crouching on a juvenile lady behind the rostrum without her permission, She went away and hit him between limbs and lo.. She had only her two karate moves. She knows 51 karate moves, in case of danger which her papa taught her as a young lass..

‘Who are you writing to, mama?’ her daughter asked. She said ‘It is to my classmate and over at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. This is my old love. The address might have changed. The man may have changed. But not love. If the address is not correct, the epistle will return. Not her love. It is like a shaft. The moment it went out,it has hit the mark. You see, it is not his love or my love. Just love.
‘Who are your readers,’ her kin asks again.
‘My readers… No, there is only one reader. A single peruser. Somewhere over there. I have seen that person numerous times. Do not question when, where. It is so. He/She, who is beyond distance or time. I address that single human being. That God among human being. With whom, if I meet in person can communicate without the aid of language, she said.
‘Is it fiction or reality?’ her daughter asked. ‘It is reality’, she stated adamantly and then went to the sauna.
Because the end and the origin are one and the same. Dear, you know it is like a physical consummation, The end moment and the beginning moment are the same. I write for a single reader. My direct spiritual ne plus ultra. When I write I always see that solitary reader before me. In fact, all my writings are love letters. If not, what is the use of writing. She would ask. The end is now.
She addressed a fortnight ago a meeting of young matrons– She said- ‘You ladies, don’t cry before men for your food and honour, work hard and get it. You are strong and contain many worlds, If you don’t believe, come to my flat on this Saturday, I will teach you some of the this. Then after this thought, Zucchi took her diary– and wrote down in her cuneiform script her thoughts of the day- You know ladies. This is my great adventure physically, mentally, spiritually do you know what I am doing now,  right this moment, which is not part of the time, never, never the part of time as I am communicating to my brother/ sister in Europe, Asia, the Americas and perhaps in those vessels in the sea… not through words, not through magic, but through right loving thought, just love. That brings her/his happiness and glory.. In straightforward terms, I am talking through the language of love, can you hear that.,
The brother emerges now,’ my piano concourses are over, now it is your turn..’.
Because you know the secret of the secrets. So far as you have love, you won’t be given to your tormenter. There is correction /victory in the fraction of a second.
‘Really, mama?’, her daughter asked,’ Really, dear’, she said confidently…

Claim your power, you are closer to God than man, by at least one step. You don’t believe… Then I believe and that is why my life is different from yours. When you are crying before your husbands, I stay stern and look at the eyes and smile. Simply smile, and he will know that I am above these. And then by the best choice I will take a two hour voyage and stroll and look at the blossoms in the garden and come back and make my favourite meal and if the fellow wants a share, give him , and I go to sleep and tell him, not to disturb my repose, today, not tomorrow. Who has seen tomorrow.…

—[ From a  of a work of Fiction in progress]























The inn was jim-dandy from a division with avenues spotted with xanthous blossoms and little concrete seats that could fit a couple of individuals. Seats had cracked edges, which implies it was not done late and the lines of yew and green plants connected it with a similar segment. The embeds had white and red blossoms in a wonderful commingle , and when we drew closer to the plants, one saw jasmine and rose like a miracle as if to justify this long trip…
Several individuals gathered in the parvis and the children enthusiastically approached to see the crimson or faint red shading that was declared as vestiges of a bygone era. It was the end of season and the spot was the most applauded resting place for voyagers, Greek, Danish and French and English, the language was assorted and the brogues switched and the speakers similarly had obvious bias in their verbalizations . Had not the mist pulled back at any rate, one wouldn’t surmise it was 11 o’clock and the vehicle, which heaped up the visitors did screech at the front yard, and a practically identical crew of drivers were enterprising and amidst several hoots of horns one deciphered a sort of popular pace of times, real but redolent with passions. Lot of professed and tacit emotions. Some of them were savored by these groups of guests when they went back,and everybody’s annals was different, though the locus be the same. The benefactors of this spot were generally seafarers, marine officers who had their base camps in different parts of the globe, and also some families and seniors who hoped for escapades and culinary exploits…

So, the rent and settlement somewhat stood out from various destinations of this sort, in any case, the hosts kept up a high caliber all through the conditions. There was a statue of a musician who was an old backpacker to this place and in his last stop-off was joined by a woman writer who wrote amorous books and the couple’s tale was among many other subjects surrounding the locale, and one can leaf through it in the hotel record, not as calumny yet rather like the story, for the entertainer, set the seal on two or three of his classical works sitting in one of these boudoirs overlooking the ocean. Without doubt, he was objected to stay for long in his first trek as his means were much less than his genius and to recognise the latter part, the hosts took another lifetime. The organization repaid their uncaring treatment by a statue of the wizard..
I arrived  last April when the season was withdrawing and the ships started departing .Regardless, my motivation was steady and I fancied to take this port as a brief stop for those much awaited travels. Here I kept on running on the chess master and another humble and slim aristocrat with a round top like an egg and padded at the edge and could flaunt beguiling shades, nearly rainbow shades.The sun became the focal point by mid noon and it rose up persistently from a slumber from the canopy of fogs..

The lilac-violet inside divider was shaded and it was fortressed by tremendous columns and flame entryways. Far from this facade, the delta of a river that finally merged into the sea became visible..One could also notice a wide band of watercraft…. The lift was open on both sides with lithesome bars for security which well permitted air inside that energized when we went up to see the most noteworthy  background. Numerous individuals spoke Eskimo dialects, Aleut language family [Inupiaq] and the reason is unknown..
In my last visit, it rained regularly, and according to the caution in the personal log book, you take an umbrella or a waterproof parka whenever you visited this station and it was late summer then and the sun was sparkling on the water and the comprehensive network that was conceded by the water was broad and clear to accommodate many families..People of all ages, endeavored to meander by the water bodies and further along to examine the particular streets that offered wares, old and new and flowers and fruits in all freshness.. As should have been obvious from the multitude passing,the quality of these commodities was high and this made the station an indisputable destination in holidaymaker’s maps.

The food was fantastic yet terribly hot by all accounts of eating as I was suffering from irritable bowel syndrome and was regularly for some time carrying honey containers perhaps as a quick fix.. My buddy of that season, the chess expert was with me. When I  lingered at the dinner lobby, the lights and shadows interlocked, helping me to remember the interlocking sun and downpour in my places. I requested Cabernet Sauvignon,my favourite..
This was followed by red meat, in spite of the fact that it was not a fortunate resolve and as it was another spot, I picked up another tempo. This was in a way risky, but I had my case of medicines and the numbers of specialists in the diary.My companion who happened to be a descendent of a podestà of the 13th century was reticent during the journey but now was happy before food, as the young gentleman was previously drained by voyages to the East. He had bistecca fiorentina, or Florentine T-bone steak and Bellini, a combination of wine and white peach..
Additionally, I ordered some lemon rice, since I was ravenous and tired by the fourteen hours of the trek – while the chess ace was experimenting on various types of wines – There were bottles and barrels as far as eyes could go but the chess ace’s apprentice abstained from every hot stuff as it was Lent.. After some time, the two chess-pro supporters who had hailed  from Verona likewise took an interest in the supper. One individual,an expert in pedal clavichord entertained us on our request, some of the music he had composed…
The lettuce was fresh and after dinner every member went to the entertainment show lobby in the neighbouring lodge. The rooftop had Murano glass figurines and the divider displayed a copy of Jan Steen’s Oyster Meal, the original likely in another museum … At the point when the dinner finished at midnight myself and the other friend were damn depleted, except for chess ace who went to a more interesting room. But I was reading the sixteenth chapter of my mentor’s notes where it was written,’when the passion is too high,withdraw’..So I reclined on a chaise longue in the patio and looked at Hydra though I did not know which head is immortal……

– [From a work of Fiction in progress]