OLGA GRUSHIN
387
He could not see her face, only her hands, which hovered over the
icons, rearranging them, pushing them an inch this way, an inch that
way, and the sight of those trembling fingers made his heart contract
with horrible, wordless pity.
"That same autumn, a neighbor's cat had kittens, and I took one. I
used to think, as long as my Hope is alive, maybe one day there will be
a knock on the door and my Beppe will walk in. He was tall, so tall he
had to bend his head so as not to hit it against the door frame.... "
She paused, then walked over to a dresser, her shoes falling with
clumsy clunks into the terrible silence. One of six children, Constantine
was used to emotions that were spread more thinly, and now he franti–
cally searched for something he could say to this grieving woman. But
no words came, and, wincing guiltily, he watched her slide out a drawer
and rummage methodically through its soft layers, finally emerging with
a picture. Unable to bear the sound of her shoes again, he hastily crossed
the room toward her and obediently bent to look at a colored snapshot
in a garishly gilded frame. A young man around his own age, ordinary
looks, a cocky smile, dark hair, black Italianate eyes, the Parthenon in
the background-a photograph like thousands of others, Constantine
thought, making a vague sympathetic noise.
"Handsome, wasn't he?" she said proudly and slipped the frame back
amidst a jumble of slips and bras and abandoned sewing. "He was not
like the others, no, not my Beppe. Went to live in Athens, my boy did."
She sighed and shut the drawer with the sound of a dry explosion.
"Well, enough of that. Let's go have us a glass of wine in the kitchen,
shall we, Costas? Nestor came by today and brought some."
As they sat sipping Nestor's wine, Constantine felt increasingly awk–
ward, for all their usual subjects of conversation seemed insultingly triv–
ial-and it was out of a desire to dispel the spirit of death hovering in
the room that he ventured into territory he had intended to avoid.
"I've just met the woman who lives beyond the hill," he said casually.
Maria's eyes moved slowly to his face, unsurprised.
"I thought you might one day," she said quietly as if to herself. "I
didn't want you to, of course. I was afraid you'd think less of the peo–
ple here if you knew ... "
"If
I knew they buy wind," he said, smiling. "But, Madame Passano,
you don't actually believe that ... that ... "
He fell silent, unsure how to phrase his question. Carefully she set her
glass down and took his hand in both of hers.
"Costas," she said warmly. "There are things in this land that you
and 1 know very little about, and it's better to be respectful toward
