The Lace Tablecloth Read online

  About the Author

  Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis was born in 1935 in a provincial town in Western Macedonia but has lived in Melbourne, Australia since late 1959. She graduated from the Advanced School of Public Health in Athens in 1956, and has devoted most of her professional life to mental health nursing education.

  Soula (to her friends) is also a graduate of the College of Nursing Australia (DipNEd), and Latrobe University (BEd, MEd). Since retiring, she has been able to devote more time to writing. Her poems and short stories (in Greek and English) have been published in magazines and newspapers and have gained awards in Greek literary competitions. Her first novel Tasia: a privileged life (Salonika 2007) gained excellent reviews here and overseas and won the 2008 Aggelidion Foundation (Melbourne) Greek book-of-the-year award.

  Published in Australia by Sid Harta Publishers Pty Ltd,

  ABN: 46 119 415 842

  23 Stirling Crescent, Glen Waverley, Victoria

  3150 Australia

  Telephone: +61 3 9560 9920,

  Facsimile: +61 3 9545 1742

  E-mail: [email protected]

  First published in Australia June 2011

  This edition published 2011

  Copyright © Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis 2011

  Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design

  The right of Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to that of people living or dead are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Gessa-Liveriadis, Anastasia

  The Lace Tablecloth

  ISBN: 978-1-921829-38-3

  Digital edition published by

  Port Campbell Press

  www.portcampbellpress.com.au

  ISBN: 9781742980942 (ePub)

  Conversion by Winking Billy

  Acknowledgements

  From as far back as I can remember, writing had always been an inate need and an end in itself. In my youth I discarded everything I wrote but my brother - who had more respect for my work than I - kept whatever he found and presented it to me close to fifty years later hoping it would prompt me to start writing again. “Allow the reading public to judge your work,” he suggested. I heeded his advice and, as a result, have gained a number of Greek literary awards. I sincerely thank him from the bottom of my heart.

  I would also like to thank former university lecturer Helen Nikas whose assessment of the manuscript gave me the courage to consider publication.

  My thanks go to Nonie Sadler for her excellent editing of the manuscript and also to Sid Harta Publishing.

  Finally, I would like to thank my husband Peter for his care, encouragement and support.

  Praise for The Lace Tablecloth

  * * *

  Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis skilfully constructs an interesting and easy-to-read narrative which provides authentic and sensitive insights into the experiences which were shared by many Greek women as well as thousands of other women who embarked on a life beyond their homeland. This novel has wide appeal because of the universal messages it conveys and the convincing portrayals and realistic situations it presents.

  —Professor George Kanarakis, Charles Sturt Universit

  Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis is to be commended for celebrating, in prose of warmth and vivacity, the struggle of these courageous women who eventually went on to have such a positive impact on Australian life. The Lace Tablecloth is an essential read for lovers of stories that touch the heart.

  —Konstandina Dounis, Poet and Academic

  This is a well-inspired and pleasingly narrated novel… Gessa-Liveriadis portrays in a charismatic and earnest way the turbulent, violent and chaotic modern history of Greece through the innocent eyes of a child… a very valuable literary creation…

  —Professor Dr. Anastasios M. Tamis, School of Arts and Science, The University of Notre Dame Australia

  Sadness, hope, loneliness, love, tradition, culture - these all tear at the heart of this beautiful work. This is a brave and beautiful story, eloquently written with heart and soul.

  —Wendy O’Hanlon, Acres Australia

  The central character in this novel spanning much of the twentieth century in Greece and Australia proves to be a true heroine, as she takes us through her fascinating but harrowing life journey.

  —Helen Nickas, Writer and former academic

  As Tasia’s story unfolds, I guarantee that you will fall in love with this gentle woman as much as I did when I read this novel as she radiates love, warmth and understanding. It comes as no surprise that this author has won various awards for her Greek novels and poetry. Her personal warmth shines throughout this story and I recommend this novel to anyone who loves to read a gentle and quiet novel that captures your heart and senses.

  —John Morrow’s Pick of the Week

  To Liza and Peter

  T

  he moment Tasia read his name in the lecture notice she held in her hand, she felt an intense throb in her heart. It was similar to the throb she had felt forty years ago every time she waited in the twilight behind her curtain to watch him pass by her open window.

  A million memories flooded her consciousness, driving her to go and sit in her armchair. In fact, that was something she did very frequently lately: sit and think about the past — where she had started, what she had left back in the faraway land, what she had done with her life till now. It was as if she were trying to put the pieces of her life together and take stock.

  A vague inner push over the past few years had brought her back to her roots after thirty-five or so years. She had begun to attend cultural events and festivals, and to mix with Greeks: people from her old country. This had left her pleasantly surprised. When she had first come to Australia most people from southern Europe had migrated here with the backing of the Ecumenical Council of Churches. The majority of immigrants were young, from remote villages, unskilled and with no, or very little, education. And yet, in the intervening years, these people had managed not only to survive but to succeed beyond all expectations. Many of them had become powerful and wealthy.

  They lived in beautiful houses and had established successful businesses. Their sons and daughters studied at universities to become distinguished scientists, professionals, professors, businessmen, politicians and government ministers. That was no small accomplishment; in fact it was almost a miracle. It made Tasia very proud of her compatriots.

  Of course there must have been many others who didn’t succeed and who remained silent and invisible. They were the crippled, the sick, those who through no fault of their own had fallen between the cracks: casualties of life’s cruelty and unpredictability. After all, Greek migrants to Australia numbered over three hundred thousand, the majority of them victims of hard times that had deprived them of the most basic needs including elementary schooling. Australia at that time was only interested in unskilled labour and so was importing needy young people, eager to work in any jobs without complaining, for lower pay — particularly those jobs Australians regarded as heavy or demeaning.

  But, let’s forget all about that for now. Tasia had not spoken Greek for many years so her renewed association with people from her own country brought her back into contact with her mother tongue. Listening to them speak b
rought tears to her eyes as she became aware of the eloquence, the clarity, the lucidity and the beauty of the Greek language. She reflected on individual words, making English comparisons, researched their origins and meanings and in the process developed a far greater appreciation and admiration for her native tongue.

  With a vague feeling of guilt, or perhaps of regret, for all these years she had stayed away from her people, she now wanted to regain her skills by regularly using her mother tongue. For this reason she had elected to do graduate studies at Melbourne University, this time in the Department of Greek Studies. She was now a retiree with time on her hands, and wanted to use this time doing meaningful and constructive work. To acquaint herself with her ancestry and to honour the memory of her mother, she was investigating — as her research project — a specific historical epoch of the Hellenism of Pontos, the birthplace of her mother.

  The traumas and uncertainties of the first twenty years of her life were long gone. Life’s experiences including finding herself in a different culture had forced her to reassess many of her old beliefs and values, and revise them in a conscious and deliberate way. One example was her youthful conviction that rationality was the most important quality civilised human beings could aspire to — in contrast to instincts, emotions and intuition. She came to appreciate that as the coin must have two sides, a whole person must have logic and emotion, must recognise and value both, and learn how to capitalise on them.

  In her work environment she had to deal with people from all walks of life and from many parts of the world with beliefs and values different from hers. However, feelings, fundamental needs and aspirations were common to all. Through her professional orientation she had learnt a lot pertaining to the human condition and the way humans adjust to life’s challenges.

  Over the years she had come to recognise and value all her personal experiences and learn from them. She could no longer remain indifferent to the strong throb in her heart every time she looked at a splendid sunset, or to ignore the inner quiver when confronting a wild storm. Nor could she remain cool and rational when flooded by overwhelming emotions every time she held one of her newborn babies in her hands, an experience that made her feel one with the creative power of the universe and in partnership with it.

  After this reassessment she had left herself free and open to meet life’s challenges head on, to live the moment, to recognise and value her feelings, and make conscious and responsible decisions. As a consequence, she felt peaceful and whole. Her interests extended beyond herself, and she embraced with genuine love her fellow humans and the world.

  The day Tasia had seen Nicholas, her first born, escort his sister Olympia to the church for her wedding, she knew her life’s work was done. Death could come any time now. Not that she was giving up on life! On the contrary, from now on she was going to take every one of her remaining days as a gift to savour with appreciation and joy.

  In her sixties, she’d had to reinvent herself as she was confronted by new challenges. She’d had to learn to live without work or family responsibilities, and to live alone. She could have gone to reside with one of her children and, sometimes, she was tempted to do just that. She loved her children and their families, a feeling that was mutual.

  Her three children Nicolas, Zoe and Olympia were all happily married, well-educated and with successful careers. They were decent and socially responsible people with a genuine love for life and their fellow human beings.

  An added great joy in her life were her three grandchildren: Nicolas’ offspring, Natasha, her first grand-daughter, six years old, Alex, four years old, and Ntina, Zoe’s six-month old baby, the most beautiful doll imaginable!

  It was a shame Robert was no longer there to enjoy and be proud of his children and grandchildren. He had passed away before his beloved Olympia became a bride. He would never experience the joy and the feeling of completion that comes with the birth of a grandchild.

  Robert was a good man, a loving husband and a devoted father. He was honest, hard-working and loyal. Their life together had been happy as they loved and respected each other. They had created a good family and brought up three lovely children, educated them and taught them to love life and their fellow humans. In the process, Tasia and Robert had not neglected their own professional and intellectual development either.

  Then the bad times had come along: Robert’s horrid illness, the pain, the exhaustion and the dependency. What can you say? That’s life! There is no point in asking why me? The most rational question would be: why not me?

  With an enormous sadness in her heart she watched Robert waste away, and become half the man he used to be. But she was grateful because she was strong and competent, able to stay by his side and take care of him till the very end.

  After Robert had passed away Tasia still had her work. Olympia had also continued to live with her and so the house was filled with the loveliness and the optimism of youth. But then Tasia retired and, soon after, Olympia had opened up her wings to fly to a nest of her own. That’s how life was meant to be.

  Even Kahlil Gibran has said so: Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not for you … their soul dwells in the house of tomorrow which you cannot visit … You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth …

  Tasia loved her children dearly. However, she had decided to stay in her own house and look after herself, contrary to the expectations most people had. I know the customary thing is for a mother to live with her children and to help with the upbringing of her grandchildren, Tasia thought. But I don’t think you have to live with your children in order to prove your love. Once a parent, you are always a parent, ready to stand by your children. Whether you live with them or not is irrelevant and you are always there for them regardless of their conduct.

  She thought long and hard but in the end she decided to live on her own, and handle all her affairs. After all she wasn’t that old! She was bit over sixty, strong and healthy with all her faculties intact. Her mind was sharp and agile, her spirit youthful, restless and inquisitive, and her stamina unchanged. She continued to study, to do voluntary work, and to seek new challenges. The years that had passed had only managed to diminish her egotism, her conviction that somehow she was different, capable of changing the whole world single-handed. As for the rest, nothing could quench her thirst for learning, for broadening her horizons, for changing.

  She looked again at the notice, still in her hand. She read it more carefully and burst out laughing. How could she be so stupid! What business would George — the secret love of her long-gone youth — have in Melbourne? By now, he could be dead. Since he was three or four years her senior, he would have retired many years ago. If he were still alive! Besides, from what she could remember he was just a teacher, not a ‘renowned Professor of Byzantine History’ as the lecture notice proclaimed. The most rational explanation was that the lecturer happened to have the same name. However, even this coincidence was sufficient to awaken the wild heartbeat of a long-forgotten first love. There was no other way to explain her pounding heart when she read his name. What’s the matter with me? she thought. I’m a mature, logical and complete woman and not a brainless youngster.

  Instinctively, she got up and stood in front of the full-sized mirror, curious to see what was left of that young girl of eighteen after the implacable affects of time. Well, very little indeed: the shape of her face, the colour of her eyes; her hair would have been white by now if she wasn’t colouring it. But why not? It was a current benefit enjoyed by modern elderly women: they could colour their hair to look much younger, sparing younger people on the tram offering their seat.

  Now, if she had the chance to become young again, let’s say eighteen, would she take it? Certainly not! She wouldn’t like to have gone through the pain again, the confusion and disillusionment of her young years. Not ever!

  She looked once more at the
paper and shrugged her shoulders. So what! Even if the visiting Professor was George, what had that to do with her? Already she had wasted too much time thinking about him. The man of her life was Robert, and his memory was lovingly locked forever in her heart. What relevance had the memory of Robert with today’s notice? Robert was dead. He had passed away six years ago. But it was only after Olympia’s wedding that Tasia had felt the coldness of loneliness, particularly when entering her empty house at night. This might have been the reason her memory was bringing back long-forgotten people and ghosts from her past.

  If this Professor of Byzantine History and George — the secret love of her youth — were one and the same person, by now he would be an old man, a pale reflection and a ghostly shadow of the blond and self-assured youth who unwittingly and unknowingly left her heart in tatters and took her soul to the edge of the abyss.

  T

  he amphitheatre was almost empty when she arrived for the lecture. A light engineer was climbing up and down the stairs fixing cables and speakers, testing projectors and lights. As usual, Tasia sat in the front row close to the lectern where she could read the screen without difficulty and concentrate. Soon the seats began to fill up. An elderly, stout, balding gentleman with some white hair entered the room with another lecturer Tasia knew well. They passed in front of her and she had the opportunity to thoroughly study the newcomer from head to toe.

  If they had bumped into each other in the street she wouldn’t have given him a second look. But the general demeanour, the shape of the face, the spark in the eyes and the aura convinced her it was him: George.

  She got up and approached him resolutely.

  ‘Welcome to Melbourne, Professor,’ she greeted him, offering her hand.

  He took it and held it for a moment in his strong and warm hand. He returned her greeting smiling pleasantly and searched her face as if wanting to remember something.