The Lace Tablecloth Read online

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much. Do we know each other?’ he asked with obvious curiosity.

  ‘Oh yes, from way back, when we were still students at the Ptolamais Gymnasium.’

  ‘Is that so?’ he shook his head in amazement. ‘It’s unbelievable! I thought there was something familiar in your face and your voice, but I couldn’t have imagined I would meet someone I knew so long ago in this far away place.’

  Because of their common place of origin Tasia took the liberty of bombarding him with questions about how he found Australia, how long he was going to stay and if he was travelling alone or with his wife.

  ‘I came alone,’ he answered with some sadness. ‘Unfortunately, I lost my wife ten years ago. But, listen, if you have time we could meet after the lecture and have a coffee together.’

  ‘I would like that very much!’

  Tasia was delighted.

  ‘Okay then, after the lecture.’

  Tasia was enchanted to hear George speak in a language full of beauty and clarity. His lucid ideas were expressed with depth. She wondered if there was any other language more expressive, rich and flexible. She noticed the syntax had somehow changed over the years: an inevitable process in every living entity, she thought.

  The speaker was indeed George — the first and secret love of her youth — even though very little of what she could remember remained the same, except the warmth of his smile, the eloquence of his speech and the resonance of his voice. There were enormous changes in George. That’s how things happen, Tasia thought. How was it possible for a human being to remain static and unchanged, untouched by the experiences and the influences of a lifetime?

  A human being is not hard like granite but malleable like dough: an ever-flickering flame. Just like chlorophyll, a human being absorbs the flame of life, develops, creates, makes gains, gives, takes, and becomes whole. If not, he wastes away and passes through life without even realising he’s ever existed. Pity those who say they haven’t changed a bit. Unwittingly, they admit they have kept their door bolted against life and have stayed clear of life’s challenges, she thought.

  After the lecture his colleagues agreed she should take care of him during his stay in Melbourne, so she drove him back to his hotel.

  ‘Let’s go to the restaurant and have a light supper,’ she suggested, and he agreed.

  ‘Could I ask you a favour?’ Tasia continued as soon as they sat down. ‘Could we use the familiar ‘you’ rather than the formal, and may I call you George? You see I’ve lived and worked for many years with Australians and prefer their easy and egalitarian ways.’

  ‘I was just about to ask you the same thing,’ he commented, laughing pleasantly.

  They sat there for a number of hours talking about the past, the present, and even the next day. At times she felt very emotional as he spoke about people she knew, about places she had almost forgotten, about situations buried deep in her memory under the dust of time, about things she could no longer recall. There were times when he expressed her own ideas and sentiments, revealing that his views about life, about people and society were identical to her own which was not surprising since they had grown up in the same environment, had had the same teachers and childhood experiences, and a similar philosophical orientation.

  It was getting late.

  ‘You must be tired,’ Tasia proposed. ‘May I suggest we call it a day? I’ll be back in the morning to show you around Melbourne. Tomorrow is going to be rather quiet because it’s Saturday and offices are closed. On Sunday we could venture outside Melbourne: somewhere in the country, perhaps up to the nearest mountains.’

  ‘That would be splendid. My next lecturing commitment is on Monday afternoon in Sydney.’

  ‘Good! I could also take you to the airport on Monday morning.’

  ‘I don’t want to impose on you.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure. Have a good night and I’ll see you for breakfast in the hotel restaurant around nine.’

  Tasia drove home feeling happy and as light as a feather. The time she had spent with George had been very satisfying. Her day had been most interesting, full of surprises and memories. Even though the two of them had lived for many years in different worlds and under different conditions, their childhood experiences were common. They had lived through the German occupation, the civil war, the hunger, fear and deprivations. At school they had had the same teachers and many common friends and acquaintances, so it was easy for them to understand each other. When they spoke about some of the people they both knew, she recalled them as they were then: young and vibrant.

  She felt so warm and comfortable she was almost ready to concede she still had a crush on him. She checked herself: it had just been a very pleasant evening.

  On her way home as she drove through familiar streets, her mind was full of memories and reflections. From the moment she had arrived in Australia, several factors had contributed to her breaking away from the Greek community and living in a predominantly middle class Anglo-Saxon society. Until now she hadn’t given a second thought to her cultural identity. First and foremost she had always considered herself to be a world citizen, with special love and pride for her birthplace, Greece. But she also had sincere and deep feelings of gratitude and love for Australia, her second ‘mother’, who had provided her with many important and generous opportunities. Tasia was an honest and conscientious person, deeply satisfied and even surprised to have surpassed her own wildest expectations. She was humble and very appreciative of the love, esteem and respect she received from her family, her friends and her colleagues. She never felt the need to show off in order to impress, and always behaved in a spontaneous and natural manner.

  So the following morning she was amused when she caught herself considering carefully what dress to wear and how to arrange her hair. On her way out of the house she looked coquettishly and with a mischievous smile at her reflection in the mirror. Life was very strange indeed. How was she to know what was lurking and hidden deep in her psyche?

  She was eager to see him again, to show him her beloved Melbourne: not the cold and soulless city she had encountered forty years earlier — but today’s Melbourne, full of life and charm, a city that had developed over the years under the influence of people and civilisations from every part of the world, a city that celebrated her people’s skills, their lifestyles and customs.

  From the restaurant window they could see a glorious autumn sun — in a clear blue sky — beckoning them. They left the hotel and crossed broad, tree-lined avenues in the middle of the city. They stopped to admire the beautifully decorated shop windows and some interesting old buildings including the gothic ANZ Bank building and the art deco Town Hall. Finally, they took the lift up to the observation deck of the Rialto Tower — the tallest building in Melbourne — to take in a superb 360 degree view of the city.

  ‘It’s beautiful; like a city in a fairy tale,’ she heard him murmur.

  She felt proud, as if the city were her own creation.

  They passed in front of the beautiful domed building of Flinders Street Station and stopped on the bridge over the Yarra River to watch all sorts of boats drifting on its brown waters. They continued to stroll over the extensive greens of Alexandra Park, stopping to photograph each other next to the busts of Hercules and Apollo. They walked beneath gigantic trees, letting their eyes feast on the colourful flowers, statues, monuments, water fountains and small lakes filled with water lilies and rushes. A short tram ride brought them to the Shrine of Remembrance which Tasia informed him was built as a memorial to the people who served Australia during World War I.

  ‘The inner sanctuary and the stone of remembrance are lit by sunlight precisely at 11 am on November 11 every year on Remembrance Day,’ she told him.

  Soon they passed through the gates of the Botanical Gardens, ‘… the most beautiful and best designed botanical garden in the world …’ Tasia read from the brochure she picked up and translated to George. Every turn of th
e road revealed a new and splendid vista, a new sight of incredible beauty. Everywhere there were huge exotic and local trees, and a great variety of shrubs, plants and flowers situated among lawns; there were lakes and bridges in perfect harmony of colour and shape.

  They ate lunch late in the afternoon in the garden’s cafeteria, sitting out next to the lake under the hot sun watching the plethora of waterbirds including majestic black swans.

  She returned home late in the afternoon, dead tired but happy. She’d had a wonderful time showing George some parts of her beloved Melbourne. Of course there were many more things she would liked to have shown him, but time and tiredness put an end to it. Tomorrow was another day. They planned to drive about an hour or so away to the ferny glades of the Dandenong ranges to commune with nature. She knew that in the mellowness of autumn the green leaves of many trees would have changed to beautiful gold, amber, yellow and copper shades: a picture to behold.

  The weather continued to be perfect. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky. They drove through a number of green suburbs on the way out of Melbourne, with houses built on big blocks of land, making the outskirts of the city seem unending. They bypassed small and large shops lining the roads, substantial parks and open sports grounds. As they continued up a twisting road they went through parts of natural bushland alternating with well-kept parks adjoining small villages, and artists colonies nestling here and there among cafeterias and picturesque restaurants.

  They walked with reverence the twisting paths inside the park of the famed artist William Ricketts, looking at his sculptures — most of them compositions of native plants, animals and aborigines with whom the artist had had a close association.

  Tasia translated a Ricketts placard:

  Each one of us is a transformer of Divine Power and when love finds form in sculpture and music, we are richly blessed because through such we can reach God.

  ‘I feel as if I’m in a church without walls and ceiling,’ murmured George, deeply moved.

  They stopped at a charming coffee shop and sat outside to take in the majestic view spreading below, and listened to the cacophonic serenade of bellbirds and kookaburras, while flocks of cockatoos and rosellas flew over their heads, screeching.

  They entered the Dandenong Ranges National Park and walked over rugged paths running between huge fern trees, eucalypts of different shapes, sizes and colours, pretty little streams and lakes with waterfalls. They listened to the unique sounds of bellbirds. They were also fortunate enough to hear the intoxicating song of a lyrebird.

  ‘Our planet is blest. Majestic, beautiful nature,’ George said, and Tasia felt warm inside because she knew he appreciated this unique experience she had chosen for him.

  ‘It’s a pity you don’t have time to see the many more places I love,’ she said.

  ‘Next time. Who knows? I may come back. But first I must reciprocate. You must come to Greece and see the places I love. What do you say? Would you come?’

  ‘I promise to give it serious thought. I’d like that very much,’ she said with a heart flutter.

  Lunch in the restaurant up on the highest tip of the mountain lasted many hours because they couldn’t stop talking. They would begin on topics about themselves and their families, but soon they’d drift to others, like the state of the planet or the new chaos and quantum scientific theories. They spoke about many contemporary issues outside their own areas of interest and work and then their conversation would turn with humour to the frivolous which would end in paroxysms of uncontrollable laughter.

  On their way back they were both quiet, almost sullen. Tired, but also knowing this wonderful interlude was coming to an end, deep inside, Tasia wished for this friendly association to last forever, and maybe because of this she had the impression that George kept looking at her tenderly. Finally, when they parted that night, he thanked her with genuine warmth, took both her hands and kept holding them for a very long time.

  Tasia tossed and turned in her bed that night, irritable and unable to sleep. What has come over me? I’m an old woman. Why am I unable to control myself and put an end to all these crazy ideas? And why is my heart leaping inside me as though I were a young girl? This is crazy! This man is not the blond youth I fell in love with forty years ago. Today’s restlessness has no similarity to the turmoil I felt then. Things are very simple: two old acquaintances met unexpectedly in a new place and spent two pleasant days together. That’s all! Nothing more, nothing less!

  Tasia knew they were not young any more. Their remaining slices of bread were counted. The largest part of her life was spent: ups and downs, loss and pain but also joy and fulfilment.

  Which person’s life didn’t have that? There was no reason for her to complain. Look how she had started and where she was now! She had lost her husband but was blessed with good children and grandchildren. Also, she was independent, with lots of interests and activities …

  When eventually sleep came, she dreamed she was in her house in the village — digging in the garden and planting trees and flowers. Where did that come from and what does it mean?

  George was very warm and expressive when they met for breakfast the next morning. At least that was what she thought. His insistence she should give him the opportunity to return her hospitality in Greece, and show her what he loved and found worthwhile there seemed absolutely genuine, as was the tenderness she could read in his eyes.

  ‘We’ll keep in touch, frequently,’ George said as if trying to reassure himself.

  ‘Yes. Thank God for the internet,’ Tasia agreed.

  ‘You know, I’ve got a camera attached to my computer. If you get one too we could talk as if we were sitting opposite each other.’

  ‘I’ll attach a camera to my computer, too,’ Tasia promised.

  ‘Of course, what I really would like is to see you in Greece very soon.’

  ‘I’d really like that, too.’

  It was time for him to go. Just before he disappeared behind the departure doors he firmly embraced her and kissed her on the lips.

  I

  t was a hot autumn afternoon. From up on deck it was impossible to make out the pier from the hundreds of feet moving restlessly and raising a thick cloud of dust. But the voices of the agitated crowd reached up to Tasia on the upper deck of Aurelia, the big Italian liner, as it prepared to sail to Australia, a country she hardly knew.

  The first time she had heard about Australia, Tasia had referred to her school geography book where she found only two pages on this, the fifth and smallest of the five continents. The information was limited because half of one page was filled with a small map showing a very large island — below the equator — floating in the waters of the Indian and Pacific oceans.

  Her ability to calculate distances from a map was abysmal, but even she could appreciate that Australia was very far away, at the other end of the world. Not that she was greatly concerned about it. She had stopped worrying about where she was going and what she was going to find there. In an odd way her apprehension — which only yesterday seemed to be bordering on madness — had now turned to total indifference. Like an impartial observer, she watched unconcerned whatever was happening around her. After all, the fact she was on this boat, ready to sail to a distant and unknown land, wasn’t her own deliberate and conscious decision. With a fatalistic stubbornness she had abandoned herself to the capricious twists of destiny, indifferent to what her future may hold.

  The truth was that, throughout her short life, and despite the hard knocks, Tasia had always felt connected to something bigger than herself: something formless and powerful that both comforted and unsettled her and, in any case, made her feel special and somehow different from other girls. Sometimes, primordial memories ebbed and flowed and brought echoes of an idyllic and familiar world, a place whose name she could no longer remember. At such times she felt as if she were embraced warmly and tenderly by something that gave her reassurance and love. But when these states of mind retreat
ed as suddenly as they appeared, she was left with a strong feeling of loneliness and an overwhelming nostalgia for this inexplicably lost world.

  Today, Tasia and the world occupied different camps. As strangers, they faced each other with suspicion if not hostility. Today, she felt as if cast off to a heartless, remote and indifferent universe. And if her eyes remained dry, a vague smile of spiteful pride disguised her intense pain.

  Tasia had learnt about danger early in her life. She had heard the grown-ups talk about bad people and spirits, about wickedness, even though she couldn’t understand what they meant. But she could sense people’s fear, particularly every time they mentioned the word ‘Germans’, to the point that she too would start trembling every time she heard it. Despite her fear she was longing to know what type of creatures these Germans were. Maybe they were untamed beasts like the wild boar - with big curved teeth - brought to the village square by the hunters who said that, alive, it could rip a man in two. Or maybe they were bad spirits: ghosts that roamed the streets after midnight to drive crazy whomever they met as it happened with Billy, the miller’s dotty son who was mocked and chased by the village children.

  She had never seen spirits or ghosts or, for that matter, Germans, but she was nevertheless petrified when her mother would take her by the hand every night to lead her up the stairs to her room, put her to bed and close the door behind her. Tasia was left all alone in the darkness, her heart palpitating, her eyes wide open, expecting the most outlandish and scary creatures to come out to torture her and drink her blood. It was important for her to know about spirits and ghosts, to know what type of creatures the Germans were, because if she didn’t know, how was she to recognise them and protect herself?

  The day the sun tumbled down Tasia was still very young, a tiny little girl. She was too young to know about the rotating seasons and the progressive changes in weather that regulated the rhythms of nature and the work of humans.