Lefteris waits, part two

Where has she gone again? Something is not right. Every Sunday for... Since. Leave that now. It’s too early for that. Why’s this room so cold again? Everything is breaking, dammit. Everything is breaking down. I can almost see my breath, dammit. How much is this going to cost now? I can call Stathi, he will come in to fix it. He didn’t charge that much last time. When did he come in last. I’m forgetting, dammit. I’m forgetting and I never used to forget, I never could forget. The walls in this room were green, I remember, and we painted them off-white: me, Georgey, the girls were cleaning the house, who else was with us?  There were two more people. Leonidas from work, yes, dammit. Leonidas. What happened to him? He was a good man. He disappeared. He disappeared. Where did she go again? At least it’s not dark outside. All those cars not paying attention. Leave that. The floors are so cold. Where are my slippers? Ah, there they are. The little one made a good choice with these. They know something, these youth. No, pappou, they’re good for your feet. They keep them warm. But pappou doesn’t get cold feet, Michael, go ahead and touch my feet. Making a face. They smell pappou. Don’t you wash them? Giggling. And then, dammit, I started waking up with cold feet. The little kolopaido put a spell on me. How can I not smile, as hard as it is to. Let me go check on him. Even the door knob in here is cold. She probably went to go see... Make sure there are flowers there still. She won’t listen. Killing herself. Our room is colder than the hall. She left the light on in the bathroom. How many times do I have to tell her? Why is the popup drain off? Did she drop something down the drain? I don’t have my glasses to look down anyway. Twist it back in. Forget brushing my teeth. Let her nag. At least the light works when I turn it off. I wonder if the boy can hear the noise coming from the bathroom? He’s too quiet sometimes, and even quieter now. And his door needs to be oiled. Did I wake him? It’s warmer here. Good. And this bed, dammit, we need to go today to get another. Enough. Forget about waiting. I can’t take watching him squeeze into it. When he tells us to pick a bed for him, I’ll pick out the pink one. That will make him laugh. He can’t forget to laugh, dammit, not now, he’s too young. Did I look like that sleeping when I was his age? Stop. Damn floors. Wait. He stopped stirring. Let me go before I wake him up completely. I’ll leave the door unclosed. Coffee is what I need now. Where is that woman? She should have been back by now. This kitchen table needs to be replaced. Too much all at once, my God. These chairs are too hard now. I hate how the grind against my spine. I’ve lost weight, God. You know that don’t you? New bed repair the thermostat change the kitchen table. Too much. Every Sunday going out and she thinks I don’t know that she is slipping out. What is this? Crumbs sticking to my elbows? She baked something yesterday didn’t she? She said she would be back to make breakfast. I never saw any bread around. Where did these crumbs come from? And the dishes in the sink. Something isn’t right. How much more can we bear, my God? She said she would go for a walk over an hour ago.

Lefteris waits

She said she would go for a walk over an hour ago.

After checking that Michael is sound asleep, Lefteris walks into the kitchen to wait for his wife. He sits on the edge of his chair, hunched, his elbows balanced on the arced end of their oak kitchen table, the one she won’t let him replace. The table is too old and he is sick of the folded napkin wedged beneath one of the legs, permanently taped there by Michael. She said, two weeks ago, that there are too many memories on this table, too many plates have scored its surface, and there are finger prints that no amount of wiping will erase. You know you are crazy, he softly replied, regretting the words. If you look close enough, she pushed, and mercifully caress the table for them with the end of your baby finger, you will feel where George always put his hands during supper. Her voice meditative, consciously deliberate.  Weaving his attention into each sober syllable, she continued: He always placed his fingers in the same place when he waited to be served, whether he knew it or not, Lefteris mou, and the weight of his prints are etched into the surface. She cast her eyes down on the blue pillow case she was knitting. Cutting all further discussion about the matter. The worry in his face receded into something less expressive, less assured, as he spied his wife nervously massaging her bottom lip with the tip of her cracked tongue.

Maybe she bumped into one of the old dog walkers in the neighbourhood.

Not wanting her to fuss over last night’s dishes, he unfastens himself from his chair and his reveries and takes two steps to the sink. He runs the hot water over the neat groups of dishes. Some forks and knives resting on three plates which sit in a frying pan. A quartet of glasses and a baking tray wait on the counter to the right. Squeezing a small amount of yellow detergent into a green sponge, he starts first with the glasses. They are the easiest to clean he hears himself say to Gabriel, in another life. The joints in his fingers finally soften as he folds the sponge into each glass. Then returns them to their row. Under the grey morning light, clusters of suds extinguish around the lips of the glasses. Steam draws out of them like transient crowns. But the forks are smaller, papou...forks are easier to do. He nodded at the boy squinting up at him under the bright morning light. Yes, agori mou, you are right, but you see how the forks have all that food on them? The boy brought the fork to his face, shielding his face with the other, and quickly nodded. Well, that means they are dirtier, you know...because your yiayia’s cooking is so good. He handed the smiling boy a glass. Now you see this one? Gabriel nodded three times, mindfully, knowing where his grandfather was leading him. The glass is not as dirty, papou, so that’s why you clean the glasses first. I knew that. He drew the boys head to his ribs like a treasure and said, You are too smart, my boy, and I’m proud that you want to help your yiayia with the dishes. Papou? Yes, agori mou. Yiayia said you’d give me five bucks to wash the dishes. Giggling into his sweater.  Lefteris protectively puts the last fork into one of the glasses, rinses his hands, and wet like that brings them to his face and cries.