open as he listened,trying to make sense of his discoveries. But today the same movements of his face are easily likened to his uncle Manoli and his impertinence, his jealousy and his deceit.
The fourth time I saw him, my regret knew no bounds. Oh, why did I do that? I couldn’t stop asking myself. Why ever had I kissed that boy? How could I have ever loved that face?
Yakup had changed, too. Completely. Now he had as thick a neck as that boy we’d seen with that girl in the stable on Spoon Island. Somehow the barber had changed the color of his dark hair. He still hadn’t shaved his moustache. And the barber had trimmed it into the oddest-looking thing. Despite all the unfortunate changes in his outward appearance, you could still see the old Yakup. When I looked into his face, I could still see traces of the adventures we’d shared. No, they were more than just traces. But not a word about Spoon Island. Now all he wanted to talk about were his adventures with a young girl:
“Eftehia’s legs were as desperate to burn as yellow church candles, her crisp white teeth were as white as fresh walnuts, and her hands asked to be kissed.”
Yakup met Eftehia in the autumn, when those arbutus berries I told you about were at their ripest. The bushes with blooming red flowers. Together they collected berries. Eftehia always took the ripest, plumpest berries. And then she was drunk, like all the other island women who said the berries made you drunk. She brought a ripe berry to her lips, took a bite and said to Yakup, “Now you eat the other half.” Then they lay down as the scent of honey wafted over them from the bushes’ red flowers.
Eftehia’s face was the face of an ordinary Greek girl. Full of fire, nothing more. She wasn’t very beautiful, and she wasn’t ugly either. But when she was in the sea in her dark blue bathing suit, the sight of her little breasts, and the rounded, cruel curves of her lustrous, powerful legs could make aboy double over and drive his hands into the earth, and tear up the grass with his teeth … how beautifully she swam. When the island’s summer houses filled up with dashing young men who dressed in sparkling whites, Eftehia quietly moved on from Yakup, who dressed in thick grays and had holes in his trousers. Odisya, meanwhile, had befriended the new boys, and with the money he’d saved up over the winter, he bought himself a pair of white pants and a short-sleeved silk shirt, and after begging a thousand different ways with the dashing youths he managed to get himself a sailor’s cap. When he strolled out onto the square in his new get-up, his powerful, well-proportioned body could make a young girl’s heart flutter and her thoughts race – at least from afar. Yakup and I would exchange only quick hellos before he went off to join the new boys, and the girls would introduce him. They would play cards in the gazino and because he won more than he lost, he always had money in his pocket.
That summer we only went over to Spoon Island once. And that was with Odisya and his crew. Four Greek boys. With a fake smile he told them about the things we had done together the year before, but without affection. He made it sound foolish. I could see from the pained smile on Yakup’s face that he, too, now thought it foolish, and that he found it distasteful to even speak about it.
Odisya’s friends split their sides laughing.
With their Greek tangos, they chased all our Robinsons off our desert island along with the air of Robinson; they were rowdy enough to reduce the Portuguese pirate to tears. I kept thinking of how I had kissed Odisya. I kept peeling the skin off my lips.
The Hairspring
“How many minutes left?”
Clearly confused, he said:
“Till what?”
I looked at him, surprised.
“Till we get out of here, my dear,” I said.
“Oh …”
Then he pulled a good-sized silver watch out of his pocket. Prying his eyes away from the blackboard, he looked down at it. He
The fourth time I saw him, my regret knew no bounds. Oh, why did I do that? I couldn’t stop asking myself. Why ever had I kissed that boy? How could I have ever loved that face?
Yakup had changed, too. Completely. Now he had as thick a neck as that boy we’d seen with that girl in the stable on Spoon Island. Somehow the barber had changed the color of his dark hair. He still hadn’t shaved his moustache. And the barber had trimmed it into the oddest-looking thing. Despite all the unfortunate changes in his outward appearance, you could still see the old Yakup. When I looked into his face, I could still see traces of the adventures we’d shared. No, they were more than just traces. But not a word about Spoon Island. Now all he wanted to talk about were his adventures with a young girl:
“Eftehia’s legs were as desperate to burn as yellow church candles, her crisp white teeth were as white as fresh walnuts, and her hands asked to be kissed.”
Yakup met Eftehia in the autumn, when those arbutus berries I told you about were at their ripest. The bushes with blooming red flowers. Together they collected berries. Eftehia always took the ripest, plumpest berries. And then she was drunk, like all the other island women who said the berries made you drunk. She brought a ripe berry to her lips, took a bite and said to Yakup, “Now you eat the other half.” Then they lay down as the scent of honey wafted over them from the bushes’ red flowers.
Eftehia’s face was the face of an ordinary Greek girl. Full of fire, nothing more. She wasn’t very beautiful, and she wasn’t ugly either. But when she was in the sea in her dark blue bathing suit, the sight of her little breasts, and the rounded, cruel curves of her lustrous, powerful legs could make aboy double over and drive his hands into the earth, and tear up the grass with his teeth … how beautifully she swam. When the island’s summer houses filled up with dashing young men who dressed in sparkling whites, Eftehia quietly moved on from Yakup, who dressed in thick grays and had holes in his trousers. Odisya, meanwhile, had befriended the new boys, and with the money he’d saved up over the winter, he bought himself a pair of white pants and a short-sleeved silk shirt, and after begging a thousand different ways with the dashing youths he managed to get himself a sailor’s cap. When he strolled out onto the square in his new get-up, his powerful, well-proportioned body could make a young girl’s heart flutter and her thoughts race – at least from afar. Yakup and I would exchange only quick hellos before he went off to join the new boys, and the girls would introduce him. They would play cards in the gazino and because he won more than he lost, he always had money in his pocket.
That summer we only went over to Spoon Island once. And that was with Odisya and his crew. Four Greek boys. With a fake smile he told them about the things we had done together the year before, but without affection. He made it sound foolish. I could see from the pained smile on Yakup’s face that he, too, now thought it foolish, and that he found it distasteful to even speak about it.
Odisya’s friends split their sides laughing.
With their Greek tangos, they chased all our Robinsons off our desert island along with the air of Robinson; they were rowdy enough to reduce the Portuguese pirate to tears. I kept thinking of how I had kissed Odisya. I kept peeling the skin off my lips.
The Hairspring
“How many minutes left?”
Clearly confused, he said:
“Till what?”
I looked at him, surprised.
“Till we get out of here, my dear,” I said.
“Oh …”
Then he pulled a good-sized silver watch out of his pocket. Prying his eyes away from the blackboard, he looked down at it. He
Similar Books
