The Nifi by Linda Fagioli-Katsiotas

Author:Linda Fagioli-Katsiotas [Fagioli-Katsiotas, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Greece
ISBN: 9780989219419
Published: 2015-08-21T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

In 1963, John’s new wife gave him his only son, Chevi’s half-brother, Costas. He would be the only one of John’s three children with Vaso to suffer from the skin disease—sentencing him to a lonely life in the village. The ouzo with which he medicated that loneliness would bring his life to an end forty six years later. But at that time, the status quo continued in Margariti. The men, the women, and the children all had roles well defined.

Several months before Costas’ birth, one day in the beginning of autumn, Chevi’s life and the lives of her children were once more dictated by the incompetence of those with power.

Intense heat seared through Anastasia’s skin. Escape was impossible. Her screams—the only tool she had to alert them—grew louder, but no one came to her rescue. It was burning the side of her face, melting her skin, making her head feel like the charred wood coals of the fourno which she did not yet know existed, but—because she was not a son—would soon become acquainted with, as she grew and learned to be a good wife. But then, she was only a small infant trapped in a cradle with narrow wooden sides. It had been place, earlier in the day, next to an empty unlit fireplace. Earlier, she had gurgled happily, waving her hands, watching the children play around her—unaware—as the fireplace walls became alit with burning twigs. But when the flames grew, and the heat rose and blazed within the fireplace, she became desperate for relief from the hurt that seemed to singe every nerve in her body. She was the newest addition to the family, baby Anastasia, waiting for rescue—her wailing unheeded, the pain, the heat, the side of her head throbbing.

Nikos and little Vaso were fascinated by the flame and might have been too young to understand its danger as it licked the outside of the fireplace wall, up past the mantle. In fact, they were fascinated by the result of each new piece of wood they threw in, maybe even a little competitive, seeing who could carry the heavier piece, who could throw from the furthest distance in the room as sparks burst in all directions.

From his yard across the dirt path, Miti heard the cracking wood beams and popping roof tiles, as flames shot through the top of his cousin’s house. He would never remember how he got to her front yard, or how he took two steps at a time, scaling the stairs to the entrance of the house on the second floor, shouting.

“Get out! Get out! Fire! Chevi! Tomas!”

Nikos and Vaso were sufficiently startled by the urgency in his voice, and they ran for the door and past him, as his hulking body filled the space. At the bottom step, Nikos looked up and saw the red tiles falling into themselves, the roof collapsing as Miti, his face gray with smears of smoke, appeared again, struggling through the door frame with a cradle in his outstretched arms.

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