The Buses and Other Short Stories by Dora Drivas-Avramis Read Free Book Online Page B

sweet fragrance from the royal mint reached my nostrils, and I noticed Eugenia watering it in the earthen pot. Short, dark and a bit stout, Eugenia’s plain characteristics were erased with her ready smile and the sparkle in her dark eyes. Her pointed chin showed courage and a will to stick to her program of bringing home the bacon.
    â€œHi, Barbara, I was peeking through the window hoping to see you,” she said in a cheerful voice.
    â€œHello, Eugenia, you’re in good spirits tonight.”
    â€œWell, I feel good actually. I’m planning a celebration for my mother’s Name- Day next Sunday; it’s the feast day of Sts. Constantine and Helen. As you know, Greeks are named after saints and each saint has a day designated to them, my mother’s name is Constantina, and her Name-Day falls on May 21.”
    â€œYes. And Name-Day celebrations are more elaborate than birthdays.”
    â€œI thought my mother would love to see her friends in addition to the family, in that she doesn’t get out much and all. It will be a surprise and I want to invite you, our beloved neighbour.”
    â€œThat’s a lovely gesture, Eugenia. She’ll love it, and of course I’ll come.”
    â€œOh, she deserves it, it’s the least I could do for her. She’s the first to get up in the morning and the last to go to bed. I couldn’t repay her for supporting us.”
    â€œIt’s thoughtful of you, is there something I could do?
    â€œWell, yes, since it’s a surprise for my mother, could you take her to church. I know you usually attend the Sts. Constantine & Helen Greek Orthodox Church over at Brookhaven Drive; if you took her with you, it will give me some time to prepare. Other than that, I’ve taken care of all the details, Barbara, just come around five.”
    â€œNo problem, I’ll take her with me and later I’ll plan something, and make sure to come after your guests have arrived.”
    â€œThanks, Barbara; you’re a wonderful neighbour, and a caring friend.”
    We chatted some more and then I entered my house full of mixed feelings of wonder and respect for Eugenia. As the breadwinner of the household, she worked so hard and yet she had found the time to honour her mother in this way. Eugenia had taken her mother in when her father passed away about five years ago; her parents were renting an apartment near the area, but when her father passed away, her mother couldn’t afford to live on her own. Eugenia and her husband had divorced before Mrs. Souris moved in with her daughter.
    The following night I went to see Sophie, for I had started to see her more often. When I stepped into her room she said, “you are late,” and I began telling her how busy I was with marking my students’ papers, and we ended up chatting about my experiences as a high school teacher at Oakwood Collegiate. Then she held my hands, told me what a kind person I was, and how much she enjoyed listening to me. But in a short time I noticed that she was drifting away; her eyes had a faraway look and she started talking to herself in a hushed voice. I didn’t know what she was saying, and then I realized that they were scattered pieces of her life, a mean life deprived of love, but with plenty of money. I sat and listened to her mutterings. It was as if I was eavesdropping behind a closed door—but I did not feel any shame, perhaps because I received her words, not with curiosity, but with respect, and because she had a need of some human empathy. She talked incessantly, as if she wanted to empty her soul from the weight of silence, a dignified silence which her tattered self-respect could no longer withstand.
    â€œOne day he was happy, too happy…, but next day very sad…angry. No talk to me or the children for days. It’s embarrassing to fear husband, isn’t it? A heavy burden. But I never spoke to anyone. No one found out.” Her