To Dixty (The Net)

Κάθε φορά που ανοίγεις δρόμο στη ζωή
μην περιμένεις να σε βρει το μεσονύχτι
έχε τα μάτια σου ανοιχτά βράδυ-πρωί
γιατί μπροστά σου πάντα απλώνεται ένα δίχτυ

Αν κάποτε στα βρόχια του πιαστείς
κανείς δε θα μπορέσει να σε βγάλει
μονάχος βρες την άκρη της κλωστής
κι αν είσαι τυχερός ξεκίνα πάλι

Αυτό το δίχτυ έχει ονόματα βαριά
που είναι γραμμένα σ' εφτασφράγιστο κιτάπι
άλλοι το λεν του κάτω κόσμου πονηριά
κι άλλοι το λεν της πρώτης άνοιξης αγάπη

Αν κάποτε στα βρόχια του πιαστείς
κανείς δε θα μπορέσει να σε βγάλει
μονάχος βρες την άκρη της κλωστής
κι αν είσαι τυχερός ξεκίνα πάλι


Every time you open a road in life
Don't wait for the dark of night to find you
Keep your eyes open wide, night and day
because in front of you there is always a net spread wide

If ever you get caught in its mesh
nobody will be able to get you out
find the edge of the web by yourself
and if you are lucky, begin once again

That net has heavy names
that are written in a seven sealed book
Some call it the treachery of the nether world
and some call it the love of the first springtime

I've never been able to listen to this sad song without thinking about my grandparents, Panayioti and Evdoxia. They were the center of a family tragedy that is still a source of regret and hurt, even sixty years later. I was their first grandchild. Papou died of lung cancer at the age of 66, shortly after I was born. Yiayia helped raise me for the first five years of my life. Our bond was strong right up until the time of her own death. I owe my life to yiayia. It was her quick thinking and courage in the face of an angry mob of Turks trying to break into our home in 1955, that saved my mother and I.

Papou and Yiayia were the victims of a match made and sealed between their two fathers. No one asked them if they wanted to get married, it was arranged.  It was the custom. Love had nothing to do with it.  Papou came from a well to do family of a Constantinoplitan merchant originally from Politsani in Northern Epirus. Yiayia was the daughter of a proud family of limited means from the same village. She was uneducated, beautiful and smart. She was also the kind of woman who did not submit easily to being consigned to the role of a dutiful, silent wife. Papou was very proud, too proud. A no nonsense disciplinarian, who expected things to be done his way. It was destined to end badly. And so it did.

Papou, the most talented of three brothers was a palikari that was wild and untamed in his youth. He was packed off to America, to tame his spirit or at least to teach him a sense of humility. He returned unrepentant and unchanged. He threw himself immediately into the struggle for Epirotan independence and enosis with Greece. When the struggle failed, he was married off and sent to Constantinople to take over the family business due to his father's failing health. He was shrewd, a natural in business and soon established himself as a merchant to be reckoned with. His customers included most of the foreign dignitaries and local pashas escaping the summer heat of the city in their private villas situated along the Bosporus in the town of Neohori. The family business thrived.

Meanwhile, yiayia was in Politsani raising three small children. The last one, my mother, was born in 1920. In 1921, Papou, an ardent Greek patriot who named his second daughter Fereniki or "bring victory," left for Greek-occupied Smyrni where he enlisted in the Greek Army. The following year brought defeat, disaster and upheaval on a scale that few Greeks had ever envisaged. Papou, like many others deserted and made his way back home, to Politsani. When he finally returned to Constantinople, his absence had attracted attention from the local authorities and he was summoned for interrogation. He took with him a set of forged receipts signed in his name by his father. After bidding farewell to his parents, he made his way to the police station, fearing the worst. Luckily the ruse worked and he was able to evade detection, although he was under surveillance for some time afterward.

Eventually, the Greeks of Constantinople achieved a tenuous foothold. The protection afforded them under the Treaty of Lausanne and the rapprochement between Venizelos and Attaturk gave the community some breathing room. Papou brought his family to Constantinople where they lived a comfortable middle class existence during the twenties and thirties. Panayioti was a leader of the Greek community in Neohori, a successful businessman and he had a beautiful family. He was a man, who seemingly, had it all.

I am not sure what brought about the dissolution of his marriage. Even now my grandparents' children would prefer to take the bitterness and sadness to their grave rather than share it with us. "It is in the past.  Let it be." They were in their late teens and early twenties when things unraveled and Yiayia and Papou separated. In an age when such things were considered shameful, they called it quits. Was it the rumors, or their unyielding pride or was it the fact that there was just not enough love left to keep things going? As in many failed marriages, the children often become the spoils. In this case the spoils went to the victor, yiayia.  That reality broke Papou's proud heart, he was never reconciled with his children and died alone. My Uncle recently confided that he visited his father while he was on his deathbed, to kiss his hand and to ask his forgiveness. As he lay there dying he turned his head and said nothing.

My grandmother always wore black. I always thought it strange that she would mourn Panayioti after so much grief had passed between them. Neither of them remarried. Papou was buried in the Greek cemetery in Neohori. His grave is untended and forgotten. Yiayia died surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Her funeral a celebration of her life; her grave surrounded by blooming flowers.

I often think of them both. It's understandable that Yiayia is still a formidable presence in my life. My memories of her are sweet and vivid. But why does Panayioti have such a claim on me?  Could it be that my mother never stops talking about her father. She'll stop what she is doing, stare at me and say: "You look so much like my father. I can't get over it. He would have been so proud of you."  Could it be the senseless tragedy of his life which became ensnared in a dixty or net of his own making, that he was ultimately unable to escape? This year, my Uncle Elias will travel back to Neohori, at the age of 93, to grapple with his father's ghost, perhaps even to make peace with him.  He will tend to the grave once gain and have a priest say the Trisagion prayer for the soul of his father.

Comments

[adifferentvoice]

"You and I have more pragmatic writing styles. We seek to communicate in a more concise and straightforward style. Our message is simpler."

(from your recent comment to your friend, Kat)

I thought this story of your grandparent's marriage, and your grandfather's loss, was beautiful writing and not particularly pragmatic or simple. A sad post but a warning, too, to beware the net.

[Stavros]

A,

This was from my heart and not my brain.

[adifferentvoice]

Ca se voit!

[susan]

it is indeed a tragedy. You are a born story teller!

[Stavros]

Susan,

Thanks. You're too kind.

[Hermes]

Stavros, I have read that post about five times. Very good. I also like how you abstract away from the particular to provide a lesson for all of us. Great song too. But I think the lyrics by Gatsos are the highlight.

[AntigoneSis]

Fascinating post, Stavros, and set to such appropriate music too. It’s interesting how a generation’s distance makes us more willing to tell such a difficult and dark part of our family history. Seems like the older we get, the more human past generations become and the more willing we are to forgive what were always perceived as missteps and transgressions.

[Stavros]

All,

This was a difficult post to write. When I first heard this song and heard the lyrics it reminded me of what happened to my grandparents. Every family has its share of tragedies and sins, mine is no exception. Despite what may have happened in the past we must always remember the importance of forgiveness and the need to pray for the souls of the departed. We Orthodox believe the state of the soul can be changed right up until the Last Judgment by the love and prayers of the living.