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smile. He turned away again, staring at the
road ahead, a brooding quality about him -
about the set of the mouth and the faint sag
of the fine square shoulders.
`I'm glad you're happy, Mary.' The words
came after a long pause; they seemed to
carry a sigh. She assumed she was being
fanciful again, but yet there was something in
the air that she felt she must attempt to
clear.
`You, Damos - are you happy? - perfectly
happy?'
He seemed to give a start. Undoubtedly the
question had taken him by surprise. His
recovery was swift, however, and he was
careful to make his tone sound re-assuring as
he said,
`But of course I'm happy, Mary.!
'You're glad you found me again?' Her voice
quivered with an unconscious note of anxiety
despite the firm answer she had just
received.
`I'm exceedingly glad that I found you,' he
averred with feeling, and as she was left in no
doubt of the truth of this Mary was perfectly
satisfied.
It had not struck her that there was anything
significant in Damos's omission of the word
`again'.
And so, all the way home, as she leant back
in the luxurious car, and gazed out with
appreciative eyes to the splendour of the
mountain scenery through which they
passed, she dwelt happily on his words. He
was exceedingly glad that he had found her.
The fact of his tardiness in making a move to
resume a natural relationship between them
faded into insignificance beside the fact that
he was grateful to have her back with him.
The sun's rapid descent was almost
completed by the time he drew into the long
drive and slid to a stop before the imposing
front facade of the villa.
`Thank you for taking me, Damos,' she said
as he opened the front door with his key and
gestured with a sweep of his hand for her to
precede him into the hall. But she remained
on the step, turning her head to take a final
glimpse of the mountain landscape in the last
dying rays of the sun. The Mitsikeli
Mountains, rising almost to six thousand feet,
had their jagged summits in the sky, fiery red
against the purple backcloth of the
approaching night. But even as she watched
the fire was being extinguished and the
peaks were softened by the violet hues of
twilight falling like a mantle over them. Away
to the east the massif of the main Pindus
Range was an iridescent tapestry,
breathtaking in its splendour.
`I too have enjoyed our little outing.' Her
husband's voice brought her mind back to
what she had just said and she turned with a
ready smile upon her lips. `There really is no
need for you to thank me.' His tones were
soft; they thrilled her - though she knew not
why, since tenderness was lacking, as it was
in his eyes. She wondered if her own eyes
revealed her deep love ... and her longing.
`We must go again,' she said rather
diffidently, for she still had this sensation of
meekness when with Damos, as if, owing to
her condition, she was wholly dependent on
him - and not merely for her food and shelter,
but for protection from the outside world, a
world that would be fully opened to her only
when her memory was restored.
`Most certainly we shall go again,' he agreed,
`and quite soon in fact. Haven't I already
promised you this?'
But it was to transpire that any further
outings were to be postponed for the time
being, as his mother's condition worsened, as
Damos had predicted it would, and this
meant that they spent longer periods at her
bedside. She wept often, because, with the
increasing difficulty in writing, she was
becoming almost totally divorced from com-
munication and this, to a woman as highly
intelligent as Mrs. Christou, must be
heartbreaking, thought Mary who, with gentle
perseverance, did manage quite often to
decipher the jangle of words when even
Damos failed to do so.
`Make signs with your hands, darling,' Mary
found herself saying one day when, frustrated
beyond endurance at her inability to
communicate, Mrs. Christou began to sob
piteously. Her son looked on, his throat
moving spasmodically. He seemed helpless,
while Mary felt strong. Subconsciously she
was gratified that for once their positions
were reversed and that he was now relying
on her. `I shall understand you.'
`It works,' Damos was saying disbelievingly a
few moments later. `Mother, you have a
genius for a daughter!'
The long thin hands were outstretched, and
open, palms upwards; the fingers moved like
wings. The mess-age was clear both to Mary
and to Damos. He repeated it softly, while
Mary blushed and lowered her head.
`And an angel...'
His mother nodded, clearly happy that her
son had understood so easily.
`You're so good to her.' The words, spoken
with deep sincerity, came from Damos
immediately they had left his mother's room.
`So very good to her, and for her.' But there
seemed to be a tinge of bitterness in his
voice, and as she glanced up at him as he
walked beside her along the white corridor
Mary saw him shaking his head, as if some
memory were causing him trouble. `I'm most
grateful to you, Mary,' he went on as they
came out into the sunlight of the hospital
grounds. `You've done so much to make her
last months more bearable.'
Last months ... Something painful stuck in
Mary's throat; she wondered how she could
have come to care so much for her mother-in-
law. At first she had assumed,
quite naturally, that what she felt for her was
pity, but it had transpired that love had
almost immediately sprung from that pity,
and a strong bond had grown up between
them in spite of the difficulties of
communication. Often Mary would wonder [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]