Drinking my morning lifesaver (cafe latte ) in Gabriella’s, I watch Kosmas sitting quietly in the corner writing mantinades. I start to think about lunch. That’s how tough it is here.
Along comes Georgos’ mother. She has a bowl of patsas for me. I will spare the squeamish, but for the anatomically minded try googling p a t s a s.
Forget the eggs she says, just heat it up and eat with good bread and a squeeze of lemon.
I set off homeward with my bowl, wondering where I can get bread and whether it is worth climbing to the top of the hill to pick lemons. It is windy and as I turn down the little lane on the way to my house I see a a lemon rolling towards me. Small but juicy and perfect.
I pocket the lemon.
Suddenly Vassillis from the Anixis starts shouting.
Ella dw ella dw
Come here. Come here.
When Vassilis shouts, you listen. So I go close.
Take this bread, he tells me
Artos, from the church. There was a festival this morning.
I laugh
Why are you laughing? he asks
I tell him of the patsas and the search for lemon and bread.
O theos enai megalos. I tell him.
And surely it is true, he tells me
God is great.
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