Thus it was that Minas’s “social skills,” as Teta called them, never developed through regular interactions with his peers.
— Let the child be, was Evthalia’s advice. He doesn’t have any real peers at school, he’ll find them at the university.
It was a convenient solution, since it pushed the problem off to a future date, which at the time had seemed fairly distant. At the time. Now, though, when the much-discussed year of exam preparation had arrived and his parents’ high expectations had suddenly flown out the window, Minas’s social isolation presented yet another burden — though at this precise moment such issues paled in comparison to Minas’s provocative declarations concerning the Panhellenic Exams.
Teta watched as the other kids ran their long-distance race. The other mothers never missed an opportunity to update her on their children’s progress. With glee, it seemed to her, though they probably thought they were just being friendly. Teta felt like a turtle missing its shell. Her brief chats with other mothers on the phone and their chance encounters around the neighborhood filled her with a dreadful guilt. No matter how hard she fought it, no matter how many times Evthalia tried to comfort her with the observation that these things happen, just try to adjust, she still felt that she must have done something wrong to make Minas fall apart at the very moment when the other kids were rising to the challenge, even those who were clearly not destined to succeed.
And then there was Evelina Dinopoulou, who always came in second, right behind Minas — until last year. So diligent, so mature, crowed her mother, who was hoping her daughter would score high enough on her exams to enter the faculty of law. Evelina’s mother was discreet enough never to ask after Minas. But even that didn’t seem like a kindness to Teta; it came across as a slight.
— You’re imagining things, Evthalia tried to mollify her.
Teta didn’t listen. She was convinced that everyone was talking behind her back. As Evthalia saw it, even if they were, that was no reason for Teta to dance to the beat of their drum.
— What did you think, you poor thing? Evthalia asked. That the hard part was the diapers and the baby food? You’re only just starting to realize what it means to have a child. Now is when the real worrying begins.
Teta had already come to that realization on her own, and couldn’t bear for someone else to rub her face in it — least of all Evthalia. What she wanted from her mother was comfort and consolation, a ready hug and a pat on the back. Not admonitions. But Evthalia was a general, as Tasos always said. She gave orders, not comforting words. She was a problem-solver who didn’t waste time on hysterics or sentimentality.
Teta had pinned her hopes on Soukiouroglou. He was the only teacher at the school whom Evthalia really trusted. He knows his letters, she’d told Teta, and that was saying a lot. For Evthalia, it was everything — which is why she said it very rarely, particularly when speaking of the younger generation of teachers.
Soukiouroglou kept everyone at a distance. No one ever dared address him informally; he had no use for false familiarity. He always corrected students’ papers within a day. He didn’t let things drag on. If he said he would do something, you could be sure the job would get done on time.
When Teta went to talk to Soukiouroglou, she got straight to the point. She laid out the problem as objectively as she could, held back her tears, tried not to sound judgmental. Her son’s teacher listened without interrupting. He expressed no sympathy. It wasn’t in his nature to comfort, he believed that was a role for family members, and he was at the school to get a different job done.
— Why are you so determined that Minas go to university? he asked.
Teta had thousands of arguments at her fingertips, but the question took her by surprise. She launched into her spiel, but it sounded too much like a school essay, she realized as she spoke. She despised rhetoric and emotional blackmail, but when it came to her child, all logic flew out the window. Her weapons were the weapons of all mothers since the beginning of time.
Soukiouroglou sat there silently and let her go on. At some point alarm bells started ringing in her head: He’s testing you, stupid. She wanted to say something clever, something to show she wasn’t like other mothers, she didn’t care about the diploma, what concerned her was the heart of the matter. The only problem was, the diploma was the heart of the matter.
In the end she said something to the effect of, A university education will open his eyes to what’s out there. She might even have said, Knowledge requires guidance, or tossed in some nonsense about the joys of the intellect, a necessary awareness of the world, who knows.
Teta shook the teacher’s hand and left, feeling burned. She’d been counting on him. After all, she didn’t have many other options; asking Minas’s teacher for help was the only solution she could think of. When Soukiouroglou spoke, Minas bowed his head and listened.
What she’d had in mind, of course, was a direct intervention, a strict talking- to that would fix things immediately, not a research paper on a topic utterly outside the program of study. When she first heard about Minas’s assignment, she was dismayed, and her absolute confidence in Soukiouroglou shaken.
— Look at it this way, Evthalia pointed out, your child started opening books again. Isn’t that what you wanted?
No, it wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted was for him to take his exams.
— Besides, now we’ll get to see him butt heads with Evelina and her mother, your favorite person, Evthalia teased.
And since Teta didn’t seem to follow, Evthalia pointed out the obvious:
— You can’t research the Gris affair without talking to his lawyer from the trial. In case you don’t remember, his name was Dinopoulos. He’s the girl’s grandfather. As far as I know, he’s the only one who never spoke to the newspapers. Why are you looking at me like that? You didn’t know?
1948 AND AFTER: “WHAT FOOL UTTERED THE WORD FREEDOM?”
THOMAS TZITZILIS, HEAD OF THE SECURITY POLICE IN SALONICA
I’m the one who cleaned the Red rats out of this city. The great benefactor of the Capital of the North, they wrote in the history of the gendarmerie. The Americans turned out not to have a brain among them, they bought into the anti-Greek propaganda. Even Greek citizens who cared about the health of our nation, who could see the danger posed by those communist thugs, called it a Greek outrage against an American reporter. Their radio stations cursed our country.
A nation’s leaders have to make decisions. It’s their job. To make calls. To give interviews. To see the smoldering coals and call in Tzitzilis to get the job done. All of America was up in arms and the puffed-up jackasses here in Greece took up the tune. You’re accomplices, the government isn’t doing anything to arrest those responsible for the murder. Generals and journalists kept getting in my way. Suddenly they had opinions about everything. Plenty of theories but no proof.
I know how to handle those types. Those kowtowing nobodies who supposedly run this country ought to have their wits about them. Brown-nosers and slaves to foreign interests, each and every one, all scared shitless that I might offend the outsiders.