Pick Up Dining Room

Right away, she released Stelios hand and made eye contact with Pasha Salim. She wished that he didn’t see her holding hands with Stelios. Then, while they had gone further down the street, Pasha Salim turned and looked at them. “Who was that?” asked Stelios.

“A neighbor that has a meat market.” Once they got midway to her house, they stopped and said their goodbyes.

Fotini looked down at her wristwatch. Again, she was late getting home, and not only was she late, but she also ran into Pasha Salim. She became nervous and started pacing faster towards her house. She came to the waterfront on Franco Street.

At the port, there was always lots of traffic: there were men with their walking ‘Lateran’ playing music. You had men selling dry fruits & walnuts from a cart or halva.

And would you know it, just as she was about to turn the corner to go down her street, Fotini struck a man with his cart.

She knocked everything that was on the cart over! ‘Hadi!’ he screamed. She didn’t even make an apology, or help him pick up what was on the cart, but kept on running towards her house. When she arrived outside her home, she slowed down, trying to catch her breath.

She opened the gates of her home and proceeded down the pathway to the front door. She was digging through her school sack, trying to find the keys. Quietly, she opened the door. She wasn’t met by her mother. She took off her shoes before she walked further into the house. Fotini tiptoed towards the closet in the foyer room, opened the door and hung her coat.

Then, as she was about to go upstairs, she caught a glimpse of Mariana in the den, polishing the silverware. She went into the den and threw her arms around her waist. “Oh, Mariana, I am so happy,” said Fotini.

“A la, ala!” She expressed while she jumped. “You silly girl, you gave me a fright,” she added. “And what has made you this happy?” asked Mariana.

Fotini took the necklace that was underneath her collar, and showed it to her.

Ohm, she expressed! “Don’t tell me; it’s from Mr. Stelios?” speculated Mariana.

Yes, she nodded!

“Is it beautiful?” Marveled Mariana.

“Isn’t, though,” agreed Fotini.

“Your mother is in the kitchen,” she cautioned. Fotini placed the necklace underneath her collar and gave Mariana a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you, Mariana,” she added.

“I love you, silly girl. Now go and get out of your school clothes before your mother detects that you’ve just arrived,” she added. Once she got into her room and put her school bag down, she went to the elongated mirror. She modeled the necklace on her neckline. She just couldn’t get enough of looking at it.

Fotini then took the necklace off and went to put it in her jewelry box, but she quickly changed her mind. Her mother dusts her room at times, and she might find it. She was looking all around her room, trying to stash it somewhere that her mother wouldn’t think of going.

She then went to her walk-in closet, and reached up the ledge for one of her shoeboxes. Fotini placed the necklace in the box underneath the shoes. She then reached up, put the shoebox back, and closed the closet door.

She then went to her school bag and took the letter. She held it in her hand and looked at the envelope. She opened it. It was three pages long, front and back. Now more than ever, she had the desire to read it. But she had given him her promise she would do so when she turned in for the evening. She then put the letter back in the envelope and placed it underneath her pillows. She changed out of her school clothes and put on her house dress.

Fotini was so happy that she danced down the steps. She went to the dining room to help polish the silverware. “You finish here and I will go and assist your mother with the rabbit meat. They were having rabbit with onions for dinner.” Fotini flinched her face. She wasn't in favor of the dish.

At one point, great-grandmother Marianthy came into the dining room to get the cutting knife and the cutting board that was in the chest located in the dining room. “Dear, can you get me the knife and cutting board from the chest?” asked my great-grandmother.

She didn’t respond. Her thoughts were far away. Great-grandmother raised her voice; “Oh Fotinola,” she hollered again. That seemed to get her attention. “Yes mother,” she said, as she looked up at her with a blank expression.

“Well,” inquired her mother as she put her hands on her waist, waiting for her to fetch them.

“I apologize, mother, what did you say?” Her eyes followed her mother as she went to fetch them herself. “Oh, I could have gotten them for you mother,” she said. Great-grandmother looked at her. “Just get back to what you were doing; we will be having dinner soon,” she said, shaking her head as she went back into the kitchen.

Fotini thought that dinner time was overstated in the Kastanos household. It was an activity that everyone who was part of the family had to participate in, whether they wanted to or not. The table was always set fifteen minutes before six in the evening, with a clean tablecloth, dressed with fine silverware and tall water glasses. And you had to be dressed in the proper attire and not look like you just got out of bed.

That evening, after supper, Mariana and Fotini cleared the table and washed the dishes. Mariana washed, and Fotini rinsed them. When Mariana finished lathering the last plate, she stretched up. Fotini offered to finish drying them and putting the dishes away. “Thank you,” Mariana said. “I am going to turn in a bit earlier today because I am tired,” she claimed as she took off her apron.

Saint Photini went off! She looked at the clock on the wall. It was eight in the evening. Fotini just finished putting away the last dish. She took off her apron and looked around the kitchen to see if everything had been cleaned up and put in its own compartment.

Then she went to the family room to say good night to her parents. Great-grandfather Andrea was reading, and great-grandmother was knitting, just as they do every evening, with a cup of warm Chamomile and honey. “Good Night, dear,” said her mother.

Once she headed upstairs, she went to the bathroom. She went to take a bath, just as she does every evening, to relax. She felt edgy, but that's because she was eager to read the letter. She turned the facet of the tub to fill halfway. She then went and tied her hair in a bun. She had a bucket of hot water that she had collected from washing the dishes, so she poured the water into the tub to regulate the temperature.

She undressed and stepped into the tub. The warm water felt good. Fotini started to wash up. After ten minutes, she got out of the tub and put on her bathrobe. She then went into her room and put on her nightgown. Fotini distinguished the time on the clock that was on her nightstand, and it was thirty past the hour.

At one point, she took the letter that was under her pillow and opened the envelope. It was three 8.5 x 11 pages, front and back. Fotini's intuitiveness grew more than when she first got the letter. What was it that he could not relate to me face-to-face but had chosen to put it in a letter form?

But then she put it under her pillow again because she had given her word to him and figured to sketch, until it was time for her to turn in. She then went to her desk and took out her markers and sketchbook. There were a few new designs that she was working on.

Saint Photini’s Tower clock was going off. Fotini looked over at the clock on her nightstand. It was ten o'clock. Finally, she thought. She then started to collect the color pencils. She picked up her drawings, arranged them, and put them in the folder. Fotini stretched up out of her seat. She then went to the washroom, brushed her teeth, and washed her face. She went back into her room, changed out of her clothes and put on her nightgown.

She pulled back the covers of her bed, took the letter from behind the pillows, and placed it on the side table. She put the two pillows one on top of the other and slipped into bed. Fotini pulled the covers over her lap. Then, she took the hand cream that was on the side table and lathered some on her hands.

Finally, she thought, while she opened the envelope and removed the three-page letter. She leaned back towards the headboard and began to read it…

My Love,

I cherish and love every day that we are together; I wish time would stand still. I want to share my life with you. You are my best friend, and I want this friendship to become even stronger. But my dear, you know everything about me except one thing.

Fotini stopped reading, and scooted further up on the headboard. She felt fluttering butterflies dancing deep in her stomach as she started reading further.

You know that after the death of my parents, I was brought up by my Aunt and Uncle. My mother had come from Smyrna and was a Christian, before she got married. But my father… well, my father was Muslim…

She stopped reading; the butterflies she felt were replaced by knives that stabbed her inside! She leaned forward in bed. “This can’t be she said to herself.

“He told me he was raised Greek Orthodox; he speaks Greek with no distinctive Constantinopolitan pronunciation!”

Her heart bled, “How can my heart beat for a man who has always been forbidden to me?” she asked herself. Then she got cramps in her stomach. They felt like snakes were coiling around her insides.

She pushed the blanket away with her feet and tossed the letter aside! She jumped out of bed and ran out of her room. She went into the bathroom, lifted the toilet lid, knelt down and poured her guts out!

Her parents, who were downstairs relaxing, heard the thumping footsteps. “What's going on upstairs?” Asked great-grandfather Andrea. “Go and see what's going on,” he suggested to great-grandmother.

Marianthy took the steps up. She had seen her door slightly open. Then, my great-grandmother opened the door further. She looked and saw that her bed was a mess. The covers were hanging off to the side of the bed, and the letter was on the floor.

She heard the water running in the bathroom. She walked down the hall, and knocked on the door, “Fotinolaa.” said great-grandmother in her sincere tone, just like she used to when she was a little girl. “Are you okay, my dear?” she asked.

“I'll be out a bit, Mother,” Fotini said as she wiped her face with the white cloth that hung beside the sink. She then opened the door. Great grandmother saw her complexion as yellowish, not her norm of a whitish shine that her face usually had. And her eyes were reddish like she was crying. “Your father and I heard rumbling footsteps.”

“I had to go to the bathroom.”

“You do not look well,” added Grandmother.

She then put her hand on Fotini's forehead to feel her temperature. “You do not seem warm.”

She pulled her mother's hand and said, “O mother, stop,” and walked away, going towards her room. Her mother followed behind.

She then went to pick up the letter that had fallen on the floor. “What are you doing?” asked Fotini while she grabbed the piece of paper out of her hands.

“What’s this?” asked my great-grandmother.

“Oh, mother, you must know everything,” she said. “I am not a child,” claimed Fotini.

“Go to bed, dear,” my great-grandmother said as she walked out of the room and closed the door. She was annoyed with her daughter.

Fotini adjusted her bed cover and placed the pillows at the head of the bed higher one over the other again. Then she got back into bed, pulled up the covers, and leaned against the headboard. She took the letter and arranged it in order. And she began to read on the first page where she had left off…

My father was born in Bahrain, an island in the Persian Gulf. He lived there for the first seventeen years of his life. After graduating from high school, he attended the university in London.

My father had a fondness for the structures of the ancient world. Therefore, he got his Bachelor’s in History and Art. At the university, he met and became friends with a young man named Russel. Russel and my father had much in common: they both loved the structures of the ancient world.

Russel, who was from the Crimea Peninsula, also studied history with a minor in Archeology as he prepared to succeed his father, who ran a factory that manufactured diamonds and crystals that were distributed throughout Ukraine.

After the two men graduated from London University, Russel invited my father to come home with him to Ukraine. My father accepted Russel’s invitation. During then the two got jobs in the family factory.

They did lots of traveling to archeological sites in Egypt excavating rocks. My father had developed new skills. He was good in paying attention to the fine detail that went into crafting jewelry; and fell in love with the business. It allowed him to discover his artistic side.

My father was a romantic; and he thought that jewels were meant to provide a woman elegance. He’d say that A woman is a delicate and beautiful creature, and he based his work with that in mind.

At that point, she took her eyes off the letter and pressed it to her heart! How romantic, she thought. She then turned to the back of the second page…

One day the two men started working on their own products, and selling them in the open market in Ukraine. They set up a table and displayed their own work. Ukraine had a big market, people from all walks of life. There was also a large Greek Community.

They even worked for Shas and princesses from Saudi Arabia. What began as fun had developed into a reputable business. My father, however, had stayed in Ukraine longer than anticipated, missed his homeland, and was eager to return to the island of Bahrain.

This time, it was he who asked Russel to come with him to Bahrain. Russel, however, refused. But my father had to go. Besides him missing home, whenever he’d speak to his mother, she complained that he had not been home for a while.

So, he took the first train out of Ukraine to Belgorod. From Belgorod, he had to fly to Manama; in Manama, he took a bus to the Island of Bahrain. My father had been traveling for over a day and was tired. But when he had to take the bus, he enjoyed the views: traveling on the golden dust desert, glistening in the sun, stretching for miles that never seemed to end, was so relaxing to him.

At times, they’d bypass a traveler with their camel; they’d use their robes as tents to break from the sun’s rays. He especially found this very amusing. Consequently, my father hadn’t notified anyone in the family of his arrival. Therefore, he rented a car from Bahrain Bus station to his villa. He wanted to surprise them, especially my grandmother.

Once he reached outside his villa, he came out of his car and opened the gate. He then drove down the path. My father's house was next to the Prime Minister of Bahrain. His villa was a miniature palace. His father owned the only construction company in Bahrain and had designed the house himself.

He then came up the drive to his home. He saw his mother outside in the front yard. At first, she did not know who had arrived. But once he came out of the car, his mother greeted him with tears and would not let go as she embraced him.

That evening, his parents had given him a dinner party for his arrival. His sisters had come with their husbands. Relatives with close friends were also in attendance. It was a festive evening, with plenty of food and a large selection of desserts. My father had a good time. It got him thinking about how much he missed seeing everybody.

In the morning, during breakfast, Muhammad and his father talked about his future. During their conversation, his father suggested that it was time for him to get married and take over the construction business. He wanted to pass on the business to his only son; and not to one of his son-in-law’s.

Mohammed gave his father some insight into his own ideas. He had other inspirations for what he wanted to do, and it was not to run his father's construction empire. In all his travels, my father got a custom to the Western Civilization. And when his father got a glimpse of his thoughts and his way of life, it really bothered my grandfather.

His parents were both upset with their son's decision and his Western thoughts. His parents, who were Islamic, wanted their only son to marry a girl who was Islamic like themselves. That morning, the conversation ended with his father storming off.

He did not want to listen to his son's nonsense any longer. His mother, on the other hand, cried! She didn’t want to see her son leave again. And held her husband liable for her son’s absence all these years.

The following weekend, his parents hosted a dinner party with their friends and relatives from his mother’s side this time. They had come from Saudi Arabia. That evening, there was one young girl, the daughter of a close colleague of the family. Her name was Bella. His parents had arranged the meeting without the son’s knowledge.

His Parents figured if he was to meet a girl that he liked, it would keep him at home. But also, it would be certain that he’d marry their own kind. At first sight, Mohammed was taken by her. She wasn't only beautiful, she was well-read, a very smart woman. She knew five languages.

Therefore, my father had decided to ask Bella out for drinks. Mohammed's parents were so happy. One evening, the two of them went out in the presence of Bella’s maid and a guardian. Mohammed really liked her. The second time they met for dinner, he started to like her more. Besides being beautiful, her thinking mentality was more modern than other women he had met in his world.

In the meantime, he had no idea that the girl was a second cousin from his father’s side. Just before things got more serious between them, his younger sister, who was more like him, admitted the truth about who the girl was. Muhammad became angry and very disgusted with the thought… Fotini stopped reading. She pulled away!

She also became discoursed with the idea of being married off to a cousin of any sort. She recalled when she was about twelve years old when there was a girl in the neighborhood of Smyrna who married her cousin.

At first, she wasn’t old enough to understand what all the commotion was about. Because everyone in Smyrna, whether a relative or not, you called someone brother, sister, cousin; and if they were older, you called them aunt or uncle, in spite of being a blood relative or not. This was a sign of respect.

But then, when she became of age, she understood that two first cousins got hitched. She remembered the gossip that went on around the neighborhood. This was the main topic that was discussed; whether you were in church, a celebration, or the street market, people would not stop talking about it. In the end, the couple had to move away to escape the gossip.

At that moment, she rubbed her eyes. They were dry and itchy. She closed them for a bit. She started reflecting on everything she had read thus far. She loved Stelios and had hopes of being married to him someday. But knew she’d have to jump many hurdles to do so.

Maybe not disclosing the total truth to them about who his real parents were in the beginning, will make the news less shocking. Or maybe I could only communicate with my mother first? she thought. Mother was more reasonable, and understanding with things.

Fotini tried to camouflage the reality of how things really were. It would be impossible to keep something like this from coming out. Especially here in Smyrna. But she was ready to accept anything that might come her way. She loved him, and Steliosloved her; that is all that matters, she then thought to herself.

Her eyelids were heavy, and she was about to close them, but when the Tower Clock went off. It was four in the morning. I cannot go to sleep now because I will never wake up in the morning on time. She said to herself.

Besides, she couldn't put the letter down. She felt that she was reading a good novel. Therefore, she decided to go downstairs and have Black Tea that had lots of caffeine, so she could stay awake for the rest of the night until morning.

Fotini got out of bed. She put on her slippers and night robe. She slowly opened her door and stuck her head out to see if her parents’ and brother’s door was shut. She went out of her room and slowly closed the door.

She then tiptoed to the staircase, took them down, and went into the kitchen. She went to the nook closet and looked for the jar that contained the black tea herbs. Her mother had labeled each jar, so it was easy for her to find what she was looking for. She took the jar and closed the door.

First, she turned the knob on the gas stove; it flickered a few before the fire ignited. She then put a spoonful of herbs in two cups of water in the teakettle and placed it over the fire.

Fotini stood over the stove, waiting for the water to boil so she could take the kettle off the fire before it made a sound. Minutes later, as she noticed the water was starting to boil, she lifted the kettle from the flame and drained the water in the teacup.

Thereafter, she took a cup of tea and headed back upstairs. With every step she took, it made a creaking sound. Once she got to the top of the staircase, she had seen her brother’s door wide open; and the bathroom light flickered under the door’s crack.

Right away, she dashed towards her room, and the hot tea went to spill! She caught it, but some of the hot water spilled on her hand, and it burned her; she dashed towards the nightstand and placed the teacup on it. She went back to close her room door. She took off her night robe and slippers and got into bed.

She pulled the covers over her lap. Fotini took the hand cream and smudged a heavy amount on her burning hand to cool the pain, but so the skin she burned would not turn into a bubble. She then took the letter and a zip of her tea and started reading where she had left off…

In the morning, he met with his parents and acknowledged the issue. There was silence in the room, and both of his parents refused to acknowledge anything. But then his father broke down and said that the girl would fit in well with the family; “She is one of us, after all,” his father claimed.

“You know how I feel about this kind of an arranged marriage father,” said Mohammed. “She doesn’t have to fit in with the family. But she has to fit with me,” he said.

“You like the girl, don’t you not?” said his father. “Why deny yourself,” claimed his father. “Stop fighting your feelings, my son.”

My father didn’t bother to acknowledge his father but departed the room, packed his suitcase, and left his home, never to see them again. My father felt his parents had disrespected his wishes. He felt betrayed, hurt, and then he was furious that they did that to him, because he started to really like the girl.

“You see Fotini, my father was Muslim, but he believed in true love and was more rational in his ways, than what his family was.”

Fotini took her eyes off the letter. They were dry. They were itchy. She closed them to keep herself from rubbing them and making them worse. She then opened them again and reached for her tea on her side table. She took a sip, turned to the back of the third page and began to read…

My father decided to go to Istanbul. In Istanbul, my father met with a real estate agent because he was looking to buy a factory. And less than six months later he found a building in Ambari Limani. Ambari is one of the four ports of Istanbul through which Europe can be reached. He never forgot his friend Russel, and after he bought the factory, he contacted him. He let Russel know that he was in Istanbul and that he had bought a factory. My father asked if he’d like to be his partner.

At that time, Russel accepted my father's proposal and came to Istanbul the next day. Immediately, Russel and my father started the renovation of the building from the ground up. They put in new windows, laid tile, and bought the proper equipment and labor needed to run a jewelry factory.

When the factory was ready, they started to design the first stones, diamonds, and bracelets - my father's own design. In the beginning, they sold out of their factory to a private clientele. When they had built up their customer base, they bought the building next to the factory and turned it into an exclusive jewelry store.

They saw that the jewelry business had a large market in the Middle East. They established a second store in Istanbul, one in Ambaril Limani and another in Turyol Limani, which served internationally. And at Turyol Limani, he met my mother.

1904

It was Holy Week, before the Greek Orthodox Easter on a Sunday. My mother, Marianela, just sixteen years old, came down from Smyrna with her mother, Aphrodite, to visit my mother's godchild in Istanbul. At that time, my grandmother happened to visit my father's jewelry store with my mother, Marianela. That morning, my father happened to stop by the store to check on things.

When my father saw my mother walk into his store, he was fascinated by her natural beauty. He then ordered the saleslady that he would take over and serve the ladies. My mother never wore makeup, only lipstick and face cream. She had Olive skin, black hair and eyes. Her long eyelashes suggested she had mascara and eye makeup on. She was a natural beauty.

Her mother, Aphrodite, saw my father admiring my mother, and her antenna went up. She called her daughter to come to her. “Come and look at these crosses over here, dear.” Said my grandmother. She placed her arm around my mother’s waist and pulled her in towards her.

My father saw how protective his grandmother was of her, so he tried to approach her in a different way. My father started a conversation with my grandmother. He knew they were Christians because they were looking at Christian crosses.

Then, my grandmother started speaking Greek with my mother. My father, who knows many languages, began to speak Greek with Aphrodite. “Oh, are you Greek?” asked my grandmother.

My father replied, “No, but I have many relatives that came from Alexandria.”

“Alexandria, Egypt?” asked Aphrodite

“Yes,” replied Mohammed.

At once, my grandmother released my mother from her grip and started to talk to my father. Mohammed said, “The name is Odysseus,” he offered his hand to her. He decided to give a Greek name instead.

“What a lovely name,” said my grandmother.

Then, my father served my grandmother another lie: “My maternal grandmother was Greek in Egypt, and she named me after her father.” He said.

“O Alexandria, Egypt!” Marveled Aphrodite. “Some of my relatives had come from Alexandria,” she added.

“O really,” said my father.

“I heard wonderful things about Alexandria,” said Aphrodite. “That is one place that I wish for my husband and I to visit someday.” She added.

“Well, you must make that effort and visit,” agreed my father.

During their conversation, my father found out that she probably lived in the territory where (the non-Muslim Turks) or in the Levantine Neighborhood lived. Marianela probably went to the French school in Smyrna.

Therefore, after Easter was over and the students went to school, my father was outside my mother’s school waiting for her. Just like me, my love, the way I wait and anticipate seeing you again… “Oh my gosh, he’s so romantic,” she thought, completely forgetting that he had lied to her at first!

Fotini then looked at the clock on her side table, and it was fifteen after the hour. She figured that she could finish reading the letter before she had to get up and get ready for school…

Anyway, my parents were inseparable from the day they met at school. My mother was so in love with my father that she did not care whether my father was Islamic or not. My mother was also never discreet in her relationship. Then, when it came out that she was having an affair with an Islamic man, all hell broke loose!

There was fighting, shouting and heartbreak! But yet, she married my father anyway, and she was disowned by her family. Her father forbade anyone from the family to ever speak or associate with her again.

But my mother never gave up. On August 1st, 1905, I was born. My mother named me after her father, Stelios. On Christmas Day, five months after my birth, my parents took me to visit my grandparents at their home.

She and my father had bought gifts for both of my grandparents and also my aunt. My mother figured that maybe if my grandparents saw me and they found out that I was given a Greek name, my grandfather would have a change of heart. Although, once again, he refused to see his daughter and to meet me…

The hollowing of the wind after a night’s rain made the tree branches hit the window outside Fotini’s room. She was fast asleep and didn’t hear the scratching sound. She had fallen asleep half up, leaning on the headboard. But when the distinctive sound of Saint Photini was going off, she opened her eyes.

She turned and looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was eight. “I'm so late,” she said as she tossed the covers to the side. Her neck was tender from sleeping halfway up against the headboard of her bed. She fought through the pain and got up. She didn’t bother putting on her night robe or slippers but immediately ran out of her room and went to the washroom.

She turned on the faucet to let the water run lukewarm. She leaned towards the mirror above the sink. She had bags under her eyes. Fotini ran her hand under the water to sense its temperature. First, she washed her face and teeth with warm water. In the end, she was brave enough to let the water run cold and splashed her eyes with the cold water to relieve the swelling. She then dried off by patting her face with the cloth that was on the side of the sink.

Just as she was about to open the door, Vasilis was about to thump. She was surprised by him! “You scared me!” she said in

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