PENELOPE’S SAD ROSES

PENELOPE’S SAD ROSES

Stupefied, I walked through the alley towards the cemetery “Butel” with a big bouquet of flowers in my hands. I was looking for Filip Dolinski’s grave. He was my commissioner during the war. I was wandering around sluggishly remembering the three continuous days and nights of fighting we endured. How the Burandari (Greek royal government soldiers) occasionally climbed on top of Vicho and left behind death and destruction.

The moment they stepped out we were right back in our old positions and resuming our attacks.

Then the attacks would subside and it would be quiet again… but only for a short time. Day after day we endured this for three days and nights. The sad part about this could be pictured on the road to the top.

In fact, there was no road to the top. The entire area looked something like a plowed field. The soil was scorched and drenched in blood… littered with broken metal and corpses of murdered young people. It was hard to distinguish who was ours and who was theirs...

This was the last time I saw Dolinski. He was badly wounded and could not say a word...

The next day the weather was beautiful. It was a kind of day during which one would just want to lie in the sun and sleep. The previous night was difficult and sleepless. Our bodies felt good in the sun, giving us a renewed desire to want to live a long, long time...

In moments like these all Dolinski wanted to do was sing...

Many of his comrades and friends were no longer among the living.

It was sad when you looked for him in the squad and realized that he was not there. Sometimes you meet a friend whom you have not seen for a long time and suddenly you are happy to see them, then you will say something good or bad, things that you experienced and

survived together. And then each will go their way. And then you often wondered: “Will we ever meet again?”

And here I was preoccupied by my own thoughts, looking for Filip Dolinski’s grave, one of those misfortunate soldiers.

As I approached the cemetery I saw a good looking woman dressed in a light blue dress with a white collar. She had a bit of grey in her hair, raised and curled in a bun with a few locks sticking out on the sides and bound with an Indian silk scarf tied around her neck, giving her special charm and character.

I was impressed by her looks and felt stunned and guilty in her presence. There were candles burning on top of the grave and their flame was turned towards the beautiful roses that lay beside them. I came closer to the grave and recognized Filip Dolinski’s photograph. I was overcome with excitement. In his picture he was wearing his partisan uniform. I swallowed hard and silently shook hands with the women.

“Penelope…” she said and pointed a stern look at me.

“Are you Mrs. Dolinski?” I asked.

“I am ‘Despinis’ (Miss in Greek) Penelope, dear sir…” she replied.

“I was Filip’s comrade in arms. And you?” I asked and politely smiled with my beautiful white teeth.

The woman looked about forty years old but I thought anything was possible...

“He was my comrade and a good friend during the most difficult years…” I said excitedly, while looking for the most convenient place to leave my flowers.

Once again I discreetly looked and noticed how perfectly her dress sat on her beautiful body, clearly highlighting her chest and hips. I felt my heart pounding.

“This is my first time here Despinis Penelope. I live in Canada. Now I am ready to go back... We were an innocent army and still we find ourselves...” I said and abruptly stopped talking searching for words to finish my sentence.

“I come here often. I live in Athens. I feel some guilt and I can’t seem to find forgiveness. I experience his destiny in secret but his destiny has become my destiny. Girls always seem to trust those they love more than they trust their own mothers. That’s what my grandmother Demetra used to say. My courage, perhaps bad luck, will always remain a secret and will never be disclosed. Oh the fiery and fierce elusive disease, the youthful sweetness... That’s touching evidence of respect for Filip. He gleamed of youth and beauty. He had a noble heart, strong muscles, big arms, broad shoulders, lush curly hair and green eyes... things that make the male body beautiful and appealing. He was humble, reliable, generous… a man with a gentle spirit. He flattered me and that constantly made me think of love. He excited my soul, I could not resist him. But from all that… all I have left now is suffering. I have no strength to reveal the history of our love. The days in May, when the war was raging on in Gramos, were terrifying for me. Those mornings Gramos was covered with a thick layer of fog, you could not see the opposite side of the hill.

Life in our trenches began at night. The quartermasters came and handed out bread, cans of meat and water. The nurses smelled of medicine. Some coughed and complained they did not get enough cigarettes. Then suddenly there would be a flare flash and everyone would scurry into the thick pine grove, interrupting the gathering. When the flare went out again, like ants we would come out and gather together... During the day we stayed in our trenches enjoying the sun and waging war on the lice on our bodies. Some of us contemplated shaving our heads, just to get rid of those annoying lice. I was worried that Filip might do that… he had beautiful blond hair. He always raised my spirits and filled my heart with his faith in our victory. The man had a habit of being fair and honest, of believing and forgiving, like he was following some kind of law of war... No one, to this day, can stifle my passion, even now I remember what Filip said to me: ‘My dear princess, save yourself for the happiest moment in our lives...’ He encouraged me... Love is

a wonderful flower. My soul has become tired and exhausted from so many bitter feelings. His presence warmed my heart and blurred my mind... It is very interesting to live and tremble. Courage is a necessary thing when growing flowers on the brink of a terrible abyss.

People were killed in those days... One day I went towards him before he parted. My feelings took me to him… I think I may have embarrassed him in front of the fighters... But deep inside he wanted me to be there… he loved me...” said Penelope.

She then adjusted the dress on her beautiful rounded body, untied the Indian silk scarf which gave her her peculiar elegance and femininity, and knelt by the grave. Now I could see and cherish her beautiful neck. She then turned to me and offered me a lokum (Turkish delight) which she had brought with her from Athens. I too knelt down before the grave.

She then said: “Then you must know that after that Dolinski was sent to Poland with the wounded and I was sent to Tashkent. I quickly found him through letters.

His letters made me feel secure, warmed my soul… this was emotional proof... Years later he visited me in Tashkent.

I had already completed my studies in music and played the violin… beautifully. I embarked on music… Filip too was gifted, poetically, and wrote me love lyrics.

That inspired me.

I met him at the platform; I thought I would squash him in my arms. I felt like no one could stifle my passion, at least not now, after the war had ended...”

The woman turned to me with innate caution in her poise and with tears hidden behind her smile said:

“My grandmother used to say: ‘Love can only be broken in inception… After that, if you want to enjoy happiness you should

completely abandon yourself…’ I wanted to be closer to him and to draw him in from the long loneliness. After dinner Filip always isolated himself, took a book out and read. I thought to myself, how can my Filip still live under such military discipline and morals?

One night I hugged him and we began to talk about the war and about our friends. He was very polite and since that night our discussions became a habit. We talked about everything, mostly about his homeland, but I still felt his manhood reserved. He had a peculiar shyness about it. It was sometimes difficult for me to understand. It felt like there was a deliberate border between me and him, which was left over from the war and neither he nor I could now cross it.

I liked Filip and I was interested in learning more about his upbringing and culture. He was a historian. His physical slenderness attracted me and his manners and virtuoso dancing conquered me.

I cannot forget; I was very happy once when I had a solo concert at the Bolshoi Theatre. I played my violin and the audience loved me with their applause. My Filip touched me the most. He climbed on the stage with a bouquet of white roses and kissed me. The applause thundered in the theater. I envy all those days. Filip left the impression of a king; so masculine, so powerful, that many times I wished...

One time I said to him: ‘Unbutton me...’ He hugged me and wept like a child... when he told me why I was shocked...

I felt like someone had hit me on the head. I felt sad that very moment and was overcome with grief and sorrow. My thoughts took me back to the war, because of him and because of myself… because what we had done was a sin for both of us. I waited for him for years. I spent most of my beautiful youth suffering because I was unable to experience the real feelings of a living woman who had desires to have a family... Now I carry a different pain because that day, with his gentle and warm voice, he said to me: ‘My dear princess, my faithful Penelope, sweetheart of mine… I am sorry to tell you this but my manhood was taken away from me by a bullet during a battle in Vicho. The other wounds I received don’t hurt as

much but this one has burned my soul for years because of you... my princess. I want to tell you the truth and ask you to find happiness with someone else.’

Those words suffocate me even today because I know if a person is worthy of love, then you will love them forever... He died of despair in the flower of his youth and I decided to trust myself, to dream of happiness as I spend my time near my Filip’s grave…”

* * *

I felt like I was committing a sin thinking of this woman wearing a long white dress. All I can say about this dark-skinned, tall, cool and patient woman called Penelope is that:

She is a proud princess who enjoyed showing her excessive pride and loyalty. I watched and listened to her petrified. One could learn from her that happiness is collected little by little, day by day... This perfectly embittered woman, an angel of purity, made my soul grieve. I was unable to express the simplicity of movement with deep seriousness when she looked at me with such fairness and simplicity... I was silent because I knew that saying anything to this woman would be an insult and would open wounds the size of an abyss, and so in silence I asked myself: “Could my Elena possibly have that much love for me...?”

The candles kept smouldering as Penelope’s beautiful eyes shed crystal tears over the sad roses.