Meeting Agni

“Sure, you can watch movies now,” I told the girls at bedtime, “if you mute the sound and use captions.” I lingered for a moment behind the black leather sofa on which they reclined, my heart lifting slightly with the fragrant steam that rose from the open bag of popcorn between them. All around the upstairs parlor, doors were closed. No ribbons of light peered from beneath them, no voices came through, but our instructions for tomorrow were that Chloe appear, sleep deprived, for an EEG. What is your daughter’s illness? the weekend manager had asked this afternoon, as she and I had sat on either side of a small table in her office.

I had stopped short at her question, staring at the empty black line on the paper between us, and the muscles in my chest had grown tight. I don’t know, I had answered, my voice strained. We came to find out. Now I yawned, stretching my arms luxuriously outward. I doubted Lauriana knew how grateful I was that she had volunteered to sit up with her sister. I was grateful, too, that our new Home let me feel safe, let the girls pretend their task was a weekend adventure.

I turned and walked down the hall toward our room, a pleasant weariness drifting through me, easing my shoulders, easing my thoughts. But I lifted my head, when a rhythmic murmur drifted through the silence, a female voice, low in volume, but clear and intense.

I rounded a bend and neared the cozy sitting area across from the kitchen; a girl about Chloe’s age sat alone in a black recliner. The girl leaned forward slightly, a laptop balanced on her crossed legs, a microphone held close to her lips. I could not identify the elegant language with which she spoke so passionately to a companion, someone close to her, I thought, but someone half a world away. I smiled as I glimpsed the girl’s pretty face, her intense expression, the gray stocking cap that crowned her head. In spite of her concentration, she looked up at me through her dark-rimmed glasses. When she returned my smile, her own was warm and full.


The same girl was my first sight as I entered the kitchen for my first breakfast at the House. She stood near the milk dispenser in the same gray cap, leaning against the counter, her arms crossed comfortably before her as she listened to Peter. He was turned toward a blond-haired woman with gentle eyes, who stood between him and the girl. The girl lifted her eyes, and she smiled in recognition as I approached; she was taller than me, beautiful and confident.

Peter turned, and his own face brightened, too. “Lena, this is my wife, Jenifer,” he said, and Lena smiled warmly, taking my hand in both of hers. “Lena and her daughter, Agni, are here from Athens,” Peter told me, checking and rechecking his pronunciation of Agni’s name, until the girl nodded her approval.

We circled closely in the morning chill and began to trade stories. “Unfortunately, Agni will have to take exams, when she returns,” Lena explained, when the conversation turned to our daughters’ schooling. “She must study now, without help from her teachers, and be prepared for her exams next June. Otherwise, she will not graduate.” Lena’s accent was lyrical and sweet, but her tone was wistful, and I dared not ask about the thinly veiled sorrow in her eyes.

Two more families came into the kitchen through the double doors behind me. One mother seated her two small children at a table on the far end of the room; the other led her son into the pantry. Lena told us about Agni’s gynecological oncologist, a young woman whom Agni liked, but her mother did not. “She and Agni get along very well,” Lena said with a small, forced smile. “For her, it is very nice. For me, it is a little bit more difficult. I do not think her doctor likes me very much, but maybe it’s not so important.” Lena looked into my eyes for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

“Lena is an ophthalmologist,” Peter told me, one hand resting on the counter, and he kept his tone cheerful.

“Yes,” Lena answered quickly, looking up again. “I specialize in glaucoma.” She paused, frowning a bit, and added, “It doesn’t help here, to be a medical doctor. No one cares. I am just a mother, like everyone else, nothing more.” That was another life, she would tell me later, when I would ask about her practice during an evening visit to their upstairs apartment. Lena and I would sit apart from the others, and she would look sadly into the distance and explain, It is very far away now.

“Hello!” Lauriana’s cheery voice entered the circle from behind me, and we stepped back to let her in. Her bold grin and friendly tone brought a fresh smile to Agni, to Lena, and I let her take the lead. “What kind of cereal do they have in the pantry?” she asked shortly, and I went with her to explore.

Αφιερωμένο στην Αγνούλα

Από την Ειρήνη

ΣΑΒΒΑΤΟ, 16 ΙΑΝΟΥΑΡΙΟΥ 2010

18 - 19 στο αστέρι

Μου είχε πει να σε σκέφτομαι και να χαμογελάω
Κάθε φορά που θυμάμαι το γέλιο σου
τις κινήσεις των χεριών σου που πάλευαν με τον αέρα όταν μιλούσες
το μαλακό σου δέρμα
τη μυρωδιά σου
τη φωνή σου
Να χαμογελάω όταν ακούω το ένα παιδί περπατάει με τα χέρια
όταν σκέφτομαι την κοσμοθεωρία σου
την ηπιότητα σου και τη γαλήνη σου
κι όταν θέλω συμπαράσταση στη λύπη μου, να σου μιλάω
ευτυχώς, μ' ακούς ακόμα
χαμογελάω
κι όταν φοράω τα σκουλαρίκια σου

όμως καμιά φορά, κρυφά, μπορεί να φύγει και κανένα δάκρυ
για ποιον δεν ξέρω
μάλλον για τον εγωισμό μου που μου λείπεις καιρό τώρα

σ' ευχαριστώ

είσαι το πιο λευκό χρώμα της σκέψης μου
"αν θέλεις να με βρεις, να παίζεις, να νιώθεις, να ζεις
αν πάλι δεν μπορείς, μη φύγεις, μη χαθείς"

Πάντως,
δεν αλλάξανε πολλά εδώ κάτω ακόμα
μονάχα οι Κυριακές που αλλάξανε χρώμα

Ειρήνη

...Φύλακας Άγγελος...

Ένας χρόνος...Σαν σήμερα...σαν σήμερα το βράδυ είχα ένα περίεργο συναίσθημα για σένα... Και δεν τα πιστεύω αυτά,...όμως το κακό έγινε... Ένας χρόνος Αγνούλα μου γλυκιά, Αγνούλα μου όμορφη, γιατί ακόμα και τώρα όμορφη είσαι... καλή, ευγενική, έξυπνη, πρόσχαρη, ευαίσθητη, τρυφερή... Μου λείπεις... και σε αγαπάω πολύ. Πόσες φορές σε ήθελα δίπλα μου. Πόσες μετάνιωσα που δεν σε έβλεπα συχνότερα, που δεν περάσαμε όλα τα καλοκαίρια που μπορούσαμε μαζί στην κατασκήνωσή μας. Αυτό το μέρος είναι μόνο για τις δυο μας μαζί, και όχι για κάθε μια μας χώρια, κι αφού δεν είσαι εδώ, ας μείνει σαν μια υπέροχη ανάμνηση. Θέλω να είσαι καλά, θα έρθω να σε δω... και κάθε φορά που θα ακούω τον Γιαννάκη σου, θα σε θυμάμαι...και θα ξέρω ότι είσαι πλέον ο Φύλακας ο 'Αγγελός μας.

Σε θυμάμαι, πάντα σε θυμάμαι
πλάι σου δεν θα’ μαι
κι όμως στο μυαλό μου θα γυρνάς
Σε θυμάμαι πάλι σε θυμάμαι
θεέ μου πως φοβάμαι
μήπως με τα χρόνια με ξεχνάς

Το "Ελενάκι σου"

Μου λείπεις αστέρι μου...

Τα ταξίδια μας

Νύχτωσε
έλα να σε πάρω μια αγκαλιά
να με πεις μαμά μου
να σωπάσει το αχ
που κλαίει μέσα μου
αδιάκοπα
Όλα τα θυμάμαι
τα καλά πονούν
τα αφόρητα βασανίζουν
Περπατώ ανάλαφρα
κι έρχεσαι σε διάφορες ηλικίες
μου πιάνεις το χέρι
συντονιζόμαστε στο βηματισμό
πάμε Παρίσι, Βαρκελώνη και Φλωρεντία
Βουδαπέστη, Μόντε Κάρλο και Βερολίνο
Το βλέμμα σου γίνεται το κλειδί της πόλης
ξαναγεννιέμαι
μ' αρέσει μαζί σου
μου δανείζεις τη φρεσκάδα σου
σου χαρίζω την ορμή μου
..............................................
Νύχτωσε Αγνή μου
αφήνω το καντήλι αναμένο
για κάθε περίπτωση..