Eléni & M Move to Athens - Part 12

This new series has its history in the form of several short stories, several poems, and a 13-part series that is linked at the bottom via Part 11 of this series. Anthi Psomiadou has graciously agreed—she is sweet—to reprise her role from the first series as a fictional character also called, Anthi. These series have become The Fellowship of Athena (the real Anthi proposed to call it a fellowship). I wonder if there will also be a ring or something even more precious.

As you set out for Ithaca, hope your road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Konstantinos Kavafis

Who knew that tsipouro would be so much better than ouzo? Anthi did, both the real, in Greece, and the fictitious, in Greece, who was right now with us in Crete at her grandparents’ house where we were having a feast fit for at least fourteen, and we were only seven, though one of us was a real goddess, which could easily count for eight mortals, and thus we were fourteen, after all. It must be the tsipouro. Apparently, Athena decided to let us become tipsy. I was feeling even more Greek, or I should say, Cretan. I even googled tsipouro and discovered that it is made exclusively from the distillation of grapes in contrast to ouzo which may use the distillation of various fruits and not necessarily grapes. Moreover or furthermore (pick one), the base for tsipouro is the grape’s mashed peels that are left to ferment for a month, so that their sugar becomes alcohol, and the grapes are then distilled in cauldrons. Most tsipouro is distilled once, but its flavour and taste can be stronger when it is distilled twice. Here is to two of everything! Even two Anthis. Cheers! Stin ygeiá sas!

I was surprised to see Anthi’s grandparents when I awoke early in the morning. It was around six but I could not be sure, as the clock on the wall was showing anything between five and seven, so I took the average. Eléni was sleeping on the other sofa across from me. Where is everyone else? I asked them but could not understand their reply. Athena, Anthi, my twin, ópou (where)? I mumbled like a foreigner before remembering that I was one, especially without my Greek entourage. They indicated that they were asleep upstairs. Sas efcharistó (Thank you)! I mumbled again, nodding my head like a bobbing doll. Tsipouro was not keto, of course, but I did not care anymore. While unable to stop death, Goddess Athena could apparently heal many ailments, including drunkenness. I guess that she wanted to teach us a lesson. I never got drunk in my entire life, not even once, but there is always a first time, and mine had to happen in Greece. Where is the hangover that was always mentioned? I felt sleepy but fine. Perhaps our Athena took at least care of that. What a goddess! I love you, Athena, I almost shouted, when I noticed Anthi’s grandparents again, smiling at me as if I fell from the sky. In a way, I did. O Crete! O Athens! O Greece!

I might as well call them Grandpa and Grandma—I never met any of mine—instead of Anthi’s grandparents, I was thinking when they seemed to be trying to offer me breakfast. No, thank you! I gestured, and apparently kissed them on both cheeks, lingering on the right, which they seemed to find strange, the whole thing, not just the lingering. I then smiled and hugged them, which did not seem to help matters. Come on! I thought. Please, Athena or Anthi! I need help. I finally heard steps coming down the stairs. It was Anthi. I had never seen her so early in the morning. She looked even more beautiful. It must be a Greek thing, I thought. Please, Anthi! I am not sure that they understood why I kissed and hugged them.

“You kissed and hugged them?” Anthi asked, smiling.

Is the custom different in Greece? Are we not supposed to kiss everyone good morning, Anthi?

“We can, but not many do, M. You must be special,” Anthi replied, still smiling.

Well, that is a given by now. But compared to you, no one is special, Anthi. You take the bougatsa (a greek pastry).

“You are something, M,” Anthi said, laughing.

You must mean someone, Anthi. It is your turn to kiss and hug them and explain me to them.

“Do not worry, M! I already told them last night that you were different from your twin,” Anthi replied, almost laughing again.

Voici Anthi la mignonne (Here is Anthi the cutie), I replied.

“What did you say?”

I forgot, Anthi, that you do not understand French. What a shame! It is a beautiful language, they say.

“So, you are getting back at me because of the Greek.”

Not at all! But some things are better said in French, Anthi. You must know that.

“Oh, you!”

You must mean, M.

“What does it stand for, M?”

That is a secret that even Patrick will not reveal, nor will Eléni. Athena might, but since she is fair, she will not. You have your Greek when you want to keep me in the dark, and I have my French, and, of course, my M. I actually revealed it on Medium in one of my stories, but you have not read it. You may need to read many of them to find it, and I hope that it will not be in vain.

“Come on, M! Tell me, please!”

So, I guess that you do not feel like reading more than what you already read. I do not blame you. But I will give you a good hint. It is in one of my sex stories. Good luck, finding it!

“I will find it.”

That is the spirit, Anthi. Too bad you cannot probe my mind for it. We can communicate but we cannot query. I am glad that we cannot. I am hiding a thing or two.

“Do you want some breakfast, M?” Anthi asked, smiling and even more beautiful.

I think that Grandpa and Grandma wanted to feed me too. It is too early for me, and I would never bother you. I do not like to be served. But I can make you breakfast.

“Thank you, M! But no. I am not sure that my grandparents would understand why you are making breakfast for me.”

You are right. That tsipouro is something else. Please, make your own breakfast! I am going to drink a lot of water.

“Good morning, Anthi! Good morning, M!” Eléni said, getting up, also too beautiful for a wooden heart.

Bonjour ma belle chatte (Good morning, my beautiful pussy), I replied. Grandpa, Grandma, and now Anthi asked if we wanted breakfast.

“It is too early for food. Thank you! I just want a tall glass of water.”

Oui, ma chatte, moi aussi (Yes, my pussy, me too).

“I will get you both the water, then,” Anthi said.

If you insist, Anthi, only if you insist.

“I do, M. I do.”

Did you see our goddess before coming down?

“No, but I heard Glaukopis mumbling something in French.”

If a bird can learn French, I can surely learn Greek.

“You can, M, and you will. Glaukopis did not learn the French it knows in a few days.”

C’est vrai, Anthi. It is true, Anthi. Did Grandpa and Grandma accept the story about who we were?

“I think that they only did because of the dream. And you may have convinced them this morning when you kissed and hugged them,” Anthi replied, laughing again.

I guess that I cannot kiss and hug you, Anthi.

“Not in front of them, M.”

You are right, Anthi. Grandparents sometimes know best. By the way, do not waste your time looking in my stories for the first name represented by M, unless you want to read them. They are actually fun and almost not sexual at all. I call myself Maurice but it is not what M stands for. Maybe you will find out in a dream.

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Many thanks to Anthi Psomiadou for her perceptive comments, suggestions, and even text (in Part 11) in regards to this unending story, as Athens and now Crete are becoming parts of me. It seems that I would need to visit many Greek cities and islands to finally find out where my future lies, though part of me already knows somehow.

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