Lynette Gurr - Kalymnian Women

Exhausted, I lay down to rest. It is cold on the caique, journeying between Kos and Kalymnos. I cover my eyes to conceal tears flowing down my cheeks. A hessian bag of potatoes support my uncovered head. Hand woven blankets caress my wretched body. I think over the doctor’s diagnosis - Karkinos. I have less time than I hoped. Michaeli mou, a good husband of thirty years, crippled from the bends. His burial on an unknown North African beach. Our children, now living in distant lands, must not know they are orphans-in-waiting. I can bear no more sorrowful gazes and wailing. I remain stoic as I prepare to meet my maker. 

Julia mou greets me as I leave the vessel at Pothia. She wears her white headscarf, symbol of good fortune. Her husband, Manolis, healthy and well, despite years of sponge diving. Julia takes me to her whitewashed stone house. She pours sweet water from her pitcher. Serves me my favourite infusion - aromatic herbs gathered from the high eastern slopes, inside the Byzantine Citadel. She blesses this beverage and me with her magical powers. My children will not return home. I ask her to tell them nothing. Allow me to dream of good fortune for my children dispersed by the Greek diaspora. 

I wait for the song of life to slowly fade within me. Meanwhile, I doze in the arms of Julia - my friend, my support, my counsel, my confidante - forever.