Romanus Matoula's Echo

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-9963-2-5518-4
Verlag: Armida Publications
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 302 Seiten

'It's Greece's Dr. Zhivago but with a better story. And it would make a great movie'.-- Kurt Russell, actor
In the tradition Of Corelli's Mandolin and Eleni comes an epic historical fiction novel set in Greece. By Richard Romanus, a nominee for The Writers Guild Of America Award For Best Original Screenplay.
In the hardscrabble villages of northern Greece, strength is the only measure of a girl's beauty. But Maria Christina is delicate, nearsighted, unmarried at 17 - already a spinster, in a town with few choices- and hopeless. She's overshadowed by Matoula, the nimble, radiant older sister whom she loves but envies. Worse still, she smolders with shameful desire for handsome, worldly Yiannis, Matoula's husband, a doctor from sophisticated Athens.
It's the bitter winter of 1940, war just over the horizon, the Axis Powers massing to invade. All the able-bodied men have gone to defend the border. The women must supply their food and clothing, their bandages and bullets - on foot over mountain trails, by starlight, through deep snow. But only those deemed strong may help. Not Maria Christina. For her that's just another humiliation.
Defiantly, she joins Matoula on a supply run. And then her worst nightmare comes true: it is strong, deserving Matoula who dies. Yiannis is left a widower, torn between commitment to the resistance, where his skills are desperately needed, and responsibility for Zoitsa, the young daughter Matoula bore him.
War rages on - against the Italians, then the Germans, and then heartbreaking civil strife among the Greeks themselves. Conflict burns within Maria Christina and Yiannis, too. They are engulfed by passion, separated by duty to country, bonded by common loss and devoured by Maria Christina's guilt at surviving her more beautiful, capable sister.
A vivid epic of calamity and longing, of modernity vanquishing tradition, Matoula's Echo makes just one fragile promise of redemption in the form of Maria Christina's new awakening.
Praise For This Epic Greek Historical Fiction Romance Novel.
'A phenomenal achievement, not only because it tackles the great themes - war and civil war, heroism and sacrifice, love and loss, joy and misery, inner conflict and struggle merely to survive - but because it handles them so adroitly.'

-- Dr Darcy Powers, Professor of English at the University of Denver
 

Autoren/Hrsg.

Romanus, Richard

Leseproben

2
Matoula always entered like a gust of wind, constantly moving, straightening, dusting, cleaning, teaching, talking, with an easy smile, always heartfelt, revealing perfect teeth. She always knew what the weather was going to be, whose garden was finest, who was fighting with whom, all the latest gossip. Glancing at Pappou deep into his nap, she spoke softly while unloading an armload of packages, two small oak barrels of water, and her two year old daughter, Zoitsa, whom she routinely handed to Maria Christina, who smothered her with kisses as she took off her small shepherd’s cloak and unlaced her little boots. “Costas Stahoulis was dancing outside his pantopolio, knee deep in the snow, twirling his draft notice from the Ministry of Defence as if it were a handkerchief.” “It’s very comforting to know that clown will be defending us.” “The same battalion my Yiannis will be joining in a few days.” “That’s good. Stahoulis will probably be needing a doctor.” Matoula coughed then covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. She loved to laugh, and nobody could make her laugh like Maria Christina. Telling a story, Maria Christina would act out all the parts using different voices, even their cow, Afendoula, and Matoula would hide her face in her hands and laugh until she had to hold her sides. “No more! I can’t breathe!” Then she would walk around all day laughing to herself. As if nature hadn’t been cruel enough, Maria Christina had grown up in the shadow of her stunningly beautiful sister, two years her senior, tall and strong and nimble as a deer, a goddess by any measure, and she was married. For Maria Christina her older sister was the best and worst of her life. Matoula was her eyes and ears to the world. From her earliest memories it was Matoula’s loving hand she was holding, always happy Maria Christina was tagging along, describing with exquisite clarity what Maria Christina could see only in blurred images. Especially in the warm summers, in the fields, in the garden, they were inseparable. But Matoula was also everything Maria Christina was not and, as much as she loved her, she envied her. She was aware of it, but she couldn’t help it and likened it to a termite infestation that was slowly hollowing out her soul, her ability to love, to care, and in its place leaving nothing but the growing feeling that her life had no purpose. “You wouldn’t believe how many soldiers are on the streets.” “I hope they’re more qualified than Stahoulis or we’re dead.” “Now sweet?” Zoitsa’s little voice whispered in Maria Christina’s ear as her aunt took off her second boot. The girl’s eyes widened as she waited for her aunt’s response. “After your dinner.” Maria Christina kissed her scowling cheek and directed her to play on the floor by the fireplace with the small group of barn animals Pappou had carved for her. Matoula spoke even more softly so Zoitsa wouldn’t hear. “The talk in the village is that the Italians will have to fight for every meter. After five hundred years of Turkish occupation everyone says they’re prepared to give their life rather than be occupied again.” “Fearless until the first bomb drops. We’re going to be occupied. The only question is will we be eating macaroni or schnitzel.” Just then the door opened and their father, Papa Yiorgos, the village priest, and his older spinster sister, Panorea, entered. They had left before dawn to help their neighbors round up their flocks. The first big snowstorm had arrived early and continued heavily for three days, and many of the villagers’ animals had been caught in the blizzard before they could be driven far enough down the mountain. Setting his flat-topped hat on a table, Papa Yiorgos glanced at Pappou, then looked to Matoula and whispered, “All is well?”  Matoula nodded and he took off his cloak and hung it on a peg as the girls quietly began serving the dinner, a leek and cheese pie. The priest strode over to Pappou, gave him a closer look and a quick blessing, then stood with his wide back to the fire and spoke to Matoula while stroking his long black beard. “We drove what we could into the schoolhouse. The rest we corralled in the monastery.” Maria Christina was cutting the pie when she felt her father’s eyes. “You finished your chores?” “Yes, Patera.” Yiannis came in with a basket of individual cream pies for everyone. “Fresh from the bakery,” he said just above a whisper as he held up the basket. Zoitsa jumped up and ran to her father as he smiled at Papa Yiorgos and acknowledged Panorea and Maria Christina each with a nod. As he scooped up his daughter, he handed his wife the basket. “What are we celebrating?” she smiled. “No reason. Just because.” He gave her a quick kiss and gently squeezed her hand. If Matoula was a goddess, Yiannis was a god. Tall and strong with a square jaw, a brush mustache, and a mop of blonde curly hair. A sophisticated Athenian who had traveled extensively, he smoked English tobacco in a splendid pipe made from meerschaum, a rare white mineral found in Turkey, and dressed in western clothes and was the idol of all the modern-thirsty young men of the village. While visiting a medical school friend, he saw Matoula dancing during the summer festival of the Prophet Elias and was so taken by her beauty and grace that he arranged to marry her in spite of his family’s vehement objections. Yiannis was also the most beautiful man Maria Christina had ever imagined. From the moment the young doctor from Athens arrived to propose marriage with his friend, the village veterinarian, she found it difficult to keep her eyes from following him. Although she had never actually been close enough to see him other than as a blur, Matoula’s description coupled with his soothing voice and mild manner sharpened his image for her, and she constantly fought the urge to stare at him. It was her dark secret that she was in love with him. In her heart she feared she might even sacrifice her sister’s happiness if he declared his love for her. She knew it was silly and impossible. He was always painfully polite with her, but he otherwise hardly noticed her. Yet she was incapable of stopping herself. Left alone, her imagination would invariably wander to images of him, standing by the fireplace smoking his pipe, or walking into the room carrying his medical bag, or holding Zoitsa who was tickling her nose in his mustache, and in her reverie Zoitsa’s nose would become her own. Aware these fleeting moments together might be among their last, there was a slow sadness in everyone’s gait, a heaviness that was unusual. Yiannis crossed over to Pappou and gently took his hand to feel his pulse. As she stoked the fire, Maria Christina tried not to notice Matoula join him and speak softly in his ear. That morning he and Matoula hid extra sacks of grain and corn and buried the family’s few treasures in a room originally designed as a hiding place from the Turks, the ‘blind room’, which was located under the ground floor. Talk over dinner was of the impending war. The rag tag army of Greece wasn’t prepared. “Everyone says we have no tanks, no anti-tank guns, not even one good anti-aircraft battery.” Yiannis leaned into his father-in-law while filling his pipe. “From what I see in the village, you don’t even have matching uniforms,” Papa Yiorgos added, looking up at the ceiling and waving his hands as if churning the air.  “Most of the men are joining with their old hunting rifles.” “Well, at least they’re accurate.” “But they aren’t modern! Who knows how they’ll hold up in a battle? Especially with an army and air force with ten times the fire power.” “Still, we mustn’t lose our faith,” Papa Yiorgos concluded after a moment’s despair. Following supper the family sat around the fire, Papa Yiorgos and Yiannis drinking tsipouro and talking in low dull tones, Panorea embroidering a vest for herself, Matoula at her loom, while Maria Christina and Zoitsa lay on a platform where Maria Christina was quietly teaching her little blonde niece her colors. Before long there was a light knock on the door. It was Saul Chaimaki, a tall, slender Jewish man in his thirties. Speaking barely above a whisper, he explained that he and his brother, Elias, had ended up with two drachmas too many in the till of their small dry goods store, which meant they must have short-changed someone. Since Panorea had purchased some silk from them yesterday, could it possibly be hers? He looked at Panorea, with her gray hair, gray skin, gray eyes, and her gray personality, while she in turn gave him one of her looks. “I know you always count your change, Kyria Panorea,” Chaimaki smiled shyly. “But I have been to everyone’s house who purchased from us. You are last on our list, Kyria, and no one has claimed it.” He looked at Papa Yiorgos, “May I keep it?” “You have every right, Saul,” Papa Yiorgos assured...