Listening in Silence

In the middle of the week we embarked on the adventure of retracing the Kouros family’s steps in Greece. Our destination was Nestani, a village near the town of Tripoli, just about two hours North of Athens. We hopped in an old jalopy that belonged to a family friend, and endured three hours of Greek banter from the driver’s two-year-old son, a rather spoiled child named Yianni. Yianni had two favorite games. One was to point repeatedly at the surroundings and ask, “Aftó?” (“That?”), asking about each new object that attracted his gaze. What’s that? What’s that? I understand the curiosity of children, but his reluctance to listen once his question was answered, and then his repetition of the same question a moment later, would have driven anyone insane.

His other favorite game was to walk along a ledge, a bridge, or some other dangerous outcrop of high altitude. After acknowledging the warnings of all five maternal “hens”, Yianni would step backward off the ledge, gaining momentum to race back over but nearly careening to the bottom every time. Each of the women did their share of in-the-knick-o’-time grabs, resulting in collective, hourly heart attacks. At one point, this tot even hit Chrystyna in the face so hard that she began to cry!

Now we all laugh about the little one and his antics, but at the time, the trip was looking awfully dire. When we arrived in Nestani, the village of Chrystyna’s father, who was still in America, I breathed deeply, took in the scenery, and was left to my own devices to make the day special. That’s when Demetrius came to embrace us.

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