Foto woke up early, stood at the window and looked across to the mountains. May had arrived for good, and the trees wore their light-colored foliage such as their branches were still visible.
She got dressed for the occasion. First, she put on her wool socks. She wore her chemise next. She straightened her white lace collar, braided with fine silk thread, and then wore a second wool over her cotton skirt. She put on her waistcoat with the golden chevron, and above this she wore her dress - she picked the velvet this morning. She arranged her scarf on her head and put on a Sunday coat. She dressed like she was up to the task, in honor of her husband too. Dressed to meet with Agha.
Foto was married to Yorgo. He came from a good standing; she therefore had to maintain herself at his worth. Their marriage was the result of matchmaking by her sister's godmother, Calliope.
The typical formalities of the wedding were properly respected. The groom’s relatives did not stretch the ‘girdle of misunderstanding’, and the keys of Foto’s coffers were a bunch in the hands of the groom, like the delicacies and table treats for the guests were rich and abundant. Not that she was second rank; she wasn’t too beautiful, but she had a firm appearance, and the main thing was the craft that she learned from her grandma. She was a midwife. She knew all the secrets of childbirth and she knew a lot about herbs. Her grandma trained her about all these one by one, and she even left written instructions to her. Treatments for each ailment. This was the reason for her visit to Agha.
She’s been going back and forth to the lavish house since Epiphany. Today she was going to formally tell him, "My work is done. I did everything I could." She’s been in and out for five months.
She had to come alone, he had ordered her; her heart beating wild, the light disappearing, the ground spinning.
Could he be angered by the youngsters who wondered in the streets during Epiphany?
Or was it the ‘wetting’? As newly married, she had also attended various feasts with Yorgo. Could somebody have told him about those conversations? The young ones do gossip about everything.
Until she arrived, she felt like her soul could escape her body. Yorgos left her outside the gate of the courtyard, better said, the heavy walls. She traversed the paved and empty patio. An ominous silence. Everything gray and dull, the cold froze her nose, ears and hands. Not even her coat could protect her. She raised from time to time her furry collar, but what do you expect? Women are born to live inside, and their garments do not seem to protect them outside, either under sunshine or a freezing cold.
The summer felt heavy. She recalls how badly she had sweated during Mary’s Assumption, and how cold she feels now.
She heard a song, a cry that slashed her heart into pieces. She looked for the source of the heartbreaking ballad. Before she could spot it, wild yelling and beating ended it.
She continued to march and her heart continued its wild heartbeat. Her legs stumbled. She had now arrived at the stairs, the front door. Beat the knocker, or not? She beat it rapidly and a eunuch let her in.
They traversed a dark corridor, and entered a large hall that was covered in carpets under a dim light. Mixed scent of beeswax and roses, and the humidity pierced her nostrils. They crossed the dusky hall. Along with her steps, she could hear the pounding of her heart.
Hopefully it couldn’t be heard, either by her attendant or the host.
She met him sitting at his office with all his splendor and decorations.
Ever since Servia was merged with Santzakio he obtained many entitlements, but troubles as well.
When he saw her, he stood up and spoke bluntly in her own dialect.
"My wife got sick" he said. "Her body is full of wounds and her hair falls off. I heard you are a practical doctor."
"Me, a doctor? No, I know about herbs, and I do deliveries. I just help people."
"Let's see what you can do for her. Everything you see and hear around here, pretend you’re like you had neither eyes nor ears. Bring her to the chambers" he commanded the eunuch. "Henceforth you will interact with him, whatever you need you’ll get. From you, I only await good news."
He nodded and left.
When he saw his Mistress she could barely hold a cry. Despite the wealth of the compartment and her dresses she remained a creature that should stay away from people’s eyesight. A sad smile was the only encouragement for their collaboration.
Five months passed by.
The wounds disappeared, her hair started growing again, and her smile became wide and joyful.
Every dawn and dusk Foto has been crossing the paved patio, every dawn and dusk she witnessed the same mourning. One day she saw him, back there in the dungeons, the jail-bars.
A dark face with a black and curly beard, big eyes in black circles, stuck on the bars. Tufts of his curly hair surged in the light. Boisterous and wild. These had not surrendered.
The blood rose to her head. Smell of burning wood and the barn flooded her.
Was he there before and she didn’t realize? She tried to go there. Her legs were blocked. A wild yelling came again and she rushed her steps to get home.
She wanted to get out of there. To leave slavery behind. What was there lying in front of her? She reckoned it was freedom. Her heartbeat suggested otherwise.
Agha, their armor, the jail bars, the young lad, the fear, the gloomy song, the constraint. Who is behind bars, who’s outside, which trivial mishap, which foolishness brings you where?
How about her own torment? Herbs, herbs, testing, medications and ointments. She spent whole nights in the basement preparing cures, testing recipes, watching the grams on the weighing scale. The threat of the outcome was melting her. Her eyes became like the young lad’s. Fear and distress bent her. A misstep brought him behind bars. One of her own would bring her there too.
She’s not happy with Yorgo, they gossiped. They murmured. They watched her abdomen. A good thing that her underskirt crown kept her dress inflated and she could thus hide it away. Who cares about them anyways?
What would it take to get jailed in the opposite cell with the lad?
Yorgos was anxious and suffering along her side.
"Mind your business. We’ll get somewhere. "
Her mother spent days and nights in front of the shrines.
"God be with you, my child. Have patience."
During March, the treatment seemed to reveal signs of improvement and she got encouraged.
However, what about the lament? Dawns and dusks reminded her of her life’s unknown, the audacity of her experimentation, the ferocity of the conqueror, her ambiguous future. The young captive sang about the future too, his own and that of Servia.
In April, along with Easter, she was resurrected too. The Mistress improved considerably, and in order to show her gratitude she gave her a present for Easter, the fête of the slaves, a bulk of silk cloth from Venice.
Along with the spring her soul blossomed, her hopes fluttered, but they didn’t go very far; they stumbled upon the young lad’s jail bars and those of her mind.
Instead of good mornings and goodnights he sent to her his grief by means of such lyrics that the guards and his captors would allow him.
However, today her hopes fluttered and flew sky-high to the Virgin; she knew that she would neither hear the crying of his voice again, nor will he chant anymore.
She entered the hall, just like the first day. There was more light this time and the scent of roses concealed the smell of beeswax.
At the side of Agha, the Lady sparkled, her eyes and mouth looked widely brightened.
"Mrs. Foto, about time to reward you. Your services are done and joy came to our house. Your work was worth it. A worthy job deserves a generous price. And we’re gonna give it to you."
"There’s nothing I desire, my Agha. My effort was spent in the service of a human. Her Ladyship has been cured. It’s my personal delight and my grandma’s, her soul, rest in peace, must be rejoicing the miracle. "
"And our joy should take a shape, or it will get wasted otherwise." "Speak up," he commanded.
"If I were to ask anything, I’d want neither gold, nor silver, nor a precious stone. Only the freedom of the young lad behind bars is what I want. He’s too young, a mother and a lover are expecting him. If I were to receive a reward, he should be left to fly like a bird over the castles. His lament was my companion and solace during my challenging toil, it was a message not to give up, and, my Agha, we eventually became victorious."
Agha blushed, he got pale, he looked at his Mistress, at Foto, and then said, "So be it. Whatever you want, doctor, I can even forgive my enemies today."