By Antonia Gounaropoulou

Translated by Panagiotis Tourikis

 “The horses! The horses! Kids, come see the horses!”

The kids abandoned their bikes, dropped their stones, marbles and chalks, scurrying to be the first to climb the stairs – and reached the road, there where the wide iron gate would soon be placed and where parents, aunties and uncles had all flocked. Two horses, one white and the other brown, were descending the slope in a light gallop right before their eyes, while a thin ugly boy was running behind in a sweat, cursing with words that kids ought not to hear – though they already had.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed an aunt, and made as if to hide behind the men while the horses were approaching Makedonomahon Street and turning uphill.

“Eeeeee! Brrrr! Brrrr!” the boy spat, all blowzed and running behind the horses.

The little girl clutched onto someone’s trousers and gazed from between the legs of adults. The horses were stunningly beautiful, huge and terrifying. In a moment they had dropped out of sight. But the thin ugly boy with that “Brrrr! Brrrr!” on his fat lips had lingered on, as it took him a while to sprint all the way downhill and follow the horses along the street.

All the grown-ups were laughing. The girl could see the boy before her eyes, even when it was no longer there.

***

The next time round she saw him at the creek shepherding geese. Being all alone, she was startled. The girl had jumped over the fence, crossed the dry little river – just skipping over it – and had then climbed up the finest of the three fig trees. But she’d feel the figs hard, still like small pebbles. She came down, gazed around her, kneeled at the dry river bank and was watching intently amongst the large boulders in case she’d spot the carapace of some tortoise. And then, somewhere to the right of her, she caught sight of a bird resembling a duck though with longer legs and a longer neck. She stood up, took a closer look and spotted a second one. Stepping cautiously, she examined the birds with a great sobriety as they waddled on the soil and stretched out their neck as if wishing to loosen up – until just a few more steps ahead she found herself facing the ugly boy.

Squatting on the dry yellow weeds, he was staring at her mockingly. The girl didn’t feel uneasy about that. She well knew what “mocking” was all about. Her brother and her own mom had often looked at her that way, and she too had done the same with her cousins. But this wasn’t simply being given a mocking look. This was also something else, which the girl didn’t know how it was called but could recognize. It was something that made her feel ashamed and threatened, terribly threatened, but had no name for it. Unconsciously, she glanced behind her. It was noontime, both her brother and her cousins were asleep and her parents at home. She was all by herself. And she felt a wish that at least it wouldn’t be summer and that she’d be in her winter clothes.

The thin boy with the small face and thick lips was smiling like a man. His bulgy eyes were ogling at the girl’s arms fleetingly, vigorously, then turned to her legs beneath the shorts, and the geese nearby were walking and stretching their neck, walking and stretching their neck. The girl sensed that the boy was stretching his neck right at her, and at the end of that neck a small hideous face with thick lips was preparing to bite her body, disemboweling it.

The boy spurted out a word the little girl had heard from her uncles but only as an unintelligible joke, and he went on to add, “May I be your servant, can I lick it for you?”

Noontime. The figs were still hard like small pebbles. The geese had now drawn closer to her and were hissing with that beak at the end of their lowered, outstretched neck. The girl could sense the danger. She felt the urge to scream “Mommyyyyy!” But was tongue-tied, and screamed nothing.

It wasn’t out of courage that she remained motionless – her legs had simply frozen. She was looking at the boy in the eye, for so her stare was fixed, and wouldn’t dare look away terrified that things could change, with the boy getting up and coming even closer to her.

“No” she said.

And then the boy got up. The girl sucked her lips in, her chest, her tummy. A nightmare it was. Like when she couldn’t wake up whenever she dreamt someone chasing after her. This time he’d catch her and he’d…

The bulgy eyes on the microscopic face were furious.

“Fuck you!...” he  bellowed. And then “Brrrr! Sssss! Sssss!”

And he came in great strides right over the petrified girl, gathered round his two geese and flustering them made a roundabout turn to goad them in the direction of the little bridge.

The girl remained stock-still until she’d no longer see either geese or boy. Next, looking over her shoulder every now and then, did not jump over the fence. She ran through the neighbouring plot of land, made it to Makedonomahon Street and opened the iron gate. She rushed inside the house and found her mom in the living room bent over the ironing board.

“Where were you?” her mother asked.

“By the little river”, the child said and dashed to cuddle herself round her mom’s legs.

“Shoo!” said her mother, “you’ll get burnt”.

The girl stole an extra moment stuck on her mom’s legs, and then retreated to her room.

She stood in front of the mirror staring at her arms. Taking a step back, she looked at her legs beneath her shorts. And then raised her eyes to her face. To the image of her lips.

“Brrrr!” she said, and saw the lips swell up, becoming revolting as they smacked upon each other, spitting and all deforming her.

She remained silent for a while. And then went:

“Brrrrrrrr! Sssssssss! Brrrrrrrr!”

The post “Geese” appeared first on Greek Social & Literary Review - Ελληνική Κοινωνική & Λογοτεχνική Επιθεώρηση.

Translated by Panagiotis Tourikis

There was once a hunter who lived in the wild forests all alone. He didn’t care for the company of humans, he found them all liars, and so had withdrawn from the world. But he also didn’t care for the company of animals, for these he found dumb, and so wouldn’t spend his time with animals either, unless he went hunting.

One afternoon, while the hunter was working his way through dense foliage at the back ridge of the mountain, he found himself directly facing two large, dark eyes staring at him. He dug his feet on the ground and remained still. Right before him there was a wild wolf, the size of a horse, his snout reaching up to the hunter’s face. They stood there for a while eyeing one another, both surprised by the other’s presence, but finally the hunter said:

“You are not like the other animals.”

And in a hoarse voice, the wolf responded:

“You too are not like the other humans.”

“Come stay with me in my shack, let’s live together like everlasting comrades, and we can spend time talking in the evenings,” the hunter invited him, and went on, “I have no one to talk to, for humans are liars and animals are dumb.”

“I cannot stay with you,” the wolf said. “I too know that humans are liars and that animals are dumb, yet it’s easier to find a trace of intelligence in a dumb animal than to find a trace of honesty in a lying human.”

The hunter was deeply impressed by what the wolf had said, and straight away thought how interesting his evenings would truly be, if he’d spend them with such a smart talker.

“Come stay with me,” he repeated, “and I who am a human shall tell you more about humans than what you already know, and so you’ll become even smarter than what you are.”

That was something the wolf liked. He was an exceptionally bright animal, who loved learning new things. But before accepting the hunter’s invitation, he had this to ask him:

“First explain to me a word you’ve used, which I can’t understand. You say that we’ll live like ‘everlasting comrades’. What do you mean by ‘comrades’?”

The hunter laughed.

“How obvious it is that you’re really wild, and that you’ve never lived in a wolf pack,” he said. “But of course, that’s why you’re so different. Well, then, ‘comrades’ are two creatures that believe absolutely in one another, care absolutely for one another and absolutely love each other.”

“And what does ‘absolutely’ mean?”, the wolf continued, enthused by so many new things he was learning.

The hunter laughed again.

“That means to believe, to care and to love your comrade so deeply that you would even be prepared to die for his sake.”

The wolf narrowed his eyes, and for a while looked at his new friend without talking.

“Fine…,” he haltingly said at the end. “I like it. I want us to live together like comrades.”

And they both returned to the hunter’s shack and henceforth started living together as comrades do.

*

A span of time rolled by and there came an evening which at first seemed like all those other evenings, when the two comrades would be so beautifully and so lovingly together. The hunter returned from his hunting, and so did the wolf from his, and they both went out to sit on the shack’s wide doorstep.

“I believe I saw panther spoor up on the mountain,” the hunter said.

The wolf agreed.

“Indeed. I too have seen the traces, and I’ve even caught his scent. He’s been moving around our territory these last few days, yet so far I’ve never had the chance to meet him. But he’s certainly huge and powerful.”

“Oh, is that so?,” quipped the hunter. “But he’s definitely not as powerful as you.”

The wolf was pleased that the hunter believed in him.

“I’m not afraid,” he said. “I sure can overpower him.”

“Sure,” the hunter agreed, and kept quiet.

For a while they sat back and listened to the sounds of the forest, until at some point the wolf sensed a distress in the man beside him.

“What is troubling you, comrade?,” he asked with much concern.

Taking a deep breath, the hunter turned and looked at the wolf straight in the eyes.

“You know… I’m certain that if you happen to come across that panther, you can sure outmatch him. But still, if you only fought him with your claws and teeth – who can tell – you could find yourself in a moment of mortal danger. That’s why I’d like to give you my one and only gun, for I’d prefer myself to die hunting, rather than you. I beg of you, don’t say no.”

Tears welled up in the wolf’s eyes, seeing how much the hunter loved him. But he couldn’t bear the thought that his comrade would be exposed to the dangers of the forest.

“No, my friend, no,” replied the wolf, deeply moved. “Let me take the risk, I don’t want you to be in greater danger than I.”

But the hunter explained to him that there is no greater joy in the world than giving to one’s own comrade, and that its denial brings the greatest sorrow. On hearing this, the wolf was convinced he should go out with the hunter’s weapon the following day.

*

And so next morning the wolf slung the rifle over his shoulder, bid his friend farewell, and headed as usual for the back ridge of the mountain. But he was troubled, for he knew that the hunter would now be going out without his weapon.

Some while later on the ridge, the wolf heard footsteps, sniffed the air and immediately picked up the smell of the panther. It was all too close. That was dangerous – but he had with him his comrade’s rifle. He unslung it, stood erect on his hind feet, grasped it with his forelegs, checked it and called to mind the hunter’s instructions on how to use it. And yet the smell had already virtually enveloped him, the footsteps echoing almost at arm’s length and, suddenly, the hungry panther appeared from behind a bush. It all happened within a split second. Holding the weapon as he did, the wolf could neither run nor attack. The panther pounced on him with a mighty growl, latched himself with his claws onto the wolf’s back, and bit him deep in the neck. Reeling and in pain, the wolf remembered that his comrade was also hunting on the back ridge.

“Comrade, help!,” he called out with his dwindling strength.

And then he heard a tramping of feet, and while collapsing to the ground saw the hunter rush to the spot. He was taking aim at the panther with a second rifle. Taken aback by the presence of the human, the panther abandoned its prey, receded and stood still with ears dropped back.

“Thank goodness you have another rifle,” groaned the wolf in pain. “Shoot him, comrade…”

But, to his astonishment, he heard the hunter address the panther behind the barrel of his gun, and he was saying:

“You’re courageous, you were able to subdue such an enormous wolf. You are not like the other animals.”

“And neither do you resemble the other humans,” growled the panther, and in a flash the wounded wolf brooded yet once more on what humans are and what are animals.

“No… don’t do that…,” bellowed the wolf, just as the hunter was turning his gun straight at him, pressing the trigger.

*

Since then, the hunter often takes to asking himself: who was the wolf speaking to in his final moments – him or the panther?

From the collection of short stories Hunters and Wolves, Athens: Patakis Publishers 2017

Diakopto, Achaea, Autumn 2020

The post “The hunter and the wolf” appeared first on Greek Social & Literary Review - Ελληνική Κοινωνική & Λογοτεχνική Επιθεώρηση.