The Tryst Tree

Maria drifted in and out of awareness, she knew that this was the end of her journey and she was ready. Christos had gone ahead fifteen years ago and it had been hard to face each day without him. The boys had been like driftwood on a rolling sea without their papa and the girls were overcome with grief. Even though he had seen them all married and revelled in his many grandchildren, she wished he had been with her to see them grow.

Whether she dreamed or remembered Maria was unsure but images played before her closed eyes like a cinema reel. She was at the wedding celebration where she and Christos met. The groom was a cousin of Maria’s and she had been helping her mother and Aunt prepare what felt like hundreds of dishes for the wedding feast for two days. The party was held in the coolness of the orange grove that belonged to the bride’s family in the neighbouring village. Space had been cleared and trestle tables were laden with delicious dishes donated by many well wishers from both villages gathered to celebrate with the newly married couple. The War had just ended and meat was rare, but somehow the bride’s father had managed to provide some and the smell of souvlaki cooking over the fires, mingling with the sweet smell of citrus fruit gave a carnival atmosphere to the celebrations.

At fifteen Maria and her friends were more interested in dancing than eating and they waited impatiently for the group of musicians to set up their instruments in a shady corner, then more impatiently whilst the men took time to eat first before they started to play.

Violin, accordion and bouzoukis called the women to dance the kalamatiano, the opening traditional wedding dance. There were too many to make one large circle so they made several smaller ones to keep the dance moving. Maria held hands with those stood either side of her and there was much laughter as they made the steps around the blushing bride in the centre. Maria noticed a group of boys watching them and one of them seemed to be following her movements. She tossed her head and looked away but as the dance continued its circle she couldn’t help stealing glances in his direction and each time she would find his eyes firmly on her.

Next it was the turn of the men and Maria enjoyed watching them dance the zembekiko joining her mother in clapping along when it was her father’s turn for a short solo. Her mother tutted calling him a peacock as he whirled and kicked, clicking his fingers to the rhythm, but Maria knew she was just as proud as her daughter. Maria hoped she might see the boy from earlier but he wasn’t amongst the dancers.

The wedding was almost over before she saw him again. He complimented her on her dancing but was so shy his face was beetroot red and he stammered out his words. Still, there was something about him that she liked; he had beautiful hazel eyes and a warm smile. She didn’t mind that he was shy, she didn’t like other cocky young men so full of their own opinion and she smiled at him encouragingly. They had little chance to speak further other than to exchange their names before Maria was called back to her family.

In the days that followed Maria waited confidently for her father to tell her that Christos had enquired about her; that was the way things were done in the villages. But several weeks went by with nothing said leaving her very disappointed. As she went about her daily chores she thought about the short conversation she and Christos had shared, and every time she was convinced that she had not been mistaken in her assumption that he liked her as much as she had liked him. Well, she couldn’t let his shyness get in the way of their future happiness she would just have to give him the right nudge.

Maria casually let her father know that if he was to be approached by Christos or his family she would not be opposed to his looking on the boy favourably. Her father smiled, he knew her well and was pleased that his hard working, practical and no nonsense daughter was so sure of her heart. He made contact with the boy’s family and within in a short time the two were officially courting.

For Maria that meant that she could see Christos on a Sunday after church with her mother, grandmother and several aunts as chaperones. Conversation was limited and it certainly did not help Christos to get over his shyness with a female audience listening to his every syllable.

Maria’s first task at dawn each morning was to take their six goats from the pen at home to the field half a mile down the road where they would graze for the day. On the morning after the third Sunday meeting, as she approached the big bend in the road that wound down to the fields, she saw Christos’s cousin Tasos sat on a boulder. He jumped up when he saw her, an easy grin on his face. Maria thought Tasos had far too high opinion of himself but she was curious why he was obviously waiting for her at that time of the morning.

“Kali mera Miss Maria,” he greeted her with a bow “how is the most beautiful goat maiden this wonderful day?”

“What do you want Tasos? I’ve work to do even if you do not.” she answered without slowing her pace.

“Ah but I am working! I am working on affairs of the heart which is of the greatest importance, do you not think?” he said catching her up and keeping pace by her side.

She glanced at him irritably but waited for him to get to the point, Tasos liked the sound of his voice and would get round to things in his own time. He took a folded paper from his pocket and held it up between his fingers.

“What is this?” he asked in mock surprise “Could it be a ….a love letter?”

“Is that from Christos?” Maria tried to snatch it from his fingers but Tasos held it just out of reach for a moment or two longer before grinning and handing it over.

“Have you read it?” Maria demanded with a dark look at the boy.

“No of course not” Tasos said and then at her disbelieving look he held up both his hands placatingly “I haven’t read it Maria, I promise.”

She pushed the note into the pocket of her pinafore to read later and turned the goats into the field they had arrived at. Tasos waited until she had made sure they were safe and then pointed to a tree another three hundred yards further down.

“There is a hollow in that tree Maria.” he told her “It’s deep but safe; there are no snakes or scorpions. Put your reply in there and Christos will pick it up when he is delivering the shoes that he has mended. He will leave another note for you the next day. Endaxi?”

Christos and Maria grew to know each other far better through their secret exchange of letters than they ever did from the torment of their chaperoned Sunday afternoons. Entrusting their hopes and dreams to the written word they built the love surely and sturdily that would see them through a life time.

Tasos was Best Man at their wedding and Godfather to their first born son. They were blessed with three more sons and two daughters who brought nothing but joy and pride into their lives.

It was many years into their marriage before Christos confessed that it was Tasos who had written the letters for him and read out Maria’s because at that time he didn’t know how to read and write.

“He promised me that he hadn’t read them.” Maria said outraged.

“Well, to be fair he didn’t read my letters to you, he put down the words that I told him to which isn’t quite the same. He never made fun or made comment and it was Tasos who spent time teaching me to write for myself. “

Maria laughed, “I’ve been so busy all these years with the house, the babies and keeping the fields I never compared your writing then to now. We owe much to that cheeky cousin of yours.”

When Christos died following a long and difficult battle with cancer, Maria would write to him often and put the letters into the tree’s hollow. She told him what their children and grandchildren were doing, news of friends and family. She wrote about their son and his family in England and their Grandson in America, and how their family grew with great-grandchildren arriving regularly. Even after her stroke took away the use of one hand she managed a few words and entrusted her secret to one of her grandsons’ who delivered them to the tree.

But there were no words to tell her husband when their third son died suddenly and besides, he would already know. He would have gathered that beautiful and rebellious spirit to his own and kept him safe. Maria asked for the letters to be retrieved and she put them with all the others that she and Christos had exchanged into the wood burner watching until their secret words became ash. No-one needed to read about their love because it had been poured into their family and was evident in every face and smile.

The images started to fade and with them Maria’s heartbeat slowed. It was time to leave, her family was safe on the strong foundations she and Christos had built, and they would take care of one another.

With a gentle sigh she stepped out of her old and broken body into the waiting arms of her husband reunited for ever more.

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