Saturday, September 24, 2011


Thursday, September 22

Today when I went to the greengrocer for fruits and veggies, the old man was wearing all black.

“How are you?” I asked.

He looked very gloomy and out came a flurry of words, of which I understood three: “wife” (gynaika, cf. gynecology), “died”, and “cancer” (karkino, cf., carcinoma).

“Your wife died?” I asked, horrified.

“My dog’s wife,” he corrected, looking down at the floor.

“Your dog’s wife?"


"A she-dog died?”   (I had to be very sure I understood!)

“Yes. She had cancer here,” clutching his neck sorrowfully.

I didn’t even know he had a dog. I knew he looks after many cats; sometimes when you walk into the tiny shop, there are crates of fruits and crates of vegetables, and in amongst them, a cat crate. I’d seen the dog near the shop many times, of course, just never knew it was his, much less that the dog had a wife.

Leonidas arrived, not dressed in black, who is the proprietor (for the old man is his father); by then I had recovered myself enough to say, “I’m so sorry the bitch died,” and poor Leonidas could only nod.


Morgana23 said...

old people are crazy...but i like your comment ;)

Anastasia Theodoridis said...

Yes, we are.