|Folegandros (standard:drama, 3108 words)|
|Author: Charles Rudolph||Added: Jan 22 2004||Views/Reads: 1961/1170||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The first thing Heinz loved about Esther was her eyes. When she removed her sunglasses, the light gray turned magically emerald|
Charles Rudolph 85 Fairview Drive West Kingston, RI 02892 USA 401-792-3443 e-mail: email@example.com FOLEGANDROS The first thing Heinz loved about Esther was her eyes. When she removed her sunglasses, the light gray turned magically green, almost emerald. He also loved the way her sudden smiles electrified her face, even her body. Her animation had that Mediterranean quality he lacked and always admired. And, of course, her intellect. By their first evening together, Heinz knew that something unfamiliar was happening to him. * Esther first noticed Heinz when he sauntered into the hotel's breakfast buffet, a large casual man, about fifty, with his tan sport shirt half-tucked into his shorts. She liked the way he chose from the cereals, eggs, fruits and bread - his long easy reach for something at the corner of the table. She could always tell a lot from the way people reached for things. She observed again his reaching an hour later in one of the small platias of the chora of Folegandros where a local couple had set up a flea-market table. She watched him reach to examine a set of small wrenches in a plastic case, then gently return it to its place on the table. She was holding linen napkins with red lace trim that she thought she might buy. Their eyes met and he stared at her. "The napkins are good value," he said. "They are made here on the island, and made nicely." "They are," she nodded. "And they make perfect gifts, so easy to carry back." "To where?" "Lexington, Kentucky." He detected a dialect in her English. "Are you an American?" "I have two citizenships, Israeli and American." "I have tried also to get double citizenship, but Greece does not give it." He shrugged. "I am German, but for twenty years I have lived in Athens." German. She turned away from the soft features of his sun-tanned face. Never had she been able to look into the faces of German men. The last time she tried, at a conference in Montreal a year ago, the fleshy face had dissolved into Uncle Abba's. Esther shook the image from her head. Heinz watched her, his eyebrows raised in a mute question. "Yes, they are nicely made," she said. "I will buy some." She made no effort to haggle, giving the woman behind the table a thousand drachma bill. The woman rolled the set of six napkins in paper, sealed the package with tape, and returned a wrinkled two hundred drachma bill. "My name is Heinz," he said. Heinz. Why did it have to sound so German? "I am Esther - Esther Gold." "I see café tables over there beneath the trees," he said. "Will you join me for morning coffee?" Click here to read the rest of this story (366 more lines)
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