Grandma, you forgot the secret!

«Grandma, grandma» I heard young Magda call me from the kitchen. I heard her tiny footsteps running on the wooden floor. She arrived at the living room holding in her hands a decorative piece for the kitchen. «What is this Grandma?» she asked and her eyes sparkled in curiosity. I felt my eyes all teared up and soon after the tears running down my face. My mind flashed right back to those years. Or, better said, to that specific year that turned my life upside down. «It belonged to my own grandmother, and we would use it to make desserts». She looked a bit puzzled and made a strange expression with her face. «But this looks brand new!» she uttered surprised. «When you love something a lot, you take special care of it» I answered sweetly, and she gave me one of cute little laughs. «Come on, go to play with Lydia. She has been waiting for a long time to play with the dolls. Go on, because grandpa will be back soon, and we will have lunch». She gave me a quick yet strong hug and she left running towards the bedroom. I returned the ornament to the kitchen and left it carefully at its place. I sat down and took a walk down memory lane. «My soul has been scarred by the ruthless uproot of 1922», I thought deeply to myself.

I was a little girl. Eleven years old. I lived with my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather and my two sisters in Smyrna, the most beautiful city to ever exist on this world. I still remember the smell of the colourful flowers that blossomed with the arrival of March. I still miss the long walks with my grandfather along the village, on our donkeys. But there is nothing that could measure up to my grandmother recipes and cooking. Their scents filled the whole house. I adored my grandmother. I looked up to her as a mother. She WAS my mother. She helped me grow up until I was nine because my mother was too devoted to raising the twins and I never met my father. My grandma told me once that he left us to become a hero. Later on, I realised he had joined the war when I was still in the crib.

All my childhood memories revolved around her and everything she taught me about baking. She always said laughing «cooking, my sweetheart, is not hard, you just need to follow a recipe. And apart from that, it is quite… subjective. Pastry-making, however, is an art». That is why she taught me everything about sponge cakes, and doughs and pastry cremes and decorating. It was a time of pure entertainment. That’s how I saw it. I never thought of it as a lesson, but as pleasant time spent with my favourite person. She shared all her secrets with me. The only thing she never explained was the that «white secret» of hers that she always asked me to bring from the tallest kitchen cabinet. She used to hide it as if it where a pirate’s treasure, deep inside a human figurine with two arms. Or at least that’s how I saw it. Every time I asked her about it, she answered that it was the key ingredient used to bind the dessert and the tie that binds people together. I never really understood what she meant, but back then it didn’t really matter. I thought it was one of those things that grown-ups said.

The more I grew, the more things we used to do together. We went to the market, we delivered vegetables to the neighbourhood, we sew entire gowns with the modern fabrics we were buying from Mr. Panaís. Up until my birthday, 11th of August 1922. We celebrated it in splendour, till late at night. When my last friend left, we all got together in the living room and turned on the radio. My grandmother turned white in a matter of seconds. They all told me to go up to my room. The only thing I managed to hear before they closed the door was «This situation will not have a happy ending. Bare that in mind. Magdalini,» she told my mother, «tomorrow morning you will take the girls and you will cross to the other side on the boat that leaves at eight». And so it happened, the following morning, my mother gathered all the essential stuff and took us to the main square. There we were going to get a carriage to the port and board the boat. While we were in the carriage, I overheard two aristocratic women talking to one another: «Oh my dear, Peristani, what a disaster we are facing! ». «The Turks will destroy our place, my dear Myrsini. They won’t leave anything standing. A true disaster awaits us! So, help us, God.».

I didn’t know much back then but one thing was clear to me: Smyrna would not be ours for long. We reached the port. I was about to board the boat when I felt something pull me back. «How was I going to leave grandma and grandpa behind?». I was unable to grasp the idea that we were abandoning them. So, I ran away. I found a chance and I slipped my mother’s attention. I went back home crying. «Grandma, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. ». «Oh, my little girl, what did you do? Do you know that this is very dangerous?». In all honesty, I had no idea back then. I stayed with grandma. We didn’t go out much.

It dawned the 31st of August. Smyrna was in flames. Fire everywhere, screams, the bodies of the victims and the boats with just a few of the survivors. Our compatriots were desperate, everybody was jumping into the sea with very slim chances of survival. The sky was dim, full of smoke. The atmosphere was dark, suffocating. I was scared, I was terrified. We had to abandon our home. I had no idea as to which items to take with me. We were all in panic. We had no time, we had to leave. Almost instinctively my hand grabbed grandma’s «white secret». We managed to get out and secretly reach the latter side of the port. Halfway through we lost grandpa in the crowd. I couldn’t breathe. I kept falling down. My clothes were pitch black. However, I kept looking at grandma’s brass vessel, as if it were more important than my own life. I succeeded! I slipped into the boat number 4. With grandma. Wait a second… «where is my grandmother? » I wondered. I never found her. Unfortunately, she too turned into a sweet memory…

The sea washed me out in Kos, with my «grandma» into my arms. I never found my family. I had to rebuild my entire life; I made my own family. In memory of my beloved grandma, I tried to make the desserts she used to prepare. I tried many times but never succeeded. Until one day, I opened the cupboard to look for a bit of vanilla for a last attempt. And then I saw it. Left in the bottom of the cabinet, covered in dust, my grandma’s brass vessel. How could I have forgotten all about it? I cleaned it and then I opened it. It looked like my grandma. It exuded her calm, her kindness. It smelled like my grandma, her desserts, her apron, her hands that held mine steady while we were mixing the dough. What had she been hiding in there? What was the ingredient she never wanted me to know? «It is the key that binds the pastry» I remembered. How could it have skipped my mind up until that moment! I had finally solved the riddle «Her secret was hidden in sugar». I held the vessel and ever since then it has always been on the kitchen counter, next to the book with the smyrnean recipes.

I stood up quickly from my chair. I checked the time and called the girls. They came running with their faces all red. «We have a little bit of time left till grandpa comes. What would you say if we surprised him with a dessert?!». Their tiny eyes opened up like plates from pure joy. «Yes!!» they cheered together and then, all three of us started laughing from the bottom of our hearts…

Evaggelia Mavropoulou
1st Model Middle School of Chalkida