Leather wallet

It is a usual summer day. The sun high up in the sky burns the streets of Athens. A woman, thirty years old give or take, is stepping into the store. She is instantly relieved by the air condition of the antique dealership. She is looking around the place in search of a gift for her mother, as she informs the salesperson. The moment she spots me, I know she is looking at me. She has moved closer to the counter, and she is checking the shelf where I am placed. Her face lights up the moment she sees me. I am not surprised. I might have been marked by the time that has passed over me, but I am still a high-quality leather wallet with a silver button that attracts the eye. Five minutes later, I find myself gift-wrapped and carefully placed in a paper bag on the way to my new owner.

The woman that bought me knocks her mother’s door impatiently. The moment she opens, she wishes her «Happy Birthday» and hands her the bag. «Maria, you shouldn’t have!». The mother smiles. However, the moment she glances at me her smile fades. Her eyes are filled with tears, and I realize in whose hands I find myself. She looks at me and the memories unfold right before her very eyes…

…My childhood years, I spent them in Asia Minor, and they were the most beautiful years of my life. I come from a well-off family; I used to go out often, I had stylish dresses, and we often went on holidays. I used to live surrounded by the love of my parents and my brothers. I was happy. Until, one day, everything was destroyed.

My family was one of the first ones to receive the news about the massive persecutions that were taking place all around Asia Minor. My parents started to pack our things in an attempt to secure a clear and safe passage for us. Our most valuable belongings, the most expensive jewellery was hidden wrapped in clothes inside our backpacks. We didn’t know how much time we had left before the destruction reached our city and our home.

Our parents sent me and my three brothers to the port with only a few yet valuable belongings. They told us they were going to pack a few last things and they would meet us there. We followed their instructions and went down to the port along with many other Greeks who were striving for a place on the boats that appeared to be our sole salvation. We had no idea that was the last time we would ever see our parents. Doused in fear we saw the cete enter our building. A few minutes later, they left. Our mother and father never came out. In a matter of instants, he had become orphans.

The cries and the screams were harrowing. In the midst of the pandemonium, my brothers pulled me aside. They told me that the money we had was enough to pay the passage only for one of us. They were certain that, as a young girl, I would be able to get a place more easily and relatively fast. I complained but they were adamant. They wanted to save me at any cost. They gave me two guns and filled the pockets of my dress with coins and jewellery.

The tears were running down my face. We said our last goodbyes by the boats. With eyes full of tears and hearts heavy in pain we hugged one another tight. I boarded on one of the last fishing boats. Very soon my brothers had turned into spots on the horizon. The boat continued its course until it dropped anchor in Lesbos. Completely alone and penniless having exchanged everything I owned for my spot on the boat I followed the rest of the refugees. Each and every one of us was looking for temporary asylum up to a time that we could move to the mainland. On my quest for a safe haven, I knocked on the door of a house. The elder lady who opened the door, let me into her home.

My situation was incredibly difficult. I was all alone on an island without money and a way to reach the Greek peninsula. That first night as a refugee was the scariest. If my tears had been diamonds, I would have become rich. The fear was crashing me. I don’t know how I managed to get some sleep that night. I was uneasy and had relentless nightmares. Up until moment when everything calmed down. I dreamt with my mother. She instructed me to look for a big plane tree at the end of the village and to dig close to its trunk. By sunrise, I had already gotten up, I left my bed and I with the first rays of sunlight I tried to look for the tree my mother had indicated. I started to dig and then I saw it. I fat wallet. I unbuttoned it with one swift movement and almost fainted. It was full of gold coins. I hid it quickly under my dress, I covered the hole with some soil and I went home. This wallet was my ticket to a better life in Greece…

… «A few years later it got stolen in the streets of Athens. It had nothing but a few coins inside, but its loss weighed on me. That small wallet had given me a life I couldn’t even have dreamt of otherwise» and with these words my beloved owner concluded her story.

As for me, I now find myself decorating the living room furniture and the lady of the house loves to narrate my story to everyone who visits her.

Efthymia Kyriakouli
1st Model Middle School of Chalkida