The Gypsy's Dream Read Online Free PDF

one looks more surprised than he does at his success. They all laugh and applaud.
    Through the window Stella spots her friend Mitsos across the square, steadily making his way towards the shop. He concentrates, each step a tentative shifting of his weight, the slightest of pauses for correction, and then the next step. Some days he is so unsteady he uses a shepherd’s crook as a walking stick but today is obviously a good day. It’s early for him.
    His trousers b ag at the knee and crumple around his ankles, making his walk look comical. His balance disrupted by his accident, twenty or so years ago, a long time before Stella opened the ouzeri . She had been still living in Stavros’ town then, with his parents. She crosses herself and mutters ‘God rest their souls’, they were kind to her. A glance over to Stavros. He is locking Abby’s gaze with his piercing blue eyes, he is encouraging her to drink ouzo.
    The clock on the wall by the grill tells Stella how short the ti me has been since Abby arrived. She grabs some kitchen roll and smears the grease more evenly over its face. Reaching under the counter for the anti-bacterial spray bottle she viciously sprays the clock and wipes it again. The dirty paper thrown on the grill brings a sudden roar; the stubble of a feather on the bare chicken laid there ignites and extinguishes itself just as fast as it blazed. The clock only looks marginally better. A collection of dead flies obscures the number six behind the plastic face. Stella looks past the insect cemetery to her husband and the tourist. Stavros looks back, scowling; she averts her gaze out of the window.
    This is very early for Mitsos. He normally arrives for a late lunch after sitting at the kafenio for a while. He come s nearly every day but is thoughtful enough to come at times when she is not very busy. She can then take her time to cut up his food for him. Life is difficult for him, with only one arm. At first he was embarrassed when she offered her assistance but now it has become a routine, a moment when they sit together without words. He doesn’t talk about how difficult it is and Stella doesn’t ask. He is a nice man, kind, sympathetic, quiet.
    Today, as soon as he steps over the threshold he glares at Stavros and ba cks out again. He clearly is not in the mood for noise and high spirits. Stella nips across the room to him. She looks him in the eye, for understanding, support.
    He has a kind of old-fashioned honourability about him and has indicated that the way Stavro s speaks to her is not really acceptable. Stella knows he is her ally, nothing specific has ever been said, nor is likely to be, he has an old school manner about him but she feels sure she has read the signs correctly - he sides with her against Stavros.
    She can ’t remember the first time she got this feeling about him but it was probably once when she had been cutting up his food, their faces close. There was no judgement, just an understanding. Stella had felt her cheeks grow hot, shame that Stavros talked to her the way he did, ashamed of her weaknesses, embarrassed that she did not stand up for herself. There is no shepherd’s crook that can support her affliction. But Mitsos’ looks had been so kind that she was gentle with herself and gained some strength from his presence. A good man.
    ‘ What is it?’ He looks upset about something. She indicates the chairs outside, they can sit there. The dancing and singing continue but the open air dilutes the intensity. The air is fragrant with the scent of flowers, drifting from the next-door garden, the sun a caress on their skin. A cat is sauntering in the shadow of a wall down the lane to avoid the heat. Somewhere on the hill a cockerel tells the time, incorrectly.
    ‘ So?’ Stella leans back in her chair, stretches her legs out in front of her and crosses them. She crosses her arms across her floral dress. She distracts her thoughts from Stavros by wondering if she should paint