Our feet grew blistered. Days I lay on my mat, too sick to move, he brought me bread or a flower. Kneeling by me, smelling of the streets, he’d rub my hands...
“We’ll find a way.”
When we shared the big bed at Aesop’s, its sides painted with flowers, Alcaeus cheered, reminding me of our luck.
“Remember those candle stubs I found?” he laughed. “Remember the roast lamb I stole—how the guy rushed after me, jabbing the air with a knife. Remember...”
I remember my gratitude to Alcaeus and Aesop must not end. Without their help I would have died.
I dreamed the other night that Alcaeus and I were exiled again, that Alcaeus came to me, as I lay between heaps of dung: he crawled toward me, clothes in rags, exhausted, blind. I opened my cloak and offered my breast—wanting to suckle him.
Waking, I realized how late it was.
P
Four of us, with Libus as guest, had supper at a table on the porch, a reception to honor Anaktoria’s return...bourekakia and stuffed grape leaves, Anaktoria serving, maturer with that overnight bloom, that overnight assurance.
