A LIGHT THROUGH THE KEYHOLE

THE LIGHT THROUGH THE KEYHOLE

"You have eaten nothing? You waste the food. You were never hungry in
your life. You don't know what it feels like. When the Germans were
here I was always hungry."
She listened passively as he repeated these words twice a day . . .
during mealtime. For the last twenty-five years the words, the
sentences, the story never changed. Everyone in Greece had suffered
during the occupation and then afterward, during the civil war. But,
people had learned to let go and think of the future. Except for
Andreas.
Sitting at their small wooden table eating their midday meal, Maria
watched him with a mixture of regret and horror. The food disappeared
into his mouth like a vacuum sucking up the dust from the floor.
"Must you eat so fast?" She was tired of him. Tired of his constant
demands. He never stopped wanting, and it was always the same,
screaming for his food or his coffee. Never saying a kind word.
Aware of his faults and unpleasant habits when she committed herself to
him, she overlooked the obvious, focusing only on her own needs. While
searching for nurturing, she had unknowingly ended her life.
After leaving the small village where she had reached womanhood, seeing
no future for her there, she moved to the next village. It was larger
and offered opportunities of work. Her skills were menial but she was
able to support herself. She had a small apartment and a job cleaning
the local school and bank. When the evenings slid into quiet darkness
and the distractions of the day had been put to sleep she was lonely.
She wanted to hear the sound of a key in the door. The light from the
moon beaming through the empty keyhole illuminating her loneliness had
become unbearable. So, she married Andreas.
Gorging himself with food, hardly swallowing before he shoveled
another spoonful of soup and vegetables and meat and bread all together
into his mouth, sputtering, food jumping out of his chewing, grinding
mouth, he continued. "You never starved. You were never hungry. Your
father helped the Germans." He drank some wine washing down the slime
in his mouth. "Then your father became a Communist. You always had what
to eat. You were never hungry."
Andreas glared at her and then moved his scornful eyes to her plate of
untouched food.
Maria carried her plate to the small wooden bench that served as a
makeshift workspace in her makeshift life and walked out of the
room.
"No," she thought, "I wasn't hungry during the difficult times, but
now I'm starving to death. Yet, there is no light coming through the
keyhole either." She returned to the kitchen and walked back to the
table with her plate. She sat and ate her food, swallowing a lifetime
of bitter resignation.