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The Lame Warbler By Constantine Santas I spent one day of my life as a bird-catcher. No, don’t think of me as Papageno,[1] rather as a boy whose life was spent in a cage. I won’t say anything about my late father other than that he tried to keep me sheltered from the evils of life, and that included avoidance at all costs of some of the boys that lived across the street, within a distance of a hundred yards or so. Those boys smoked, bragged about their girlfriends—imaginary most of the time--and used language not fit for my ears. No, I was...
Weekly Contest #52
The Fortune-Teller By Constantine Santas Magic exists in many forms—and I’m not talking about the magic of stage magicians who perform tricks, or that of the poets, who squeeze it out of their imaginations and deposit it on miserable vowels and consonants. Rather, I’m taking a lower angle, preferring those neglected (in many parts of the world) types of men and women who read fortunes to the unfortunate—and in this case I will focus on a single sort: the coffee-cup reader. One of these lived in our neighborhood, back then in the lost hori...
Weekly Contest #51
A story I returned to the place of my birth several times, and, when I did, I asked friends who knew folks whose name or personally had stuck to my memory, and, just out of curiosity, I wanted to know what happened to them. One of those folks, Giorgos, close to my age, felt like talking that afternoon, sitting his seventh floor balcony that surveyed the town, the harbor and the ocean beyond. His wife brought fruit and coffee, and he was in a talkative mood, I asked his what happened to a woman who sold sweets during the war, and her shop th...
Weekly Contest #48
How I Became a Professor a story by Constantine Santas Dedicated to my grandson Michael Now that I am a retired professor, I can tell you of a small episode in my youth that changed the course of my life. Without it, who knows what would have happened to me, where and how I would have ended up, life being as unpredictable as it is. But let me tell the story. It happened during the winter of 1941-42, the first year of the Italian occupation of our island, when my Uncle Stathis, my father’s brother, was still teaching at our high school, t...
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