the sun in lefkes

8/6/2019 The Sun in Lefkes

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The Sun in Lefkes

By Andrew Cohee

The early morning sunrise shone through the open window of the boys room

announcing the coming of a new day. Already the birds had begun to stir, calling to

each other across the fields. Generally a pleasant way to begin the day, he had been

awake for more than an hour, finding it too difficult to sleep in his increasingly stuffy

room. And today he knew he would find no relief, as the heat from the sun had already

rendered the room he shared with his older brother too hot for sleep. Instead, the boy

lay awake on top of the sheets listening to his brother snore, a sound that could only be

made by one who felt the peace of an elder childs birthright. However, it was not the

heat that kept him from sleep; rather, it was the uncertainty of his future. His family

had little money, and not enough to support both brothers when they came of age. If

all went well, his brother would have a home in his future. This was not the case for

himself. Still, he had food in his belly and clothes on his back, tattered though they may

be. Finding his lot neither good nor bad the boy instead felt comfortable with his place

in life, the comfort of one who had no choice but let his life be decided by another, just

as a sailor without sail or paddle. On most days when left alone with his thoughts he

was quite content, but the sound of his mother beginning to bake bread for the family

told him that only too soon would he need to rise and head towards the field.

As he walked to work between his father and brother, the boy kept his headdown and hidden behind a straw hat. Finding the sun much too bright to keep his head

up, he stared at the brown grass and dirt that looked as if it had already experienced a

harsh Greek summer, despite the fact that it was only early May. The field in which the

men worked was a small plot of land originally intended to act as a vineyard but proving

too rocky for anything but wheat. Technically owned by the Church of St. George in the

nearby town of the same name, its true proprietor was the islands Bishop who, not

wishing to part with the large amount of land bequeathed to him upon his fathers

death, graciously gave the land over into the hands of the Church. As this was a

perfectly acceptable practice, and as he was the senior Church official on the island, the

Bishop was able to reap the benefits of an inheritance that was officially no longer his.This was due to the fact that the land was rented out by the Church to local farmers who

were required to not only tithe, which was their Christian duty, but to give a percentage

of their profit to the Church. In both cases, the money brought in from the farmers,

although officially for the maintenance and upkeep of the Church, went instead into the

Bishops coffers to be either saved or loaned out to those in need for a modest fee.

Such was the farm upon which the boy and his family depended for their daily bread.


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The frantic ringing of the church bells indicated what could only be thought of as

a disaster; a fire in the fields. Not that the bells were needed in most cases. The smoke

from a fire painted a black column in the sky easily visible for ten miles around and

understood immediately. It was the job of all men to help fight the fire. The impact ofsuch destruction could be felt throughout the community. Any crops, any part of the

quota, which was lost, must be made up from other farms. This put an even greater

strain on those who were surviving on only a little. Thus it was that the men of the

village and surrounding farms could be seen racing down paths and through fields each

carrying shovels and buckets to extinguish the flames. Among them was the boy, his

father and brother. This was not the first fire that he had experienced. When he was a

boy, a neighbors house was set ablaze by the careless tending of a candle. The house,

filled with wood and linen, burned quickly. The boy, being too young, watched the

house burn from his families doorway. The fire burned brightly through the night. He

could still remember how he had been absorbed by the sight. Even after being sent tosleep, he stood on his bed and watched as the house burned in the distance. The boy

had met the man who lived in the house once when he had come to pay a visit to his

father. He knew that there was a wife and children but they never came to the house.

He would have expected to see them at church but they never came. This was a

measure of varying degrees of concern among the village, as ignoring Christian duties

and rites was unheard of is such a small community. Once the house was burned, the

family left the island. The boy had visited it on a few occasions once he was old enough

to venture by himself. All that was left was a dry shell, a husk of what was once a house.

Much of the structure remained, other than the roof, which fell during the fire. The

walls that had once been a milky white were now black with aged soot. Weeds had

begun to make their home inside, finding plenty of sunshine through the missing roof.

Yet, it was the field that was the real loss; it remained untended since the fire. This was

due to the fact that the fire was attributed by the Bishop as an act of God and not to be

taken lightly. The obvious explanation was the absence of the tenant family from

services. According to the Bishop, the fire represented Gods displeasure. His warning

was taken to heart and the number of souls who sought salvation on a daily basis rose

quickly.

Once a month the boys father would take his sons down to the port to sell their

stock. Of course this first meant a trip into town to the Church and the bishops

approval, as the owner of the land. Once the stock was inspected and weighed by the

bishops men, and the family paid too small an amount for their liking, the men took

their stock down to the harbor and gave it to sailors kept on retainer by the bishop to

transport the goods to other more profitable markets on other islands. Over time the

men of the island and the sailors began to learn each others names and faces. There


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was even a drink or two shared between the friendliest of men. The boy always looked

forward to these monthly forays, mainly because it was a full-day process and kept him

out of the fields. The walk to port on this day, however, seemed longer and harder than

usual. Despite the fact that the men took turns guiding the cart, he could find no relief;

the heat pierced even the small bits shade that should have brought a momentary

respite. Thus, when they finally reached the port town, they went first to a well at the

edge of town rather than straight to the ships. While his father and brother drank

slowly, the boy gulped down his water as quickly as it could be drawn trying to satiate

his thirst as quickly as possible. After a few minutes rest, the men walked the final

distance to the ships. The boy immediately recognized many of the sailors as they went

about their work of loading and unloading their cargo. Yet one face stood out, a face

darker than even the olive skin of the sailors, a face that sat beneath a cream-colored

turban. He had never seen a Saracen before, although he had heard the Bishop preach

as to the sacrilege of the Holy Land remaining in the hands of the Ishmaelites. The fire

of the Bishops words had stuck with him. He had never before heard such hate, such

anger. They had also struck the hearts and minds of a few of the townsmen. As the boy

watched the Saracen go about his work, four local men attacked him from behind.

There was no chance to defend himself; the Saracen could only curl into a ball and wait

for the attack to end. Mercifully, it did not last long. As quickly as they came, the men

slipped back into the twist of the towns streets. The Saracen, bruised, slowly returned

to his feet and was helped back onto his ship.

The boy lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldnt understand why he

was left out of the conversation. He knew, of course, that it wasnt his decision tomake. It was what his family needed him to do. His parents simply could not afford to

provide for two sons. He had seen this happen to another boy just like him. He had

never met the boy but had heard the story many times; how the priest came to his

house and spoke to his father and the next day the boy was sent on his way to live at

the church. Yet it didnt seem possible that it would happen to him. How can I be sent

away from my home? he asked himself. Gradually the boys thoughts turned to

imagining what would surely become his new home. He thought about the paintings

that decorated the walls of his church but he knew that the Bishops home would be

adorned with much grander works of art. Frescos in vibrant colors and mosaics

depicting the greatest scenes from the Bible. The boy told himself that it would be anhonor to gaze upon them every day. He told himself he should be proud. He had not

convinced himself by the time he fell asleep.


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The gravel crunched under his feet as he walked slowly up the path. Beside the

boy walked a donkey laden with food for the monastery on one side and the few

meager possessions the boy was allowed to keep on the other. They walked at the front

of the line just behind the Bishop sitting astride a donkey of his own. The boy could see

the village ahead with the monastery at the highest point.

How much longer will it take to get there, he asked the Bishop?

Patience. We will be there soon enough.

The boy took a few more steps and then asked, Will I like it there?

Such questions you ask. It is not important whether you are happy or not. This

is the life that has been chosen for you. This is the path upon which you have

been placed. Do not question such things, they cannot be changed.

But I wish to be happy.

Then change your mind.

Inside the church it was warm and surprisingly well lit. The windows at the top

let in a large amount of light. As he walked down the aisle, the boy lingered at the

frescoes that covered the walls. Saints and martyrs looked down upon him bearing the

stern expression of one who has devoted their life to an ideal. The boy continued on,

slowly walking, until he reached the altar. There he saw objects of gold and silver, some

with jewels, some lapis. Objects that represented his future, the force that was ever

present in his life. The boys eyes, moving left to right and back again, slowly passed

over all around him. And then, as he looked up, the boy saw above him the image of

Christ Pantokrator looking down from the ceiling.

the sun in lefkes

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