Nostos
The student walked through the town toward the central square, following in the footsteps of her elongated gnomon. The bus would depart at ten past two. She had time for a coffee and a last survey of the men in the kafenio.
Next stop: Kalavryta. She would arrive in late afternoon and then visit five more villages before concluding her research and heading back to Athens. She collected old folk tales, songs, histories, legends. She was a keeper of the past. Investigating it was her purpose. The present moved so quickly that the past barely had time to harden into memory.
With the strength of history underfoot, and the warmth of the sun on her back, she sauntered. A faint tune found its way to her, and she searched for it with her eyes. An old woman, wearing black from head to shoe, sang a lament in a low voice. The past journeyed forth from her toothless, caved mouth.
The student paused under the shade of an eave, hit record on her phone, and closed her eyes. A child chased a goat on the hillside. A farmer astride his donkey towed a laden beast behind. Men gathered around the carcasses hanging outside the butcher shop. A young girl drew water at the community fountain, the front of her dress dark from the splatter. A boy played the violin at a celebration of people wearing hats and finery. A pappas in his brimless stovepipe hat walked with a rough stick along dirt paths in the shadows of a grove. These memories were borrowed from the voice singing. Fragments of the past.
Then quiet.
Necessity stirred within. She opened her eyes and her mouth, ready to cross and ask. She felt the need to know more, but knew it wrong to break the song open with questions.
A motorbike splintered the silence. The eyes of the woman who sang had been veiled, but now she opened them and looked straight ahead into the past.
The researcher stopped the tape and breathed a quiet efharisto.
Seated on the bus, she put in her ear buds and hit replay to be stirred once more. All she heard was the murmur of the wind.