The chickens of Mrs. Logadi, when they sensed the hawk up high, they made horrible shouts, warning the society and the authority.
Their voice was echoed by the neighboring chickens and their voice again was echoed by the more distant ones, in a way that in all that countryside it was heard the lament of the hen, desperate like the one of the woman.
But while the chickens were crying, the hawk high up continued unperturbed its flight. It was confident that the law of the stronger was not going to be abolished.
It had positioned itself right above the white favourite rooster of Mrs. Logadi. When the rooster ran and burrowed, the hawk made his rounds over another yard, looking for the victim that belongs to it.
The sky bathed its peaceful flight with the most tender blue light and the unruffled sword of its wings so much harmonized with the divine peace that the universe had, that the outcry of the chicken was an annoying noise in such a silent symphony.
The desperate cry prompted the gardener to run outside with his double shotgun. He aimed at the bird in the air with his unmistaking eye and shot it.
He was an experienced shooter. The hawk fall. But it didn't treason its history. It fell with impetus with the beak towards the earth, like when attacking the victim.
The gardener lifted it and took it to Mrs. Logadi, who, in this way, found in her tranquil life one adventure.
This paradox made her feel, after the first startle, great tenderness and brought to her the proud thought of taking care of the enemy of her own property, in order to try and keep him alive.
He ran and brought balm for his wound. The gardener pushed the falcon inside a great empty cage for partridge.
The falcon was leaning to one side and remained still. - How it must be suffering, alas! She said, putting slightly her hand inside the cage.
But as she stretched to pet it, the falcon turned and gave her a strong pinch in her fat finger, near the bright ring of the wedding. Frightened, she pulled her hand out.
After a while that she tried again to do the same, the bird turned again its beak and showed her with its attitude that it would not allow to caress it, or to cure it, or to touch it.
She is Vice Chair of the female charity association of the city 'The Saint Panteleimon'. She has benefited many.
She hospitalized poor patients. She spent money. She sympathized. For the first time she saw someone wounded to despise the caress and the balm of her white hand!
They closed the cage. They threw through the wires some food, and water; and they left there the falcon all night long, with the idea that in the morning they would find it calmer.
In the morning they found everything as they had left it. The falcon was in the same position. Its food was in the same. From the water it was not missing a single drop. It didn't touch anything, it ought nothing to the humans.
It only kept the anger and the loneliness, that were its own. Any conciliation with its enemy it refused it and it threw on his enemy's face the clemency.
Motionless in its position, the same as it was yesterday, enduring its pain, in order not to fall to the class of those who complain and for nobody to feel sorry about it,
it kept in its clean round eyes and in its steel claws the dominating greatness of the birds that bring the death.
And while it kept this attitude, it was coming from its body the odore of the wound that started to putrefy.
Returning at noon from the charity association Mrs. Logadi, she met on the way the oldest judge of the court.
The oldest judge, with many wrinkles, much knowledge, great whimpering and deep mercy for the ones he was condemning, he was going to his regular walk on the countryside, in order to meet the great persons of the land, as he used to say, the trees, the hills and the stones.
From the evening gatherings of Mrs. Logadi he was absent, projecting with great delicacy as an excuse his work cases and his neuralgias.
- You don't know what happened to me yesterday, Mrs. Logadi said to him. I have a falcon alive. - Ahh! said the judge.
- It doesn't accept anything. I am really frustrated. I can't do anything for it. - Ahh! There is nothing you can do for it? A philanthropist lady? I can't believe it!
- But I am telling you that it doesn't accept nothing, nothing. What can I do for it? - You should kill it. - Don't tell me that!
- The strong beings, my lady, this charity are waiting from us. - And you are telling me that? How can I do this?
- The sugar is for the canaries, my lady. The shot is fit for the strong beings. But is it the first time that you get to know the strong beings? These beings don't know reconciliations. They win or die.
From that moment the philanthropist lady lost her peace! By listening to the words of the judge, she remembered the eyes of the bird that were looking at her without plea.
There came into her mind some calumnies against her... Old calumnies. They were not even calumnies. They were nonsense. They would fall in the first blow. She laughed when she first heard these and he forgot about them.
But today they came back again! And they won't go away! It is strange how our mind works, what it retrieves from its depths. Why is she remembering these?
It is unknown who and why once said that the lady sympathizes more even from the patients a young consultant of the association...
And another said: 'But really has she ever worked for the association? She only makes noise! From the association she is making money!'
It is known that she has given from her own money, from the money of her husband, big amounts and that personal interests she didn't have, not in this world at least.
- maybe she has such interests in the future life, because, in the star that she would go after death, she wishes, really, her soul to receive the interests of these capitals.
Nevertheless, remembering now the nonsense that had been said, it bit her till the depths of her soul.
She stopped. She changed street. It came to her mind, to run, to search, that very moment, in order to discover the unknown poisoner, and throw upon him on his face her work..., her magnanimity..., her losses..., her reputation..., her contempt...
It's impossible to recognize herself today. 'What is wrong with me?' she thinks. What? Ain't she the happiest lady of the province?
The one married with the richest merchant of furs of the region? With her beautiful begonias? With her private pew in the church? With the donations in the school for women? With the swift little coach that goes to the plantations?
Isn't she the worldly lady, that in her open salon the employees of the land had killed the monster of the peasant nights, by playing the virtuous games of the ring and of the telling of secrets game?
- and then other visitors, other shadows, other bites, came to her to this mystery, that is called soul and responds to all inanimate things.
Immediately she thought the big oven baked sweet, that they used to take after their walk in here the mundane ladies of the land, one quarter of an hour before lunch, and the infinite slander talking that followed its chewing.
She recalled how they used to gossip not out of wickedness, but by inaction, whatever was not theirs and whatever doesn't become their own game,
forms, souls, temperaments, love affairs, whatever is the work of God and of the destiny, whatever is not insignificant;
And, within these things, they gossip about her evening gatherings - where they were all invited- , about her dress, about her daughter, about her charity, about her husband, about her tableware,
while at that very moment, if she would enter in there, they would raise and they would hug her with enthusiasm.
Then she turned and she saw the city as being desperately small. She looked again at the square with the upturned lecterns of the husky Philharmonic, the roofs, the landscape.
She felt the time to be infinite. And it seemed to her that all hatreds, all that she had depressed all this time in the christian depths, were inside her. They were not deleted. They want to live.
They are blood of her blood, soul of her soul! Silent loans, but immortal ones, like those of the good usurers, that today they have complained.
The falcon! Its eyes! Always looking at her. Ahh! How difficult kindness is, how impossible is love!
And she, that was filled always with the fear of dying and was worrying for her fate in the next life, she departed right that moment toward the doubts.
And she asks herself: 'Isn't it better for the human being to throw away with fury his life, like the falcon, instead of begging for the estimation of the others and not getting it?'
She saw her grave as of years later... Three letters remain from the inscription... Full of grass... All forgotten...
The sun, the same sun that saw everything and shall see everything, shines over this catastrophe, as also shines over the joys... A little bit of gossiping y afterwards oblivion...
- I don't know... Something I will ask you. But it is related to christianity... I don't know how to say it, I have sometimes questions...
- You are wondering! said the bishop. Let me answer you. The good is worth keeping us occupied. The evil no.
And about our enemies, who make every effort to do to us such insignificant thing, it is not possible to consider seriously. Therefore out of pity we just love them!
There. The rest I will tell in my sermon of Thursday. Do you agree? You don't seem to agree! But what the matter?
When she got out of there, she was going somewhat disappointed. She began to regret for her bizarre alteration.
She expected that the destroyer of her christian psychology, the falcon, would have accepted to domesticate itself and be caressed, so that the order of things would not change to the least...
She was wrong. A good animal will damage the others! But it will not betray its race. And this is how it happened.
At arriving the philanthropist lady at the house, she asked from the outside to the gardener: - How is it? - The same!
She approached. The falcon was looking at her always with the two all round beads of its eyes, bloody, angry, hungry and motionless.
We seek funding through your donations because since the official launching of the project at the beginning of 2020, we have worked 7476 hours with an approximate cost of € 127092 euros (we assume an average cost of €17 per hour for activities like web programming, text scanning, proofing and editing, translating greek to english & spanish, audio recording and sound editing, marketing & social media networking, web hosting, etc). Your contribution will be used for the continuation and the growth of project Patrologos.
|Official Facebook Page - facebook/patrologos|
|«Learn Greek» Facebook Group - facebook/groups/patrologos|
|«Aprende Griego» Grupo de Facebook - facebook/groups/griego|
|Official Twitter Page - twitter/patrologos|