Those Who Live in Grass Houses

Zorba

Zorba

The old man harumphed in disbelief.

“Zorba?” he said. “You play the theme from Zorba and then ask me about inspiration from it? And you ask such a thing when my whole life has been an inspiration from Zorba? If I spoke to you for the rest of your life, I wouldn’t be able to tell you the half of it.”

He broke off to produce a handkerchief from somewhere and wiped away the spittle that was beginning to dribble from his mouth.

“Age is a terrible thing,” he said as he bent to one side to replace the rag in his pocket. “Your body betrays you and your mind emigrates to go live in the past.”

He was silent for a while and I wondered whether he had forgotten about Zorba. Then he looked up and began again.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. There’s a story in Zorba, a small story, just a chocolate chip inserted into the chocolate cake you bought, a tiny story within a story that has lots of little stories to tell. And each of them has something to say, but I’ll tell you just this one. Then you might begin to understand.

“Because it’s Greek, you know? Zorba is Greek and his story is about Greece and the Greeks and Zorba too. And the Greeks have millions of stories. They’re worth listening to because they’re an old people and have learned much.

“Zorba and a young Englishman arrive in this village on a little Greek island where the Englishman has inherited a mine. There is a young widow living in this village and one day the Englishman meets her in the street. Nothing is said but the young man develops an immediate crush on her. She is no great beauty but has an austere mystery about her and an intense pride in her devotion to her dead husband.

“Intensity, that is the widow in essence. She is Greek and, as a result, loves to the full and hates with as much passion. And she is hated by the men of the village because they all desire her but she will have none of them. Of course, the women hate her too, because they know their men want her.

“In the village is a young man, the son of a rich trader, who loves the widow and who, like the rest, has been rejected by her. This man gazes after her and longs for her, but she does not care or bend to him.

“Instead, the widow has fallen for the Englishman and, after fighting it for a long time, she gives in and they spend a night together. The rich man’s son sees what is happening for he watches always from the shadows. In the morning, he is found dead among the rocks by a cliff face. He has killed himself rather than continue in his life of pain and denial.

“The widow is filled with remorse when she learns of his death. She blames herself and goes to his funeral in sorrow. The villagers are angry at her presence and drive her away from the ceremony. They follow and corner her in a field where Zorba attempts to defend her. While his back is turned, they begin to throw stones and Zorba is pushed aside in the press.

“The villagers, all of them, both men and women, stone the widow to death. It is a savage and shocking scene but, like all the other stories in Zorba, it has lessons to teach.

“For every person in Zorba has a story, the Englishman who comes to know how to live a life full and without fear, the widow, the rich man’s son, the once glorious but now faded French lady that Zorba raises to a last joyful shout, and Zorba himself who lives a life of impossible intensity and carries the stories of a million others in himself.

“It’s an education, young man. You should go see the movie and read the book. Mr. Kazantzakis knew very well what he was writing and it’s all in there.”

He stopped then, and wiped his face with the handkerchief again. I waited but it seemed that nothing more was forthcoming. I ventured a question.

“You said that the story inspired your life. Can you tell me in what ways it has done that?”

The old man gave me a tired look. “Tax me to my grave, would you? Well, I’ll tell you how the widow inspired me, but you must remember that I found inspiration in all the other stories too.

“She inspired me because I found my own Greek widow. Except she isn’t Greek. Danish American as it turns out. Sounds like a sandwich, doesn’t it? But she’s the real thing and I had to wait until we were both old before I found her. And, so far, no one has wanted to stone us. No doubt they’ll get to it in time.

“But I’ll live every moment until then.”


Word count: 838
For: "Game of Thrones"  The North Remembers, Musically Challenged, Prompt 3
Prompt: Zorba the Greek, songs for inspiration.