As we continued to retrace our first taxi ride, Makrohori’s Main Street receded in the rear-view mirror. The memory of Theo Pavlos and the 10-year-old me on the bus seeing a taxi with a partially exposed coffin remained with me as we made our way to Veria. The city is now built up and spread out to the highway. An arrow on the blue sign with Kostohori on it directed us to take a left turn. We now use a paved road to my yiayia’s village, not the dirt road of decades ago that was like an afterthought at the edge of the city.
Lena negotiated the zig zag turns with ease. Our conversation focused on the fields and cherry orchards we passed, as if to avoid the background scenes playing in our minds. Our ride decades ago, a mixture of joy, anxiety, and fear.
“At the next bend, we will see Theo Pavlos’ cherry orchard.”
“Do you think anyone is still cultivating it?” I asked.
Before we speculated on the answer, the orchard was in front of us.
“Now you know,” Charles said. “Look at these trees loaded with leaves. There will be lots of cherries next season!”
Even as I visualized the crates filled with the shiny crimson cherries, remembering how I squeezed their sweet juice to stain my lips red, a quiet ache embraced my heart. Six decades prior, two little girls sat in the back seat enjoying their first luxury ride, as they wondered why they had to be taken to the village.
This time there wasn’t a crowd of mourners all dressed in mourning clothes waiting for us at the village entrance. Even the entrance to the village has changed. The old plane trees are still majestic, spreading their enormous arms, welcoming everyone with their generous shade. Their gigantic trunks have a contemporary look to them. Decorative stone wall is lining the hollow of one tree with a “welcome” sign. To me, the cement on the ground in front of them is an anomaly. None of us commented on it the stones or the cement. All three of us were immersed in our own thoughts.
Beyond, the plane trees on the left side is another adaptation to the current times. The old fountain with its oversized basin where livestock quenched their thirst and humans drank mountain spring water as it gushed from the fountain was replaced. Now there is a fenced in quaint postage size park. One can still refresh with spring water from a smaller version fountain while sitting on a bench listening to the soft rustle of trees.
In silence, Lena and I drank the water, staring at the plane trees across the way. We sat on the bench, just looked at each other, hugged, allowing our silence to tell it all. Meanwhile, Charles took pictures of us and the beauty surrounding us. Intermittently, he gave us a hug.
Later, we shared our thoughts. Both Lena and I had relived the morning our taxi had arrived at the plane tree and fountain site. We could see the women dressed in black, men and women crying. We shudder just thinking about the two little girls, as if it wasn’t us. Have you ever experienced that feeling?
In the 4th episode, I will share our visit to Kostohori.
I invite you to contact me for more details about the retracing of our taxi ride.
If you live in the USA contiguous states and would like to purchase an autographed copy of Taxi to America, contact me.